Cool Bananas (2 page)

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 had
knocked 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.

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 picked up the phone and dialled home.
Please don’t let it be the answering machine.
Often when she rang from after-school care or a friend’s house, she got the answering machine. Mum worked long hours.

It rang three times. Then she heard her mother’s voice, ‘Hello.’

‘Mum,’ she whispered.

‘Who is this? I can’t hear you.’

Claudia spoke louder. ‘It’s me. Claudia.’

‘Oh. I thought it was the taxi company ringing me back. Look, sweetie, I’m about to go to the airport. Italy is waiting!’

‘Take me with you,’ begged Claudia.

‘I can’t. I’m leaving in five minutes.’

‘Grandpa’s crazy,’ Claudia whispered.

‘I know.’

‘You know?’

‘He’s my father, remember?’

‘Well, why did you send me over here?’

‘Mrs Pearl broke her leg. There’s nowhere else to send you. Claudia, you’ll survive, it’s only for a couple of weeks.’

‘We had a car accident today,’ she said.

‘Are you hurt?’ Her mother’s tone changed. ‘What did you hit?’

‘A rubbish bin.’

‘That’s all?’

‘I might be suffering from shock. I could faint at any time.’

‘Don’t waste energy talking then…gotta go. Taxi’s here.’

‘I could drown. Grandpa could lose me on the beach. A freak wave could dash me to pieces on the rocks. You might never see me again.’

‘Love you too.’ There was a clunk. Then silence.

‘Mum?’

T
he sun sank behind the sea as Claudia followed Grandpa along the footpath.

It isn’t fair,
she thought.
Mum’s on her way to Italy and I have to stay with a man who drives over bins and wears purple-and-orange board shorts.

Grandpa stopped at a cafe with outside tables.

‘Here we are.’ Grandpa held out a chair for Claudia. ‘The food here is so fresh the chicken still has feathers on it.’

Claudia decided not to order the chicken.

Each table was brightened by a tea-light candle and covered with a red tablecloth. Clear plastic sheeting blocked a cool wind from the beach.

Grandpa’s yellow-and-red shirt clashed with the tablecloth.

Claudia sneaked a look under the table. Her pretty new sandals had green straps and shiny stones along the top. But they had rubbed skin from her toe. She could have done with a bandaid. But she’d rather eat snails than wear a bandaid out to dinner.

Grandpa examined the tablecloth. He pushed a black speck onto his serviette and took it over to a pot plant.

He returned with a satisfied look. ‘He lives to bite another day.’

‘Who does?’ asked Claudia.

‘The ant. That’s why I wear ripple-soled shoes, to give the ants a fifty-fifty chance,’ he said. ‘It might rain.’

‘Ants are a sign of rain?’ asked Claudia.

‘Are they?’

‘That’s what
you
just said.’

‘No. I had a full stop in that sentence. I’m just telling you that I saw an ant. I know it might rain because I saw the weather report on TV last night.’

Talking to Grandpa was like talking to six people at once. Except all the words came out of one mouth.

Annoyed, Claudia looked at the menu. She didn’t know what half the dishes were, but she didn’t say so.

‘I’m ordering dessert first.’ Grandpa smacked his lips.

‘You can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’ He blinked through his reading glasses.

‘You’re supposed to eat meat and vegetables first.’

‘We’re on holidays. What does it matter this one time?’ Grandpa laughed. ‘I’m having Death by Chocolate.’

Claudia wriggled and her chair creaked.

‘Pardon,’ said Grandpa.

Startled, Claudia looked up. ‘It wasn’t you.’

‘Oh, it usually is.’ He grinned.

Claudia smothered her own grin.

A young, dark-haired waiter with a pierced nose came to take their order.

Grandpa peered at the waiter’s nose ring.

Claudia was relieved when he didn’t say anything.

‘So I can have whatever I like?’ she asked.

Grandpa nodded.

‘First, I’d like the butterscotch pudding with caramel sauce and cream,’ she told the waiter. ‘After that, prawn curry please.’

The waiter’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘You want the pudding first?’

‘We both do.’ Grandpa slipped his reading glasses into his top pocket.

The waiter’s mouth tightened into a knot. He wrote on his order pad, then sulked all the way back to the kitchen.

This is kind of fun,
decided Claudia.

Grandpa tucked his serviette into his collar.

‘Most people put their serviette over their knees. But I don’t drop food on my knees. I spill it down my shirt.’

Claudia supposed it didn’t matter as long as he caught the drips. She felt herself relax.
Maybe Grandpa isn’t so bad.

Grandpa pushed his false teeth forward with his tongue. Then he took them out and licked them. ‘Grit.’