Stars

It was the final week of the summer holidays, which meant that the children were tired, the parents were exhausted, and everyone was pretending that they would be sad when school started again.

They would not be.

Alfie was eight.

Alfie was sensible.

Alfie liked rules.

Alfie liked instructions.

Alfie liked knowing what was going to happen next and, ideally, having a laminated timetable explaining it.

Barry, on the other hand, was four.

Barry liked discovering what happened when you ignored instructions.

And Marmaduke, who was also four, liked whatever Barry liked.

This was unfortunate for everyone.

The Brand family lived in London, a few doors away from Marjory Jackson and her son, Marmaduke. 

At the moment, Marjory’s house was being renovated.

Mr Brand was a barrister and between law cases, which meant he had been volunteered for a number of jobs.

By volunteered, everyone meant Mrs Brand had given him a list.

He had attacked the garden earlier in the week.

The garden had fought back.

There had been mud.

There had been weeds.

And then the rain arrived.

London rain.

Not gentle rain.

Not polite rain.

Rain that appeared to have a personal grievance.

So outdoor work was cancelled.

Mr Brand decided to move indoors.

The builders were already working, fitting the new family bathroom on the first floor. There were drills, pipes, tiles and the occasional loud bang, followed by a builder saying something that sounded suspiciously like a swear word.

Marjory had become very good at pretending she hadn’t heard it.

Marmaduke’s bedroom, also on the first floor, had already been painted.

Dark blue.

It looked brilliant.

Very cool.

Very sophisticated.

Very much like a room belonging to a child who had absolutely no idea what sophisticated meant.

The plan was to put little glow-in-the-dark stars around the room.

Not randomly.

They were supposed to be arranged into constellations.

There were packets of tiny stars ready to go.

The Big Dipper.

Orion.

Cassiopeia.

And several others that Mr Brand had never heard of because he had been more interested in finding out whether the packet contained enough stars to cover an entire ceiling.

It did not.

The stars were supposed to be carefully positioned.

They were supposed to be stuck on walls and ceiling.

They were supposed to create a beautiful night sky.

And, most importantly, the boys were not supposed to touch them.

This last instruction was given approximately fourteen times.

Barry nodded each time.

Marmaduke nodded too.

Neither of them had any intention of obeying.

Upstairs, Mr Brand was stripping wallpaper from one of the bedrooms on the second floor.

He had a scraper in one hand and a bucket in the other.

Every so often, a large piece of wallpaper came away with a satisfying ripping sound.

Mr Brand smiled.

He loved this part.

It was simple.

Peel.

Scrape.

Pull.

Repeat.

No emails.

No meetings.

No clients.

No children.

No one asking him where their shoes were.

He pulled another piece.

“Ahhhh.”

A large sheet came away.

He felt powerful.

He was practically professional.

Then he heard footsteps.

He looked towards the doorway.

Barry appeared.

Behind him was Marmaduke.

They were both very quiet.

This was immediately suspicious.

“Hello,” said Mr Brand.

“Hello, Daddy,” said Barry.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

Mr Brand frowned.

“Where’s Alfie?”

“Reading.”

“Good.”

“Very good,” said Marmaduke.

Mr Brand nodded.

“Excellent. Go and play downstairs.”

Barry looked at the wallpaper.

“Can I help?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m stripping wallpaper.”

“I can strip wallpaper.”

“No.”

“I’ve got fingers.”

“So have I.”

“I’ve got lots.”

Mr Brand laughed.

“Go downstairs, Barry.”

Barry nodded.

“Okay.”

He walked away.

Marmaduke followed.

Mr Brand returned to his wall.

He smiled. “Good.”

He pulled another piece of wallpaper.

Rip.

Silence.

Then he heard Barry whisper:

“Come on.”

Mr Brand stopped.

He turned around.

Nobody was there.

He shook his head.

He was imagining things.

Probably.

Downstairs, Barry and Marmaduke stood outside Marmaduke’s bedroom.

The door was open.

Inside was the dark blue room.

It looked magnificent.

The two boys stared at the ceiling.

Then Barry noticed the packets.

There they were.

The stars.

Tiny.

Shiny.

Magical.

Barry picked up a packet.

Marmaduke gasped.

“Are they sweets?”

“No.”

“Buttons?”

“No.”

“Boogers?”

“No.”

Barry opened the packet.

“They’re stars.”

Marmaduke looked delighted.

“Are we allowed?”

Barry paused.

This was an important question.

He thought about it carefully.

“No.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Okay.”

They stared at the stars.

Barry’s eyes narrowed.

“But Dad said we can’t touch them.”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t say we couldn’t use them.”

Marmaduke considered this.

“That sounds like the same thing.”

Barry shook his head.

“No. Different.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m four.”

Marmaduke nodded.

This seemed reasonable.

“Good idea, Barry.”

And so the Great Star Installation began.

The first problem was that neither boy knew what a constellation was.

Barry decided a constellation was “a star picture.”

Marmaduke agreed.

So they started making pictures.

The first was a dinosaur.

The second was a giant sausage.

The third was what Barry described as “Daddy having a bath.”

Marmaduke wasn’t sure.

Then Barry decided they needed more stars.

They put stars on the wall.

Then more on the other wall.

Then some on the wardrobe.

Then some on the door.

Then several on the lampshade.

Then one on Marmaduke’s nose.

Marmaduke looked cross-eyed at it.

“Can I have one on my forehead?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll look magical.”

Marmaduke smiled.

“I do look magical.”

“You look like a unicorn.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The boys giggled.

They were having a wonderful time.

Unfortunately, they had also developed a system.

Barry put a star somewhere.

Marmaduke copied him.

Marmaduke put one somewhere.

Barry put three there.

Then they started working on the ceiling.

This was harder.

They needed something to stand on.

Barry found a small stool.

Marmaduke found another.

They placed them together.

It wobbled.

Barry climbed up.

“Don’t fall.”

“I won’t.”

“You might.”

“I won’t.”

“You definitely might.”

Barry looked down.

“Marmaduke?”

“Yes?”

“Hold this.”

He handed him a toy dinosaur.

“What for?”

“If I fall, save me.”

Marmaduke looked horrified.

“How?”

“Dinosaur.”

Marmaduke nodded solemnly.

“Okay.”

Meanwhile, on the second floor, Mr Brand continued stripping wallpaper.

Rip.

Scrape.

Rip.

Scrape.

Then he stopped.

He could hear laughing.

He frowned.

Not ordinary laughing.

This was the suspicious sort.

The sort that usually preceded either a broken object or an urgent need for an adult.

He put down the scraper.

“Barry?”

Nothing.

“Marmaduke?”

Silence.

Then:

“Look!”

Mr Brand sighed.

He knew exactly what was happening.

He walked downstairs.

He reached the bedroom doorway.

And stopped.

He stared.

The dark blue room had changed.

It was no longer a dark blue room.

It was a galaxy.

There were stars everywhere.

On the walls.

On the ceiling.

On the wardrobe.

On the door.

On the light switch.

On the curtains.

On the skirting board.

There was one on the handle of Mr Brand’s screwdriver.

There were stars arranged in a shape that appeared to be either a dinosaur or a horse falling down the stairs.

And in the middle of the room stood Barry and Marmaduke.

Both covered in stars.

Barry had three on his forehead.

Marmaduke had one on his chin.

Mr Brand stared.

The boys stared back.

Nobody spoke.

Finally, Mr Brand said:

“What have you done?”

Barry smiled.

“We’ve done the stars.”

“I can see that.”

“We made constellations.”

Mr Brand looked around.

“Which ones?”

Barry pointed proudly.

“That one’s a dinosaur.”

Mr Brand nodded slowly.

“And that?”

“Daddy having a bath.”

Mr Brand looked at Marmaduke.

“Is that what this is?”

Marmaduke nodded.

“He was very good at the bubbles.”

Mr Brand closed his eyes.

He could already imagine explaining this to Mrs Brand.

The constellation of Daddy in the bath.

A new scientific discovery.

Then he spotted the ceiling.

“Oh no.”

The boys looked up.

“What?”

“The stars are supposed to go in specific patterns.”

Barry shrugged.

“We made new ones.”

Mr Brand tried not to laugh.

He failed.

A tiny snort escaped.

Barry grinned.

“Dad laughed!”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

Marmaduke pointed.

“You did.”

Mr Brand looked at the walls again.

He had to admit it.

It was ridiculous.

But it was also strangely brilliant.

The room looked like a four-year-old had swallowed a planetarium.

“Right,” he said. “Okay. We need to fix this.”

Barry looked worried.

“Are we in trouble?”

“Yes.”

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

“Are we very in trouble?”

Mr Brand sighed.

“Yes.”

Barry thought about it.

“Can we finish first?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you have put a star on the toilet.”

The boys looked at the bathroom.

Sure enough, there was a tiny glowing star on the toilet lid.

Marmaduke whispered:

“That’s my best one.”

Mrs Brand arrived twenty minutes later.

She took one look at the room.

Then she looked at Mr Brand.

Then at Barry.

Then Marmaduke.

Then back at Mr Brand.

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“They wanted to help.”

Mrs Brand looked around.

“Help?”

Barry nodded.

“We made the stars.”

“I see.”

“We made a dinosaur.”

“I see that.”

“And Daddy having a bath.”

Mrs Brand looked at the constellation.

She started laughing.

She tried to stop.

She couldn’t.

Marjory appeared behind her.

“What happened?”

Mrs Brand pointed.

Marjory walked into the room.

She stared.

Then she burst out laughing too.

Marmaduke smiled.

“Do you like it?”

Marjory looked around.

“It’s… definitely something.”

Alfie arrived a moment later.

He stood in the doorway.

His eyes widened.

He looked horrified.

“What happened?”

Barry grinned.

“We decorated.”

Alfie looked at the ceiling.

“But those aren’t the constellations!”

“We made new ones.”

“You can’t just make new constellations!”

Barry frowned.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how space works.”

Barry looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

Barry shrugged.

“Space should be more fun.”

Alfie looked like he was about to deliver a lecture.

Then he stopped.

He looked at his little brother.

Then at Marmaduke.

Then at the ridiculous star-covered room.

Finally, he sighed.

“Okay.”

Barry smiled.

“Do you like it?”

Alfie nodded reluctantly.

“The dinosaur is actually quite good.”

Barry’s face lit up.

“See!”

Alfie pointed at the ceiling.

“But that one is definitely not Daddy in the bath.”

Marmaduke looked offended.

“It is.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“It doesn’t look like Dad.”

Barry looked at the stars.

“He needs more bubbles.”

Alfie considered this.

“That’s true.”

Mr Brand stared at his children.

“Please don’t add anything.”

That evening, the boys were sent home.

The stars remained.

Mr Brand had carefully removed the ones from the bathroom, the toilet, the screwdriver and several other places where stars probably didn’t belong.

But he left the rest.

The dinosaur stayed.

So did the sausage.

So did the mysterious creature that may or may not have been Daddy in the bath.

The proper constellations were added around them.

And when the lights were switched off, the whole room glowed.

Tiny green stars twinkled across the dark blue walls and ceiling.

Barry stood in the doorway.

“It’s beautiful.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“It is.”

Alfie looked at the ceiling.

“The stars look amazing.”

Mr Brand smiled.

“You know, you two actually did quite a good job.”

Barry beamed.

“Can we decorate the kitchen tomorrow?”

“No.”

“The bathroom?”

“No.”

“Your bedroom?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

There was silence.

Then Barry whispered to Marmaduke:

“Tomorrow we do Alfie’s room.”

Alfie turned around.

“I heard that.”

Barry smiled innocently.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Neither did I.”

Alfie narrowed his eyes.

“You’re both trouble.”

Barry grinned.

“Thank you.”

And somewhere in the house, Mrs Brand laughed.

Because school was only a few days away.

And, frankly, the teachers had no idea what was coming.