Prize giving

The Brand family lived in London, in a perfectly normal house on a perfectly normal street, except for one small problem.

Barry. 

Barry was curious.

Curious sounds lovely when grown-ups say it.

“He’s curious.”

It sounds like he enjoys books and asks thoughtful questions.

What it actually meant was that Barry once tried to microwave a sock because he wanted to know if it would become a shoe.

It did not.

His best friend Marmaduke was also four years old.

Marmaduke had many excellent qualities.

Thinking was not one of them.

If Barry said, “Let’s investigate that manhole cover,” Marmaduke would already be halfway inside it.

If Barry said, “Let’s see what happens if we put raisins in Dad’s slippers,” Marmaduke would ask, “Both slippers or just one?”

Barry’s older brother Alfie was… sensible.

Painfully sensible.

He liked rules.

He liked homework.

He once reminded a crossing guard that she had forgotten to write the date on a form.

Nobody had asked.

Alfie was captain of his Under-8 football team and was very excited because today was Prize Giving Day.

Mr and Mrs Brand were excited too.

Or at least they had been.

Mrs Brand worked on her laptop while eating breakfast.

Mr Brand answered work emails while brushing his teeth.

Neither of them noticed Barry trying to see if a Weetabix could float in orange juice.

For the record, it can.

For approximately six seconds…

Then it becomes a building material.

That afternoon everyone arrived at the school hall.

The hall was packed.

Children.

Parents.

Grandparents.

Neighbours.

People who looked as though they’d been attending school prize givings since 1974 and had simply never left.

A banner read:

END OF SEASON FOOTBALL CELEBRATION

There were five age groups being recognised.

Alfie’s Under-8 team would go first.

“Wonderful,” said Mr Brand.

“We’ll be done in twenty-five minutes,” said Mrs Brand.

This sentence would later become famous in the family.

Mostly because it was so spectacularly wrong.

The headteacher stepped onto the stage.

“Welcome everyone.”

Polite applause.

“We shall celebrate every player.”

More applause.

“Each player will receive a personalised story.”

The applause became slightly less enthusiastic.

Fifteen players stood for Alfie’s team.

One by one they were called up.

Each child received a medal.

Each child received a story.

One boy was praised for accidentally scoring while sneezing.

Another had hidden a banana in his football sock for three matches before anyone noticed.

One girl was famous for shouting tactical advice to pigeons.

The audience laughed.

Parents took photos.

Grandparents cried.

Nobody knew why.

Grandparents often cry at school events. It’s one of their hobbies.

Finally Alfie was called.

The teacher smiled.

“Alfie Brand.”

Alfie marched up proudly.

“Alfie is our captain. During one match he spent ten minutes helping a younger player tie his bootlaces even though his team was losing. We suspect he would stop a football match to help a duck cross the road.”

Everyone laughed.

Even Alfie smiled.

Which for Alfie was basically hysteria.

He received his medal.

Barry clapped.

Marmaduke clapped.

Mr and Mrs Brand clapped.

Then the teacher said:

“And now, our Under-9 team!”

The Brands looked at one another.

Mr Brand frowned.

Mrs Brand checked the programme.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” asked Mr Brand.

“There are four more teams.”

“Four?”

“Four.”

“With fifteen players each?”

“Yes.”

“With stories?”

“Yes.”

Mr Brand slowly calculated.

His smile froze.

Mrs Brand’s smile froze.

Three hours later both smiles would still be there.

Neither would be really.

For a while Barry and Marmaduke behaved beautifully.

They sat.

They clapped.

They listened.

They counted ceiling lights.

They counted chair legs.

They counted how many grown-ups had fallen asleep.

(The answer was six.

Then seven.

Then eight.)

Then Barry spotted something.

At the back of the hall.

A door.

A slightly open door.

The most dangerous type of door.

The interesting type.

Barry nudged Marmaduke.

“Look.”

Marmaduke looked.

“Oh.”

“Wonder where it goes.”

“Probably somewhere.”

“Let’s investigate.”

Marmaduke nodded immediately.

Of course he did.

The boys slipped through the door.

Nobody noticed.

Mr Brand was pretending to enjoy the Under-10 goalkeeper stories.

Mrs Brand was answering emails under her programme.

The boys entered a corridor.

They wandered.

Left.

Right.

Left again.

Then they discovered a room.

A room full of costumes.

School productions had clearly happened here.

Pirates.

Kings.

Wizards.

Dragons.

An alarming number of giant vegetable outfits.

Barry gasped.

“We’ve found treasure.”

Marmaduke picked up a pirate hat.

“I feel dangerous.”

“You look like a potato.”

Marmaduke looked pleased.

Five minutes later they emerged.

Barry wore a king’s cape.

Marmaduke wore pirate boots three sizes too big.

They marched through another corridor.

Then they discovered a second room.

This one contained musical instruments.

Hundreds of them.

Some expensive.

Some very expensive.

The sort of room that makes teachers nervous.

Barry poked a drum.

BOOM.

Marmaduke poked another.

BOOM.

Barry hit a cymbal.

CRASH.

Marmaduke hit two.

CRASH CRASH.

Within seconds they sounded like a washing machine fighting a rhinoceros.

A music teacher burst through the door.

The boys fled.

They ran downstairs.

They ran upstairs.

They accidentally joined a Year 11 drama rehearsal.

A teacher glanced up.

“Oh good, the tiny pirates are here.”

The boys waved.

Then left.

Eventually they reached a courtyard.

There sat the school caretaker.

Mr Jenkins.

Mr Jenkins was eating a sandwich.

He had seen everything.

Nothing surprised him.

Not even tiny pirates.

“Afternoon,” he said.

“Hello,” said Barry.

“Lost?”

“Possibly.”

“Thought so.”

Mr Jenkins pointed.

“Hall’s that way.”

Barry was about to leave.

Then he noticed something enormous beside the shed.

A bouncy castle.

Deflated.

Folded.

Waiting for tomorrow’s summer fair.

Barry stared.

Marmaduke stared.

Mr Jenkins stared at his sandwich.

This was unfortunate.

Because Barry had an idea.

Ten minutes later the boys had discovered the blower.

Five minutes after that they had discovered the switch.

Three minutes after that the bouncy castle began to inflate.

Slowly.

Magnificently.

Like a giant colourful monster waking from a nap.

Barry climbed aboard.

Marmaduke followed.

They bounced.

And bounced.

And bounced.

Neither noticed the extension cable gradually unplugging itself.

The blower stopped.

The castle sighed.

Then collapsed.

The boys disappeared inside.

At exactly the same moment in the hall, Mrs Brand finally looked around.

“Where’s Barry?”

Mr Brand froze.

“With you.”

“No.”

“You.”

“No.”

Both parents slowly stood.

Parents recognise this feeling.

It’s the feeling that begins with:

Where’s my child?

And ends with:

Why is my child on the roof?

A search began.

Teachers searched.

Parents searched.

The headteacher searched.

Even Alfie searched.

Although he searched in a very organised way.

He created a plan.

A map.

Possibly a spreadsheet.

Then someone heard muffled voices outside.

“Help!”

Giggle.

“Help!”

Giggle.

The rescue party followed the sound.

There, in the middle of the courtyard, sat a half-deflated bouncy castle.

Wriggling.

The castle appeared to have developed children.

Mr Jenkins sighed.

“I was wondering how long that would take.”

The adults pulled open the folds.

Out rolled Barry and Marmaduke.

Laughing hysterically.

Covered in dust.

Still wearing pirate equipment.

Mrs Brand closed her eyes.

Mr Brand stared at the sky.

Possibly asking for strength.

Or wine.

Maybe both.

Back inside the hall the final awards were ending.

The headteacher took the microphone.

“Before we finish,” she said, “I’d like to thank everyone for their patience.”

Then she spotted Barry.

Still wearing a king’s cape.

Still carrying a pirate hat.

Dusty.

Wild-haired.

Standing beside Marmaduke.

The hall fell silent.

The headteacher smiled.

“Oh dear.”

Everyone sensed a story.

Teachers love stories.

Especially when they happen to somebody else’s children.

The headteacher continued.

“While celebrating our footballers today, two younger visitors have apparently explored the costume department, the music department, the drama department and a bouncy castle.”

Parents began laughing.

Mr Brand considered moving abroad.

The headteacher nodded.

“I think that’s an achievement.”

The audience applauded.

Barry bowed.

Marmaduke bowed.

Later that evening the family walked home.

Alfie carried his medal proudly.

Barry skipped along beside him.

“You were brilliant today.”

“Thank you,” said Alfie.

“You got the biggest laugh.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“No. That was you.”

Barry thought about this.

“Maybe next year I’ll get a medal.”

“What for?”

Barry smiled.

Marmaduke smiled.

The adults became nervous.

“Exploration,” said Barry.

Alfie groaned.

Mr and Mrs Brand groaned.

Even a pigeon nearby seemed concerned.