Page 21 - SAMPLE Talking the the Moon

Mimi’s worried.
“I shouldn’t have brought it,” she says.
“What?”
“My bracelet,” she says. “What if I lose it?”
“You won’t lose it,” I say. “I’ll put it in my sock.” She’s looking up at the seagulls as if they might dive
down, grab the bracelet and carry it across the sea to France.
“It’s OK really,” I say. “I’ll hide it.”
She doesn’t look reassured.
We peel off our clothes, put on our flip-flops and
sit shivering in our costumes with towels round our shoulders. Mimi’s got blue ribbons on her costume and they flutter in the wind. I take her bracelet, drop it into one of my socks and put it at the bottom of the basket.
Suddenly Mimi jumps up, pulls on her goggles and marches across the stones in a deliberate waddling walk. She thinks it’s funny. It was funny when I was five. Now it’s a bit embarrassing.
“Come on!” she shouts.
She kicks off her flip-flops, wades into the sea and
ducks down as if she’s plunging into a warm bath. I don’t understand it at all. I don’t even know how a thin old woman can jump into freezing water without turning to ice and floating to the surface like an ironing board.
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