Renovation

It was the summer holidays, which meant three things.

Firstly, the weather forecast had confidently promised “wall-to-wall sunshine” before changing its mind at breakfast.

Secondly, Mr and Mrs Brand were both working from home, which in adult language meant, “Please don’t let Barry discover anything with buttons.”

And thirdly, Marjory Jackson had finally reached the glamorous stage of home renovation known as living in a building site while wondering why she ever thought this was a good idea.

Her family bathroom had been completely ripped out two days earlier.

The bath was sitting in the front garden.

The sink was leaning against the fence.

The toilet was looking surprisingly offended beside the hedge.

And the skip…

Well.

The skip had arrived an entire day after the builder had left.

Because apparently the universe had looked at Marjory—a consultant neurosurgeon, single mum, and veteran of juggling impossible schedules—and thought,

“She looks like someone who’d enjoy moving a bathroom by herself.”

“No,” sighed Marjory, looking out of the window.

“No, I would not.”

A few doors away, Barry Brand was conducting what he called a “Pocket Inspection.”

This involved checking whether Mousey, his tiny garden mouse friend, was safely tucked inside his shorts pocket.

“You comfy?” whispered Barry.

Mousey squeaked.

“I fink dat means yes.” He whispered. 

Mrs Brand looked over her laptop.

“Barry…are you talking to your pocket?”

“No.”

“…Really?”

“Just talking to Mousey.”

Mrs Brand closed her eyes.

At this point, that answer was somehow less worrying than if he’d said he was talking to the wallpaper.

Alfie appeared downstairs wearing football boots.

“I’m going to football club.”

Barry frowned.

“But why?”

“Because I like football.”

“But we’re helping Marjory.”

“I’d rather run ten kilometres than help lift an old toilet.”

“That sounds boring.”

“It is.”

Barry nodded thoughtfully.

“You’re weird.”

“I know.”

Soon afterwards Barry and Marmaduke were standing in Marjory’s hallway while she surveyed the mountain of bathroom pieces.

“Right,” she announced.

“You two are absolutely not to touch anything.”

Barry saluted.

“I promise.”

Marjory narrowed her eyes.

“I’ve known you since you were born.”

“…Mostly promise.”

“Better.”

The old plastic bath was surprisingly light.

Unfortunately it was also roughly the size of a canoe.

Marjory shuffled sideways down the garden path, carrying it.

Thunk.

Bump.

Scrape.

“Oof.”

“Honestly,” she muttered.

“It was easier getting this thing into the house than getting it out.”

Barry watched with admiration.

“You’re strong.”

“I have to be.”

“Cos you’re a brain doctor?”

“No.”

“Cos I’m Marmaduke’s mum.”

Barry considered this.

“That sounds harder.”

“It frequently is.”

One by one she carried the old cupboards and panels outside.

The skip slowly filled.

Well…

Very slowly.

Plastic bathroom furniture isn’t terribly heavy.

It’s just astonishingly awkward.

Like carrying a wardrobe made entirely of spaghetti.

Every time Marjory thought she’d found the perfect angle—

CLONK.

The bath hit the skip.

Rotate.

Shuffle.

Lift.

Reverse.

“No…”

Rotate again.

“Nearly…”

Thunk.

“There!”

She stepped back proudly.

It immediately slid sideways.

“Oh come on.”

Barry and Marmaduke sat on the doorstep eating raisins.

“I’m helping,” Barry announced.

“You’re supervising,” Marmaduke corrected.

Barry liked the sound of supervising.

It sounded important.

Bubble the cat wandered elegantly into the hallway.

Bubble was a magnificent fluffy tabby with enormous green eyes and the confidence of someone who firmly believed the house belonged to him.

Which, to be fair, it mostly did.

Barry grinned.

“Hello Bubble!”

Bubble purred.

Mousey did not.

Inside Barry’s pocket there was a tiny squeak that translated roughly as,

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Barry frowned.

“You okay?”

The pocket started wriggling.

Bubble’s ears twitched.

Cats have an extraordinary ability to detect tiny furry things.

Especially ones carrying the unmistakable aroma of…

Mouse.

Bubble sniffed.

Barry froze.

“Oh dear.”

Mousey shot out of Barry’s pocket like a tiny furry rocket.

Bubble’s pupils became enormous.

Every instinct in thousands of years of feline evolution screamed,

“CHASE IT!”

Mousey sprinted across the hallway.

Bubble launched after him.

Barry gasped.

“MOUSEY!”

Marmaduke gasped.

“BUBBLE!”

Marjory, halfway through carrying the toilet cistern, heard the thunder of tiny feet.

“What now?”

Mousey disappeared under the sofa.

Bubble dived underneath after him.

The sofa shook violently.

Cushions flew into the air.

Bubble emerged wearing one of Marmaduke’s socks on his head.

Mousey shot behind the television.

Bubble skidded into the curtains.

The curtains detached themselves from the rail.

Marjory stared.

“I only wanted to change the bathroom.”

Mousey raced into the kitchen.

Bubble followed.

Barry followed Bubble.

Marmaduke followed Barry.

Marjory followed everybody while carrying half a toilet.

“You two STOP RUNNING!”

Neither child heard.

Bubble slid across the kitchen floor.

Mousey squeezed behind the fridge.

Bubble wedged one paw underneath.

Nothing.

Mousey escaped out the back door.

“Oh no,” shouted Barry.

“Garden!”

The chase exploded into the garden.

Mousey darted through flowerpots.

Bubble leapt over them.

Barry and Marmaduke attempted exactly the same leap.

Barry succeeded.

Marmaduke landed one foot inside a watering can.

Marjory reached the patio just in time to watch Bubble leap elegantly over the vegetable patch.

Barry copied him.

Directly into the tomatoes.

SPLAT.

“I’m okay!”

“You’ve sat on my salad!”

Mousey zigzagged towards the shed.

Bubble accelerated.

Barry accelerated.

Marjory did not.

She was forty-two, had already moved an entire bathroom, and knew perfectly well that sprinting after four-year-olds ended with paperwork.

Instead she walked briskly while muttering,

“I save lives for a living.”

Crash.

“I can definitely survive this.”

Bang.

“I think.”

Mousey squeezed beneath the shed door.

Bubble tried.

His tummy politely informed him that this wasn’t happening.

Bubble looked offended.

Very offended.

Cats hate discovering they’re larger than they imagined.

He pawed furiously underneath.

Nothing.

Barry lay flat.

“I can see him!”

“Is he okay?”

“He says Bubble’s terrifying.”

“I’d be terrified too.”

Bubble glared at everyone.

Especially Barry.

As though this entire misunderstanding had somehow been Barry’s fault.

Which… fair enough.

Eventually Mousey emerged from the opposite side of the shed and bolted towards the driveway.

“Oh no!” Marjory sighed. “The skip.”

Mousey vanished beneath the old bath.

Bubble climbed onto the bath.

Mousey ran underneath the sink.

Bubble followed.

The sink wobbled.

Marjory dropped everything.

“NOT THE SINK!”

Too late.

CLATTER!

The old sink rolled gently down the driveway before stopping against the skip.

Fortunately it was already broken.

Which somehow made everyone feel better.

Just then Mr Brand arrived.

“Sorry I’m late.”

He looked around.

Bathroom everywhere.

Children everywhere.

Bubble standing triumphantly on a toilet seat.

Marjory covered in dust.

Barry lying underneath a bath.

“What,” he asked carefully, “have I missed?”

Marjory smiled weakly.

“About twenty-seven minutes of complete chaos.”

“Ah.”

“Bubble’s hunting Mousey.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t.”

“I probably don’t.”

Mr Brand immediately tackled the genuinely heavy items.

The cast-iron radiator with the massive hole in it.

The remaining plastic plumbing.

Several boxes of tiles.

Within minutes the skip began looking respectably full.

Marjory smiled.

“I should have waited.”

“You’ve done most of it.”

“I’ve also accidentally supervised the world’s fastest cat.”

Barry appeared.

“I found Mousey!”

Everyone looked.

Mousey was sitting safely inside Barry’s hands.

Bubble looked deeply disappointed.

“Right,” said Mr Brand.

“Let’s all calm down.”

Bubble ignored him.

Cats rarely attend family meetings.

By lunchtime everyone was exhausted.

The skip was nearly full.

The driveway was clear.

The bathroom had officially become someone else’s problem.

Marjory made enormous cheese sandwiches.

“Extra cheese?” asked Barry hopefully.

“Of course.”

Barry carefully placed a tiny crumb beside Mousey.

“There you go.”

Mousey immediately began nibbling.

His tiny whiskers twitched happily.

Barry smiled.

“He forgived everyone.”

“I don’t think Bubble asked for forgiveness,” laughed Marmaduke.

Bubble was sitting on the windowsill pretending he hadn’t spent the morning attempting to fulfil every cartoon stereotype ever invented.

He looked magnificently dignified.

Apart from the tomato leaf still stuck to his tail.

As they ate, Barry asked,

“Marjory?”

“Yes?”

“When your new bathroom comes…”

“Mmm?”

“…can we help build it?”

Marjory nearly inhaled a piece of cheddar.

“I appreciate the offer.”

“That’s a no.”

“That is the most definite no I’ve ever said.”

Mr Brand laughed.

“I think professionals will handle this bit.”

Barry looked disappointed.

“I could carry a toothbrush holder.”

“You probably could.”

“I could supervise.”

Mr Brand smiled.

“That’s the dangerous part.”

Later that afternoon the bathroom installers arrived to inspect the empty room.

One of them looked at the neatly filled skip.

“Blimey.”

“You shifted all that yourself?”

Marjory smiled.

“Mostly.”

Mr Brand shrugged.

“I did the heavy bits.”

Barry puffed out his chest.

“I supervised.”

Marmaduke nodded proudly.

“I watched Barry supervise.”

The installer smiled politely.

“Very important jobs.”

“They were,” said Mr Brand.

“You have absolutely no idea.”

As everyone wandered home later that afternoon, Bubble curled up on the sofa for a well-earned nap.

He dreamed, perhaps, of the tiny mouse that had escaped.

Mousey, meanwhile, was happily back in Barry’s pocket, munching the final crumb of cheese and feeling considerably braver now there was a sturdy little boy between him and one extremely enthusiastic cat.

Barry whispered,

“We won.”

Mousey squeaked.

Mrs Brand looked up from another work call as Barry came through the door.

“Did everyone survive?”

“Yep!”

“Nothing broken?”

Barry thought carefully.

“The old sink got more broken.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“And Bubble chased Mousey.”

Mrs Brand paused.

“He what?”

“Oh, it was brilliant.”

Mrs Brand looked towards the ceiling.

There are moments in every parent’s life when they wonder whether normal families spend Wednesday mornings quietly reading library books.

Then they remember they have Barry.

Some children collect stickers.

Some collect toy cars.

Barry collected adventures with all the enthusiasm of someone who believed peace and quiet were merely problems waiting to be solved.

Somehow, despite flying bathroom suites, runaway mice, determined cats, football clubs, skips, tomatoes, and enough cheese sandwiches to feed a small village, everyone ended the day smiling.

Well…

Everyone except Bubble.

He remained absolutely convinced that somewhere, somehow, there was still a mouse laughing at him.

And if Bubble ever spotted Barry walking down the road with an unusually wriggly pocket again…