Friday night debrief

Friday evening had finally arrived.

Not just any Friday evening.

This was the Friday evening after the first week of big school.

Well, technically it had only been four days because Monday had been a bank holiday, but Barry was quite clear that this was irrelevant.

“It’s been a whole week,” he announced.

Alfie looked up from his dinner.

“It’s been four days.”

“A whole school week,” said Barry.

“No. Four school days.”

“Four big days.”

Marmaduke nodded solemnly.

“Very big.”

Alfie sighed.

He had been doing this for eight years, and he already had the exhausted expression of a man who had been dealing with Barry for considerably longer than was reasonable.

The Brand kitchen was warm and noisy.

Mr and Mrs Brand were sitting at the table with cups of tea. Marjory Jackson was squeezed in beside Mrs Brand, having brought over a bag of clothes and a toothbrush.

She was staying the night.

This was because the builders at her house had shut off the water while they fixed a shower leak.

Apparently, when you had no water, it became surprisingly difficult to do ordinary things.

Like shower.

Or wash your hands.

Or flush a toilet.

Or, as Marjory had discovered that afternoon, explain to a plumber why your four-year-old son had been repeatedly asking whether the toilet would still work if he poured water into it himself.

“It was a sensible question,” Marmaduke said.

“No, it wasn’t,” said Marjory.

“It was scientific.”

“You were holding a jug.”

“I was testing.”

“You were about to flood the bathroom.”

Marmaduke considered this.

“Testing can be messy.”

Mrs Brand laughed.

“That’s going on your school report.”

Barry grinned.

The kitchen table was covered with plates, glasses, crumbs and the remains of dinner.

It had been a proper Friday night dinner.

Not fancy.

Not particularly healthy.

But comforting.

There had been sausages, mash, peas and gravy, followed by ice cream.

Barry had eaten the sausages.

He had eaten the mash.

He had eaten some peas after negotiations that would have been worthy of a United Nations peace summit.

And he had eaten enough ice cream to make everyone wonder whether he was secretly preparing for hibernation.

Now everyone was sitting around the table.

Talking.

Laughing.

Remembering.

It had been quite a summer.

There had been bikes.

Swimming.

Clubs.

Adventures.

Trips.

Bug hunts.

Cookery club.

Dinosaurs.

Football.

And, most importantly, the small matter of two four-year-olds starting big school.

Mrs Brand looked around the table.

“So,” she said, “first week of school. How did everyone do?”

“I did very well,” said Alfie immediately.

Everyone laughed.

“What?” he said.

“You didn’t even let anyone else answer,” said Mr Brand.

“I know I did well.”

“You’re confident.”

“I completed all my homework.”

“Of course you did,” said Mrs Brand.

“And I organised my school bag.”

“Obviously.”

“And I’ve already planned when I’m going to do next week’s homework.”

Barry stared at him.

“Why?”

Alfie looked genuinely puzzled.

“Because then I know when I’m doing it.”

“But why would you want to know that?”

“Because I like being organised.”

Barry thought about this.

Then he turned to Marmaduke.

“Marm, do you like being organised?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

Alfie shook his head.

“I don’t understand either of you.”

“You don’t have to,” said Marjory. “You’re eight. They’re four. That’s practically another species.”

Marmaduke looked pleased.

“We are wild.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Brand. “We’ve noticed.”

Barry leaned across the table.

“I like big school.”

Everyone smiled.

That was lovely to hear.

“What do you like about it?” Mrs Brand asked.

Barry thought.

“Snack time.”

Marjory nodded.

“Very important.”

“And painting.”

“Excellent.”

“And playing.”

“Good.”

“And lunch.”

“Wonderful.”

“And going home.”

There was a pause.

“That’s a comprehensive review,” said Mr Brand.

Barry nodded.

“I give it ten out of ten.”

Marmaduke raised his hand.

“I give it nine.”

“Why nine?” asked Marjory.

“Because Barry got there first.”

Barry looked offended.

“That shouldn’t lose a point.”

“It did.”

Alfie shook his head.

“You two are ridiculous.”

Marmaduke smiled.

“Thank you.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

“Oh.”

Marmaduke thought for a moment.

“Still sounds good.”

Everyone laughed.

Mrs Brand looked at the boys.

“Was there anything that was difficult?”

Barry immediately looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

Alfie looked suspicious.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Barry.

“That was very quick.”

“I’ve had practice.”

Marjory raised an eyebrow.

“Marmaduke?”

“We may have accidentally…”

Marmaduke stopped.

“Accidentally what?” asked Marjory.

“…put two pencils in the glue.”

Mrs Brand blinked.

“Why?”

Barry leaned forward.

“They looked like glue sticks.”

“They absolutely did not,” said Alfie.

“They were the same shape,” Barry argued.

“They were pencils.”

“Yes.”

“And glue sticks are glue sticks.”

“Yes.”

“So why did you put pencils in the glue?”

Barry considered this.

“I wanted to see if they would become glue pencils.”

There was silence.

Then Mr Brand burst out laughing.

“I mean,” he said, “scientifically, that’s an excellent experiment.”

Mrs Brand gave him a look.

“Do not encourage him.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I was admiring the creativity.”

“That’s how it starts.”

Marjory nodded.

“Exactly. One minute you’re admiring creativity, and the next you’re explaining to a teacher why your child has attempted to turn stationery into a construction material.”

Barry looked delighted.

“Can I do it again?”

“No,” said three adults at once.

Alfie looked smug.

“I told him not to.”

“Of course you did,” said Mrs Brand.

“I also told him not to climb on the bookcase.”

Everyone slowly looked at Barry.

Barry looked at the ceiling.

“I was looking for something.”

“What?”

“A book.”

“On the top shelf?”

“Yes.”

“You could have asked.”

“I didn’t know where you were.”

Mrs Brand stared at him.

“I was in the same room.”

“Oh.”

Barry took another spoonful of ice cream.

“Next time I’ll shout.”

“That’s not really the improvement you think it is,” said Mr Brand.

The conversation moved on.

They talked about summer.

About the first time Barry and Marmaduke had ridden their bikes.

About how Alfie had become ridiculously good at swimming.

About football.

About the various clubs they had attended.

About the adventures that seemed to happen whenever the three boys were together.

Mr Brand smiled.

“Do you remember the dinosaurs?”

“Yes!” shouted Barry.

“I liked the dinosaur that ate people.”

“It didn’t actually eat people,” said Alfie.

“It would have.”

“It’s extinct.”

“So it can’t eat me.”

“Correct.”

“Excellent.”

Marjory laughed.

“And the bug hunt?”

Barry’s face lit up.

“We found greenfly.”

“And a stink bug,” added Marmaduke proudly.

Barry nodded.

“He stank.”

“That is, rather conveniently, what stink bugs do,” said Mrs Brand.

Marmaduke looked at his mum.

“Do you remember when Bubble caught the mouse?”

Marjory groaned.

“Oh yes.”

Everyone laughed.

Bubble the cat had spent an extraordinary amount of time attempting to catch a mouse in the house.

The mouse had spent an extraordinary amount of time not being caught.

The adults had spent an extraordinary amount of time wondering how a creature the size of a walnut could cause so much chaos.

Barry had loved every minute.

“I liked Mousey,” he said.

“Mousey ate my cereal,” said Marmaduke.

“You left it on the floor.”

“I was saving it.”

“For what?”

“Later.”

“That wasn’t later,” said Alfie. “That was two days later.”

Marmaduke shrugged.

“It was a long later.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

It had been a wonderful summer.

Messy.

Busy.

Sometimes exhausting.

Occasionally involving emergency toilet visits.

But wonderful.

The boys had grown.

They had become more confident.

They had learned things.

They had made memories.

And now here they were.

Big school.

A new chapter.

Mrs Brand looked at Barry.

“You know what I’m most proud of?”

Barry stopped eating.

“What?”

“You’ve been brave.”

Barry smiled.

Marmaduke nodded.

“I was brave too.”

“You were,” said Marjory.

“I didn’t cry.”

“You didn’t.”

“I only cried once.”

“When?”

“When they said we couldn’t have two puddings.”

Marjory smiled.

“That was apparently a difficult moment.”

“It was.”

Alfie looked at his little brother.

“You’ve done really well.”

Barry looked at him.

“Thanks, Alfie.”

Alfie smiled.

Then Barry added:

“Even though you told me I couldn’t put my wellies on backwards.”

“They were on the wrong feet.”

“They still worked.”

“You were walking like a crab.”

“I liked it.”

“I know.”

Mr Brand leaned back in his chair.

“Alfie, how about Year 4?”

Alfie’s face brightened.

He loved school.

He loved routines.

He loved knowing what was happening.

He loved new subjects.

He loved planning.

And, to the astonishment of everyone at the table, he genuinely liked homework.

“So far it’s brilliant,” he said.

“Really?” asked Mrs Brand.

“Yes.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Maths, reading, writing and some science.”

“Anything particularly interesting?”

“We’re doing some work on electricity.”

Barry’s eyes widened.

“Can we make electricity?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you need equipment.”

“I have batteries.”

“That’s not enough.”

“I have a screwdriver.”

“That’s even worse.”

Mr Brand laughed.

Alfie continued.

“I’ve already done my homework for Monday.”

Barry stared at him.

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So I don’t have to do it at the weekend.”

Barry looked horrified.

“You’re using your weekend for fun.”

“Exactly.”

“But you did homework before the weekend.”

“Yes.”

“So you can have fun.”

“Yes.”

Barry thought about this for several seconds.

“That’s actually clever.”

Alfie smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Can you do mine?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s yours.”

Barry frowned.

“That’s not very helpful.”

The adults laughed.

The evening rolled on.

The plates became empty.

The cups became cold.

The conversation wandered from school to work to summer holidays and back again.

Marjory told a story about her first week back at work.

Mr Brand told a story about something that had happened during the week.

Mrs Brand complained about three hundred emails.

Alfie explained something nobody else quite understood about his homework.

Barry told a story that began with, “So basically, Marmaduke and me were running…”

Marjory interrupted.

“Stop there.”

Barry blinked.

“But I haven’t told you what happened.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know.”

“I know you.”

Marmaduke giggled.

Barry continued anyway.

“…and then there was a puddle.”

“Of course there was,” said Mrs Brand.

“And then we jumped in it.”

“Obviously.”

“And then…”

Barry stopped.

He yawned.

A huge yawn.

His mouth opened so wide that Mr Brand briefly wondered whether a small football might fit inside.

“Getting tired?” he asked.

“No.”

Barry yawned again.

Marmaduke yawned too.

Then again.

His head began to wobble.

Marjory smiled.

“Marmaduke?”

“I’m not tired.”

His eyes were closing.

“No.”

“I’m not.”

His head gently landed on his folded arms.

He was asleep.

Everyone laughed quietly.

Barry stared at him.

“Marm?”

No answer.

Barry poked his arm.

Nothing.

“He’s gone.”

“He’s asleep,” said Mrs Brand.

“Oh.”

Barry looked around the table.

Then his own eyes began to droop.

“I’m not tired.”

Alfie smiled.

“You are.”

“No.”

Barry’s head nodded forward.

He jerked it back up.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” asked Mr Brand.

“Tomorrow.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

Barry blinked slowly.

“School.”

“No, it’s Saturday.”

Barry looked confused.

“Oh.”

His head dropped again.

Mrs Brand stood up.

“Right. That’s enough. Bed.”

“No.”

“Barry.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You’re practically asleep sitting up.”

“No I’m not.”

He yawned.

“See?”

Mr Brand laughed.

“Yes. Very convincing.”

Marjory stood and carefully lifted Marmaduke from his chair.

Marmaduke stirred.

“Are we going home?”

“No,” said Marjory. “You’re staying here.”

“Good.”

He immediately fell asleep again.

Mr Brand picked up Barry.

Barry’s head rested against his shoulder.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Did I do good at big school?”

Mr Brand smiled.

“You did brilliantly.”

Barry smiled sleepily.

“Marm did too.”

“He did.”

“Alfie’s good.”

“He is.”

“I like our family.”

Mr Brand hugged him a little tighter.

“So do I.”

Barry’s eyes closed.

Then he opened one.

“Can I have another ice cream?”

“No.”

Barry sighed.

“Worth asking.”

Upstairs, the two exhausted four-year-olds were tucked into bed.

Downstairs, Alfie was already checking his school bag for Monday.

Marjory looked at him.

“You really are organised, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Thank goodness someone is.”

From upstairs came a loud thump.

Everyone froze.

Then Barry shouted:

“MARMADUKE! I FOUND THE PILLOW!”

Marjory closed her eyes.

Mrs Brand sighed.

Mr Brand stood up.

Alfie looked exhausted.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“No,” said his mum. “You’ve done enough.”

They all listened.

There was another thump.

Then Marmaduke shouted:

“IT’S ON MY HEAD!”

A pause.

Then Barry:

“IT’S FUN!”

Marjory looked at Mr Brand.

Mr Brand looked at Mrs Brand.

Mrs Brand looked at Alfie.

Alfie looked at the ceiling.

“They’ll be asleep in five minutes,” he said confidently.

Everyone stared at him.

“You really believe that?” asked Marjory.

“Yes.”

Another thump.

“THAT’S NOT HOW PILLOWS WORK!” shouted Alfie.

And so the first week of big school came to a close.

Not quietly.

Not calmly.

But happily.

And really, for the Brand and Jackson families, that was probably the best anyone could hope for.