Guinea pigs come to stay

Mrs Brand had the sort of smile that usually meant one of two things.

Either she’d found a bargain in the supermarket…

…or she’d accidentally volunteered the family for something.

Barry looked suspicious.

Alfie looked nervous.

Mr Brand looked over the top of his cereal.

“What have you agreed to this time?”

Mrs Brand beamed.

“Oh, you’ll love this.”

Those four words have caused more family chaos than anyone likes to admit.

Marmaduke, who had already arrived (mainly because Marjory had an early operation at the hospital and had dropped him off before work), was proudly placing teaspoons next to cereal bowls.

“I did the table!”

“You certainly did,” laughed Mr Brand.

Although all four spoons had somehow ended up beside Barry’s bowl.

Mrs Brand sat down, almost bouncing in her chair.

“I’ve had an email from Mr Henley.”

Alfie immediately knew who she meant.

“Mr Henley? The Year Two teacher?”

“The very one.”

“The one who looks after all the school animals?”

“Exactly.”

Barry’s ears perked up.

“Animals?”

“Lots of them,” said Alfie. “Hamsters, gerbils, stick insects, guinea pigs…he even had tadpoles once.”

Barry gasped.

“Does he just…collect them?”

“They’re educational.”

“They’re fluffy.”

“Some of them aren’t.”

“The fluffy ones are better.”

Mrs Brand opened her phone.

“Mr Henley is going on holiday with his fiancé for a week.”

“Aww,” said Marmaduke.

“That’s nice.”

“And he wondered if we’d look after the two guinea pigs.”

Barry nearly fell off his chair.

“REAL GUINEA PIGS?”

Mrs Brand nodded.

“I’ve already said yes.”

Mr Brand laughed.

“Of course you have.”

“I thought it would keep the boys occupied.”

Alfie smiled.

“It probably will.”

Mr Brand quietly muttered into his coffee,

“Or keep us occupied.”

Experience suggested both outcomes were equally likely.

An hour later they were driving to collect the guinea pigs from school.

Mr Henley met them outside carrying two neat little travelling cages.

Inside one sat the fluffiest caramel-coloured guinea pig Barry had ever seen.

“This,” said Mr Henley, “is Cinnamon.”

She blinked politely.

In the second cage sat a black-and-white guinea pig with an expression suggesting he’d already judged everyone present.

“And this,” smiled Mr Henley, “is Pickles.”

Pickles yawned.

He looked unimpressed by absolutely everything.

Mr Henley carefully handed over a large bag.

“Food.”

Another bag.

“Hay.”

Another.

“Fresh vegetables.”

Another.

“Bedding.”

Mr Brand raised an eyebrow.

“I think they’re travelling with more luggage than we do.”

“They’re very important guests,” said Mr Henley.

Then his face became slightly more serious.

“One very important thing.”

Everyone listened.

“Cinnamon is female.”

Barry nodded.

“Okay.”

“Pickles is male.”

“Okay.”

“So…”

He paused.

“…don’t let them spend time together.”

Barry frowned.

“Why?”

Mr Henley coughed politely.

“They…erm…”

Mrs Brand rescued him.

“They’ll have babies.”

Barry’s eyes widened.

“Immediately?”

“No.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No.”

“So…”

Mr Henley smiled awkwardly.

“They’re just…better apart.”

Alfie nodded sensibly.

“We understand.”

Barry nodded too.

He did not understand in the slightest.

Back home, the guinea pigs were given pride of place in the conservatory.

Separate cages.

Separate water bottles.

Separate hay.

Separate everything.

Barry stared.

“They look lonely.”

“They’re fine,” said Mrs Brand.

“They’ve always lived separately.”

Barry wasn’t convinced.

He wandered over to Marmaduke.

“I think the adults are being mean.”

Marmaduke whispered,

“They’re best friends.”

“We should help.”

“We’re helpers.”

“Exactly.”

Alfie overheard this conversation.

Immediately suspicious.

“What are you helping?”

“Nothing.”

“What kind of nothing?”

“The harmless sort.”

Alfie sighed.

There were many kinds of “nothing.”

Barry specialised in the dangerous variety.

For two whole days…

Everything went beautifully.

Barry fed Cinnamon.

Marmaduke fed Pickles.

Alfie checked water bottles.

Mrs Brand declared the experiment a success.

Mr Brand even admitted,

“They’re surprisingly easy.”

The universe heard this.

The universe enjoys irony.

Wednesday afternoon.

Mrs Brand was working upstairs.

Mr Brand was on another video meeting.

Marjory had a long neurosurgery list at hospital.

Alfie was quietly reading.

Barry looked at Cinnamon.

Cinnamon looked back.

Barry looked at Pickles.

Pickles looked bored.

Barry sighed.

“They can’t even play.”

Marmaduke agreed.

“It’s sad.”

“They’ve got nobody.”

“They need friendship.”

Barry nodded dramatically.

“We’re basically animal heroes.”

Heroes, unfortunately, don’t always make excellent decisions.

The plan was beautifully simple.

Open both cages.

Let them have five minutes together.

Then put them back.

Easy.

Nothing could possibly—

Actually…

Let’s stop right there.

Whenever someone thinks “nothing could possibly go wrong” they should probably go and sit quietly until the feeling passes.

Barry carefully opened Cinnamon’s door.

Marmaduke opened Pickles’.

The guinea pigs looked at each other.

Sniff.

Sniff.

Then…

Instead of racing around playing tag…

They wandered calmly towards one another.

Barry smiled.

“See?”

“They like each other.”

“They’re making friends.”

Alfie walked into the conservatory.

His eyes became enormous.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Barry jumped.

“Friendship.”

“NO!”

Alfie rushed forward.

By the time he separated them…

The guinea pigs looked entirely unconcerned.

Barry frowned.

“They hardly did anything.”

Alfie wasn’t so sure.

He remembered enough from a wildlife documentary to feel deeply uncomfortable.

He put them back into their cages.

Locked both doors.

Then stared at Barry.

“Mum specifically said not to.”

“They were lonely.”

“That wasn’t your decision.”

“They looked happier.”

“They’re guinea pigs!”

“They’ve got feelings.”

“So will Mum and Dad when they find out!”

Barry hadn’t considered that.

The rest of the week passed peacefully.

The guinea pigs ate.

Slept.

Squeaked.

Demanded vegetables with astonishing confidence.

Pickles discovered cucumber.

Cinnamon preferred peppers.

Barry announced that Pickles looked like “a tiny potato wearing pyjamas.”

Nobody entirely disagreed.

At the end of the week, they returned to school.

Mr Henley smiled.

“They’ve been wonderful.”

“They’re lovely,” said Barry.

“They became friends.”

Alfie suddenly coughed very loudly.

“So…”

Mr Henley asked.

“…nothing unusual happened?”

Alfie looked at Barry.

Barry looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at the ceiling.

Mrs Brand answered cheerfully.

“No. A perfect week.”

Alfie felt a tiny knot form in his stomach.

Life carried on.

Summer holidays continued.

Trips happened.

Ice creams were eaten.

Mousey continued avoiding Barry with impressive professionalism.

Everyone forgot about the guinea pigs.

Well…

Almost everyone.

Alfie occasionally thought about Wednesday afternoon.

Then convinced himself everything was probably fine.

Probably.