The dinner party

In North London, there was a very optimistic thing happening.

Not dragons.

Not pirates.

Not even someone trying to parallel park a giant SUV on a Victorian street.

No.

There were five adults trying to have a civilised dinner party while four children were upstairs.

Experienced parents know this is technically classified as “optimistic.”

Mrs Brand had spent all morning preparing food while simultaneously answering work emails, despite the fact that she would not get any response from normal people until Monday. 

Mr Brand had spent all morning saying things like, “I’ll just finish one quick call.”

Anyone who has ever heard an adult say one quick call knows that roughly translates into, See you in ninety minutes.

Marjory Jackson wandered in carrying an overnight bag in one hand and Marmaduke in the other.

“Morning!” she smiled.

Barry launched himself at Marmaduke before either person had fully crossed the doorstep.

“Marm! I’ve got a new torch!”

“Brilliant!” said Marmaduke.

He had absolutely no idea why that was brilliant, but Barry had said it with enough enthusiasm that he was sure it would be brilliant. 

Marjory smiled at Mrs Brand.

“Thanks again for hosting. I promise next year my house will actually contain more than one bathroom.”

Mrs Brand laughed.

“How’s the renovation?”

“They’ve finally removed the old bathroom.”

“Oh good.”

“It’s currently in a skip.”

“…Less good.”

Around lunchtime another car arrived.

Steve climbed out carrying enough bags for someone emigrating.

Denisa emerged behind him carrying homemade desserts.

Then out stepped Dora.

Eight years old.

Hair neatly tied back.

Already carrying two library books.

She greeted Alfie with a smile.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Have you finished the astronomy book?”

“Twice.”

“Excellent.”

The two disappeared upstairs discussing whether black holes technically evaporated.

Barry watched them.

“They’re weird.”

“They’re very weird,” agreed Marmaduke.

By four o’clock the house smelled magnificent.

The salmon starter was waiting.

Roast chickens rested proudly beneath foil.

Potatoes crackled.

Yorkshire puddings towered.

Vegetables gleamed.

Mrs Brand looked around proudly.

“I think we’re ready.”

Barry wandered in.

“What are these?”

“Hundreds and thousands.”

“Can I taste one?”

“They’re for dessert.”

“What about just…one hundred?”

“No.”

“Fifty?”

“No.”

“One?”

“No.”

Barry sighed dramatically.

“You people never let me achieve my dreams.”

Dinner began wonderfully.

The children had enormous homemade pizzas.

Adults enjoyed salmon and melon.

Steve told hilarious stories about accidentally teaching Swedish phrases to Spanish learners because of a software update (he ran an online language school app).

Denisa described one particularly creative GCSE student who had translated Je suis fatigué as I am a potato.

“I nearly gave him extra marks for confidence,” she admitted.

Everyone laughed.

Except Alfie.

“I don’t think examinations should reward incorrect answers.”

Dora nodded solemnly.

“I agree.”

Barry whispered to Marmaduke.

“I told you they were weird.”

After the main course everyone relaxed.

Ice cream appeared.

Hazelnut meringue cake.

Chocolate sauce.

Hundreds and thousands.

Barry stared lovingly at the colourful sprinkles.

“They’re beautiful.”

Mrs Brand sprinkled a sensible amount over everyone’s bowls.

Barry looked disappointed.

“They’ve barely landed.”

“You have enough.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I’ve counted.”

“No you haven’t.”

“No…but I feel like I have.”

Eventually bedtime arrived.

The adults were looking forward to coffee, a secret box of chocolates made by the chocolatier in Crouch End, and uninterrupted conversation.

Again…

Optimistic.

Sleeping arrangements were explained.

Marjory took the tiny third-floor box room.

Steve, Denisa and Dora occupied the larger guest room.

Barry and Marmaduke shared Barry’s bedroom.

Alfie remained in his own room.

Mrs Brand tucked Barry in.

“No messing about.”

“We won’t.”

“No adventures.”

“No.”

“No waking everyone.”

“No.”

“No exploring.”

“…Probably.”

Mrs Brand narrowed her eyes.

“‘Probably’?”

Barry smiled angelically.

“I couldn’t promise impossible things.”

The lights went out.

For approximately twelve seconds.

Barry’s whisper floated through the darkness.

“Marm?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you asleep?”

“No.”

“Excellent.”

“What are we doing?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

Marmaduke smiled.

“Excellent.”

He had not heard the idea.

History suggested this was usually a mistake.

Barry reached underneath his bed.

Out came…

…the new torch.

“I thought,” Barry whispered, “we could patrol.”

“What are we patrolling?”

“The house.”

“Against what?”

Barry paused.

“…Things.”

“Oh.”

That sounded reasonable.

The boys crept into the landing.

Torch on.

Tiny beam wobbling everywhere.

Every family photograph suddenly looked suspicious.

Every coat became a monster.

Every staircase creaked dramatically.

Barry whispered dramatically.

“We’re like detectives.”

“We are.”

“Secret detectives.”

“Very secret.”

“So secret we don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

Meanwhile…

Alfie couldn’t sleep because he could hear whispering.

Dora couldn’t sleep because someone had whispered the word detectives.

Both opened their bedroom doors at exactly the same moment.

“Oh,” said Alfie.

“Oh,” said Dora.

“I think Barry’s escaped.”

“I think you’re right.”

They sighed together.

Neither looked remotely surprised.

Downstairs…

Barry and Marmaduke entered the kitchen.

Moonlight streamed through the windows.

Everything looked mysterious.

Barry pointed dramatically.

“The fridge.”

“What about it?”

“It contains leftovers.”

“It probably does.”

“We should inspect them.”

“For safety?”

“Exactly.”

Barry carefully opened the fridge.

Inside sat the remains of the magnificent hazelnut meringue cake.

It practically glowed.

Barry gasped.

“It’s calling us.”

“I can’t hear anything.”

“You’ve got to listen with your stomach.”

Barry reached out.

Then froze.

“The adults will know.”

“How?”

“They always know.”

“They don’t.”

“They do.”

“My mum doesn’t.”

“Yes she does.”

“How?”

Barry looked thoughtful.

“I think she’s got parent powers.”

This was actually quite close to the truth.

Parents simply notice impossible things.

Like missing cake.

Or silence.

Especially silence.

Barry looked around.

“I’ve got it.”

He found a teaspoon.

“If we only eat from underneath…”

Marmaduke stared.

“Underneath?”

“Gravity won’t notice.”

“Does gravity work like that?”

“I hope so.”

Just then…

Click.

Kitchen light.

Mrs Brand stood in the doorway.

Hair slightly untidy.

Arms folded.

Looking exactly like someone who had expected this.

“What,” she asked calmly, “are you doing?”

Barry still held the teaspoon.

“We’re…checking gravity.”

Mrs Brand looked at the half-open fridge.

“The cake?”

“It looked suspicious.”

“It looked delicious.”

“…That too.”

Before anyone could continue…

Another small voice arrived.

“Barry?”

Everyone turned.

Alfie.

Dora.

Standing in the doorway.

Both fully dressed.

Both looking disappointed in entirely different ways.

Alfie folded his arms.

“You promised.”

Barry looked guilty.

“I know.”

Dora added quietly,

“We were worried.”

Barry’s shoulders drooped.

“Oh.”

Sometimes the biggest telling-off isn’t actually a telling-off at all.

Mrs Brand smiled.

“I’ll tell you what.”

Barry looked hopeful.

“If everyone goes straight back to bed…”

“Yes?”

“…tomorrow, after lunch, everyone can have another slice of cake.”

Barry grinned.

“Even me?”

“Especially you.”

“What about gravity?”

“It can wait until morning.”

Everyone headed upstairs.

Order restored.

Peace achieved.

Finally.

At one o’clock in the morning…

There was a loud sneeze.

Then another.

Then another.

Steve stumbled sleepily onto the landing.

“Denisa?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’ve developed hay fever.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Sneezing doesn’t wear a watch.”

They discovered the cause immediately.

Barry’s teddy.

Mr Wuffles.

Who was extremely fluffy.

Steve was spectacularly allergic.

“Oh dear,” whispered Mrs Brand.

“I completely forgot.”

“So did my nose.”

Beds were rearranged.

Rooms shuffled.

Pillows moved.

Blankets carried.

Eventually…

Barry and Marmaduke somehow ended up asleep in sleeping bags on Alfie’s floor.

Alfie sighed.

“I suppose.”

Dora volunteered to sleep in Barry’s now-empty bed.

Steve could finally breathe.

Marjory wandered sleepily onto the landing.

“What’s happened?”

“Long story,” whispered Mr Brand.

“Teddy.”

Marjory nodded.

“Ah.”

Apparently that explained everything.

Morning arrived with sunshine.

And the smell of bacon.

Lots of bacon.

Barry awoke.

He looked around.

“Marm?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are we in Alfie’s room?”

“I don’t remember.”

Alfie looked up from his book.

“You attempted cake theft.”

“Oh yes.”

“There was also a teddy-related allergy incident.”

“Oh yes.”

“And everyone changed rooms.”

“…Really?”

“Yes.”

Barry scratched his head.

“We’ve had busier nights.”

Breakfast became enormous.

Bacon.

Sausages.

Eggs.

Toast.

Croissants.

Fruit.

Juice.

Coffee.

Strong coffee.

The sort of coffee adults require after sleeping in approximately seven different bedrooms.

Steve accepted his mug gratefully.

“I haven’t moved house that many times.”

Denisa laughed.

“It was like musical beds.”

Marjory smiled.

“At least nobody ended up in the skip.”

Mrs Brand nearly spat out her tea laughing.

“The bathroom already has.”

After breakfast the children played in the garden.

Alfie and Dora built an impressive bug hotel.

Every stick was measured.

Every leaf carefully positioned.

There appeared to be architectural drawings.

Barry wandered over.

“Can we help?”

Alfie looked nervous.

“What exactly would your help involve?”

“We’ve got enthusiasm.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Barry found a snail.

Marmaduke found another.

Within minutes they’d started the World Snail Racing Championship.

Crowds were invited.

Commentary provided.

Barry shouted,

“COME ON, DAVE!”

Marmaduke cheered,

“GO ON, JEFF!”

Steve watched through the kitchen window.

“Do snails usually have those names?”

Mr Brand shrugged.

“They do now.”

Finally…

After lunch…

Mrs Brand remembered her promise.

The hazelnut meringue cake returned.

Barry received a generous slice.

“So,” she asked, smiling, “worth waiting for?”

Barry took one enormous bite.

His eyes widened.

He nodded enthusiastically.

“Definitely.”

Marmaduke agreed through a mouthful.

“So much better than stealing.”

Mrs Brand raised an eyebrow.

“An important lesson?”

Barry considered carefully.

“Yes.”

Everyone waited.

Barry finished thoughtfully.

“Cake tastes nicer when you aren’t being caught.”

The adults burst into laughter.

Alfie covered his face.

“That’s…not quite…”

Dora smiled for perhaps the third time all weekend.

“I think,” she said, “he’s improving.”

Mrs Brand hugged Barry.

“Slowly.”

Marjory smiled across the table.

Looking around at friends she’d known since university, at children who were growing up together, at the happy chaos of overnight guests, shifting bedrooms, bonkers conversations, stolen sleep and nearly stolen cake, she realised something.

Families don’t always share the same surname.

Sometimes they share front doors, spare bedrooms, emergency childcare, Sunday breakfasts, and enough patience to survive Barry Brand’s ideas.

Which, as everyone present knew only too well…

…required rather a lot of patience indeed.

And somewhere, deep inside the fridge, safely hidden behind a bowl of leftover roast potatoes, the final slice of hazelnut meringue cake quietly celebrated another successful escape from Barry’s midnight investigations.

For now.