It was Thursday morning, and for once, Mr Brand was not sitting at his desk looking like a man who had personally offended a mountain of paperwork.
His law case was over.
Finished.
Done.
No more bundles of documents. No more frantic telephone calls. No more muttering things like, “I just need five minutes,” before disappearing into his study for three hours.
Unfortunately, his mum had had another funny turn and was back in hospital in Leicestershire.
So, with the sort of decision-making normally associated with people who had forgotten to sleep, Mr Brand announced at breakfast:
“I’m going to take Barry and Marmaduke up to Grandma’s.”
Mrs Brand looked up from her laptop.
“You’re taking both four-year-olds?”
“Yes.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
“To Leicestershire?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Are you sure?”
Mr Brand thought about this.
“No.”
Barry cheered.
Marmaduke cheered louder.
And that was how, at 7.15 that morning, two extremely excited four-year-olds climbed into the back of Mr Brand’s car with rucksacks full of toys, snacks, books, soft animals, and several objects that nobody had seen before and nobody could explain.
Alfie stood on the doorstep, watching them.
“Dad,” he said seriously, “please make sure Barry doesn’t open anything he shouldn’t.”
Barry leaned out of the car.
“I won’t!”
Alfie narrowed his eyes.
“You said that last week.”
“I was wrong last week.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
And off they went.
The journey north was surprisingly peaceful.
For the first twenty minutes.
Then Marmaduke announced that he was hungry.
Barry announced that he was also hungry.
Marmaduke said he was more hungry.
Barry said that was impossible.
Marmaduke said it wasn’t.
Barry said it was.
Mr Brand turned up the radio.
It was going to be a long morning.
Luckily, Marjory had prepared provisions.
There were bacon and egg sandwiches, tonnes of fruit and several strange-looking chewy things that appeared to have been made from the tongues of particularly unfortunate cats.
“What are these?” asked Barry.
“Blueberry chews,” said Mr Brand.
Marmaduke sniffed one.
“It smells like feet.”
“Eat it.”
Marmaduke took a bite.
His eyes widened.
“That’s actually nice.”
Barry ate one.
Then another.
Then another.
“These are brilliant.”
Mr Brand glanced in the mirror.
“Funny how quickly children abandon their principles when sugar is involved.”
By the time they reached Grandma Brand’s house at 10.30am, the boys were bouncing around the back seat like two human popcorn kernels.
Grandma’s house looked exactly as Mr Brand remembered it.
And yet, somehow, completely different.
It had once been the heart of the family.
When Mr Brand was a boy, the house had been full of people.
There had been cousins charging through the hallways, grandparents arguing cheerfully in the kitchen, neighbours dropping in, friends staying for dinner, Christmas parties, birthday parties and the occasional relative who had apparently come for lunch and stayed until Easter.
There had always been noise.
Always cooking.
Always someone talking.
Always something happening.
Now it was quiet.
Too quiet.
The house was enormous for one person, and it showed.
There were piles of post on the hall table.
Dust had gathered in corners.
Several rooms looked as though they had been tidied by someone who had started enthusiastically and then remembered they had something much more important to do.
Like sit down.
Mr Brand sighed.
He loved this house.
But he could see that it needed help.
Perhaps a regular cleaner.
Perhaps some investment.
Perhaps, eventually, a move to somewhere smaller and easier for Grandma.
He didn’t know.
But he did know that the house couldn’t carry on like this forever.
Then Barry shouted:
“DAD!”
Mr Brand’s thoughts immediately abandoned all serious adult considerations.
“What?”
“There’s a cat!”
There was indeed a cat.
It was a magnificent-looking creature with white paws, a ginger back and the expression of someone who had been paying the mortgage for far too long.
It was stretched out on the patio in a patch of sunshine beside a bowl of water.
Barry crouched down.
“Hello.”
The cat opened one eye.
Barry smiled.
“My name is Barry.”
The cat closed its eye again.
“I think he likes me,” Barry whispered.
Mr Brand smiled.
“I’m sure he does.”
“He’s not moving.”
“That’s because he’s a cat.”
Barry thought about this.
“So he likes me very much.”
“Obviously.”
Barry sat down beside the cat.
The cat remained asleep.
Marmaduke came over.
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s call him Steve.”
“Why?”
“Because he looks like a Steve.”
The cat opened one eye.
Barry nodded.
“See? He agrees.”
Mr Brand decided not to interfere.
The boys spent the next ten minutes trying to stroke Steve without waking him.
Steve endured this with the patience of a saint.
Then Marmaduke spotted something.
A swing.
It stood at the far end of the garden, beneath an old tree.
It had clearly been there for years.
Marmaduke ran over.
“Barry! Look!”
Barry followed.
“Swing!”
Marmaduke climbed on.
Mr Brand glanced over.
“Careful, Marmaduke. It’s old.”
“I know how to swing.”
“Gently.”
“I will.”
Marmaduke pushed off.
The swing creaked.
Barry giggled.
Marmaduke swung a little higher.
The swing creaked again.
Mr Brand took a step forward.
“Marmaduke—”
CRACK!
The wooden seat snapped cleanly in half.
Marmaduke disappeared backwards.
There was a tremendous thump.
Then silence.
Mr Brand froze.
Barry froze.
Even Steve the cat opened both eyes.
“Marmaduke?”
A small voice came from the grass.
“I’m okay.”
Mr Brand hurried over.
Marmaduke was sitting on the ground, looking more surprised than hurt.
Barry crouched beside him.
“What happened?”
“The swing broke.”
Barry examined the broken seat.
“I think you broke it.”
Marmaduke looked offended.
“I did not.”
“You were sitting on it.”
“Yes.”
“Then you broke it.”
“No.”
“How?”
Marmaduke considered this carefully.
“The swing broke itself.”
Barry nodded.
“That’s probably what happened.”
Mr Brand sighed.
“Of course it did.”
They dusted Marmaduke down.
Fortunately, he was genuinely fine.
The swing, however, was very definitely not.
Mr Brand looked at the broken wood.
It brought back memories.
He remembered sitting on that swing himself.
He remembered pushing his brother.
He remembered his mum shouting, “Not so high!”
He remembered summer afternoons, muddy shoes, garden parties and family barbecues.
He remembered this garden being full of people.
Now there was just the lawn, the old swing, a few tired flowerbeds and one extremely judgmental cat.
Mr Brand stood quietly for a moment.
Barry tugged his hand.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can we fix it?”
Mr Brand looked down.
“Maybe.”
“Can we make it bigger?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it would probably break again.”
Marmaduke nodded wisely.
“Then we should make it smaller.”
Mr Brand smiled.
“That isn’t quite how engineering works.”
“What is engineering?”
“Making things work.”
Barry looked at the broken swing.
“Like making Marmaduke work?”
Marmaduke gasped.
“I work!”
“Sometimes,” said Barry.
After lunch, the boys explored the house.
This was possibly the worst decision Mr Brand had made all day.
Barry discovered the old dining room.
Then the drawing room.
Then a cupboard.
Then another cupboard.
Then a cupboard containing a box.
“Dad!”
“What?”
“What’s in this?”
“Don’t touch it.”
Barry froze.
Marmaduke froze.
Mr Brand knew immediately that he had made a tactical error.
The box was now the most interesting object in the entire county.
“What is it?” asked Marmaduke.
“Just some old family things.”
“Can we look?”
“No.”
Barry nodded solemnly.
“Okay.”
Mr Brand relaxed.
Then Barry whispered to Marmaduke:
“We’ll look later.”
Mr Brand closed his eyes.
Parenting was exhausting.
Eventually they found an old photograph album.
Mr Brand sat on the floor with the boys and opened it.
There were pictures of him as a child.
His parents when they were younger.
Family holidays.
Christmases.
Birthdays.
Picnics.
People who were no longer around.
Barry pointed at one photograph.
“Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“You had funny hair.”
“I know.”
Marmaduke pointed at another.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s my dad.”
Mr Brand smiled.
“He loved this garden.”
The boys became quiet.
For once.
It was a rare and beautiful moment.
Mr Brand looked around the room.
The house had once been bursting with life.
Now it was tired.
The carpets were worn.
The paint was faded.
The furniture looked as though it had seen several decades of Christmas dinners and was quietly asking for retirement.
But underneath all that, the house still felt like home.
It just needed people.
It needed laughter.
It needed children running through the hall.
It needed someone cooking too much food.
It needed somebody complaining about the noise.
Mr Brand smiled.
Perhaps the answer wasn’t to save every single thing.
Perhaps some things needed to change.
Maybe the house needed investment.
Maybe Grandma needed somewhere smaller and easier.
And perhaps, one day, another family might fill these rooms with noise again.
That thought made him strangely happy.
Then Barry shouted:
“DAD!”
Mr Brand sighed.
“What now?”
Barry appeared in the doorway holding something enormous.
“I found a hat!”
“That is your grandmother’s old gardening hat.”
“Can I wear it?”
“No.”
Barry put it on.
It was far too big.
It fell over his eyes.
Marmaduke burst out laughing.
Barry marched blindly across the room.
“I am the gardener!”
“You’re going to walk into a wall,” said Mr Brand.
“I won’t.”
THUMP.
Barry walked into a wall.
Marmaduke fell over laughing.
Mr Brand put his head in his hands.
By late afternoon, the boys were tired.
Marmaduke was lying on the sofa.
Barry was asleep with Steve the cat curled beside him.
Mr Brand stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the garden.
The broken swing sat beneath the tree.
The lawn looked beautiful.
The house looked tired.
But for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel quite so empty.
There had been laughter.
There had been memories.
There had been two small boys running around causing entirely predictable problems.
And, somehow, that had made the place feel alive again.
Mr Brand looked at Barry.
Then at Marmaduke.
Then at the old house.
He smiled.
The house didn’t need to be exactly as it had been.
It just needed a future.
And perhaps, with a bit of work, it could have one.
They would stay there that night and see Grandma Brand at hospital in the morning.
For now, they felt like they were camping in the house.
Mr Brand’s old 2ft wide single bed – the reason for so many requests for a bigger one – was still in Mr Brand’s old bedroom.
“I’ll take this room tonight,” he said to the boys. You can share the double bed across the landing.
Alfie, Barry and Marmaduke Stories 
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