The Gala

The first Sunday of the summer holidays was, according to the boys’  Primary School, the perfect day for the End of Year Swimming Gala.

This was because the teachers were clever.

Not clever enough to stop Year Two from eating glue.

Or Year One from putting raisins up their noses.

But clever enough to realise that if the gala happened during term time, half the children mysteriously developed “very important dentist appointments” exactly when swimming was scheduled.

So now the gala happened on the first Sunday of the holidays.

Children who hated swimming had the perfect excuse.

Children who loved swimming still came.

And children whose parents forgot to invent an excuse quickly enough ended up competing anyway.

It was, the headteacher proudly announced, “a wonderful compromise.”

Nobody knew what a compromise was.

It sounded itchy.

The Year Three bully wasn’t coming.

His family had apparently gone abroad.

This pleased almost everybody.

Especially Alfie Brand.

Now, Alfie wasn’t pleased because someone had gone abroad. That would have been rather unkind, and Alfie specialised in not being unkind.

Alfie was eight years old, sensible, serious and believed rules existed for excellent reasons.

If a sign said WALK, Alfie walked.

If it said DON’T RUN, Alfie didn’t even think quickly.

He liked swimming because swimming had rules.

Water safety had even more rules.

Water safety, Alfie believed, was magnificent, and at the same time, common sense. 

He had been invited to represent the school for the very first time.

He liked being invited.

He liked swimming.

He liked that nobody was going to spend the day trying to dunk him underwater.

Frankly, everything was looking splendid.

His little brother Barry had different priorities.

Barry was four.

Barry collected bruises the way other children collected stickers.

He was endlessly curious.

If someone said, “Don’t touch that,” Barry immediately had seventeen fascinating questions, beginning with “Why?” and ending with “Can I just poke it a tiny bit?”

His best friend Marmaduke was also four.

Marmaduke possessed many wonderful qualities.

Thinking independently was not one of them.

If Barry announced they should investigate something dangerous, Marmaduke usually replied,

“All right then.”

Marjory, Marmaduke’s mum, described him as “enthusiastic.”

Everyone else described him as “Barry’s faithful sidekick.”

The parents’ WhatsApp group had been particularly dramatic all week.

HOT.

VERY HOT.

THE SPECTATOR AREA IS LIKE THE INSIDE OF A TOASTER.

TAKE WATER.

TAKE SNACKS.

TAKE YOUR WILL TO LIVE.

One message simply read:

IT IS SO NOISY.

Nobody knew why it needed capital letters… Until they arrived.

The swimming pool echoed like someone had trapped five hundred enthusiastic parrots inside a biscuit tin.

Parents cheered.

Whistles blew.

Babies cried.

Someone dropped a metal water bottle every twelve minutes.

Mrs. Brand immediately understood the capital letters.

She handed Barry a pair of bright green ear defenders.

Mr. Brand handed another pair to Marmaduke.

“There,” he said.

“These will protect your ears.”

Barry nodded.

“What?”

Mr. Brand sighed.

“They’re already working.”

The races began.

Parents leaned over railings shouting things like,

“GO ON, OLIVER!”

“KICK!”

“USE YOUR ARMS!”

“NO, YOUR OWN ARMS!”

Alfie concentrated beautifully.

His front crawl was tidy.

His turns were careful.

His goggles stayed on.

His parents watched proudly.

Which meant nobody was properly watching Barry.

This was, historically speaking, a mistake.

Barry tugged Marmaduke’s sleeve.

“I’M GOING EXPLORING!”

“I SAID I’M COMING TOO!”

“No, I said I’M GOING EXPLORING!”

“I KNOW! I’M COMING!”

Neither realised they were having completely different conversations because the ear defenders made everyone sound as though they lived inside a wardrobe.

The pair wandered away.

Past the vending machines.

Past the lifeguard office.

Past a sign reading:

BABY POOL

It was only fifty centimetres deep.

Perfect for toddlers.

Barry peered into the water.

“Oh.”

A tiny bee floated helplessly on the surface, legs waving desperately.

Barry gasped.

“IT’S DROWNING!”

Marmaduke looked.

“WHO’S FROWNING?”

“THE BEE!”

“THE SEA?”

“THE BEE!”

“CHEESE?”

Barry gave up.

Some conversations simply weren’t worth having.

He knelt beside the water.

“We have to save it.”

He searched his pockets.

A toy dinosaur.

Three pebbles.

Half a biscuit.

A mysterious feather.

Nothing useful.

The bee paddled bravely.

Barry stretched further.

A little further.

Just…

One…

More…

Inch…

His trainers slipped.

His bottom disappeared.

His arms windmilled.

Then—

SPLOSH!

Barry vanished into the baby pool.

Fortunately, the pool was shallow.

Unfortunately, Barry had landed sitting down.

The water exploded upwards.

His shorts.

His T-shirt.

His socks.

His pants.

Everything was soaked.

His ear defenders remained perfectly in place.

Barry stood up dramatically.

“I’M WET!”

Marmaduke nodded seriously.

“I BET!”

“I SAID I’M WET!”

“I KNOW YOU MET SOMEONE!”

Barry pointed furiously at himself.

“WET!”

“BREAD?”

“WET!”

“RED?”

After several increasingly loud misunderstandings, Marmaduke finally noticed Barry dripping like a recently washed Labrador.

“Oh.”

“YOU ARE WET.”

The bee, meanwhile, had floated towards the edge.

Barry spotted it.

“It’s alive!”

He carefully scooped it onto his finger.

The tiny creature clung there, exhausted.

Barry smiled.

“There you go.”

Marmaduke leaned very close.

“I THINK IT SAID THANK YOU.”

“It didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Bees don’t talk.”

“Oh.”

Pause.

“…Do they?”

Barry considered this.

“They probably do.”

“Maybe just not English.”

“I expect they speak… Bee.”

Marmaduke accepted this immediately.

“That makes sense.”

Unfortunately, another small problem arrived.

Barry’s shoes now made squelching noises.

Every step went—

SQUELCH.

SQUISH.

SPLURP.

He grinned.

“This is brilliant.”

Marmaduke copied the walk.

Soon both boys were marching proudly around the pool sounding like two cheerful puddles.

SQUELCH.

SQUISH.

SPLURP.

A lifeguard spotted them.

“Excuse me!”

Barry looked up.

“What?”

“You’ve fallen in.”

“I KNOW!”

“You should tell your parents.”

“I SMELL MY PARENTS?”

“No! TELL!”

“I’M VERY WELL!”

The lifeguard blinked.

“Oh.”

Ear defenders.

Of course.

He gently lifted one side.

“You need your mum.”

Barry nodded.

“Right.”

Then he replaced the ear defender and immediately wandered in completely the wrong direction.

Back in the competition pool, Alfie had just finished another race.

He climbed out.

His parents applauded enthusiastically.

Mrs. Brand turned.

“Where’s Barry?”

Silence.

Mr. Brand looked left.

Then right.

Marjory looked around.

“Where’s Marmaduke?”

Parents exchanged The Look.

Every parent knows The Look.

It means,

“We’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Barry and Marmaduke eventually found the spectators.

By following the sound.

Or rather, by following where they imagined the sound probably was.

Barry’s clothes dripped across the tiled floor.

People turned.

One lady quietly moved her handbag.

Just in case.

Mrs. Brand finally spotted them.

“Oh my goodness!”

She hurried over.

“What happened?”

Barry proudly announced,

“I SAVED A BEE!”

Mrs. Brand removed one ear defender.

“You… what?”

“I saved a bee.”

She looked at his dripping clothes.

“You fell in.”

“Only a little.”

“The pool is over there.”

“I know.”

“You walked all the way here soaking wet.”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

Barry thought this was a peculiar question.

“Because this is where you are.”

Mr. Brand pinched the bridge of his nose.

Marjory looked at Marmaduke.

“What happened?”

Marmaduke smiled.

“Barry saved the bee.”

“And then?”

“He got wet.”

“And then?”

“We walked.”

“And then?”

“…I think that’s everything.”

Considering Marmaduke’s usual storytelling, it probably was.

Alfie arrived carrying his towel.

He looked at Barry.

Barry looked back.

Water dripped onto Alfie’s trainers.

Alfie closed his eyes for three whole seconds.

“Barry.”

“Yes?”

“You went into water.”

“Yes.”

“Fully clothed.”

“Yes.”

“You know swimming costumes exist?”

“Yes.”

“You chose not to use one?”

“I wasn’t planning to swim.”

Alfie opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

Then finally said,

“…I suppose that’s technically true.”

The lifeguard wandered over.

“Everything’s fine.”

He smiled kindly.

“He was actually trying to rescue a bee.”

Mrs. Brand laughed despite herself.

“He was?”

The lifeguard nodded.

“Very determined.”

Barry puffed out his chest.

“It survived.”

“That’s the important bit.”

Alfie looked at his little brother.

He knew Barry collected disasters the way squirrels collected nuts.

Usually by accident.

Occasionally on purpose.

But this time…

This time Barry had only been trying to help.

That counted.

“Well,” Alfie said, “next time perhaps use something long to lift the bee out.”

Barry nodded seriously.

“Like Marmaduke.”

“What?”

“You’re long.”

Marmaduke looked delighted.

“I AM!”

The final relay race began.

Alfie swam beautifully.

His team finished second.

He received a shiny silver medal.

Barry clapped louder than anybody.

Mostly because he still had his ear defenders on and had absolutely no idea how loud he was being.

Parents several rows away turned around.

Barry beamed proudly.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER!”

H

Half the building heard.

Alfie turned bright pink.

Then smiled anyway.

Because it was rather nice.

Even if it was spectacularly embarrassing.

Outside, the evening air finally felt cool.

Everyone carried bags.

Towels.

Water bottles.

Half-eaten sandwiches.

Children.

Barry wore dry clothes borrowed from lost property.

The trousers were too big.

The T-shirt said:

PROPERTY OF WEST LONDON WATER POLO CLUB.

Nobody questioned it.

The bee appeared again.

Or perhaps it was another bee.

Barry liked believing it was the same one.

It buzzed once around his head before flying into the sunshine.

“There it goes.”

Marmaduke waved.

“Bye, Bee!”

Alfie smiled.

“You know, bees are important.”

“I know.”

“They help flowers grow.”

“I know.”

“They’re worth looking after.”

“I know.”

Barry grinned.

“I just don’t think they should do swimming.”

Mr. Brand laughed.

Mrs. Brand laughed.

Even Alfie laughed.

Marmaduke laughed too.

Although, truthfully, he wasn’t entirely certain why.

He simply knew that if Barry was laughing…

…it was probably the correct answer.

And somewhere, perhaps in a flowerbed beside the swimming centre, one rather damp bee probably agreed.