Alfie’s birthday

Alfie Brand loved birthdays.

Not because of presents.

Not because of cake.

Certainly not because of parties involving screaming children wearing socks on trampolines.

No.

Alfie loved birthdays because people tended to follow schedules properly.

There was usually an itinerary.

A plan.

Timings.

It was, in Alfie’s opinion, one of the few occasions where society truly tried its best.

His seventh birthday began perfectly.

Quietly.

Orderly.

With pancakes shaped like the number seven.

“Happy Birthday!” Mum said brightly as she carried the plate into the kitchen.

Barry immediately pointed at the pancakes.

“Can I eat the spare bits?”

“There are no spare bits,” Alfie said quickly.

Barry looked disappointed.

“There should always be spare bits.”

Marmaduke was already there.

No one knew exactly when he had arrived.

Possibly dawn.

Possibly earlier.

He wore a paper party hat sideways and was eating dry cereal directly from the box.

“It’s your birthday!” Marmaduke announced.

“Yes,” Alfie replied.

“You are older now.”

“That’s generally how birthdays work.”

Dad sipped coffee while checking emails.

“So,” he said, “school first.”

Alfie nodded happily.

Barry looked horrified.

“You WANT to go to school on your birthday?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

“Because they sing to you.”

Barry considered this.

“That is quite powerful.”

At school drop-off, Alfie walked through the gates proudly carrying birthday cupcakes for his class.

Barry shouted after him:

“TRY NOT TO GET TOO EDUCATED!”

Several parents laughed.

Alfie pretended not to know him.

The real trouble began after school.

Because Mr and Mrs Brand had promised Alfie a birthday bowling trip.

And bowling sounds calm.

It looks calm.

Adults often imagine bowling involves neat shoes, polite clapping and gentle competition.

Adults are wrong.

The group consisted of:

• Alfie, organised and serious 
• Arthur, Alfie’s quiet best friend who spoke roughly three words a week 
• Barry, a walking safety concern 
• Marmaduke, enthusiastic but unpredictable 
• Mum and Dad, already tired 

At the bowling alley, flashing lights bounced everywhere.

Music blasted loudly.

Children sprinted between arcade machines.

Someone nearby dropped nachos dramatically.

Barry gasped in awe.

“It’s like Las Vegas.”

“You’ve never been to Las Vegas,” Mum said.

“I’ve seen airports.”

Arthur stood quietly beside Alfie holding his bowling shoes.

Arthur was so calm and polite that other parents occasionally forgot he was there entirely.

Barry found this fascinating.

“Arthur,” Barry asked loudly, “do you ever shout?”

Arthur blinked once.

“…Sometimes.”

Barry stared.

“That was amazing.”

The boys were assigned Lane 12.

Dad entered everyone’s names on the scoreboard.

ALFIE
ARTHUR
BARRY
MARMADUKE

Barry looked offended.

“Why am I last?”

“Because,” Alfie said carefully, “you throw things hardest.”

The first frame began.

Alfie stepped up calmly.

Carefully lined up the ball.

Focused.

Rolled smoothly.

STRIKE.

Dad whistled.

“Very nice!”

Alfie smiled modestly.

Arthur gave a tiny nod of approval.

Barry looked betrayed.

“How did he knock them ALL down?”

“Skill,” Alfie replied.

“This feels unfair.”

Arthur went next.

Very quietly, he rolled the ball.

It moved slowly.

Painfully slowly.

The entire family watched in silence as it drifted towards the pins like an exhausted potato.

Eventually—

One pin fell over.

Arthur smiled faintly.

Dad clapped supportively.

Barry whispered, “That ball looked tired.”

Then came Marmaduke.

Nobody knew what Marmaduke would do.

Not even Marmaduke.

He picked a bowling ball approximately the size of a small moon.

Dad immediately intervened.

“Maybe a lighter one.”

Marmaduke nodded.

Then selected one only slightly smaller.

His run-up involved far too much arm movement.

The ball flew sideways instantly.

Straight into the gutter.

But with such enthusiasm that several nearby lanes paused to watch.

Marmaduke grinned proudly.

“It went fast.”

Finally—

Barry’s turn.

Everyone became subtly nervous.

Because Barry approached bowling with the energy of a medieval siege weapon.

He selected a heavy ball.

Very heavy.

Dangerously heavy.

“Can you lift that?” Mum asked carefully.

Barry wobbled slightly.

“Yes.”

This answer lacked confidence.

Dad positioned himself nearby for safety reasons.

Excellent instincts.

Barry marched to the lane dramatically.

Held the ball with both hands.

Growled for no reason whatsoever.

Then launched it forward with enormous force.

The ball hit the lane like a meteor.

BANG.

Several people turned around immediately.

The ball bounced slightly.

Which bowling balls should not really do.

Then it thundered straight down the centre.

Pins exploded everywhere.

STRIKE.

There was stunned silence.

Barry stared proudly.

“I am powerful.”

Dad blinked slowly.

“…You genuinely are.”

Unfortunately, Barry misunderstood the lesson entirely.

For the next frame, he threw even harder.

This time the ball left his hands too early.

It bounced.

Rolled briefly backwards.

Then drifted sideways toward another lane.

“OH NO,” shouted Mum.

Dad lunged heroically.

A teenage bowling employee intercepted the ball just before it invaded a birthday party nearby.

The employee looked exhausted already.

“You need to roll it gently.”

Barry nodded.

“…With violence inside.”

Meanwhile, Alfie continued bowling beautifully.

Spare.

Strike.

Another spare.

Arthur remained steady and quiet.

Marmaduke continued bowling as though every throw surprised him personally.

At one point Marmaduke accidentally spun himself around after releasing the ball and fell gently onto the floor.

The ball somehow still hit six pins.

“How did you do that?” Barry asked.

Marmaduke shrugged from the carpet.

“Natural talent.”

Halfway through the game, food arrived.

Pizza. Chips.

Bright blue slushies that looked medically unnecessary.

Barry inhaled pizza slices while still wearing bowling shoes.

Arthur ate silently.

Alfie carefully folded napkins after use.

Marmaduke somehow got ketchup on his eyebrow.

Dad relaxed slightly.

This was dangerous.

Because peaceful moments with Barry are temporary.

The disaster began with the bowling ramp.

A much younger child on the next lane used a dinosaur-shaped bowling ramp to roll their ball.

Barry became instantly obsessed.

“I need one.”

“You do not,” said Mum.

“It’s a dinosaur.”

“It’s for toddlers.”

“I am emotionally connected to it.”

Before anyone could stop him, Barry borrowed the ramp.

Technically without permission.

He positioned it dramatically.

Selected the heaviest ball available.

Dad noticed too late.

“Barry—”

Barry released the ball.

The dinosaur ramp immediately shot forward with the bowling ball still inside it.

Straight down the lane.

There was screaming.

Not terrified screaming.

Mostly shocked bowling screaming.

The ramp crashed gently into the pins.

The bowling ball continued onward independently.

Pins flew everywhere.

The dinosaur ramp toppled dramatically onto its side.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Then Marmaduke whispered:

“…That was incredible.”

The exhausted bowling employee returned.

Again.

“Sir,” he said to Dad, “your child launched the equipment.”

Dad rubbed his forehead slowly.

“Yes. That does sound like him.”

Barry looked proud.

“I improved the dinosaur.”

“You absolutely did not.”

Arthur finally spoke.

Quietly.

Carefully.

“…Cool though.”

Everyone turned to stare at him.

Arthur rarely contributed.

This made it extremely powerful when he did.

The final game scores appeared on screen:

1st — Alfie
2nd — Barry
3rd — Marmaduke
4th — Arthur

Arthur seemed perfectly content.

Alfie looked quietly triumphant.

Barry looked furious.

“How did Alfie win?”

“Consistency,” Alfie replied.

Barry frowned.

“I had more explosions.”

“Yes,” Alfie agreed. “That was part of the problem.”

As they collected coats and shoes, Mum handed Alfie his birthday present.

A beautiful hardback science book.

Alfie smiled genuinely.

“Thank you.”

Barry peeked over his shoulder.

“…There are barely any explosions in it.”

Outside, evening sunlight glowed over the London streets.

The boys walked toward the car tired and happy.

Marmaduke carried leftover chips in his pockets for “later emergencies.”

Arthur quietly waved goodbye.

Alfie thanked everyone properly because he was apparently forty-seven years old internally.

Back home, Dad collapsed onto the sofa.

“Well,” he sighed, “that went surprisingly well.”

Mum stared at him.

“Barry launched a dinosaur.”

“Yes,” Dad admitted. “But nobody cried.”

Upstairs, Barry sat on Alfie’s bed examining the birthday medals from the bowling alley arcade machine.

“You are good at birthdays,” he admitted.

Alfie smiled slightly.

“Thank you.”

Barry thought carefully.

“…I think it’s because you like rules.”

“That probably helps.”

There was a pause.

Then Barry grinned.

“I still had the strongest throw though.”

Alfie sighed.

“Yes, Barry. Everyone noticed.”