The Great Garden Clearance

Monday morning began with something deeply suspicious.

There was no school.

There was no nursery.

There was no alarm clock shouting at everyone to get up.

And, most importantly, there was no sensible plan.

Barry woke at 6:17am.

This was unfortunate for everybody else.

He climbed out of bed, put on one sock, found a dinosaur under his pillow, put the dinosaur in the other sock, and marched into his parents’ bedroom.

“Daddy.”

Mr Brand opened one eye.

“What?”

“It’s Monday.”

“Yes.”

“We’re on holiday.”

“Yes.”

“Can we do something?”

Mr Brand closed his eye.

“We are doing something.”

“What?”

“Sleeping.”

Barry considered this.

“Is sleeping, gardening?”

“No.”

“Can I garden?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s six seventeen in the morning.”

Barry nodded solemnly.

Then he went downstairs.

Within three minutes, Marmaduke had been summoned from three doors down.

Marjory appeared at her front door wearing a dressing gown.

“Marmaduke! Why are you outside?”

“Barry says we’re gardening.”

Marjory looked at Barry.

Barry smiled.

It was the smile he used when he had already done something and was waiting to see whether anyone had noticed.

Mr Brand eventually emerged to retrieve Barry, clutching a mug of coffee.

“Right,” he said. “Today we are going to start clearing the bottom of the garden.”

Alfie appeared behind him.

“I’ve already done ten pages of maths.”

Everyone stared at him.

Barry looked horrified.

“Why?”

“Because I want to get back into the routine before school starts.”

Marmaduke whispered to Barry, “He’s been replaced by a robot.”

“I know.”

Mr Brand explained the plan, as they all, minus Marjory, walked back to the Brand’s house. 

The bottom of their garden had become a jungle over the summer. There were weeds, old pots, dead branches, an enormous shrub that seemed to have developed its own postal address, and a mysterious patch of nettles that appeared to be guarding something.

Marjory’s garden was even worse.

Her house, three doors down, was undergoing renovation. There were skips, builders’ materials, bags of rubble and a collection of things that had been removed from the house but had not yet been thrown away because apparently nobody had decided whether they were rubbish or “useful one day.”

Marjory herself was trying to manage the renovation while continuing to be a neurosurgeon.

“Which,” she said, “is why I need you to clear the garden.”

Mr Brand saluted.

Barry saluted.

Marmaduke saluted.

Alfie did not salute.

He was reading an English comprehension book.

The garden clearance began.

Mr Brand gave Barry a small pair of gloves.

“Your job is to collect sticks.”

Barry looked at the pile of sticks.

“Can I make something?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because every time I say yes to that question, something catches fire.”

“That was one time.”

“That was recently .”

Marmaduke was assigned the same job.

Within ten minutes they had collected approximately seventeen sticks.

Then Barry had an idea.

“We can make a nest.”

“For what?” asked Marmaduke.

“A dinosaur.”

“There aren’t any dinosaurs.”

Barry looked disappointed.

“You don’t know that.”

Bubble the cat arrived.

Bubble was Marmaduke’s cat and regarded the entire world as his personal hunting ground.

He sniffed the stick pile.

Then he disappeared into the bushes.

Marmaduke followed.

“Bubble!”

Barry followed Marmaduke.

Mr Brand sighed.

He had the unmistakable expression of a man realising that his relaxing week with his children might not be relaxing.

Suddenly there was a tremendous rustling.

Bubble shot out of the bushes.

Behind him came Barry.

Behind Barry came Marmaduke.

Behind Marmaduke came a large plastic flowerpot.

Nobody knew why.

Then the flowerpot hit a rake.

The rake fell.

It hit another rake.

That rake knocked over a wheelbarrow.

The wheelbarrow rolled downhill.

Mr Brand grabbed it.

“STOP!”

Everything stopped.

Except Bubble.

Bubble disappeared through the hedge.

Mr Brand looked at Barry.

“Why was the flowerpot chasing you?”

“It wasn’t.”

“Why were you carrying it?”

“I was helping.”

“Helping what?”

Barry thought.

“Gravity.”

By lunchtime, the garden looked considerably better.

Barry and Marmaduke had found a football, a toy tractor, three tennis balls, a broken watering can and what appeared to be a spoon.

They also found a large metal object.

“What’s that?” Barry asked.

Mr Brand examined it.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Marjory arrived.

She looked at it.

“Oh! That’s the old barbecue.”

Mr Brand stared.

“The barbecue?”

“Yes.”

“You said you threw it away.”

“I thought I did.”

“How can you forget throwing away a barbecue?”

Marjory shrugged.

“Renovation brain.”

Alfie appeared.

“I’ve finished maths.”

Everyone groaned.

“Why?” Barry asked.

“Because I want to do English.”

Barry turned to Marmaduke.

“This week is going to be terrible.”

Bubble jumped onto the newly cleared flowerbed.

Mr Brand looked at him.

“Don’t.”

Bubble sat down.

He blinked.

Then he deliberately dug a hole.

Mr Brand closed his eyes.

“Of course.”

Monday was finished.

The garden was cleaner.

The children were exhausted.

Alfie had completed twenty pages.

And Bubble had successfully turned a freshly cleared flowerbed into a litter tray.

Summer holidays were going brilliantly.