The Optician

Barry Brand was four years old and already considered himself an expert in most things.

Not because he actually knew much.

Quite the opposite.

Barry simply believed that if he spoke confidently enough, everyone else would assume he was right.

This had worked surprisingly well so far.

It was a Tuesday morning in the summer holidays, and Barry was standing on the kitchen worktop attempting to train a slice of toast to become a racing pigeon.

His mother was answering emails on her laptop.

His father was on a work call.

His big brother Alfie was reading a library book about volcanoes.

And Barry was explaining to the toast why flapping was important.

“Come on,” Barry encouraged. “You have to want it.”

The toast remained stubbornly toast-like.

“Maybe it’s tired,” said Marmaduke.

Marmaduke was Barry’s best friend and had been since almost birth. He was also four years old and possessed the remarkable ability to be persuaded into almost anything.

Barry could point at a puddle and say, “That’s actually a portal to Scotland.”

Marmaduke would nod thoughtfully.

“That explains a lot.”

Alfie lowered his book.

Nobody listened to Alfie nearly as much as they should. 

This annoyed him because he was usually right.

Not in an annoying way.

Well, perhaps slightly in an annoying way.

But still right.

That afternoon, a very important announcement was made.

“Barry,” said Mum.

“Yes?”

“You and Marmaduke are having your eyes tested tomorrow.”

Barry frowned.

“Why?”

“Because children usually have a sight test around your age.”

Barry considered this.

“Are my eyes broken?”

“No.”

“Are Marmaduke’s eyes broken?”

“No.”

“Then why are we checking them?”

His father smiled.

“That’s exactly why we check.”

Barry thought adults made things unnecessarily complicated.

If something wasn’t broken, why go looking for trouble?

The evening before the appointment, the adults sat in the garden with glasses of wine.

Barry and Marmaduke were supposed to be asleep.

Instead they were sitting at the top of the stairs listening.

Children often hear things they shouldn’t.

Parents know this.

Parents somehow still forget.

“We’re not taking them to our optician,” said Mum. 

“Absolutely not,” laughed Dad.

“They’d destroy the place.”

Marjory, Marmaduke’s mum, laughed too.

“The boys together? In that lovely quiet waiting room?”

There was a pause.

Everyone imagined it.

Nobody liked the image.

“We’ll take them to the Specsavers in Sainsbury’s.”

“Excellent,” said Dad.

“We can get shopping done.”

“And if the boys embarrass us,” said Marjory, “at least there will be witnesses.”

The adults laughed.

Barry did not appreciate this.

He felt unfairly judged.

He had only accidentally released three crabs into a garden centre.

And technically the ducks at Regent’s Park had started the biscuit fight.

The next afternoon Marjory arrived to collect the boys.

Barry was excited.

Marmaduke was excited.

Alfie looked concerned.

“Please behave,” said Alfie.

“We will.”

“You said that before the museum incident.”

Barry sighed.

People never let things go.

The dinosaur skeleton had survived.

Mostly.

The Sainsbury’s was enormous.

It seemed to stretch for miles.

Barry immediately became distracted by the moving walkway.

Then the bakery.

Then the toy section.

Then a display of melons that looked surprisingly like alien eggs.

By the time they reached Specsavers, Marjory already looked tired.

The waiting area was full.

There were grandparents.

Parents.

Babies.

Teenagers.

A man who appeared to be asleep.

And now Barry and Marmaduke.

The atmosphere changed immediately.

Like a peaceful pond moments before somebody threw in a firework.

A friendly receptionist smiled.

“Who’s first today?”

“Marmaduke,” said Marjory.

Barry nodded.

“I’ll help.”

Nobody asked him to.

This never stopped him.

Soon Marmaduke disappeared into the testing room.

Barry waited outside.

For approximately twelve seconds.

Then curiosity won.

Curiosity always won.

He pressed his face against the glass.

Inside, Marmaduke sat in a chair while an optician pointed at letters on a screen.

“What letter is that?”

“F,” said Marmaduke proudly.

“Excellent.”

Barry listened carefully.

This was useful information.

If he memorised all the answers, he would pass too.

Easy.

The test continued.

“What about this one?”

“T.”

“And this one?”

“S.”

Barry nodded.

He was collecting knowledge.

Like a squirrel.

Except instead of nuts it was letters.

Eventually Marmaduke emerged looking pleased.

“How was it?” asked Barry.

“I got lots right.”

“What were the answers?”

Marmaduke told him everything he could remember.

Barry listened intently.

This was even better.

Now he had insider information.

Adults loved insider information.

They called it research.

Five minutes later Barry’s turn arrived.

He marched confidently into the room.

The optician smiled.

“Hello Barry.”

“Hello.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Barry was extremely ready.

The optician pointed at the screen.

“What letter is this?”

Barry looked.

It wasn’t any of Marmaduke’s letters.

Interesting.

Perhaps this was a trick question.

“F.”

The optician tilted her head.

“Have another look.”

Barry looked again.

It was definitely not a F.

But Marmaduke had said F.

And Marmaduke had done well.

So clearly F was important.

“F.”

“Okay.”

The optician made a note.

Not a promising note.

She pointed again.

“What about this one?”

Barry smiled confidently.

“T.”

It wasn’t a T either.

The optician looked amused.

Barry didn’t notice.

He was busy succeeding.

The test continued.

Every time a new letter appeared, Barry searched his memory for Marmaduke’s answers.

F.

T.

S.

F again.

Sometimes T.

When in doubt, F.

The optician was trying very hard not to laugh.

Then she changed the test.

“Can you tell me what number this is?”

Barry froze.

Marmaduke hadn’t mentioned numbers.

This was unfair.

Nobody had briefed him.

“Eight?”

“It is three.”

Barry nodded.

“That’s what I meant.”

The optician wrote another note.

This note seemed even less promising.

Next came pictures.

A house.

A tree.

A boat.

A duck.

Barry relaxed.

Finally.

Something manageable.

Unfortunately he still decided to use Marmaduke’s strategy.

“What can you see?”

Barry squinted dramatically.

“Tree.”

“It is a boat.”

“Yes.”

The optician waited.

Barry waited.

The silence became awkward.

The optician eventually laughed.

Barry wasn’t sure why.

Soon the test was over.

The optician invited Marjory inside.

Barry sat proudly.

“I think I got nearly all of them.”

“Really?” asked the optician.

“Yes.”

“That’s fascinating.”

Barry beamed.

Adults loved his intelligence.

Then the optician turned to Marjory.

“Barry’s eyesight is actually perfectly normal.”

“That’s good.”

“Very good.”

The optician smiled at Barry.

“But I think he may have been trying to copy Marmaduke’s answers.”

Barry blinked.

Marjory looked at him.

Barry looked at the carpet.

The carpet suddenly became extremely interesting.

“He listened through the door, didn’t he?”

“Almost certainly.”

Marjory sighed.

“Barry.”

“I was helping.”

“Helping who?”

Barry thought about this.

He wasn’t entirely sure.

The optician laughed.

“The problem is that his questions weren’t the same.”

Barry frowned.

“They weren’t?”

“No.”

“Not even a bit?”

“No.”

Barry considered this betrayal.

Tests should be more consistent.

It seemed only fair.

Outside the room, Marmaduke waited.

“Did you get the same answers?”

“No,” said Barry.

“What happened?”

“They changed all the questions.”

Marmaduke gasped. “They can do that?”

Apparently they could.

The boys spent the next ten minutes discussing this shocking discovery.

Meanwhile Marjory attempted to finish the shopping.

Attempted being the important word.

Barry and Marmaduke helped by suggesting unnecessary purchases.

“We need biscuits.”

“No.”

“We need ice cream.”

“No.”

“We need a giant inflatable flamingo.”

“Definitely not.”

“What if it’s for safety?”

Marjory walked away before Barry could explain how an inflatable flamingo might prevent pirate attacks.

Eventually the shopping was finished.

Nobody needed glasses.

Nobody had broken anything.

By Barry’s standards, the afternoon had been a remarkable success.

That evening the families gathered in the Brands’ garden.

The adults enjoyed another glass of wine.

The children played nearby.

“How did it go?” asked Dad.

Marjory laughed immediately.

“Oh, Barry tried to cheat.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Barry looked offended.

“I was using information.”

Dad nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s a very corporate way of describing cheating.”

Mum laughed.

Alfie looked unsurprised.

“I knew he’d do something.”

“Thank you for your faith in me,” said Barry.

“You’re welcome.”

The adults heard the full story.

By the end everyone was laughing.

Even Barry.

A little.

Though he still felt the optician should have warned him about the different questions.

Alfie shook his head.

“Why didn’t you just answer what you could see?”

Barry stared at him.

Because sometimes Alfie genuinely didn’t understand how adventure worked.

“That would have been boring.”

“Being correct isn’t boring.”

“It is a bit.”

Alfie opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

Because deep down he knew this argument was impossible to win.

The sun began to set.

The adults chatted.

The boys chased each other around the garden.

And somewhere inside the house, a forgotten slice of toast sat on a plate.

Still not a pigeon.

Still not trying very hard.

Barry would probably investigate again tomorrow.

After all, curiosity was important.

Even if it occasionally resulted in trouble.

Actually, especially if it resulted in trouble.

Because trouble, Barry had discovered, was usually where the best stories began.

And if there was one thing Barry loved more than being right—

it was having a story to tell afterwards.