Underwater Live

Barry was the sort of child who could turn a yoghurt tube into a police investigation.

Nobody knew how.

Even Barry didn’t know how.

It just… happened.

If you asked his mother, she’d say, “Barry is curious.”

If you asked his father, he’d say, without looking up from his laptop, “Mmhm.”

If you asked Alfie, Barry’s seven-year-old brother, he’d sigh and say, “Barry lacks respect for systems.”

And if you asked Marmaduke, Barry’s best friend, Marmaduke would probably say, “I dunno,” because Marmaduke mostly just copied whatever Barry did, usually three seconds later and with worse balance.

Barry and Marmaduke were four years old, which is an age when children believe every thought deserves immediate action.

“Oh look, a puddle.”

SPLASH.

“I wonder if pigeons like crisps.”

THROW.

“Can worms wear socks?”

DIG.

Their school teacher, Miss Patel, believed strongly in educational experiences. She was weirdly cheerful, organised, optimistic, and had not yet accepted that Barry existed outside the laws of probability.

So when she announced to the class that on the 9th of June they would be joining a live underwater stream with Steve Backshall, she expected excitement.

What she got was Barry vibrating like a kettle.

“A REAL UNDERWATER MAN?” Barry shouted.

“Yes, Barry.”

“WITH REAL SHARKS?”

“Yes.”

“THAT HAVEN’T EATEN HIM?”

“Correct.”

Marmaduke gasped in admiration.

Alfie, who attended the same primary school but was in Year 3, overheard this announcement at lunch and immediately felt what older siblings throughout history have felt: doom.

Because Alfie knew Barry.

Barry treated ordinary conversations like police interrogations mixed with hostage negotiations.

Adults often made the mistake of laughing at Barry’s first question.

That encouraged Question Two.

Nobody survived to Question Seven.

On the afternoon of the livestream, London was rainy in the way only London could manage: aggressively damp. The school windows looked like someone had sneezed on the city.

Miss Patel set up the projector while thirty children sat cross-legged on the carpet.

“Well,” she said brightly, “today we’re going to learn about ocean habitats, sharks, and seahorses.”

Barry’s hand shot up.

“Yes?”

“Can sharks burp?”

Miss Patel paused.

“We’ll… see what Steve says.”

Alfie, seated with the older children at the back because they were “helping,” slowly covered his face with both hands.

The livestream began.

There was Steve Backshall underwater, wearing diving gear, floating beside rocks while fish zipped past like tiny angry commuters.

The classroom exploded.

“WHOA!”

“IS HE BREATHING?”

“LOOK AT ITS FACE!”

Steve waved at the camera.

“Hello everyone!”

Barry waved back so violently he nearly tipped over.

Steve spent twenty minutes showing them sharks, flat fish and tiny glowing fish. Even Alfie had to admit it was brilliant.

Then came the seahorses.

Tiny little creatures curled around seaweed with their tails.

“Amazing fact,” Steve said. “Male seahorses carry the babies.”

The room went silent.

Even four-year-olds understand shocking injustice.

Barry’s eyes narrowed.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR,” he announced.

Miss Patel whispered, “Inside voice.”

Barry ignored her because Barry considered instructions more like optional side quests.

Then Steve said the sentence that changed everything.

“And now,” he smiled, “we’re going to answer some questions live from schools watching on Instagram!”

Miss Patel clapped.

“Who’d like to ask something sensible?”

Every hand went up.

Barry’s went up highest.

Miss Patel made a choice that would haunt her forever.

“Yes, Barry?”

Barry stood up importantly.

Miss Patel handed him the classroom tablet.

“Remember,” she whispered, “one polite question.”

Barry nodded with the confidence of a politician about to deny everything.

Miss Patel pressed the button.

Suddenly Steve Backshall’s face appeared LIVE on the giant screen.

“Hello there!” Steve said cheerfully. “What’s your name?”

Barry inhaled dramatically.

“Barry.”

“Hello Barry!”

Barry stared.

Steve smiled warmly.

Somewhere deep inside Barry’s brain, a tiny detective switched on a desk lamp.

“Have you ever been bitten on the bum by a shark?”

The classroom erupted in hysterics.

Miss Patel made a choking sound.

Steve actually laughed underwater bubbles through his regulator.

“No, Barry, I haven’t.”

Barry squinted suspiciously.

“Not even a nibble?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

Alfie whispered, “Oh no. He’s investigating.”

Miss Patel attempted rescue.

“Thank you, Barry—”

But Barry had already entered what his parents called Full Documentary Mode.

“How do you wee underwater?”

Several children screamed laughing.

Marmaduke fell sideways entirely.

Miss Patel turned the colour of a tomato trying to escape Earth’s atmosphere.

Steve, to his enormous credit, answered calmly.

“Well… divers wear special suits sometimes.”

Barry nodded gravely.

“So you DO wee in the sea.”

Steve coughed.

“Sometimes.”

The classroom lost its mind.

One little boy laughed so hard he hiccupped.

Miss Patel lunged gently for the tablet.

Barry dodged her like a tiny rugby player.

“Have octopuses got bottoms?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Steve hesitated.

This was the hesitation of a man who had survived crocodiles but not preschool. 

“Well…”

Barry pressed on.

“Can sharks get married?”

“I… don’t think so.”

“Do seahorses know the dads have the babies or is it a surprise?”

Miss Patel whispered to herself, “I need a different career.”

Alfie sat rigid with the thousand-yard stare of a soldier.

Marmaduke had started asking his own follow-up questions from the carpet.

“CAN FISH FART?”

“DO WHALES GET ITCHY?”

“HAS A CRAB EVER PINCHED YOUR NIPPLE?”

“NO QUESTIONS ABOUT NIPPLES!” shouted Miss Patel immediately.

Steve Backshall, astonishingly, was still smiling.

“Those are certainly… enthusiastic questions.”

Barry leaned closer to the camera.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing a shark’s ever done?”

Steve blinked.

“Well sharks don’t really get embarrassed.”

Barry nodded again.

“Because they’ve got no trousers.”

“Exactly.”

Miss Patel stared at Steve with the gratitude of someone watching paramedics arrive.

But Barry wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He lowered his voice dramatically.

“Have you ever accidentally kissed a fish?”

The classroom became absolute chaos.

Children rolled across the carpet wheezing.

Marmaduke accidentally headbutted a beanbag.

Alfie whispered, “I’m changing my surname.”

Even Steve was crying laughing now.

“I can honestly say no, Barry.”

“Not even by accident?”

“No.”

Barry looked disappointed.

Then his face lit up with one final thought.

The dangerous kind.

The sort of thought that usually ended with somebody apologising to a neighbour.

“Can sharks recognise criminals?”

Miss Patel froze.

Steve said carefully, “Probably not.”

Barry leaned even closer.

“So if you robbed a bank underwater—”

“AND WE’RE DONE!” shouted Miss Patel.

The livestream vanished.

The classroom fell silent except for Marmaduke whispering, “That was AMAZING.”

Miss Patel stood motionless with the tablet in her hands.

Her expression suggested she was reconsidering every life choice since 2004.

Finally she inhaled slowly.

“Well,” she said, “that was… interactive.”

Alfie immediately raised his hand.

“Yes, Alfie?”

“I would like it officially recorded that I tried to prevent this.”

“Noted.”

Barry looked delighted with himself.

“I think Steve liked me.”

“He did laugh,” admitted Miss Patel weakly.

At home that evening, Barry’s parents were both working at the kitchen table surrounded by laptops, coffee mugs, and the general atmosphere of adults one email away from collapse.

“How was school?” Barry’s mum asked absently.

Before Barry could answer, Alfie said:

“Barry interrogated Steve Backshall about underwater urination.”

Both parents looked up immediately.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Barry climbed onto a chair.

“He wees in the sea.”

His dad blinked slowly.

“Right.”

“And sharks haven’t bitten his bum.”

“Excellent news.”

“And octopuses have bottoms.”

Barry’s mother put down her laptop.

“I feel like there are missing parts of this story.”

“There were also questions about fish marriage,” Alfie added darkly.

Marmaduke’s mum later texted to say Marmaduke had spent bath time asking whether haddock had feelings.

Miss Patel emailed all parents a very carefully worded summary of the educational event which avoided mentioning literally everything Barry said.

Unfortunately, one parent had screen-recorded the livestream.

By bedtime, clips of Barry asking “Can sharks recognise criminals?” had spread through the parents’ WhatsApp groups like wildfire.

One dad added dramatic crime music.

Another edited tiny sunglasses onto Barry.

Someone labelled him:

BARRY: UNDERWATER DETECTIVE.

By the next morning, even the headteacher had seen it.

Alfie discovered this when he arrived at school and heard a Year 6 boy whisper:

“That’s the shark interrogation kid’s brother.”

Alfie considered emigrating.

Meanwhile Barry was thriving.

Children followed him around the playground asking things like:

“What else did you ask Steve?”

Barry puffed out his chest.

“I was doing journalism.”

Marmaduke copied him immediately.

“Yeah. Journalisms.”

At lunchtime, Miss Patel sat in the staff room drinking tea with the expression of a woman recently rescued from sea wreckage.

Another teacher asked, “How was the livestream?”

Miss Patel stared into the middle distance.

“He asked Steve Backshall whether sharks recognise criminals.”

“Oh dear.”

“There was also a discussion about underwater wees.”

“Oh dear.”

“And fish kissing.”

“Oh dear.”

Miss Patel sipped her tea.

“The worst part is Steve handled it brilliantly.”

Because he had.

That afternoon, something unexpected happened.

The school office received a message.

From Steve Backshall’s team.

Miss Patel opened it nervously, perhaps expecting legal action.

Instead it read:

“Please tell Barry we thought his questions were hilarious. Steve says they were among the funniest he’s ever had during a school livestream.”

Attached was a short video.

Miss Patel showed the class after lunch.

Steve appeared onscreen grinning.

“Hi Barry! Just wanted to say thanks for your brilliant questions. For the record, sharks probably can’t recognise criminals… but if they could, I’d stay out of the ocean if I were you.”

The class exploded cheering.

Barry stood proudly like a victorious explorer returning from sea.

Then Steve added:

“And remember everyone — stay curious!”

Miss Patel smiled despite herself.

Because that was the annoying thing about Barry.

He was chaos.

Pure chaos.

But he was curious about everything.

The world to Barry was one enormous mystery that absolutely needed investigating immediately, preferably very loudly.

Why do fish wobble?

Can pigeons swim?

Do worms get lonely?

Important scientific questions.

Mostly.

That evening Alfie found Barry drawing sharks at the kitchen table.

One shark wore a police hat.

“What’s that?” Alfie asked.

Barry looked up.

“Crime shark.”

“Of course.”

“He catches underwater robbers.”

Alfie sat down beside him.

“You embarrassed everyone today.”

Barry considered this.

“Even Steve?”

“Probably not Steve.”

Barry grinned.

“Miss Patel though.”

“Yes. Deeply.”

Barry coloured the shark blue.

After a moment he asked quietly:

“Did you like the sharks?”

Alfie paused.

Because he had liked them.

The seahorses, the giant underwater caves — it had all been brilliant.

“…yes,” he admitted.

Barry smiled happily.

“Me too.”

Then he added:

“I still think sharks should wear trousers.”

Alfie sighed the sigh of an older brother carrying the weight of civilisation.

“You are impossible.”

Barry nodded cheerfully.

Outside, rain tapped against the London windows while their parents typed away at laptops nearby.

Marmaduke was probably somewhere asking his toaster difficult questions.

Miss Patel was almost certainly drinking tea in silence.

And somewhere far away underwater, Steve Backshall was perhaps telling another diver:

“You won’t believe what this kid asked me today.”

Which just proves something very important.

Adults always say there’s no such thing as a stupid question.

But they’ve clearly never met Barry.