Holiday breakfast

Saturday morning arrived far too early.

This was a fact.

The sun had barely risen.

The birds were only just beginning to make their ridiculous little noises.

The neighbours were still asleep.

Even the traffic on the London street outside seemed to be taking Saturday seriously and moving about as quietly as traffic possibly could.

But upstairs at the Brand house, two four-year-olds were wide awake.

Barry opened his eyes.

He stared at the ceiling.

He thought about school.

He thought about Saturday.

He thought about breakfast.

Then he remembered something very important.

“MARM!”

There was a muffled sound from the other bed.

“What?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“I know.”

“We don’t have school.”

“I know.”

“We can have a holiday.”

There was silence.

Then Marmaduke sat bolt upright.

“A holiday?”

“Yes.”

“Where are we going?”

Barry thought about this.

“Nowhere.”

Marmaduke frowned.

“That’s not a holiday.”

“It is if you don’t go to school.”

Marmaduke considered this.

“That makes sense.”

Barry nodded.

“I have an idea.”

This was the moment when sensible people would have become concerned.

Unfortunately, sensible people were asleep.

“Idea?” said Marmaduke.

“Holiday breakfast.”

Marmaduke’s eyes widened.

“What is holiday breakfast?”

“I don’t know.”

“Good idea.”

Barry climbed out of bed.

Marmaduke followed.

The two boys crept into the hallway.

They were not particularly good at creeping.

Barry’s version of creeping involved walking normally but whispering.

Marmaduke’s version involved tiptoeing so dramatically that he looked like a burglar who had forgotten how legs worked.

They reached the stairs.

Barry looked down.

“All quiet.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Operation Breakfast.”

“What operation?”

“Breakfast operation.”

“What’s the operation?”

“Breakfast.”

“Oh.”

They went downstairs.

The kitchen was empty.

Marjory was still asleep upstairs in the spare room.

Mr and Mrs Brand were asleep in their bedroom.

Alfie was asleep too.

This was extraordinary.

The entire house was asleep.

Except Barry and Marmaduke.

The two boys stood in the kitchen like explorers who had just discovered an uninhabited continent.

Barry whispered:

“We need food.”

Marmaduke whispered back:

“Lots.”

They opened the fridge.

Inside were eggs, milk, yoghurt, fruit, cheese and several other things.

Barry looked at the eggs.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Dad says they’re for cooking.”

“Oh.”

They looked at the fruit.

“Yes.”

Marmaduke picked up a banana.

“Holiday breakfast banana.”

Barry nodded.

“Very fancy.”

They found strawberries.

Blueberries.

Raspberries.

Grapes.

Yoghurt.

Cereal.

Toast bread.

Jam.

Honey.

And, most importantly, a packet of chocolate cereal that Mrs Brand had bought for some reason she could no longer remember.

Barry held it up.

“Holiday cereal.”

Marmaduke gasped.

“That’s the good stuff.”

They began arranging breakfast.

Very carefully.

Very seriously.

There was no climbing.

No running.

No kitchen equipment.

No dangerous experiments.

Just two four-year-olds trying to make breakfast look impressive.

They put bowls on the table.

Then spoons.

Then cups.

Then napkins.

Then fruit.

Barry placed three strawberries in a neat row.

Marmaduke moved them.

“Like this.”

He arranged them in a circle.

Barry nodded.

“Much better.”

They added yoghurt.

Then cereal.

Then more fruit.

Then chocolate cereal.

Then more chocolate cereal.

Barry looked at the table.

“It needs something.”

Marmaduke looked around.

“What?”

“Holiday things.”

“What are holiday things?”

Barry thought.

“Sun cream.”

Marmaduke stared at him.

“On breakfast?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“We need music.”

Marmaduke nodded.

They found a children’s music playlist on the family tablet and put it on quietly.

Then Barry found a piece of paper.

He drew a picture of the sun.

Underneath it he tried to write: 

HOLIDAY BREAKFAST

Then he tried to add: NO SCHOOL

Marmaduke added:

YAY

Barry looked at it.

“That’s good.”

“Very good.”

“Now we wake them.”

Marmaduke looked nervous.

“Should we?”

“Yes.”

“What if they’re cross?”

“They won’t be.”

“How do you know?”

Barry shrugged.

“There’s breakfast.”

This was, admittedly, a compelling argument.

They went upstairs.

First, they knocked on Mr and Mrs Brand’s bedroom door.

No answer.

Barry knocked again.

“Dad?”

Silence.

“Daddy?”

Nothing.

Marmaduke whispered:

“Maybe they’re dead.”

Barry looked horrified.

“They’re not dead.”

“How do you know?”

“Dad snores.”

They waited.

Sure enough, a gentle snoring sound floated through the door.

“See?”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Very alive.”

Barry knocked again.

“DAD!”

There was a groan from inside.

“What?”

“Wake up!”

“Why?”

“Holiday breakfast!”

There was a long pause.

“What time is it?”

Barry looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

Neither had a clock.

“Morning,” Barry shouted.

Mr Brand groaned.

“What time?”

“Breakfast time!”

Mrs Brand’s sleepy voice came from the other side of the room.

“Barry, it’s six twenty.”

Barry looked impressed.

“That’s nearly seven.”

“It’s nowhere near seven.”

“It is if you count.”

“Go back to bed.”

Barry looked disappointed.

“But we’ve made holiday breakfast.”

That woke Mrs Brand slightly.

“You’ve made breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Holiday.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s breakfast.”

Mr Brand opened the bedroom door.

He looked exhausted.

He looked at the two boys.

He looked at the clock.

Then he looked at Marmaduke.

“Did you two make breakfast?”

“Yes,” said Marmaduke.

“Without using the cooker?”

“Yes.”

“Without using anything hot?”

“Yes.”

“Without making a mess?”

Barry looked offended.

“We’re professionals.”

Mr Brand smiled.

“All right. Five more minutes.”

Barry shook his head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Holiday breakfast is now.”

Mrs Brand laughed.

“You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

Barry thought.

“Since yesterday.”

Mr Brand looked at Marmaduke.

“Were you involved?”

Marmaduke nodded.

“I was easily led.”

“That sounds about right.”

They woke Marjory next.

She opened the door wearing pyjamas and looking as though she had been woken from a particularly pleasant dream involving eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“Is there a fire?”

“No,” said Barry.

“Is someone ill?”

“No.”

“Has the house fallen down?”

“No.”

“Then why are you awake?”

“Holiday breakfast.”

Marjory stared at him.

Then at Marmaduke.

Then back at Barry.

“What time is it?”

“Six twenty-seven,” said Marmaduke.

Marjory closed her eyes.

“Of course it is.”

Downstairs, the adults eventually gathered around the table.

Alfie appeared last.

He walked into the kitchen, stopped and stared.

“What happened?”

Barry beamed.

“Holiday breakfast.”

Alfie looked at the table.

Fruit.

Yoghurt.

Cereal.

Toast.

Jam.

Honey.

Chocolate cereal.

Everything neatly arranged.

There was even the little sign.

Alfie read it.

“Holiday Breakfast. No School. Yay.”

He smiled.

“This is actually quite good.”

Barry looked extremely pleased.

“Thank you.”

Marmaduke pulled out a chair.

“Sit down.”

Alfie sat.

Mr Brand looked around the table.

“This might be the earliest breakfast we’ve ever had.”

Mrs Brand yawned.

“I haven’t had breakfast this early since having babies.”

Marjory nodded.

“And that wasn’t a holiday.”

Barry looked confused.

“What was it?”

“Exhausting.”

“Oh.”

Everyone began eating.

Barry had fruit.

Marmaduke had yoghurt and cereal.

Alfie had cereal, fruit and toast.

The adults had coffee.

Lots of coffee.

Marjory looked at the two boys.

“This is lovely.”

Barry smiled.

“It’s because it’s holiday breakfast.”

“Yes.”

“Every Saturday?”

Mrs Brand raised an eyebrow.

“Absolutely not.”

“Every Sunday?”

“No.”

“Every holiday?”

“Barry…”

“What?”

Mr Brand laughed.

“Maybe occasionally.”

Barry nodded.

“I think every day would be better.”

Alfie shook his head.

“That would just be breakfast.”

Barry considered this.

“No.”

“What?”

“It would still be holiday breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Because we would be on holiday.”

“We’re not on holiday.”

Barry looked around the table.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Yes.”

“So we’re on holiday.”

Alfie opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

He looked at his parents.

“I don’t think there’s any point arguing with him.”

“Correct,” said Mrs Brand.

Breakfast continued.

The boys told everyone about their week.

Barry explained his glue-pencil experiment.

Marmaduke explained that he had made a new friend.

Alfie explained his homework plans.

Mr Brand explained that he had absolutely no intention of discussing work before seven in the morning.

Mrs Brand explained that this was an admirable goal but probably impossible.

Marjory explained that her builders had promised her the water would be back on later.

Barry looked delighted.

“Then we can have a water party!”

“No,” said Marjory.

“A shower party?”

“No.”

“A washing hands party?”

“You’re four.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have so many party ideas?”

Barry thought about this.

“Because parties are good.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Very good.”

Alfie finished his cereal.

“I think we should do something today.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What do you suggest?” asked Mr Brand.

Alfie shrugged.

“Something fun.”

Barry immediately shouted:

“BIKES!”

Marmaduke shouted:

“PARK!”

Marjory said:

“Coffee.”

Mrs Brand said:

“Sleep.”

Mr Brand said:

“Both.”

Alfie looked around.

“Those aren’t really compatible.”

Barry stood up.

“We can do all of them.”

“How?”

“Bikes at the park.”

“Okay.”

“Then coffee.”

“Fine.”

“And then sleep.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Now you’re thinking like an adult.”

Barry grinned.

“I’m very clever.”

Alfie looked at the table.

“You’ve still got chocolate cereal on your nose.”

Barry wiped his nose.

He looked at his finger.

“Holiday chocolate.”

Marmaduke nodded solemnly.

“Very fancy.”

Marjory laughed.

The kitchen filled with chatter again.

Outside, London was properly waking up.

Inside, the six friends and family members sat around the table, finishing breakfast and planning the day.

It was only six forty-five.

The boys had been awake for less than an hour.

And somehow they had already organised breakfast, a bike ride and an outing.

Mr Brand looked at his wife.

“It’s going to be a long day.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Yes.”

She looked at Barry and Marmaduke.

“But a good one.”

Barry raised his cup.

“To holiday breakfast!”

Marmaduke raised his.

“To no school!”

Alfie raised his.

“To Saturday.”

Marjory raised hers.

“To coffee.”

Mr Brand raised his.

“To getting everyone back to bed at some point.”

Everyone laughed.

And Barry, who had started the morning convinced that Saturday was a holiday, was now even more convinced that he was right.

After all, there had been no school.

There had been chocolate cereal.

There had been fruit arranged in shapes.

And there had been six people sitting around one table laughing together.

As far as Barry was concerned, that was exactly what holidays were supposed to be like.

Although, by seven o’clock, Mrs Brand had introduced one new rule.

Holiday breakfast could happen again.

But never before eight.

Barry nodded seriously.

“Okay.”

Marmaduke nodded too.

Alfie looked relieved.

Then Barry whispered to Marmaduke:

“Eight is very early.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Very.”

And from the other side of the table, without even looking up, Mrs Brand said:

“I heard that.”

Barry smiled.

“Holiday ears.”

“Barry.”

“Yes, Mum?”

“Eat your breakfast.”

“Yes, Mum.”

And for once, he did exactly as he was told.