Alfie in knots

Mrs Brand took a long sip of coffee at precisely 6:08 a.m. on Monday morning and smiled to herself.

“This,” she announced to absolutely nobody because everybody else with any sense was still asleep, “is going to be a properly organised week.”

The universe, which has an excellent sense of humour, immediately accepted this as a challenge.

Her calendar was colour-coded.

Lunches? Planned.

Uniforms? Ironed.

Meetings? Scheduled.

School forms? Signed.

Scout kit? Packed.

Weather? Dry all week according to the forecast.

The coffee machine even behaved itself.

It was almost unsettling.

By 6:41 a.m., Barry was wearing one welly, one dinosaur slipper, and a saucepan on his head because he was “pretending to be a rescue astronaut.”

By 6:44, Marmaduke had wandered in through the front door, still in pyjamas, carrying a banana.

“I woke up,” he explained.

Marjory followed thirty seconds later.

“I didn’t know he’d left until Bubble started meowing at the back door.”

Bubble the cat looked extremely pleased with himself. He’d apparently decided supervising children was now part of his job description.

Mrs Brand simply poured Marjory another coffee.

“So much,” sighed Marjory, “for organised.”

That afternoon the excitement began.

Alfie’s primary school was hosting a week-long Scouts event.

Different troops from around London would visit, experienced leaders would teach skills, and everyone would work towards different activity badges.

Alfie had been talking about it for approximately seventeen days.

Not continuously.

Just often enough that everyone in the house knew the correct method for tying a reef knot without actually wanting to know.

Meanwhile Barry and Marmaduke had been invited to join the younger section.

“Squirrels!”

Barry liked the name because squirrels climbed trees.

Marmaduke liked the name because squirrels had fluffy tails.

Neither had any real understanding of what Squirrels actually did.

“It’ll be camping,” Barry declared confidently.

“We’ll probably wrestle bears.”

“There aren’t bears in North London,” Alfie sighed.

“There could be.”

“There aren’t.”

“They might visit.”

“They won’t.”

Barry considered this.

“What about polite bears?”

The school field looked wonderful.

Little tents had been set up.

Tiny camping chairs stood in neat rows.

There were ropes, wooden poles, pretend campfires, maps and activity stations.

Parents smiled proudly.

Scout leaders smiled confidently.

Children smiled with the terrifying enthusiasm only children possess before they accidentally destroy something expensive.

The Squirrels were each given a tiny pop-up tent.

“Today,” announced Leader Sarah, “you’re going to learn how to put them up…”

Barry had already opened his.

It sprang into the air with the speed of an escaped octopus.

“WHOOOAA!”

The tent bounced across the grass.

Three children applauded.

One dog barked.

Barry chased it heroically.

The tent reached the football pitch.

Barry tackled it.

Unfortunately…

…he tackled it rather harder than intended.

There was a loud…

RIIIIIP.

Everyone froze.

Barry slowly stood up.

Half the tent remained underneath him.

The other half appeared to have become modern art.

Leader Sarah blinked.

Barry smiled hopefully.

“It was like that before I started running.”

“It definitely wasn’t.”

“It was nearly like that.”

“It really wasn’t.”

Barry looked thoughtfully at the enormous tear.

“It’ll let more air in.”

Mrs Brand received her first phone notification.

Barry has had a minor equipment incident. Nothing serious.

She read it twice.

“Minor equipment incident?”

Mr Brand looked over.

“That sounds expensive.”

Meanwhile Marmaduke was doing brilliantly.

Mostly because he was copying absolutely everything Leader Ben did.

Leader Ben folded a blanket.

Marmaduke folded a blanket.

Leader Ben drank water.

Marmaduke drank water.

Leader Ben scratched his nose.

Marmaduke scratched his own.

Leader Ben pointed north.

Marmaduke nodded wisely despite having no idea which way north actually was.

He was thriving.

Across the field, Alfie was having the greatest Monday of his young life.

The older Scouts were learning knots.

Real knots.

Bowlines.

Clove hitches.

Round turns.

Sheet bends.

Reef knots.

Alfie loved instructions.

He loved diagrams.

He loved following rules.

This was essentially Disneyland.

While everyone else occasionally tangled themselves into decorative human parcels…

Alfie calmly tied every knot perfectly.

Scout Leader Martin inspected his work.

“Excellent.”

Alfie beamed.

“You’ve earned your Knots Badge.”

On Day One.

He tried very hard not to smile too much.

He managed about four seconds.

Lunchtime arrived.

The Squirrels gathered around tiny camping stoves specially designed for supervised cooking.

“Today,” said Leader Sarah, “we’re heating soup.”

Scout leaders hovered carefully.

Nothing could possibly—

Actually…

Never mind.

Marmaduke stared at his little saucepan.

“This is cooking.”

“That’s right.”

“I like cooking.”

“Excellent.”

“It isn’t doing much.”

“It takes time.”

He nodded.

Then he noticed the control knob.

“Hmm…”

He turned it.

Nothing exciting happened.

So…

He turned it all the way.

The flame became surprisingly enthusiastic.

“Oh.”

The soup began bubbling.

Very energetically.

“It smells funny.”

Leader Ben turned around.

“Oh dear.”

Smoke drifted gently upwards.

Not dramatic smoke.

“It looks black.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“I think it’s become toast.”

“Soup can’t become toast.”

“It sort of has.”

Leader Ben quickly switched everything off.

The bottom of the pan now resembled a small section of volcanic rock.

Marmaduke looked genuinely puzzled.

“I only made it warmer.”

“You made it much warmer.”

“I was helping.”

“You certainly helped physics.”

Barry wandered over.

“What’s for lunch?”

“Charcoal.”

“Ooh.”

“No, Barry.”

The afternoon involved camp crafts.

Thankfully, nothing catches fire during colouring.

Usually.

Barry made a cardboard owl.

Then another.

Then decided owls needed parachutes.

The parachutes worked beautifully.

The landings did not.

Several cardboard owls suffered what experts would describe as “catastrophic owl-related incidents.”

Marmaduke made friendship bracelets.

He accidentally attached one to himself.

Then another.

Then one joined Barry.

Soon both boys were connected by approximately four metres of colourful string.

“Don’t walk.”

They walked.

They walked in opposite directions.

The resulting tangle briefly resembled two particularly confused maypoles.

Alfie spent the afternoon helping younger children identify different knots.

He patiently explained.

He demonstrated.

He untangled.

Scout Leader Martin watched approvingly.

“You’ve got real patience.”

“Thank you.”

“You’d make an excellent Patrol Leader one day.”

Alfie stood about two inches taller.

Walking home, Barry carried what remained of his tent.

It looked less like camping equipment and more like a shopping bag that had endured an emotional breakdown.

“I think it’ll still work.”

Mrs Brand raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

“A blanket.”

That evening everyone gathered in Marjory’s garden.

Bubble the cat inspected Barry’s destroyed tent.

He stepped inside.

Walked straight through the enormous tear.

Stepped back out.

Then looked at Barry.

It was impossible to prove a cat was being sarcastic, but everyone had their suspicions.

“So,” said Mr Brand, “how was Day One?”

Alfie smiled proudly.

“I earned my Knots Badge.”

“Fantastic!”

“I also helped three younger Scouts.”

“Even better.”

Barry puffed out his chest.

“I broke a tent.”

“Yes.”

“And Marmaduke invented burnt soup.”

“I did,” Marmaduke agreed.

“It was black.”

“We’re aware.”

“It smelled exciting.”

“It certainly did.”

Mrs Brand looked around at everyone.

Barry was explaining to Bubble why tents were overrated.

Bubble was pretending not to listen.

Marmaduke was attempting to toast a marshmallow using absolutely no fire whatsoever.

Alfie was neatly coiling a rope because, frankly, somebody had to.

Marjory smiled over her mug of tea.

“So much for organised.”

Mrs Brand laughed.

“I honestly believed this morning that I’d planned everything.”

“You did.”

“It still descended into chaos.”

“It always does.”

Mr Brand nodded.

“The children simply view planning as a rough suggestion.”

Just before bedtime, Alfie carefully stitched his new Knots Badge onto his blanket with Mrs Brand’s help.

Barry watched closely.

“When I get a badge…”

“What for?”

“…Tent Breaking.”

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

“It should be.”

Marmaduke nodded seriously.

“And Soup Burning.”

“Definitely not.”

“What about ‘Trying Very Hard’?”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Now that would suit both of you.”

Barry grinned.

“I’d get a gold one.”

“I’ve absolutely no doubt.”

At 9:17 p.m., the house finally became quiet.

Mrs Brand checked Tuesday’s carefully organised calendar.

Everything was still perfectly planned.

She smiled.

“It’ll be fine.”

Mr Brand looked up from his laptop.

“You’ve said that before.”

“I know.”

“You never learn.”

“I really don’t.”

Outside, somewhere in the darkness, Bubble strolled mysteriously across the gardens.

Inside, Barry was already talking in his sleep.

“No… don’t let the polite bear… have my marshmallows…”

Mrs Brand switched off the landing light.

Whatever Tuesday had planned, it almost certainly wasn’t on the calendar.

And somehow, that was beginning to feel like the most organised part of the whole week.