Uniform!

It was the final week of the summer holidays.

Alfie was ready for next week.

For Barry, it was slightly confusing.

For Marmaduke, it was an opportunity.

Alfie was eight and had been an absolute dream all summer. He had read books. He had helped with the washing. He had put his shoes away without being asked. 

His parents were extremely proud.

They were also beginning to wonder whether someone had replaced their actual child with a small, sensible Victorian gentleman.

Barry, on the other hand, was four.

Barry had spent most of the summer asking questions such as:

“Can fish hear us?”

“Why don’t dogs wear trousers?”

“Could I live in the fridge?”

And, most recently:

“If I swallow a Lego wheel, will I become a car?”

Marmaduke, Barry’s best friend, was also four and was very easily led.

This meant that whenever Barry had an idea, Marmaduke was usually standing beside him saying, “Good idea, Barry,” approximately three seconds before things went wrong.

The two boys had been inseparable all summer.

They had built a den.

They had destroyed a den.

They had built another den.

They had discovered that the second den made an excellent place to hide biscuits.

They had also discovered that the garden hose could be used to water absolutely everything, including each other, the neighbour’s fence and, briefly, Mr Brand.

Mr Brand had not enjoyed that.

But summer was nearly over.

School was coming.

Routine was coming.

Early mornings were coming.

Packed lunches were coming.

And, most importantly, peace and quiet were coming.

Mr and Mrs Brand were both working parents. They loved their boys enormously.

They also loved eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Marjory Jackson, Marmaduke’s mum and their very best friend, understood this completely.

Marjory lived a few doors down and was part of the unofficial Brand-Jackson childcare system. Between the three adults, they somehow managed to make work, school, children, shopping, cooking, life and the occasional cup of tea happen.

Marjory had lost her lovely husband in a hit-and-run a few years earlier, but before that, and since, the two families had both considered each other just family.

They looked after one another.

Usually while complaining about how tired they were.

One evening, Mrs Brand and Marjory sat at the kitchen table with enormous mugs of tea.

It was late.

The house was finally quiet.

No one was shouting.

No one was asking for a snack.

No one was standing mysteriously naked in the hallway.

It was bliss.

Mrs Brand sighed happily.

“I can’t wait for school.”

Marjory nodded.

“Neither can I.”

They both took a sip.

“Routine.”

“Routine.”

“Normal bedtimes.”

“Proper shoes.”

“Lunch boxes.”

“School runs.”

Another sip.

Then Mrs Brand froze.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh.”

Marjory looked concerned.

“What?”

Mrs Brand stared at her.

“Uniform.”

Marjory slowly put her mug down.

“Oh no.”

“Barry doesn’t have any.”

“Marmaduke doesn’t have any.”

They stared at each other.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Mrs Brand whispered:

“We have four days.”

Marjory checked her phone.

“Three and a half.”

There was a long silence.

Then Marjory stood up.

“We’re going tomorrow.”

Mrs Brand nodded.

“Emergency uniform shop.”

“First thing.”

“Absolutely.”

They both looked towards the hallway.

From upstairs came a strange thump.

Then Barry shouted:

“MUM! MARMADUKE HAS HIS HEAD IN THE LAUNDRY BASKET!”

Marjory closed her eyes.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “we save ourselves.”

The next morning, the emergency uniform expedition began.

Alfie’s old uniform had been carefully stored away.

And when Mrs Brand opened the boxes, she was almost emotional.

Everything was immaculate.

Trousers without holes.

Shirts without stains.

Jumpers without mysterious green marks.

Even the PE kit looked as though it had never been anywhere near a child.

Alfie had never lost a piece of uniform.

He had never torn a piece.

He had never stained a piece.

He had apparently never even sat down in it.

Mrs Brand held up an old school jumper.

“Look at this.”

Marjory nodded.

“Beautiful.”

“It still looks new.”

“It’s depressing.”

They decided that some of Alfie’s old uniform could be redistributed.

Unfortunately, Marmaduke was taller than Barry.

This meant that the great Brand uniform redistribution was going to be less of a hand-me-down system and more of a complicated textile negotiation.

The boys were taken to the uniform shop.

They arrived at 10:03 a.m.

There was already a queue.

A very long queue.

A queue full of parents who had clearly had exactly the same thought:

We’ll just pop in and get everything today.

This was the first mistake.

The shop was tiny.

There were racks of shirts.

Racks of trousers.

Racks of skirts.

Racks of jumpers.

Racks of blazers.

And approximately seventeen billion sports T-shirts.

There were parents clutching lists.

Parents clutching children.

Parents clutching their heads.

One man was staring at a shoe display with the expression of someone reconsidering every decision he had made since becoming a parent.

Mrs Brand looked at Marjory.

“This is going to be quick.”

Marjory looked around.

“Don’t say things like that.”

They approached the schoolwear section.

Barry looked at the racks.

Then he looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

Barry grinned.

Marmaduke grinned.

This was never going to be quick.

Within two minutes, both boys had disappeared.

“Barry?”

Silence.

“Marmaduke?”

A giggle came from underneath a shelf.

Mrs Brand crouched down.

Two pairs of trainers were sticking out from underneath a row of hanging trousers.

“Come out.”

“No,” said Barry.

“Why?”

“We’re shopping.”

“You’re underneath a shelf.”

“We’re finding things.”

Marmaduke’s voice appeared from beside him.

“We found a sock.”

Mrs Brand pulled the boys out.

“Right. You are staying with us.”

Five minutes later, they disappeared again.

This time they were under a rack of PE kits.

Then they were behind the blazers.

Then they were crawling beneath a display of school shoes.

Then Barry emerged wearing a hat.

Nobody knew where he had found it.

It was enormous.

It looked like it belonged to a retired detective.

Marmaduke came out wearing another.

His was even bigger.

Mrs Brand stared at them.

“Take those off.”

“But we’re handsome,” said Barry.

“You look like two elderly fishermen.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

They continued shopping.

Shirts x 6 (these boys would need a few spare each!).

Trousers x 4 (knees didn’t last long).

Jumpers x 2 (this was optimistic, but Alfie’s looked new and they be pretty unlucky if both needed a new one!).

Sports shorts x 2 (what damage could they do to these??).

Sports T-shirts …

One in Barry’s size.

One in a size that appeared to be designed for a fourteen-year-old professional rugby player.

Marjory held it up.

“Marmaduke?”

Marmaduke looked at it.

“I think that’s mine.”

“You’re four.”

“I’ve grown.”

“You have not grown four feet since breakfast.”

Barry was now trying on a blazer.

It came down to his ankles.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

“I look like Daddy.”

Mrs Brand nearly laughed.

“You look like Daddy if Daddy had been swallowed by a curtain.”

Barry turned around.

“Marmaduke! Look!”

Marmaduke was wearing a mouth guard.

Nobody knew where he had found it.

He smiled.

His words came out as:

“I’m a boxer.”

“What?”

“I’m a boxer!”

“What did you say?”

“I’M A BOXER!”

A nearby parent jumped.

Mrs Brand removed the mouth guard.

“No boxing.”

“But I’m good at it.”

“You’ve never boxed.”

“I boxed Barry.”

Barry nodded.

“He did.”

Mrs Brand looked at Marjory.

“Did they just admit to fighting?”

Marjory sighed.

“I don’t think they know what boxing is.”

Barry pointed towards a display.

“What’s that?”

Mrs Brand followed his finger.

It was a sports protector.

More specifically, a codpiece.

Barry picked it up.

“What does this do?”

Mrs Brand immediately regretted coming to the shop.

Marjory looked at the ceiling.

“It’s protective.”

“Protective of what?”

“Things.”

“What things?”

“Private things.”

Barry frowned.

“Like Lego?”

“No.”

“Like biscuits?”

“No.”

“Like my bottom?”

Marjory nodded.

“Yes.”

Barry held it up.

“Where does it go?”

Mrs Brand looked around desperately.

Several parents had stopped listening to their own children.

She lowered her voice.

“Nowhere.”

Barry frowned.

“But it must go somewhere.”

“Not on you.”

Marmaduke picked up another one.

“Does it go on your head?”

Barry considered this.

“Maybe.”

“No,” said both mums simultaneously.

The boys giggled.

Then they vanished again.

At this point, the trip had been going on for thirty-seven minutes.

The mothers had purchased almost nothing.

The boys had apparently discovered an entire underground civilisation beneath the clothing shelves.

Every few minutes, a small hand would appear from somewhere.

Then a hat.

Then a shoe.

Then Barry.

Then Marmaduke.

Then both.

At one point, Barry crawled out backwards wearing a pair of enormous PE shorts.

“Look!”

Marjory looked.

“Why are you wearing those?”

“They were on the floor.”

“They were not on the floor.”

“They are now.”

Mrs Brand took a deep breath.

“We need to finish.”

The boys were handed matching baskets.

“You are helping us.”

Barry looked delighted.

Marmaduke looked delighted.

This was the second mistake.

Within thirty seconds, they had filled their baskets with:

One football.

Three girls’ berets.

A whistle.

A mouth guard.

A pair of adult socks.

A cricket glove.

Two items nobody could identify.

And the codpiece.

Mrs Brand stared at the basket.

“Why is that in there?”

Barry looked confused.

“It protects the Lego.”

Marjory laughed so hard she had to sit down.

The final ten minutes were chaos.

The checkout queue had grown.

Someone was asking for a different size.

Someone else had forgotten their school crest.

A toddler was crying.

A baby was crying.

A parent was crying.

And somewhere beneath a rack, Barry was whispering:

“Marmaduke.”

“Yes?”

“I have an idea.”

Marjory heard him. “No.”

Barry froze. “But I haven’t said it.”

“I know you.”

Marmaduke whispered, “Good idea, Barry.”

“No.”

The boys sighed.

Eventually, after sixty-seven minutes, the emergency uniform mission was complete.

Mostly.

They had uniform.

They had shoes.

They had PE kits.

They had survived.

Mrs Brand paid.

Marjory gathered the bags.

Barry stood beside her wearing his original clothes.

Marmaduke was also wearing his original clothes.

Mrs Brand stared at them.

“Why aren’t you wearing anything we’ve bought?”

Barry smiled.

“Because we’re saving it for school.”

Mrs Brand blinked.

Marjory nodded slowly.

“Actually, that’s sensible.”

The boys grinned.

Then Barry looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

Barry whispered:

“Race you to the car.”

They ran.

Mrs Brand sighed.

Marjory picked up the bags.

“Three days until school.”

“Three days.”

“Do you think they’ll survive?”

Mrs Brand looked at the boys racing down the pavement, “No.”

Marjory smiled, “Neither will we.”

From fifty yards ahead came a shout.

“MUM!”

Mrs Brand stopped.

“What now?”

Barry’s voice echoed down the street.

“MARMADUKE HAS FOUND A TRAFFIC CONE!”

Marjory closed her eyes.

Mrs Brand smiled.

School couldn’t come soon enough.