Kew Gardens

On Sunday mornings in London, there were usually two kinds of people in the world.

There were the organised people, who woke up early, folded cardigans, packed sensible snacks into reusable containers and said things like, “What a lovely opportunity for fresh air.”

And then there were Barry and Marmaduke.

Barry was four years old and had the sort of curiosity that should probably have required a licence. He wanted to know what every button did, whether pigeons had feelings, and why adults always said “Don’t touch that” in the exact tone that made touching it feel medically necessary.

Marmaduke was Barry’s best friend. Marmaduke never actually wanted to get into trouble. Unfortunately, he suffered from a terrible condition known as Being Near Barry.

Alfie, Barry’s seven-year-old brother, was entirely different.

Alfie believed in rules.

Alfie enjoyed schedules.

Alfie once reminded a bus driver that he had forgotten to indicate.

Nobody had asked him to.

Their mum, Mrs Brand, loved Kew Gardens more than almost anything in the world. She loved the flowers, the glasshouses, the giant trees and the peaceful atmosphere.

She mainly loved the peaceful atmosphere because she had children.

“Today,” announced Mrs Brand over breakfast, while simultaneously answering work emails and drinking cold tea, “we are all going to Kew Gardens.”

Barry immediately dropped a spoonful of cereal into his orange juice.

“An excellent start,” sighed Alfie.

Marjory and Marmaduke arrived ten minutes, the former looking like someone who had already had a difficult day despite it only being 9:15 in the morning.

“Ready for a lovely calm outing?” she asked.

Barry was wearing one welly boot and a pirate hat.

So no.

Still, by some miracle involving snacks and threats, everyone eventually boarded the train to Kew Gardens.

Kew Gardens on a sunny Sunday was beautiful.

The flowers glowed in the sunlight. Bees drifted lazily between blossoms. Families wandered peacefully along the paths.

And Barry immediately tried to climb a statue.

“Feet on the ground,” Alfie said sternly.

“I was only seeing if it was climbable.”

“That’s what climbing is.”

Marmaduke looked worried.

“Are statues allergic to children?”

“No,” said Alfie. “Mums are.”

Mrs Brand and Marjory walked behind them discussing work, schools, laundry and the mysterious way children could somehow produce fourteen dirty socks from only two feet.

This was Barry’s favourite kind of adult distraction.

The boys wandered toward the famous Waterlily House.

Inside, the air felt warm and damp, like being trapped inside somebody’s soup.

And there they were.

The giant lily pads.

Huge green circles floated across the water like enormous pancakes made by a wizard.

Barry stared in amazement.

“Could you stand on one?”

“No,” said Alfie immediately.

“Could a hamster?”

“No.”

“A very careful duck?”

“No.”

“A tiny policeman?”

“That’s not even a real measurement.”

Marmaduke leaned over the water.

“They look strong.”

“That,” Alfie announced, “is exactly the kind of sentence that begins disasters.”

Barry spotted a sign. Alfie read it aloud for them.

DO NOT TOUCH THE WATERLILIES.

Now, to sensible people, this sign meant: Please admire the lilies respectfully.

To Barry, it sounded suspiciously like a challenge.

“Why not?” he whispered.

“Because rules exist for a reason,” said Alfie.

Barry considered this.

“But what if the reason is boring?”

Before Alfie could answer, Barry noticed something floating near the edge of the pond.

“My pirate hat!”

Indeed, the pirate hat had somehow blown off Barry’s head and landed beside a giant lily pad.

“Oh no,” said Marmaduke.

“Oh yes,” said Barry.

“No,” corrected Alfie. “Definitely oh no.”

Barry crouched beside the water, stretching one arm toward the hat.

“Don’t,” warned Alfie.

“I’m practically touching it.”

“You are literally touching it.”

Barry leaned farther.

Marmaduke leaned farther to watch Barry leaning farther.

And then, because gravity enjoys comedy, both boys tipped forward at exactly the same moment.

SPLOSH.

The Waterlily House fell silent.

Two soaking wet four-year-olds emerged from the shallow edge of the pond looking stunned and slightly leafy.

One enormous lily pad wobbled dramatically.

An elderly tourist gasped so hard he nearly inhaled a fern.

Barry blinked.

“Well,” he said, “the lily pads are slipperier than expected.”

Mrs Brand closed her eyes briefly.

Parents sometimes do this when deciding whether prison might actually offer a nice rest.

“Oh honestly,” muttered Marjory.

A staff member hurried over.

Now, the staff member was trying very hard to remain professional, but it is difficult to sound fierce when confronted with two children covered in pondweed and one pirate hat floating triumphantly behind them.

“You must never climb into the water,” she said firmly.

“We fell,” Marmaduke squeaked.

Barry nodded.

“In a very adventurous way.”

Alfie sighed the sigh of a boy who had been emotionally forty-seven years old since birth.

“I told them not to.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Brand. “And you were absolutely right.”

Alfie tried not to look pleased.

He failed.

After emergency visits to the gift shop for dry clothes, everyone continued through the gardens.

Barry now wore a bright green Kew Gardens jumper three sizes too large.

Marmaduke wore shorts featuring tiny embroidered hedgehogs.

Both looked delighted.

Adults, meanwhile, looked poorer.

“Right,” said Mrs Brand. “No more excitement.”

This was optimistic.

The boys explored winding paths lined with flowers. They visited the Palm House, where Barry loudly announced that the humidity felt “like breathing inside a dog.”

They saw bamboo taller than houses.

They watched ducks glide across ponds.

Barry asked whether ducks had knees.

Nobody knew.

At lunchtime they settled on the grass with sandwiches.

Alfie carefully handed everyone napkins.

Barry used his to make a cape for an apple.

“You know,” Alfie said, “normal people just eat lunch.”

“Normal people sound dull,” Barry replied.

Marmaduke nodded loyally while accidentally sitting in hummus.

After lunch, Mrs Brand and Marjory decided it was finally safe to have afternoon tea.

This was their second mistake.

The tea room was elegant and peaceful.

Tiny cakes sat in neat rows.

Polite people spoke quietly.

Barry entered like an adverse weather event.

“LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THOSE SCONES!”

Several pensioners jumped.

“Indoor voice,” hissed Mrs Brand.

Barry attempted whispering.

“LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THOSE SCONES,” he whispered thunderously.

The waitress seated them beside a window overlooking the gardens.

For nearly three glorious minutes, everything went well.

Tea was poured.

Scones were buttered.

Alfie demonstrated respectable jam distribution.

Then Barry discovered the little silver sugar tongs.

Now, to most people, sugar tongs are harmless.

To Barry, they were obviously crab claws.

“SNIP SNIP,” he announced.

Marmaduke instantly joined in.

“SNIP SNIP.”

The boys clacked the tongs around the table, capturing sugar cubes and pretending to attack invisible sea creatures.

“Please stop snipping,” said Marjory.

“Crabs can’t stop,” Barry explained seriously.

A nearby businessman moved his laptop protectively.

Barry leaned closer to Marmaduke.

“We should hunt bigger prey.”

Alfie sensed danger immediately.

“You absolutely should not.”

Unfortunately, Barry had already spotted the towering cake stand on the neighbouring table.

Three levels of tiny cakes.

Delicate pastries.

Cream-filled perfection.

Barry rose slowly from his chair.

Like a meerkat preparing poor decisions.

“Sit down,” Alfie warned.

Barry reached out with the sugar tongs.

“SNIP.”

The tongs caught the edge of a napkin.

The napkin dragged a spoon.

The spoon nudged the cake stand.

And suddenly the entire thing tilted sideways in magnificent slow motion.

Parents know this moment well.

The moment when time slows and your soul quietly leaves your body.

The cakes slid gracefully through the air.

One landed in a teacup.

One struck Barry directly on the forehead.

One somehow attached itself to Marmaduke’s jumper like a cream-based medal of honour.

Silence filled the tea room.

Barry licked icing from his nose.

“That,” he said thoughtfully, “went worse than expected.”

Mrs Brand looked like she might simply dissolve into the carpet.

Marjory stared into the distance, perhaps imagining life as a shepherd in the mountains where children could not access pastries.

Alfie immediately stood up.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he told the horrified neighbouring table. “It was an accident.”

Then he handed over napkins with the calm dignity of a tiny exhausted solicitor.

The businessman blinked at him.

“You’re very responsible.”

“I know,” said Alfie heavily.

The waitress returned.

To her credit, she did not scream.

“It’s fine,” she said with the fragile smile of someone nearing retirement. “These things happen.”

“They absolutely should not,” muttered Mrs Brand.

Barry looked genuinely upset now.

“We didn’t mean to ruin the cakes.”

Marmaduke nodded miserably.

“We only meant to be crabs.”

And that was the difficult thing about Barry and Marmaduke.

They never meant harm.

Trouble simply followed them around like an enthusiastic golden retriever.

Mrs Brand softened slightly.

“Well,” she sighed, “at least nobody was hurt.”

At that exact moment, Barry sneezed powdered sugar across the table.

Alfie quietly handed everyone napkins again.

By late afternoon, the excitement had finally worn the boys out.

They wandered slowly toward the exit beneath enormous trees glowing gold in the evening sun.

Barry held his pirate hat.

Marmaduke carried a souvenir pencil shaped like a frog.

Alfie carried nearly everything else.

“You know,” said Marjory, “despite everything, it was actually rather lovely.”

Mrs Brand smiled tiredly. “It was.”

Barry looked up.

“Can we come back next Sunday?”

Both mothers answered immediately.

“No.”

The boys looked disappointed.

“Maybe when you’re older,” said Mrs Brand.

“How much older?” Barry asked.

She considered this carefully.

“Thirty.”

Marmaduke gasped.

“That’s nearly dead.”

Alfie sighed.

“Honestly.”

As they boarded the train home, Barry leaned sleepily against his brother.

“You’re good at sorting things out,” he mumbled.

Alfie straightened proudly.

“Well. Somebody has to be sensible.”

Barry thought about this.

“That sounds tiring.”

“It is.”

Marmaduke yawned hugely. “I liked the cakes,” he said.

“You wore one,” Alfie reminded him.

The train rattled through London while the sky turned orange outside.

Mrs Brand checked one final work email on her phone.

Marjory finally drank a cup of tea while it was still hot.

And for the first time all day, everybody sat quietly.

Then Barry looked up suddenly.

“Mum?”

“Yes?”

“What happens if a duck stands on a lily pad?”

Mrs Brand closed her eyes.

Alfie groaned.

And Marmaduke whispered, “I bet the duck becomes king of the pond.”

Which, honestly, sounded exactly like the sort of thing Barry planned to investigate next time.