Football club part 1

The third Monday of the summer holidays arrived with all the elegance of a shopping trolley with one wonky wheel.

Mrs Brand was already answering emails before she’d finished her coffee. Mr Brand was reading a legal document while simultaneously looking for his car keys, which, for reasons no one could explain, were inside the bread bin.

Marjory Jackson arrived through the front gate carrying Marmaduke’s rucksack.

“Morning!” she called, as she let herself into the house. 

“Morning!” replied Mrs Brand.

“Has anyone seen Barry?”

There was a pause.

Everyone looked around.

Barry was underneath the dining table, wearing a saucepan as a helmet and whispering to Mousey, the tiny garden mouse who had somehow become an unofficial member of the family.

“I’m practising for football,” Barry explained.

“With cookware?” asked Mrs Brand.

“It’s protection.”

“For what?”

“The footballs.”

Mrs Brand decided she simply didn’t have enough coffee for this conversation.

This week Alfie’s primary school was running a football camp.

At first Alfie had dismissed it.

“I don’t particularly enjoy football,” he’d said, sounding exactly like someone who had once read the school rules for fun.

But after careful consideration—and approximately seventeen minutes reading about exercise improving concentration—he had changed his mind.

“It will improve my cardiovascular fitness, coordination and teamwork.”

Mr Brand had nearly cried with pride.

Mrs Brand had immediately said, “Excellent. Barry and Marmaduke can go too.”

Alfie looked horrified.

“They don’t know the offside rule.”

“They don’t know most rules,” sighed Mrs Brand.

“They’ll ruin everything.”

“They’ll burn off energy.”

“Or the school.”

The football coaches welcomed everyone enthusiastically.

“Good listening today, everyone!”

Barry nodded.

Marmaduke nodded because Barry nodded.

Coach Liam smiled.

“We’re going to have loads of fun!”

Barry whispered to Marmaduke.

“He said no running.”

“I thought he said loads of running.”

“No. Definitely no running.”

Coach Liam hadn’t said anything remotely like that.

Alfie joined the older children.

He stretched properly.

He warmed up.

He completed every drill with determination.

He drank water at sensible intervals.

He was, in short, every PE teacher’s favourite child.

Barry and Marmaduke…

…were less tactical.

Their first exercise involved dribbling footballs around cones.

Barry accidentally dribbled the football into a flowerbed.

Marmaduke followed him.

Not because he had to.

Because Barry had.

By lunchtime everyone was hungry.

The children sat together on picnic benches.

Alfie unpacked carefully prepared wraps, fruit and yoghurt.

Barry had somehow acquired three cheese strings despite only being packed one.

Nobody asked.

Some mysteries were safer left unsolved.

After lunch Coach Liam announced,

“Everyone stays together while we get ready for the afternoon.”

Barry heard…

“…treasure…”

There hadn’t been any mention of treasure.

But once Barry’s imagination started working, facts became optional.

He nudged Marmaduke.

“I bet schools have secret treasure.”

“Do they?”

“They’ve got cupboards.”

“That’s true.”

“Cupboards contain interesting things.”

Marmaduke couldn’t argue with that.

Behind the sports hall was a little path leading between several buildings.

It wasn’t hidden.

It just wasn’t particularly interesting.

Unless you happened to be four.

Barry pointed.

“Adventure.”

Marmaduke looked uncertain.

“Should we ask?”

Barry had already wandered off.

So naturally Marmaduke wandered after him.

Because making excellent decisions independently was not really Marmaduke’s speciality.

Five minutes later…

Coach Liam counted children.

Again.

Then once more.

His smile disappeared.

“Has anyone seen Barry or Marmaduke?”

Silence.

Alfie’s stomach dropped.

“Oh no.”

Barry and Marmaduke, meanwhile, had discovered…

…the caretaker’s vegetable garden.

Rows of tomatoes.

Beans.

Courgettes.

Pumpkins.

Barry gasped.

“It’s like a supermarket before the shelves.”

Marmaduke looked impressed.

“I didn’t know vegetables grew outside.”

“They have to.”

“Where?”

Barry waved dramatically.

“Nature.”

The garden contained an enormous scarecrow.

Barry introduced himself.

“I’m Barry.”

The scarecrow remained professionally silent.

“He seems shy,” whispered Marmaduke.

“I’ll do the talking.”

Barry chatted happily for several minutes.

Marmaduke nodded occasionally.

The scarecrow continued contributing absolutely nothing.

Which, compared to many adults in meetings, wasn’t entirely unusual.

Eventually Barry spotted something even better.

A shed.

Every grown-up knows that sheds contain approximately 90% useful tools and 10% mysterious objects kept “just in case.”

Every four-year-old assumes they contain pirate treasure.

The shed wasn’t locked.

Inside were football nets.

Buckets.

Cones.

Watering cans.

A wheelbarrow.

Barry looked disappointed.

“No treasure.”

Marmaduke found a packet of sunflower seeds.

“Maybe these are?”

Elsewhere…

The football camp had become considerably less football-focused.

Teachers searched classrooms.

The library.

The playground.

The field.

The hall.

Coach Liam informed the office.

The office informed Mrs Brand.

Mrs Brand nearly dropped her phone.

Mr Brand immediately left a meeting.

Marjory calmly finished explaining brain surgery to a junior doctor before saying,

“I’ll just pop out. My son appears to have disappeared.”

The junior doctor blinked.

“You sound remarkably calm.”

“I’ve known Barry for four years.”

Alfie volunteered to help search.

He wasn’t panicking.

He was simply imagining every possible consequence.

There were approximately six thousand.

Back in the shed…

Barry discovered a tiny side door leading into…

…the greenhouse.

“Oh!”

It was magnificent.

Tomatoes everywhere.

Tiny cucumbers.

Bright flowers buzzing with bees outside the open vents.

Butterflies fluttered around.

Ladybirds crawled over leaves.

“It smells green,” said Marmaduke.

Barry nodded.

“It does.”

For several surprisingly peaceful minutes they simply looked around.

Even Barry occasionally became fascinated enough to forget causing chaos.

Occasionally.

Then Barry noticed a hosepipe. 

“No.”

Marmaduke hadn’t even seen it.

“No what?”

“I was telling myself no.”

“That’s sensible.”

“It didn’t work.”

Fortunately, before Barry could invent an Olympic water fight, a voice called out.

“There you are!”

It was Mr Edwards, the school caretaker.

He stared at them.

They stared back.

Barry smiled.

“We’re helping.”

Mr Edwards looked around the perfectly untouched greenhouse.

“Helping… how?”

“We’ve been supervising.”

“I’ve also spoken to the scarecrow,” Barry added proudly.

Mr Edwards pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I expect he appreciated that.”

By now nearly an hour had passed. Mr Edwards escorted the two boys back towards the picnic benches. 

Mrs Brand arrived looking equal parts relieved and ready to become extremely cross.

Marjory wasn’t far behind.

Mr Brand followed at a jog. 

Alfie practically sprinted over.

“Where WERE you?”

Barry smiled.

“Gardening.”

“We’ve been looking everywhere!”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“We saw people looking.”

Alfie stared.

“…You SAW people searching?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t shout?”

Barry looked genuinely puzzled.

“But they were busy.”

Mrs Brand closed her eyes.

Very slowly.

She counted silently.

One…

Two…

Three…

Probably all the way to seventy-eight.

Marjory folded her arms.

“Marmaduke?”

“Yes, Mum?”

“Why did you go?”

Marmaduke answered with complete honesty.

“Barry was already going.”

Marjory nodded.

“I suspected the explanation would be both truthful and disappointing.”

Coach Liam gathered everyone together.

He looked relieved more than angry.

“We have one very important rule.”

Barry raised his hand.

“No disappearing?”

“Exactly.”

“What if we’re supervising vegetables?”

“No.”

“What if a scarecrow needs company?”

“No.”

“What if—”

“No.”

Barry accepted defeat.

For approximately four minutes.

The afternoon resumed.

To everyone’s amazement, Barry actually listened.

Mostly because Mrs Brand had quietly informed him that tomorrow’s attendance at football camp depended entirely upon today’s behaviour.

That concentrated the mind wonderfully.

Barry completed dribbling.

Passed the ball (not to anyone else, but the ball left his foot). 

Stopped running in random directions.

Even Coach Liam looked impressed.

“I knew you could do it.”

Barry grinned.

“I was saving my listening.”

Alfie had an excellent afternoon.

He scored two goals.

Completed every fitness circuit.

Encouraged younger children.

His coach awarded him the Fair Play badge.

Alfie accepted it with modest pride.

Barry clapped louder than anyone.

“That’s my brother!”

Alfie smiled.

“Thank you.”

It was nice hearing it.

Even if Barry had nearly caused a school-wide search operation an hour earlier.

Walking home, Barry carried a tiny sunflower seedling Mr Edwards had kindly given each child.

“You can grow this,” he’d said.

Barry held it carefully.

“I’m going to look after it.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“I hope so.”

“I’ll water it every day.”

“Not every five minutes.”

“Oh.”

“And don’t dig it up to see if it’s growing.”

Barry looked surprised.

“How did you know I was thinking that?”

“Because I’ve met you.”

Back home, the boys planted their sunflowers in the garden.

Alfie’s was perfectly straight.

Measured.

Centred.

Barry’s leaned sideways.

Marmaduke’s somehow ended up next to Barry’s because Barry said, “Friends should grow together.”

Marjory smiled.

“I quite like that.”

Mrs Brand nodded.

“So do I.”

That evening the adults sat in the garden with cups of tea while the children played.

Mr Brand sighed.

“Well…”

“Nobody escaped the school,” said Marjory.

“They stayed inside the locked gates,” agreed Mrs Brand.

“They were just… creatively missing.”

Mr Brand laughed.

“I don’t think that’s an official safeguarding category.”

Across the lawn, Barry was explaining football tactics to Mousey.

“…and if you ever meet a scarecrow, always introduce yourself.”

Marmaduke nodded seriously.

“They’re shy.”

Alfie looked at the adults.

“I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“We know you will.”

Because that was Alfie.

Barry would always discover adventures that sensible people never even noticed.

Marmaduke would faithfully follow him into those adventures with the optimism of someone who had never once asked, “Is this a good idea?”

And Alfie would spend the rest of his childhood making sure both of them came home safely.

It was exhausting.

It was chaotic.

It was occasionally enough to make three highly qualified professionals question every life choice they’d ever made.

But as the three boys laughed together while planting their sunflowers in the evening sunshine, the adults secretly admitted something they would never tell Barry.

Life would have been far quieter without him.

It also would have been much less interesting.