The Twins Would Only Answer To Each Other's Names And They Were Not Joking

They were six. Identical. Nice kids, both of them, and — this is important — completely distinguishable, because one had a scar on his chin from a coffee table and one did not.

In October they swapped names.

Not as a prank on the babysitter. This is what nobody could get their heads around. They did it with their mother, their teacher, each other, and with a straight, tired, slightly irritated patience, the way you correct somebody who keeps getting your name wrong at work.

The one with the scar answered only to his brother's name. The one without answered only to the scarred one's.

Their mother thought it was a game and, to be fair, she was working two jobs and a game costs nothing.

The teacher had a word. The parents had a word. Nothing changed. Six weeks.

The thing that frightened me — and it took me the whole six weeks to work out why I was frightened — is that they never got it wrong.

Six-year-olds cannot maintain a bit. They cannot. They break, they laugh, they slip up at bedtime when they are tired and they want their mum.