Page 32 Daily Mail, Thursday, August 29, 2019knew that even one less death in
the world would make publishing
my story worthwhile, but
sometimes I wondered whether I
could continue exploring the loss,
just as I have been unable to
wet-shave myself since shaving
John in hospital.
The contours of his face became
so familiar to me that I am haunted
whenever I see my own reflection
and the feeling I had on day one of
completing my journal was of fac-
ing a very large, very clear mirror,
for the first time since his death.WINTER/SPRING 2018
So much in a photographer’s
career relies on those around them
and a highlight of this part of the
year was working with Prue Leith
on her new book. Like her, the days
were filled with colour and vivacity
and this reminded me why I turned
to photography after John died,
swapping the solitary drawingboard of the illustrator for the
company of strangers circled behind
a photographer’s back and watch-
ing one’s every move.
John was an illustrator, too, and
for those who have lived and worked
together, as we did, the death of a
twin can leave the surviving sibling
feeling so utterly bereft as to doubt
whether they can ever function as a
complete person.
mostly I have always felt a half-
person, walking in the shadow of
my lost twin, and there was one
occasion, shortly after he died,
when I felt that I might have sensed
his presence. That was in a church
in the Lake District where the two
of us had spent much time in
our youth.
Needing some time away from the
friends I was on holiday with, I was
sitting alone in the front pew when
I felt a hand on either shoulder.
Every hair on my body stood on endand I shivered violently. The pres-
sure remained only for seconds but
what initially felt so cold and
terrifying ultimately became warm
and comforting.
I wonder now whether emotional
tiredness conjured up this mythical
moment but I don’t think so and
neither can I explain why, after
John died, I began waking with a
jolt at 1.25am, confused and
disorientated.
my mother later told me that this
was the time of John’s birth with
me arriving ten minutes later.
When we were in our cot, he used
to hold on to my face with both
hands, so tight that he drew blood.
Apparently I didn’t reciprocate but
neither did I cry. I accepted his hold
on me and I still have those cres-
cent-shaped scars of babyhood
today, one of my few tangible lega-
cies of John.
We grew up in carshalton, Surrey,the eldest of our parents’ four chil-
dren. I have many memories of us
running, charging, chasing, flying
through the air on our wooden
‘shuggy boat’ — a swing Father built
that could seat the four of us.
It was a beautiful soft blue andwould swing so high from the old
plum tree at the bottom of the gar-
den that I’m sure the childhood
shrieks could be heard for miles.
our mother was a GP and our
father, who died a few years before
John, was a stockbroker, beautifullyL
oNELINESS is a feeling
different from ‘being
alone’. one can be alone
and completely at peace
but you can feel lonelyeven when others are around.
When my identical twin brother John
died in 1987, at the age of 24, I was in a
relationship, I had my mother, my siblings
and my friends, but overnight I became in
my mind the loneliest man on earth.
I feel it so much less now but it still
sneaks up on me sometimes, as it did on a
photo shoot at Jamie oliver’s house in
Essex last year.
over the past 20 years we’ve done a lot of
work together but my diary recalls my
sadness during what should have been an
enjoyable shoot.
‘ultimately it was a long, hot, hard day,
with some beautiful and inspiring
food, glorious scenery in the fields and
gardens of Saffron Walden, and hundreds
of photos taken.
‘We were surrounded by black swans and
their cygnets, tufted ducks and their duck-
lings, peacocks and woodpeckers. But it
was also a day of being surrounded by peo-
ple, some of whom I know very well, but
feeling utterly and desperately alone.’
That entry comes from the daily journal
I kept in 2018, from January 1 to Novem-
ber 11, the year after the 30th anniversary
of John’s death. Thirty years of surviving
as a singleton after spending nearly half
my life as an identical twin.
In recording my feelings, I was fuelled —
even so long after his death — by a deep
sense of injustice and festering guilt about
what happened to John. But I also wanted
to show the ultimately positive me that
lives and breathes today.
of course, feelings of mourning and loss
can still knock me over, like every seventh
wave among incoming breakers, but now I
just ride them a little better and a
little longer.
In that respect, I am a success story,
thanks largely to my best chum Tim, who
as a 14-year-old survived an explosion
which killed his identical twin Nick.
We were introduced by the late Dr Eliza-
beth Bryan, a pioneer in the field of twin
studies who knew that half of those who
lose their identical twin die within two
years. Tragically this statistic was borne
out when another lone twin I tried to help
at Dr Bryan’s suggestion took their own
life just before our first meeting date. I
by David
Lof tus
IN 1987, the identical twin
brother of award-winning food
photographer David Loftus died,
aged 24, following a fatally
miscalculated injection in
hospital. Since then, David has
been tormented by grief and
guilt. So last year, more than 30
years on, he began a diary in
which he records both their
cherished childhood memories
and the pain and regret he has
suffered since John died. This
exclusive extract from his book,
The Diary Of A Lone Twin, tells a
poignant and powerful story of
love, loss and recovery.THERE’S
NO GRIEF
SO RAW
AS LOSING
YOUR TWIN
Double joy: John and David with their mother in SurreyAstonishingly, half of those who lose an
identical twin die within two years. In
this hauntingly powerful account, an
award-winning photographer tells why...