Page 24 - SAMPLE Talking the the Moon

Mimi’s swum in the sea all her life. I know because I’ve seen the photos. There’s a black-and-white photo of her as a little girl on Brighton beach, a towel round her shoulders, gappy teeth, laughing. And there are colour photos of her as a young woman with my grandad (who died before the twins were born), both smiling. Grandad with his funny moustache and Mimi never quite in focus. There are photos of Mum on the beach as a little girl too with Mimi, Mum with her red hair like mine, standing completely still, and Mimi out of focus because she can never stay still for even a moment.
I watch Mimi turn back in my direction and then swim in towards the shore. When the water’s waist-deep she wades out of the sea, walks across the stones and puts on her flip-flops. Then she stands for a few moments. Just waiting. I shout but she doesn’t hear me so I jump up and stretch out my arms like I’m air traffic control telling a plane where to land. She sees me, waves and marches towards me.
“Wonderful swim,” she says. “Wonderful!”
She’s so cold even her smile’s shivering. Seawater drips from her ribbon round her finger. She pulls off her goggles, dries herself and changes into her clothes. I tie the bracelet round her wrist and as I do I see MB carved
in tiny letters into one of the red beads. 22