Ballistic

There are moments in parenting when you make a decision that seems perfectly sensible.

“I’ll just pop to the shop.”

Six famous last words.

On this particular morning, Alfie needed some new sports socks before the summer holiday clubs started. Not football socks. Not rugby socks. Not running socks. Just… sports socks.

Apparently there are differences.

Alfie had found the perfect pack a few weeks before at JD Sports and had proudly announced, “I’d like exactly the same ones again.”

He was eight years old. Of course he’d researched sports socks.

Mr Brand looked at the request.

“Easy job. Twenty minutes.”

Mrs Brand raised one eyebrow. Parents know that eyebrows can say entire paragraphs.

“You could leave Barry and Marmaduke here,” she suggested while opening her laptop. “They’re happily playing.”

Barry and Marmaduke looked up from arranging cereal boxes into what Barry insisted was “an emergency snack fortress.”

Mr Brand smiled confidently.

“They’ll be fine.”

Mrs Brand’s eyebrow climbed even higher.

“You’re taking three children into a sports shop.”

“It’s early. It’ll be quiet.”

“It won’t stay quiet.”

“They’ll listen.”

Mrs Brand glanced at Barry, who had somehow put two bananas into the hood of his jumper “for later.”

“They don’t even listen to gravity.”

“Nonsense.”

“Take your phone.”

“I always do.”

“And don’t lose Marmaduke.”

“I’ve never lost Marmaduke.”

“You’ve misplaced him.”

“That was once.”

“It was twice.”

“He came back.”

“He was in the garden centre fish section.”

“They were interesting fish.”

Mrs Brand sighed.

“Good luck.”

Marmaduke had actually arrived at the Brand house at about half past six that morning.

Nobody knew why he was always so cheerful before seven o’clock.

His mum, Marjory, had smiled apologetically.

“He woke up at five asking whether worms sleep standing up. I thought you might enjoy him.”

Mrs Brand had laughed.

“We’ll swap him for Barry at bedtime.”

While the adults made coffee, Marmaduke had quietly laid the breakfast table.

Knives and forks.

Bowls.

Cups.

Even the napkins.

“He’s such a lovely helper,” Mrs Brand said.

Barry nodded.

“He is.”

Then added thoughtfully,

“That’s why I keep him.”

At 9:45 they arrived at JD Sports.

Mr Brand was right.

The shop was almost empty.

It stretched on forever.

Rows and rows of trainers.

Walls covered in football shirts.

Basketball hoops.

Golf clubs.

Cricket bats.

Tennis rackets.

Running gear.

Swimming things. Floaty things! 

Exercise machines.

If there was a sport involving standing on one leg while throwing a cabbage through a tyre, this shop probably sold the equipment.

Mr Brand crouched down.

“Right.”

Three children looked at him.

“Alfie and I need socks.”

Alfie nodded seriously.

“The black ones with the grey heel.”

Mr Brand continued.

“Barry.”

“Yes?”

“Marmaduke.”

“Yes?”

“You must stay inside the shop.”

“We will.”

“No running.”

“We won’t.”

“No touching expensive things.”

“We won’t.”

“No climbing.”

“Nope.”

“And absolutely no pressing buttons.”

Barry looked innocent.

“What buttons?”

“The buttons you haven’t found yet.”

“Oh.”

“Just look around.”

“We can do looking,” said Marmaduke.

“We’re experts,” Barry agreed.

Mr Brand disappeared with Alfie towards the mountain of socks.

For nearly four whole minutes…

everything went beautifully.

Barry and Marmaduke wandered politely.

“Ooh!”

“Hats!”

There were baseball caps.

Bucket hats.

Running caps.

Sun hats.

Beanies.

One hat had such a flat peak that Barry whispered,

“It looks like a shelf.”

Marmaduke giggled.

“You could put toast on it.”

They both imagined someone eating breakfast from their own forehead.

Children find this hilarious.

Adults pretend they don’t.

Next they discovered badminton rackets.

Barry gently bounced a shuttlecock into the air.

Tap.

Marmaduke tapped it back.

Tap.

The world’s quietest rally began.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

An elderly man choosing walking shoes smiled.

“They’re quite good.”

Barry puffed out his chest.

“I’ve been playing for nearly twenty-seven seconds.”

Eventually they wandered into another aisle.

There it stood.

Tall.

Bright orange.

Magnificent.

A tennis ball launcher.

Barry stared.

“What does that do?”

Marmaduke read the picture.

“I think…”

Neither of them could actually read.

“…it makes tennis.”

“Wow.”

There was a basket of tennis balls.

There was a machine.

There was…

…a very tempting green button.

Barry remembered.

“No pressing buttons.”

He looked around.

Mr Brand couldn’t be seen.

Alfie couldn’t be seen.

The shop assistant was helping someone buy football boots.

Barry frowned.

“What if…”

Marmaduke leaned closer.

“What?”

“What if the button isn’t a button?”

“It definitely is.”

“But… what if it’s pretending?”

Marmaduke considered this astonishing possibility.

“That’s sneaky.”

Barry nodded gravely.

“I think we should check.”

For science.

Barry pressed it.

Nothing happened.

He looked disappointed.

“It’s broken.”

Then…

WHIRRRRRRRR!

THUNK!

FWOOOOMP!

A tennis ball shot across the shop at astonishing speed.

It bounced off a display of hoodies.

BOING!

Hit a trainer.

PING!

Rolled under a bench.

Barry blinked.

“That…”

said Marmaduke.

“…was brilliant.”

WHIRRRR!

THUNK!

FWOOOOMP!

Another ball flew.

This one bounced between two mannequins before gently landing inside a shopping basket belonging to a very surprised lady.

She looked into her basket.

Then around the shop.

Then back into her basket.

She seemed genuinely puzzled about where tennis balls usually came from.

Barry gasped.

“It’s making loads!”

Indeed it was.

Nobody had noticed that the launcher was set to automatic.

Every few seconds…

WHIRR!

FWOOOMP!

Another tennis ball.

One bounced off a sign saying SUMMER SALE.

Another landed neatly inside an empty trainer.

Another flew between the legs of a man trying on running shoes.

He looked around suspiciously.

“I don’t remember tennis being involved.”

Meanwhile…

Mr Brand and Alfie were comparing sock sizes.

“I think these are the right ones.”

Alfie examined the packet carefully.

“No, Dad.”

“Oh?”

“The logo is two millimetres smaller.”

Mr Brand looked.

“…How can you tell?”

“I measured it last time.”

Of course he had.

Back in the sports section…

The launcher continued its campaign against peaceful shopping.

A ball bounced gently off a stack of footballs.

Which rolled.

Into basketballs.

Which nudged yoga mats.

Which slowly flopped over like sleepy dominoes.

Nobody was hurt.

Everything was simply…

unexpected.

One assistant muttered,

“I swear that football moved.”

Barry finally spotted a little switch.

“Oh!”

He flicked it.

The launcher stopped.

Silence.

Barry smiled proudly.

“I fixed it.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“You’re basically an engineer.”

At that exact second…

Barry accidentally leaned against the launcher again.

WHIRRRRRR!

FWOOOOMP!

The machine had one last tennis ball hidden inside.

It flew majestically across the shop…

…landing perfectly inside a basketball hoop.

SWISH!

Everyone stopped.

There was a moment of respectful silence.

Even the assistant whispered,

“…Nice shot.”

Then Mr Brand arrived.

He looked at the scattered tennis balls.

The confused customers.

The launcher.

Barry.

Marmaduke.

Barry smiled brightly.

“We found the tennis.”

“I can see that.”

“It escaped.”

“I imagine it did.”

“We stopped it.”

“I imagine eventually.”

Marmaduke added helpfully,

“It was mostly science.”

A shop assistant walked over.

Mr Brand braced himself.

Instead, the assistant laughed.

“I wondered why customers kept appearing carrying random tennis balls.”

He looked at Barry.

“You two didn’t get hurt?”

Barry shook his head.

“No.”

“Did you mean to launch them?”

Barry thought carefully.

“Only the first one.”

“The others?”

“They were enthusiastic.”

The assistant tried not to laugh.

Failed.

Completely.

“It’s actually our demonstration machine. Someone must have left it switched to automatic.”

Barry looked impressed.

“So…”

“We’ll switch it off properly.”

“Can we help?”

“No.”

Mr Brand apologised.

The assistant waved it away.

“No damage done.”

He glanced around.

“Although I think we’ve accidentally started an indoor treasure hunt.”

Sure enough…

Customers kept discovering tennis balls.

One under a bench.

One inside a trainer.

One balanced on a pile of hoodies.

One sitting proudly in a shopping basket.

A little boy proudly held one up.

“Mum! The shop gave me a ball!”

His mum looked around.

“I don’t think it did.”

On the drive home, nobody spoke for several minutes.

Eventually Alfie sighed.

“I just wanted socks.”

“You got socks,” said Mr Brand.

“Yes.”

“And a story.”

“I didn’t want a story.”

Barry leaned forward.

“I think the tennis balls wanted freedom.”

“They’re tennis balls.”

“They looked trapped.”

“They were on a shelf.”

“Exactly.”

Marmaduke nodded wisely.

“They’ve seen the world now.”

When they got home, Mrs Brand looked up from her laptop.

“That was quick.”

Mr Brand smiled weakly.

“It was.”

“Everything go smoothly?”

Three children answered together.

“Yes!”

Mr Brand coughed.

“Mostly.”

Mrs Brand narrowed her eyes.

“What happened?”

Mr Brand hesitated.

“Define… happened.”

Barry answered instead.

“We accidentally improved the shopping experience.”

Mrs Brand looked at Mr Brand.

He looked at the ceiling.

Alfie quietly held up the packet of socks.

“I got exactly the right ones.”

“Wonderful.”

Mrs Brand looked back at Barry.

“And you?”

Barry smiled proudly.

“I learned that tennis ball launchers are much faster than tennis players.”

“And?”

“They should probably have bigger warning signs.”

“And?”

Barry thought.

“Buttons are still buttons.”

Mrs Brand nodded.

“Good lesson.”

Marmaduke added,

“And sports shops have loads of sports.”

“Yes…”

“We checked.”

Mrs Brand laughed despite herself.

“I don’t doubt it.”

That evening, after Marmaduke had gone home and the boys were in bed, Mr Brand made a cup of tea.

Mrs Brand smiled.

“So…”

He sighed.

“You were right.”

“I know.”

“They complicated buying socks.”

“I know.”

“They turned a twenty-minute shopping trip into an adventure.”

“I know.”

“They somehow weaponised tennis.”

“I definitely know.”

Mr Brand shook his head and laughed.

“You know… one day we’ll miss this.”

Mrs Brand smiled warmly.

“Probably.”

There was a pause.

“Although,” she admitted, “I don’t think I’ll ever miss wondering whether Barry has discovered a button.”

Upstairs, Barry was whispering to Alfie.

“Do you think shops have pancake launchers?”

Alfie pulled the duvet over his head.

“I really hope not.”

Somewhere across London, a JD Sports employee found one final tennis ball inside a display shoe and quietly placed it back in the basket.

Then he smiled.

Because every shop has ordinary Saturdays.

And then…

every so often…

Barry visits.