It was the penultimate week before the summer holidays, and Miss Patel stood in front of her preschool class with the sort of smile that usually meant either exciting news or paperwork.
For four-year-old Barry, paperwork sounded impossible, so he assumed it must be exciting news.
“Tomorrow,” announced Miss Patel, “we are going on our final trip of the year.”
The children cheered.
“We’re going to Hampstead Heath.” The children cheered again.
Most of them had absolutely no idea what Hampstead Heath was, but cheering seemed the safest option.
“It’s one of London’s most important green spaces,” Miss Patel continued.
“People sometimes call places like this the lungs of London because all the trees help clean the air.”
Barry raised his hand.
“Can London breathe?”
“No, Barry.”
“Then why does it have lungs?”
“It doesn’t actually have lungs.”
“Then that’s lying.”
Miss Patel took a deep breath.
It was going to be one of those days.
The next day, at home, Barry’s mum was typing furiously on a laptop while balancing a mug of coffee that had gone cold sometime during the previous government.
His dad was on a work call.
Alfie, Barry’s eight-year-old brother, was eating breakfast and reading a book about volcanoes.
Nobody noticed Barry trying to see how many cereal hoops could fit onto his ears.
The answer, unfortunately, was twelve.
“Barry,” said Alfie without looking up, “you’re going on a school trip. Try not to get banned from nature.”
“Can you get banned from nature?”
“I don’t know,” said Alfie. “But if anyone could manage it, it’d be you.”
By ten o’clock the preschool class had arrived at Hampstead Heath.
The enormous green space stretched across North London with rolling hills, woodland, meadows and ponds.
There were ancient trees, winding paths and enough wildlife to make a pigeon feel underachieving.
Some of the ponds had originally been reservoirs centuries ago, and today they supported ducks, frogs, dragonflies and all sorts of creatures.
Barry looked around. “It doesn’t look like lungs.”
“Because it’s a park,” said Miss Patel.
“A park pretending to be lungs.”
“Close enough.”
Barry’s best friend, Marmaduke stood beside him.
Marmaduke was very easy to lead.
If Barry announced that penguins lived in shoe shops, Marmaduke would probably ask whether they preferred trainers or sandals.
If Barry claimed the moon was made of mashed potato, Marmaduke would wonder if it needed gravy.
The friendship worked beautifully.
For Barry.
Less so for everyone else.
The children followed Miss Patel along a path lined with trees.
Birds sang overhead.
Squirrels darted through the branches.
The sun shone through the leaves.
“These trees are important,” said Miss Patel. “They absorb carbon dioxide and release oxygen.”
Barry nodded thoughtfully.
“So they’re doing homework.”
“No.”
“They’re working.”
“Sort of.”
“Do they get paid?”
“No.”
Barry looked outraged.
“That’s unfair.”
The class stopped beside a meadow buzzing with insects.
Miss Patel pointed out bees collecting pollen.
Marmaduke stared in amazement.
“They’re tiny helicopters.”
“Not helicopters,” said Miss Patel.
“Bee-copters.”
“No.”
“Helibees?”
“No.”
Barry liked Helibees much better.
For nearly an hour everything went surprisingly well.
The children stayed together.
Nobody climbed a tree.
Nobody attempted to adopt a squirrel.
Nobody asked whether worms had birthdays.
Miss Patel began to believe the trip might actually be relaxing.
This was her first mistake.
The second mistake happened when they reached one of the famous ponds.
There were many ponds across Hampstead Heath, fed by natural springs and surrounded by trees and wildlife. Some were reserved for swimming and had been used for bathing for generations.
The water sparkled in the sunshine.
A few swimmers moved slowly through the pond.
Barry stopped walking.
His eyes widened.
His brain, unfortunately, started working.
This was never a good sign.
“Miss Patel?”
“Yes, Barry?”
“Why are people swimming in a pond?”
“Because it’s a bathing pond.”
“A pond for baths?”
“Sort of.”
“Do they bring rubber ducks?”
“No.”
“Shampoo?”
“No.”
“Submarines?”
“No.”
Barry looked disappointed.
Miss Patel gathered the children.
“Everyone stay together. We are only looking.”
“Looking,” repeated the children.
“Not touching.”
“Not touching.”
“Not swimming.”
“Not swimming.”
Barry repeated it too.
Which was exactly what worried Miss Patel.
The class moved on.
Barry moved on.
Marmaduke moved on.
Then Barry spotted something shiny near a bush.
It was a dragonfly.
Its wings flashed blue in the sunlight.
“Oooooh,” said Barry.
Marmaduke agreed.
“Oooooh.”
The dragonfly flew away.
Barry followed.
Marmaduke followed Barry.
The dragonfly flew further.
Barry followed further.
Marmaduke followed further.
Within thirty seconds they were completely lost.
Not properly lost.
The sort of lost where you can still hear your teacher but have absolutely no idea which direction she is.
“Where are we?” asked Marmaduke.
“Exploring.”
“I think we’re lost.”
“No we’re not.”
Barry turned in a circle.
Everything looked exactly the same.
Trees.
Grass.
More trees.
Even more grass.
Nature had clearly copied and pasted itself.
“We’re slightly lost.”
“I knew it.”
Then they saw a sign.
BATHING POND
This was exciting.
Mainly because Barry couldn’t read properly and thought it said BATTLING POND.
“A fighting pond!” he whispered.
Marmaduke gasped.
“With swordfish?”
“Probably.”
They crept closer.
Instead of swordfish, they found water.
Lots of water.
Deep green water surrounded by trees.
A few swimmers were climbing ladders into the pond.
The place looked peaceful.
Calm.
Relaxing.
Which should have been a warning.
Barry usually caused problems in places that looked peaceful.
“I wonder how deep it is,” said Barry.
“Very deep.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s pond-coloured.”
This made perfect sense to Marmaduke.
Barry leaned over.
A duck quacked.
Barry jumped.
His foot slipped.
His arms windmilled.
His face became the face people make when they suddenly realise gravity is not a suggestion.
Then—
SPLOOSH!
Barry disappeared into the water.
For one terrible second there was silence.
Then Marmaduke screamed.
“BARRY HAS BECOME A FISH!”
Several swimmers turned around.
A lifeguard turned around.
Three ducks turned around.
Barry surfaced.
“IT’S COLD!”
The lifeguard reacted immediately.
Within moments Barry was guided safely to the edge and helped out.
The entire adventure had lasted less than twenty seconds.
Barry was completely unharmed.
Just very wet.
And very surprised.
His hair stuck up in eleven different directions.
Marmaduke ran over.
“Are you a fish now?”
“No.”
“Part fish?”
“No.”
“Any fish powers?”
Barry considered this.
“No.”
“Oh.”
Marmaduke seemed genuinely disappointed.
By now Miss Patel had arrived at approximately the speed of panic.
She looked at Barry.
She looked at the pond.
She looked back at Barry.
“Barry.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you wet?”
Barry thought carefully.
“Mostly water.”
Miss Patel closed her eyes.
Somewhere inside her head, tiny emergency alarms were ringing.
“Did you fall in?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There was a duck.”
“The duck pushed you?”
“No.”
“The duck tricked you?”
“Maybe.”
Miss Patel wasn’t ruling anything out.
The preschool assistant wrapped Barry in an emergency blanket, whilst she found the emergency dry boys clothes she’d packed in her rucksack.
Marmaduke stared.
“He looks like a baked potato.”
Barry did look slightly like a baked potato.
An annoyed baked potato.
Once everyone had calmed down, Miss Patel gathered the class beneath a huge oak tree.
“Let’s talk about what we’ve learned today.”
A little girl raised her hand.
“Trees are important.”
“Excellent.”
Another child raised his hand.
“Ponds help wildlife.”
“Very good.”
Barry raised his hand.
Miss Patel hesitated.
“Yes, Barry?”
“Don’t surprise ducks.”
“Close enough.”
The class spent the rest of the afternoon exploring safely.
They spotted butterflies.
They listened to birds.
They learned about habitats.
Miss Patel explained how Hampstead Heath provides space for wildlife and people in the middle of a busy city, helping both nature and humans thrive together.
Barry even managed nearly forty-five consecutive minutes without causing an incident.
This was considered a remarkable achievement.
Scientists would probably have wanted to study it.
When the trip ended, the children returned home.
Alfie opened the front door.
He looked at Barry.
Barry was still carrying the emergency blanket.
“Why are you dressed like a burrito?”
Barry puffed out his chest.
“I fell into a pond.”
Alfie sighed.
Of course he had.
At dinner, Mum and Dad finally heard the whole story.
“You fell into a bathing pond?” said Mrs Brand.
“Yes.”
“Were you hurt?”
“No.”
“Were you scared?”
“A little.”
“Were you being sensible?”
Barry looked confused.
“You mean before or after?”
Dad laughed.
Alfie did not.
Alfie rarely laughed at Barry’s adventures.
Mostly because he knew they could easily become his responsibility one day.
“One day,” said Alfie, “you’re going to get into trouble that isn’t funny.”
Barry thought about this.
“Today was funny.”
“Yes.”
“So I’ll worry tomorrow.”
That evening, as Barry got ready for bed, he looked out of the window.
Far away, beyond the rooftops and streets of London, the trees of Hampstead Heath were turning golden in the setting sun.
The great green space sat quietly among the busy city, helping wildlife, helping people, and apparently helping four-year-olds discover what pond water felt like.
Barry smiled.
He had learned lots.
Trees were important.
Nature was beautiful.
Ducks were suspicious.
And bathing ponds were much colder than they looked.
Especially when you fell into them unexpectedly.
“Goodnight,” he whispered to his open door.
Then he paused.
“Although if I ever become a fish, Marmaduke gets first told.”
And with that, Barry fell asleep.
Probably dreaming about battling ponds, swordfish and highly suspicious ducks.
The ducks, meanwhile, were almost certainly dreaming about Barry.
Alfie, Barry and Marmaduke Stories 
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