“How do you know? You don’t understand Swedish!”

“Oh, yes I do. I understand everything Auntie Alma says to me.”

Their new “aunts” are standing talking by the fence. When Aunt Märta bikes off, Auntie Alma points to Nellie’s bathing suit.

“What did I tell you?” Nellie says delightedly. “You’ll get one, too.”

Nellie’s bathing suit is made of shiny yellow fabric. Stephie hopes hers will be the same, or maybe red.

They eat cheese sandwiches and drink milk at Auntie Alma’s kitchen table. The little ones are excited; John spills his milk all over the table. Auntie Alma doesn’t get angry. She just wipes it up and pours him a new mug.

Soon Aunt Märta is back, a towel in one hand and something black in the other. She gives them to Stephie. The black thing is a bathing suit. A real old-fashioned lady’s bathing suit made of thick wool.

Stephie stares at it. The woolen fabric is so ancient it’s going green in spots. Auntie Alma smiles encouragingly. Aunt Märta looks expectant.

“Danke schön,” Stephie whispers through stiff lips. Thank you very much.

“Stephie,” Nellie whispers, “is that supposed to be a bathing suit? Are you going to wear it?”

“Hush up,” Stephie hisses. “One more word and I’ll pinch you black and blue.”

Nellie goes silent. Auntie Alma has all the other suits and towels in a bag and is waiting by the door. There’s no choice for Stephie but to join everyone. She’s relieved, at least, to see Aunt Märta head home on her bike.

They walk down a path to the swimming cove. Auntie Alma holds her son by the hand. Nellie and Elsa run loops around the others, racing, pushing one another, laughing.

Stephie lags behind, the awful bathing suit between her thumb and index finger, touching as little of the fabric as possible. Where the path ends there are a few bikes parked, leaned haphazardly against one another. Stephie rolls the bathing suit into her towel.