Half term heat wave

The hottest day of half term had arrived in London.

Actually, that wasn’t quite true.

Every day that week had been the hottest day of half term.

Monday had been the hottest.

Then Tuesday had rudely beaten it.

Wednesday had marched in and said, “Move over.”

Thursday had practically melted.

And now it was Friday, and even the pigeons looked annoyed.

The family’s little house felt like someone had wrapped it in a giant electric blanket and forgotten to switch it off.

Barry, who was four years old and professionally curious, lay spread across the living room floor.

He looked like a starfish that had given up.

Next to him lay his best friend Marmaduke.

Marmaduke was also four.

If Barry suggested climbing Everest, Marmaduke would probably just ask whether they needed snacks.

Today, however, neither boy had enough energy to climb anything.

“We’re melting,” said Barry.

“I’ve melted already,” said Marmaduke.

“You still look the same.”

“That’s because I melted neatly.”

Alfie, Barry’s now eight-year-old brother, was sitting upright on the sofa reading a book.

Even in the heat, he somehow looked sensible.

It was one of his most irritating qualities.

“We’re not melting,” said Alfie. “Humans can’t melt.”

Barry narrowed his eyes.

“How do you know?”

“Science, I thought you’d know that.”

Alfie always had an answer.

Usually the correct one, which somehow made it worse.

Their mum was typing furiously on her laptop at the dining table.

Barry sighed.

Their dad was on a work call upstairs.

Both parents were trying very hard to work despite the fact that the weather had transformed the house into a large, slightly sticky toaster.

This meant neither parent was paying much attention to Barry.

Which, as I’m sure you’ve realised by now, was rarely a good sign.

Barry rolled onto his stomach and peered through the open back door.

The garden shimmered in the heat.

The grass looked tired.

The flowers looked tired.

Even the garden gnome appeared to have a redder face and be sweating slightly.

And there, near the shed, was Mousey.

The family’s favourite garden mouse.

Mousey usually zipped about like a tiny furry rocket.

Today he waddled.

Barry sat up.

“That’s odd.”

Marmaduke sat up too.

“What?”

“Mousey.”

The boys watched.

Mousey squeezed under a flowerpot.

Or at least tried to.

His middle section appeared to object.

Eventually he popped through with a small bounce.

“He’s round,” said Barry.

“He is round,” agreed Marmaduke.

“He wasn’t that round before.”

“He definitely wasn’t.”

Alfie glanced over his book.

“Maybe he’s been eating.”

Barry gasped.

“A mystery.”

“It isn’t a mystery.”

“A VERY mysterious mystery.”

Alfie returned to reading.

He had learned long ago that arguing with Barry only encouraged him.

Outside, Mousey waddled across the garden carrying something in his mouth. 

Barry squinted.

“A berry.”

Mousey disappeared behind the shed.

A few moments later he returned.

Then he carried another berry.

And another.

And another.

“Interesting,” said Barry.

“It is,” said Marmaduke.

Neither boy knew why it was interesting.

But it certainly looked like the sort of thing that might become an adventure.

And Barry never liked missing those.

Later that evening the temperature refused to go down.

The bedrooms felt like greenhouses.

The beds felt hot.

The pillows felt hot.

Even the toothpaste seemed weirdly warm.

Nobody liked it.

Especially not Barry.

At bedtime he lay on top of his duvet.

Then underneath it.

Then sideways.

Then upside down.

Then diagonally.

Eventually Mum appeared.

“Barry, what are you doing?”

“I’m finding the cold bit.”

“There isn’t a cold bit.”

Barry looked horrified.

“Then we’re doomed.”

Across the landing, Alfie was lying perfectly still.

“Just go to sleep,” he called.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s too hot.”

“Close your eyes.”

“It’ll still be hot.”

This was difficult to argue with.

Downstairs, Dad was placing bowls of ice in front of a fan after reading an article online.

Nobody knew whether it would work.

Modern parenting often involves trying things you found on the internet and hoping they aren’t ridiculous.

The fan blew chilly air.

Everyone cheered.

Then ten minutes later the ice melted.

Everyone stopped cheering.

By nine o’clock nobody was asleep.

By ten o’clock nobody was happy.

At half past ten, Barry sat up.

He could hear something.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch.

He tiptoed to the window.

Below, in the moonlit garden, Mousey was still working.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Carrying berries.

Carrying seeds.

Carrying leaves.

Carrying absolutely everything that wasn’t nailed down.

Barry’s eyes widened.

Mousey was preparing for something.

Something important.

The next morning Barry and Marmaduke launched an investigation.

Which mostly involved following Mousey around while trying not to be noticed.

This was difficult because Barry whispered like a foghorn.

“THERE HE GOES,” Barry whispered.

Mousey froze.

Marmaduke nodded. He had let himself into the house for breakfast again.

“Very sneaky.”

Mousey hurried behind the shed again.

The boys crept after him.

And discovered something remarkable.

A huge pile of supplies.

Berries.

Seeds.

Twigs.

Leaves.

Bits of fluff.

A feather.

Half a biscuit.

A button.

Nobody knew why mice needed buttons.

Mousey sat proudly atop his pile.

Barry stared.

Marmaduke stared.

Mousey stared back.

Then he grabbed another leaf and shoved it onto the heap.

“He knows something,” said Barry.

“He definitely knows something.”

Alfie arrived moments later.

The boys explained their theory.

Mousey was clearly preparing for an emergency.

Alfie examined the pile.

Then he examined the sky.

Then he thought.

This was another irritating habit.

He often thought before speaking.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “he’s trying to make his nest cooler.”

Barry blinked.

“What?”

“The weather’s hot.”

“So?”

“So perhaps mice don’t like sleeping when it’s hot either.”

The boys looked at Mousey.

Mousey looked exhausted.

His fur was slightly scruffy.

His eyes looked sleepy.

And his nest appeared to be hidden beneath a thick tangle of old leaves.

Barry frowned.

“You mean Mousey can’t sleep?”

Alfie nodded.

“Probably.”

That afternoon the heat became even worse.

The house trapped every bit of sunshine.

By teatime everyone felt floppy.

Even Alfie.

Although he would never admit it.

Then Barry noticed something.

Mousey had stopped collecting food.

Now he was dragging damp leaves.

Wet leaves.

Cold leaves.

Leaves he’d clearly soaked somewhere.

Barry’s mouth fell open.

“He’s cooling his house!”

Alfie smiled.

“Looks like it.”

Barry sat very still.

For nearly five seconds.

Then inspiration struck.

The dangerous kind.

“WE NEED TO HELP HIM.”

Marmaduke immediately agreed.

Because of course they did.

Within minutes the boys had gathered a bucket.

A watering can.

Several old towels.

Three toy dinosaurs.

And, somehow, a saucepan.

Nobody was entirely sure why.

“What’s the saucepan for?” asked Alfie.

Barry considered this.

“I don’t know.”

“Then why do you have it?”

“It felt important.”

The operation began.

They dampened leaves.

They moved sticks.

They carried tiny pieces of moss.

They built a shaded area beside Mousey’s nest.

To everyone’s surprise, Mousey seemed delighted.

Or at least as delighted as a disheveled mouse can look.

Which is mostly just slightly less worried.

For a while the boys worked happily.

Then Barry noticed something else.

The house.

Their own house.

The brick walls.

The windows.

The baking-hot bedrooms.

A terrible thought occurred.

“What if we’re all Mousey?”

Nobody answered.

“We’re hot.”

“Yes,” said Alfie.

“Mousey’s hot.”

“Yes.”

“Nobody can sleep.”

“Yes.”

Barry pointed dramatically.

“The whole family needs a cooler nest.”

Now, many of Barry’s ideas were terrible.

One memorable suggestion had involved keeping a pigeon as a chauffeur.

Another had involved testing whether jam could be used as hair gel.

This idea, however, was unexpectedly sensible.

Or at least partly sensible.

The family gathered for an emergency meeting.

Dad produced a notepad.

Mostly because meetings feel more official when someone has a notepad.

Barry explained Mousey’s strategy.

Shade.

Cool air.

Damp things.

Less heat.

Mum listened.

Dad listened.

Alfie added useful details.

Marmaduke contributed by eating a biscuit.

Eventually a plan formed.

During the evening they closed curtains before the sun hit the windows.

They opened windows on opposite sides of the house.

They placed fans carefully.

They chilled water bottles.

They used lighter bedding.

Dad even found an old cooling mat that had been forgotten in a cupboard.

Nobody remembered buying it. It looked like one you’d buy for a fluffy dog to lie on.

That night the house felt different.

Not cold.

London wasn’t performing miracles.

But cooler.

Bearable.

The sort of temperature where humans could imagine sleeping without becoming soup.

Barry lay in bed.

Alfie lay in bed.

Mum and Dad lay in bed.

Even Marmaduke, back at his own house, was reportedly attempting sleep.

Outside, Mousey settled into his improved nest.

Everything was quiet.

Everything was peaceful.

Everything was—

CRASH.

Barry sat upright.

A tremendous noise came from downstairs.

Doors opened.

Lights switched on.

Footsteps thundered.

The family rushed into the kitchen.

There stood the culprit.

Mousey.

Frozen.

Beside an overturned bowl.

Apparently he had sneaked indoors.

Apparently he had discovered a bowl of fruit.

Apparently he had become overconfident.

The family stared.

Mousey stared.

A grape rolled slowly across the floor.

Barry burst out laughing.

Dad laughed.

Mum laughed.

Even Alfie smiled.

Mousey looked deeply embarrassed.

Which is difficult for a mouse but not impossible.

Barry crouched down.

“Too many snacks?”

Mousey twitched his whiskers.

The answer seemed obvious.

All week Mousey had been collecting food and preparing his nest.

No wonder he’d become round.

The family understood.

After all, they’d eaten quite a lot of ice cream themselves.

Dad gently carried the fruit bowl somewhere safer.

Mousey scurried back to the garden.

And finally everyone returned to bed.

This time sleep arrived.

Slowly.

Comfortably.

Like a friendly visitor.

The house settled.

The fans hummed.

The night air drifted through open windows.

And for the first time all week, everyone slept.

Well.

Almost everyone.

At sunrise Barry woke first.

Naturally.

He ran to the window.

Mousey was outside.

Looking much happier.

Looking cooler.

And still looking slightly round.

Barry grinned.

The mystery had been solved.

The mouse had taught them all how to sleep…. And how to wake up in a hurry too! 

Although, Barry decided, Mousey might still need to cut down on the grapes.

Some lessons take longer than others.