Free Cool Bananas by Christine Harris Page A

lost. I know exactly where I am. Even got it engraved on this copper bracelet in case I forget.’
    ‘I meant, “He who hesitates is lost”.’
    ‘Well, he could be. That might be why he takes longer.’ Grandpa put his sunglasses beside the keys. ‘You’ll have to keep an eye on me at the beach.’
    He looked healthy, but Grandpa wasn’t young anymore. Maybe he worried about crowds. Or the sun burning brown spots on his skin.
    ‘Soon as those women see me in my shorts,’ he said, ‘they’ll mob me.’
    Claudia groaned.
He’s going to be trouble, I just know it.

Four

    T he sun was warm. Waves rolled lazily onto the sand. Claudia stretched out on her towel. She opened one eye. Grandpa knelt a small distance away.
    How can he go outside like that?
she thought.
    Grandpa’s baggy board shorts came down to his knees. He was too old for board shorts. He was too old for
any
shorts. His wrinkled skin belonged to a suntanned tortoise.
    Earlier, when she was getting ready, he hadknocked and called out, ‘Today would be good!’
    When she was finally ready, Grandpa had looked her up and down. ‘What were you doing in there?’
    Claudia flicked her blonde hair over her shoulders. ‘I had to put on my swimming outfit, find my shorts and beach T-shirt, put on sunscreen, lip gloss, brush the knots out of my hair and change my earrings. Then I had to get my hat.’

    It had only taken him two minutes to get ready. She suspected he had the board shorts on underneath his trousers.
    ‘We’re only going to the beach,’ said Grandpa. ‘Not the mall.’
    ‘You can’t just wear the first thing you find,’ she’d told him.
    ‘Why not?’
    She had pointed to his purple-and-orange board shorts. ‘That’s why not.’
    He nodded.
    It was hard to argue with someone who agreed with you. She wondered if that was why he did it. But no, he was too old to be that tricky.
    Now, she lay on the beach and wished she had painted her toenails pink, to match her hat.
    Flying sand caught her attention. ‘Grandpa, what are you doing?’
    ‘Digging a hole in the sand.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘To see how deep I can go.’
    She leant on one elbow. ‘Then what?’‘Then I’ll fill it in again.’
    Great!
Claudia flopped back on her towel.
    My grandpa is spending his afternoon digging holes and filling them in again.
    She watched a parade of people go past. A pregnant woman struggled with an excited toddler. Two sweaty men with big muscles jogged along the sand. Then came tourists. They stood at the water’s edge with their trousers rolled up to their knees, cameras around their necks.
    ‘Finished digging,’ said Grandpa. ‘Want to go for a swim?’
    ‘No, thank you.’
    ‘The water won’t be cold. Weather’s been warm for days.’
    ‘I’ve got a new swimming outfit. It’ll get wet.’
    Grandpa brushed his sandy hands on his board shorts. ‘Aha. There’s the magic word.
Swimming.
You’re meant to get wet.’
    ‘Do you want me to stand at the edge while you paddle?’ Maybe he was more nervous than he let on.

    He shook his head. ‘I’m an iceberg.’
    Was he losing his mind? Sometimes that happened when people got old.
    ‘An iceberg swims all year round, even in winter. We meet every morning at the beach.’ Grandpa thumped his chest. It was webbed with grey hairs. ‘Keeps me young.’
    Claudia rolled her eyes.
    ‘Don’t forget, keep an eye out for strange women,’ said Grandpa. ‘Course, I quite like strange women. They make me look normal.’
    He ran across the sand, then dived into a wave. He swam like a dolphin.
    She felt a little lonely.
    Grandpa waved.
    Claudia waved back.
    Her stomach did its fluttering thing. It did that when she was upset or nervous. Sometimes it turned into a stomach ache.
    She could never tell Grandpa the real reason she wouldn’t go in the water.

Five

    B ack at the flat, Claudia waited till she heard the shower start. Good. Grandpa wouldn’t be able to hear what she said.
    Quickly, she