French Club

Barry Brand had a plan.

This alone should have concerned everyone.

Unfortunately, no one was paying attention.

His mum was at the kitchen table typing furiously on her laptop, saying things like, “Yes, just circle back on that,” which Barry assumed meant she was stuck in some kind of professional maze. His dad was on a work call in the living room, using his Serious Voice, which meant he wouldn’t notice if Barry quietly borrowed anything important. Like keys. Or biscuits. Or the television.

Alfie, meanwhile, was putting on his shoes with the grim determination of someone heading into battle.

“French Club,” Alfie said.

Barry squinted at him. “Why?”

Alfie sighed. “Because learning another language is valuable.”

Barry nodded slowly. “Is it for ordering snacks in France?”

“It’s for communication.”

“That’s what I said.”

Marmaduke, who was sitting on the floor trying to make a dinosaur wear a sock, looked up. “What’s French Club?”

“It’s where we learn French,” Alfie said.

Marm gasped. “Like… magic words?”

Barry’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Exactly like magic words.”

“It’s not magic,” Alfie said. “It’s a language.”

Barry leaned closer to Marm and whispered, “That’s what they want you to think.”

Alfie stood up. “I’m leaving now.”

Barry watched him go, his mind already whirring.

“Did you hear that?” Barry said, turning to Marm.

“Yes,” Marm said. “Magic.”

“Exactly,” Barry said. “Alfie is learning secret magic words in a special building.”

Marm’s jaw dropped. “We have to go.”

“We absolutely have to go.”

And that, as they say, was the beginning of the problem.

—

The preschool and the main school were connected by a path that had been specifically designed to look safe, sensible, and entirely uninteresting.

Barry and Marm managed to make it look like a high-stakes mission.

“Stay low,” Barry whispered, crouching behind a bush that was approximately knee-high and offered no actual cover whatsoever.

Marm crouched too. “Do you think they can see us?”

“Yes,” Barry said. “But only if they look.”

“Oh,” Marm said. “Okay.”

They shuffled along the path in what they believed was a stealthy manner but was, in reality, a sort of slow, determined wobble.

A teacher walked past them.

“Where are you two going?” she asked.

Barry didn’t hesitate. “Important business.”

The teacher paused. “What kind of business?”

Barry thought quickly. “French business.”

The teacher blinked. “Right… well, stay together.”

“We always do,” Marm said proudly.

“That’s… what I’m worried about,” the teacher muttered, walking on.

Barry beamed. “See? Official.”

Marm nodded. “Very official.”

—

The modern languages block loomed ahead.

It was not, objectively, very loom-y. It was a perfectly normal building. But to Barry and Marm, it might as well have been a secret headquarters full of whispering spies and magical baguettes.

Barry stopped dramatically. “This is it.”

Marm gasped. “The magic place.”

Barry pointed at the door. “Inside there, Alfie is learning words that could change everything.”

“Like what?” Marm asked.

Barry considered. “Probably spells. Or instructions for cake.”

Marm nodded seriously. “Important.”

They crept closer.

The door was slightly open.

Voices drifted out.

“Bonjour,” said a teacher.

Barry froze.

Marm froze.

Their eyes widened.

“Did you hear that?” Marm whispered.

“I did,” Barry whispered back. “It’s started.”

Inside, a group of children repeated, “Bonjour!”

Barry clutched Marm’s arm. “They’re all doing it.”

“Is it contagious?” Marm asked.

“Probably.”

They edged closer to the door and peered inside.

There was Alfie.

Sitting at a desk.

Looking… normal.

Which was deeply suspicious.

“Why isn’t he glowing?” Barry whispered.

“I don’t know,” Marm said. “Maybe it takes time.”

The teacher at the front smiled. “Bonjour means hello.”

Barry frowned. “That’s it?”

Marm looked confused. “That’s not very magical.”

Barry straightened. “It’s a trick. They’re hiding the real magic.”

Marm nodded. “Of course.”

Barry pushed the door open.

This was, technically speaking, a mistake.

“BONJOUR!” Barry shouted.

The entire class turned.

The teacher blinked.

Alfie closed his eyes slowly, as if hoping that if he wished hard enough, he would become invisible.

“Barry,” Alfie said, without opening his eyes, “what are you doing?”

Barry marched in confidently. “We’ve come to learn magic.”

“It’s not magic,” Alfie said.

Marm followed, slightly less confidently. “Bonjour,” he said, just in case.

The teacher, to her credit, handled this remarkably well.

“And who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Barry,” Barry said. “This is Marmaduke. We’re here for the advanced stuff.”

There was a pause.

“The advanced… what?” the teacher asked.

“The real words,” Barry said. “The secret ones.”

A few children giggled.

Alfie put his head in his hands.

“There are no secret words,” the teacher said gently. “Just French.”

Barry narrowed his eyes. “That’s what you say.”

Marm nodded. “Very suspicious.”

The teacher smiled. “Well, since you’re here, would you like to learn something?”

Barry hesitated.

This was not how he expected this to go.

“Will it be useful?” he asked.

“Very,” the teacher said.

Barry glanced at Marm.

Marm shrugged. “Could be cake.”

Barry turned back. “Alright. But if it’s not magic, I’m leaving.”

“Fair enough,” the teacher said.

She wrote something on the board.

Bonjour

“You’ve already heard this one,” she said. “It means hello.”

Barry crossed his arms. “We know.”

“Très bien,” the teacher said.

Barry’s eyes widened. “What was that?”

“That means ‘very good’.”

Marm gasped. “That’s new.”

Barry leaned forward. “Say it again.”

“Très bien.”

Barry tried to copy it. “Tray bee-enn.”

“Close,” the teacher said.

Marm tried. “Trezz bean.”

“Also close.”

Barry turned to Marm. “I think we’re getting it.”

Marm nodded. “I feel smarter already.”

Alfie looked up, reluctantly interested. “It’s just pronunciation.”

Barry ignored him.

“What else?” Barry demanded.

The teacher smiled. “How about ‘merci’?”

“What does that mean?” Marm asked.

“Thank you.”

Barry repeated it. “Mare-see.”

“Close.”

Marm tried. “Mercy.”

Barry frowned. “That sounds like when you fall over.”

“It’s not,” Alfie said.

Barry turned to him. “Are you sure? Because I fall over a lot, and I say all sorts of things.”

Alfie sighed.

The teacher clapped her hands. “Alright, class, let’s practise.”

And somehow—somehow—Barry and Marm ended up sitting on the carpet, repeating French words with surprising enthusiasm.

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour!”

“Merci!”

“Merci!”

“Très bien!”

“Trezz bean!”

“It’s très bien,” Alfie muttered.

Barry grinned. “We’re learning magic.”

“It’s not magic,” Alfie said, but he was smiling slightly now.

—

Ten minutes later, reality arrived.

It arrived in the form of a very familiar voice.

“Barry Brand.”

Barry froze.

Marm froze.

Alfie didn’t freeze. He simply looked resigned.

Barry turned slowly.

There was Mrs Brand.

And behind her, Marm’s mum, Margaret.

Both were standing in the doorway.

Both were holding their phones.

Both looked… unimpressed.

“Hi, Mum,” Barry said.

“Hi, Mum,” Marm echoed.

Mrs Brand folded her arms. “Would you like to explain why you’ve left home, marched past preschool, crossed the school grounds, and interrupted a French lesson?”

Barry thought about this.

“Education?” he offered.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “At four years old?”

“We’re advanced,” Barry said.

Marm nodded. “Very advanced.”

Mrs Brand sighed. “Alfie?”

Alfie stood up. “They said they were casing the joint.”

There was a pause.

Margaret looked at Mrs Brand. “Casing the joint?”

Mrs Brand closed her eyes briefly. “Of course they were.”

Barry stepped in quickly. “We thought it was magic.”

“It’s not magic,” Alfie said automatically.

“We know that now,” Barry said. “It’s French.”

Margaret pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “And what have you learned?”

Barry puffed out his chest. “Bonjour.”

Marm added, “Merci.”

Barry finished, “Trezz bean.”

“It’s très bien,” Alfie said.

Mrs Brand sighed again, but this time there was a hint of a smile. “Well,” she said, “at least you didn’t set anything on fire.”

“Not this time,” Barry said.

“Barry.”

“I’m joking,” he added quickly.

Margaret shook her head. “Come on, Marm. Let’s go.”

Marm stood up. “Bye, magic class!”

“It’s not—” Alfie began, then stopped. “Never mind.”

Barry waved grandly. “Bonjour, everyone!”

A few children waved back.

The teacher smiled. “Au revoir!”

Barry blinked. “What’s that?”

“It means goodbye,” Alfie said.

Barry grinned. “Oh. That’s useful.”

He turned to his mum. “Can we learn more?”

Mrs Brand looked at him, surprised. “You want to?”

Barry shrugged. “It might come in handy.”

“For what?” Alfie asked.

Barry grinned. “International trouble.”

Alfie groaned.

Marm beamed.

And somewhere, deep in the modern languages block, the magic of French—entirely non-magical, but still rather wonderful—carried on.