By Friday morning, Barry and Marmaduke had reached a very important milestone.
They were exhausted.
Not ordinary exhausted.
Not “I stayed up five minutes past bedtime” exhausted.
They were Reception exhausted.
This was a very specific form of tiredness caused by spending five days being four years old while simultaneously learning letters, numbers, science, friendship, forest survival, tropical fish husbandry, autumn, sharing, listening, waiting, running, climbing, remembering where your shoes were, and occasionally trying to take your father’s underpants to school.
It was a lot.
And that was before you added Barbados.
And Snowball.
And FIV.
And the general responsibility of being four.
Which, frankly, sounded like a full-time job.
Barry and Marmaduke were almost at the end of their third week of Reception.
They had survived their first week.
They had survived their second week.
And now they were beginning to suspect that school was going to continue indefinitely.
This was disappointing!
On Friday morning, Barry shuffled into the kitchen wearing his school uniform.
He looked at Mrs Brand.
She looked at him.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“You tired?”
“No.”
Barry yawned so enormously that his whole face seemed to disappear inside his mouth.
Mrs Brand raised an eyebrow.
“Obviously.”
Barry climbed onto his chair.
“I’m not tired.”
“You just yawned.”
“I was pretending.”
“To whom?”
Barry thought about this.
“Snowball.”
Snowball was sitting underneath the kitchen table.
She blinked.
She had heard this sort of thing before.
She was beginning to understand that the Brands were a family in which very little made complete sense.
Mrs Brand put toast in front of Barry.
He stared at it.
“I’m tired.”
“Yes.”
“I think school is very busy.”
“It is.”
“There are lots of things to think about.”
“Yes.”
“And Barbados.”
“Yes.”
“And Snowball.”
“Yes.”
“And FIV.”
“Yes.”
“And Animal Club.”
“Yes.”
“And trees.”
“Yes.”
“And fish.”
“Yes.”
Barry sighed.
“And Daddy’s pants.”
Mrs Brand stopped buttering her toast.
“I’m not sure we need to think about Daddy’s pants anymore.”
Barry looked relieved.
“Good.”
Marmaduke was no better.
When Marjory arrived at the Brands’ house to walk the boys to school, Marmaduke was standing in the hallway with his backpack on.
He looked sleepy.
“Morning,” said Marjory.
“Morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Marmaduke yawned.
“Very well.”
Marjory smiled.
“Right.”
Marmaduke’s eyes were half closed.
“I’m not tired.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m just resting my eyes while standing.”
“An important skill.”
He nodded.
“Very.”
Barry came running downstairs.
“I’m ready!”
“You haven’t got your shoes on,” said Mrs Brand.
Barry looked down.
“Oh.”
He sat on the bottom step and stared at his feet.
“Where are my shoes?”
“You’re wearing them.”
Barry looked down again.
“Oh.”
Marjory laughed.
“Definitely not tired.”
“No.”
The walk to school was quieter than usual.
Normally Barry and Marmaduke discussed everything.
They discussed Barbados.
Snowball.
Bubble.
Fish.
Dinosaurs.
Coconuts.
Whether fish could swim to Barbados.
Whether Snowball would like a coconut.
Whether you could put a coconut in a fish tank.
Whether Mr Henley would allow it.
Today, however, they walked along holding their backpacks with the grim determination of two tiny commuters who had already had enough of modern life.
Marmaduke yawned.
Barry yawned.
Marmaduke yawned again.
Barry copied him.
“I think yawning is catching,” said Marmaduke.
“It is.”
“Don’t yawn.”
“You just did.”
“I know.”
“Don’t do it again.”
Marmaduke yawned.
Barry yawned.
Marjory shook her head.
“You two are like a pair of little old men.”
Barry looked up.
“I’m not old.”
“No.”
“I’m four.”
“I know.”
“Four is quite old.”
Marjory smiled.
“It certainly feels it by Friday.”
Alfie, meanwhile, was completely fine.
He was eight.
He had been doing school for years.
He understood that school was a long-term arrangement.
He had also discovered the highly sophisticated technique of going to bed at the correct time.
He walked ahead with his backpack neatly arranged.
“Bye,” he said as they reached the gates.
“Bye!” shouted Barry.
Marmaduke waved.
Alfie disappeared towards registration.
Barry looked at him.
“How is he not tired?”
“He’s had practice,” said Marjory.
“I’m tired.”
“I can see that.”
“Can I stay home?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Friday.”
Barry frowned.
“That means I should stay home.”
“It means you only have one more day before the weekend.”
Barry considered this.
“That is acceptable.”
Reception began with handwriting.
Mrs Abraham stood at the front of the class.
“Today we’re going to practise some of our letters.”
Barry stared at his sheet.
Marmaduke stared at his sheet.
Mrs Abraham demonstrated the letter.
The children copied.
Mostly.
Barry’s letter was enormous.
It occupied nearly the entire page.
Mrs Abraham walked past.
“That’s a very large letter, Barry.”
“I like it.”
“I can tell.”
Marmaduke was trying very hard.
His pencil moved slowly.
His eyelids moved even more slowly.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Mrs Abraham noticed.
“Marmaduke?”
His eyes opened.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
He blinked.
His pencil slipped slightly.
He blinked again.
And then his head slowly lowered.
Onto his arm.
He was asleep.
Mrs Abraham stopped.
She looked at him.
Then at Barry.
Barry had noticed.
His eyes widened.
He started giggling.
“Marmaduke’s asleep!”
Several children looked over.
Mrs Abraham put a finger to her lips.
“Shhh.”
Barry whispered loudly:
“He’s asleep!”
“I can see that.”
Marmaduke slept peacefully.
His pencil was still in his hand.
His cheek was resting on his sleeve.
Mrs Abraham looked at the clock.
Then at Marmaduke.
Then at the class.
She made a decision.
“Everyone keep working quietly.”
Barry whispered:
“Can he sleep?”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“Just for a little while.”
Barry looked amazed.
“That’s allowed?”
“Not usually.”
“Why is it allowed today?”
“Because he clearly needs it.”
Barry nodded solemnly.
Then whispered:
“I need it too.”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“I know.”
Marmaduke slept for several minutes.
When he finally woke, he looked around.
“What happened?”
“You fell asleep,” Barry said.
Marmaduke looked horrified.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I was thinking.”
“With your eyes closed?”
“Yes.”
“Your head was on the table.”
“I was thinking very hard.”
Barry laughed.
Marmaduke smiled.
Even Mrs Abraham laughed.
“It happens,” she said.
Marmaduke looked at his handwriting.
“What did I write?”
Mrs Abraham looked.
“Mostly the letter you were practising.”
“Good.”
There was a pause.
“Although one of them looks like a worm.”
Marmaduke smiled.
“It’s a tired letter.”
By lunchtime, both boys were beginning to fade.
But then came the announcement.
“Today is chips day.”
Barry’s head shot up.
He had been slumped over the table.
Suddenly he was upright.
“CHIPS?”
Mrs Abraham laughed.
“Yes.”
Barry’s eyes were enormous.
“Actual chips?”
“Yes.”
“With lunch?”
“Yes.”
Barry turned to Marmaduke.
“We’re saved.”
Marmaduke grinned.
They ate.
And Barry absolutely indulged.
Chips.
All the chips.
The boy who had been barely capable of holding a pencil that morning suddenly possessed extraordinary energy.
“This is the best day,” he announced.
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“I’m glad.”
“I love Friday.”
“You didn’t say that this morning.”
“I’ve changed.”
He ate another chip.
“I’ve grown.”
Marmaduke laughed.
“You’ve eaten.”
“Same thing.”
After lunch, the classroom became quieter.
The children had that particular post-lunch feeling where the body was convinced it had done enough for the day.
Mrs Abraham read a story.
The children gathered around.
Barry listened.
For a few minutes.
Then his eyelids began to droop.
He moved towards the book corner.
Mrs Abraham noticed.
“Barry?”
“Yes?”
“Are you tired?”
“No.”
He yawned.
“I’m not.”
He sat down among the cushions.
He picked up a book.
He opened it.
He looked at the first page.
His eyes closed.
The book slipped slightly.
His head tilted sideways.
And within seconds, Barry was asleep.
Mrs Abraham stared.
Marmaduke looked over.
“Barry’s asleep.”
Mrs Abraham nodded.
“I can see that.”
“Should you wake him?”
Mrs Abraham looked at the little boy curled up in the book corner.
His face was peaceful.
His school jumper was slightly crumpled.
One hand was still resting on the open book.
“No,” she said quietly.
Marmaduke smiled.
“Why?”
“Because I think he needs it.”
Marmaduke nodded.
Then he yawned.
Mrs Abraham looked at him.
“Don’t you dare.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Marmaduke smiled.
Barry slept.
The rest of the class continued quietly.
Mrs Abraham lowered her voice.
Nobody wanted to wake him.
Even the children seemed to understand.
This wasn’t ordinary sleep.
This was the sleep of a child whose brain had spent three weeks absorbing absolutely everything.
Letters.
Numbers.
Stories.
Science.
Friends.
Rules.
Fire.
Fish.
Leaves.
Apples.
Hot chocolate.
Guide dog puppies.
Autumn.
Barbados.
Snowball.
FIV.
And the enormous emotional responsibility of being four.
Barry slept through all of it.
Eventually, Mrs Abraham sat beside him.
She gently moved the book away.
Barry didn’t wake.
She smiled.
There was something rather lovely about watching a four-year-old who had spent the week exploring the world finally stop long enough to rest in it.
When the afternoon ended, Marmaduke was the first to leave.
He walked over to Barry.
“Barry.”
Nothing.
“Barry.”
Still nothing.
He looked at Mrs Abraham.
“He’s really asleep.”
“Yes.”
“Should I wake him?”
Mrs Abraham shook her head.
“I think I’ll let him sleep until his grown-up arrives.”
Marmaduke nodded.
Then he bent down beside Barry.
“Bye.”
Barry didn’t move.
Marmaduke smiled.
“See you Monday.”
Nothing.
“Don’t forget Barbados.”
Nothing.
“Or Snowball.”
Nothing.
Marmaduke straightened up.
“He’s definitely asleep.”
Mrs Abraham laughed quietly.
“I think we established that.”
When Mrs Brand arrived, she found Barry still asleep in the book corner.
She stopped.
“Oh.”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“He fell asleep after lunch.”
Mrs Brand looked at him.
She could see how tired he was.
“I think he’s had quite a week.”
Mrs Abraham nodded.
“He really has.”
Mrs Brand crouched beside him.
“Barry?”
His eyes opened slightly.
“Mummy?”
“Time to go home.”
He blinked.
“Is it bedtime?”
“Nearly.”
“Did I sleep?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Quite a while.”
Barry sat up.
He looked confused.
“Did I miss school?”
Mrs Brand smiled.
“You were in school.”
Barry thought about this.
“Then I slept at school?”
“Yes.”
He looked impressed.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Mrs Abraham laughed.
“Apparently.”
Barry stood.
His legs looked slightly wobbly.
He picked up his bag.
“Can we go home?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see Snowball?”
“Of course.”
“Can I have a cuddle?”
“With Snowball?”
“With everyone.”
Mrs Brand smiled.
“Yes.”
Outside the school gates, Marmaduke was waiting with Marjory.
“Barry!”
Barry walked over slowly.
“I slept.”
“I know.”
“You laughed at me.”
“You laughed at me first.”
“That’s fair.”
They walked home together.
Neither talked much.
For once.
They were simply tired.
The good sort of tired.
The sort that comes from having learned something, played something, wondered about something, laughed at something and filled an entire day with being four.
When they reached the Brand house, Snowball was waiting inside.
Barry walked straight to her.
He knelt down.
She immediately purred.
Barry wrapped his arms gently around her.
“Hello, Snowball.”
She pressed her head against him.
Barry closed his eyes.
“I had a very busy week.”
Snowball blinked.
Barry stroked her gently.
“We learned about trees.”
Purr.
“And fish.”
Purr.
“And apples.”
Purr.
“And Barbados.”
Snowball stared at him.
“Don’t worry,” Barry whispered. “You’re coming home with me after the holiday.”
Snowball appeared unconvinced.
Barry yawned.
A huge yawn.
Mrs Brand smiled.
“Bed.”
Barry nodded.
“Okay.”
He stood.
Then stopped.
“Mummy?”
“Yes?”
“Can I have chips tomorrow?”
Mrs Brand laughed.
“We’ll see.”
Barry nodded.
“Good.”
He wandered upstairs.
Five minutes later, he was asleep.
Marmaduke was probably asleep too.
Alfie was downstairs reading.
Mr Brand was working.
Mrs Brand was checking emails.
Marjory was on the phone.
Snowball curled herself into her basket.
And for a little while, the house was quiet.
Because Friday had finally done what Fridays are supposed to do.
It had carried two very tired four-year-olds through the end of another enormous week and deposited them safely at the weekend.
Three weeks of Reception.
Three weeks of new experiences.
Three weeks of questions.
Three weeks of learning how the world worked.
And, occasionally, discovering that the world contained things such as tropical fish, guide dog puppies, bonfires, Barbados and underpants decorated with autumn leaves.
Being four was exhausting.
But it was also wonderful.
And Barry and Marmaduke were beginning to discover something important.
They didn’t have to understand everything yet.
They didn’t have to solve everything.
They just had to keep asking questions, keep exploring, keep looking after the people and animals they loved…
…and occasionally sleep through handwriting.
Frankly, Mrs Abraham thought, that last one might actually be a useful life skill.
Especially on a Friday.
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