Tuesday morning began with Alfie Brand behaving as though the holidays had been invented specifically for his personal enjoyment.
He had eaten breakfast, got dressed, packed his football boots and checked that his water bottle was full. He was now standing by the front door, bouncing slightly on his heels.
“Are we going soon?”
Mr Brand looked up from his phone.
“We’re leaving in five minutes.”
“You said that five minutes ago.”
“Yes. And now I’m saying it again. It’s a very popular phrase in this household.”
Alfie ignored him.
Today was football club, and Alfie was delighted. He loved football with the sort of earnest devotion other people reserved for religion, expensive hobbies or arguing with strangers on the internet. He liked practising his passing, improving his positioning and learning how to anticipate what other players might do. He particularly liked the fact that football had rules, a defined pitch and a referee who could occasionally be persuaded that something had been a foul.
Barry, meanwhile, was facing a rather more complicated morning.
It was his cookery class for beginners at school on his own, run by Mrs Rossi, and although he had enjoyed cooking during the summer, he was not looking forward to going in today.
During the summer classes, Marmaduke Jackson had been beside him. The two boys had chopped vegetables under supervision, mixed ingredients, made a spectacular mess with flour and once spent twenty minutes debating whether a tomato was technically a fruit or simply a vegetable that had got above itself.
Marmaduke was now in Barbados with his mum, Marjory, visiting family on his late dad Mark’s side. The Brand family would join them the following week.
Barry understood why Marmaduke had gone. He was pleased that his best friend was spending time with people who loved him, hearing stories about his dad and making memories with his family.
But understanding something did not automatically make it feel nice.
Barry had discovered this over the past few days, along with the disappointing fact that missing someone did not become easier simply because you had explained the situation to yourself seventeen times.
“Do I have to go?” he asked.
Mr Brand put his phone away.
“Yes. You’ve been looking forward to cookery club for weeks.”
“That was when Marmaduke was here.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to cook without him.”
Mr Brand crouched beside him.
“It’s all right to miss him, Barry. But you can still have a good day.”
Barry frowned.
“What if I don’t?”
“Then you will have had a day that wasn’t very good. This happens to adults quite regularly. We usually call it Tuesday.”
Barry did not laugh.
Mr Brand gave his shoulder a squeeze.
“Mrs Rossi is lovely. She’ll help you settle in.”
“She isn’t Marmaduke.”
“No,” Mr Brand agreed. “She’s considerably older, and I suspect she has a better understanding of kitchen hygiene.”
Barry considered this.
“Does she know how to make dinosaurs?”
“Probably not edible ones.”
“Then she isn’t as good.”
“An excellent point. Come on, let’s get your bag.”
At the school gates, Alfie practically trotted away towards the football pitch.
“See you later!” he called.
“Have a good time!” Mr Brand shouted after him.
Alfie waved without looking back. He had spotted some of the other children and was already discussing whether they would be practising shooting or playing a small-sided match.
Barry watched him go.
“Alfie’s happy,” he observed.
“Yes,” said Mr Brand.
“He doesn’t miss Marmaduke.”
“Oh, I imagine he does. He just has something else he’s looking forward to today.”
Barry thought about that.
Then he trudged towards Mrs Rossi’s classroom.
Mrs Rossi was standing by the door, wearing an apron decorated with tiny lemons and a smile that suggested she had already forgiven everyone for the mess they were about to make.
“Barry! Buongiorno!”
“Hello,” Barry muttered.
Mrs Rossi crouched down.
“What’s the matter, piccolo chef?”
Barry shrugged.
“Nothing.”
Mrs Rossi tilted her head.
“Ah. The famous nothing. In my experience, nothing can be a very large thing indeed.”
Barry looked at her.
“Do you know where Marmaduke is?”
“In Barbados, I believe.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Barbados?”
Barry nodded.
“No, darling. Not personally.”
“It’s sunny.”
“So I hear.”
“And there’s a sea.”
“I would be disappointed if there wasn’t.”
“And Marmaduke is there.”
Mrs Rossi’s smile softened.
“Yes. And you miss him.”
Barry’s face crumpled slightly.
Mrs Rossi opened her arms, and Barry stepped forward for a brief hug.
“That’s all right,” she said. “You can miss him and still come in. We don’t have to make the missing disappear before we begin.”
Barry sniffed.
“What are we cooking?”
Mrs Rossi’s eyes brightened.
“Pizza.”
Barry looked up.
“Pizza?”
“Homemade pizza. We are making our own dough, preparing our toppings and creating something delicious.”
“Can I put dinosaurs on mine?”
“If you can find me a dinosaur-shaped topping, I will be extremely impressed.”
Barry considered the possibilities.
“Cheese dinosaur?”
“Perhaps.”
“Pepperoni dinosaur?”
“Now you are thinking like a chef.”
For the first time that morning, Barry smiled.
Mrs Rossi took his hand and led him inside.
The class had six children, all wearing aprons and displaying varying degrees of confidence around food.
One girl had announced that she was going to become a professional baker. A boy called Oliver was certain he could already cook better than his dad, which was a claim that Mrs Rossi wisely chose not to investigate. Another child was primarily interested in whether he would be allowed to eat the ingredients before they reached the oven.
Mrs Rossi gathered everyone around the worktops.
“Today, we are learning that cooking takes patience, practice and teamwork. First, we wash our hands. Then we prepare the ingredients. Then we make the dough.”
Barry washed his hands thoroughly.
He was not sure why, but he had a feeling Mrs Rossi would notice if he didn’t.
She gave each child a bowl of flour, yeast and water, then demonstrated how to mix the ingredients into a dough.
Barry watched carefully.
“Can I do it?”
“Of course.”
He began mixing.
The flour puffed up around his hands, creating a small white cloud that settled on the worktop and his apron.
Oliver looked delighted.
“It’s snowing!”
“No, it’s not,” said Mrs Rossi. “It’s flour, and it is going to be cleaned up.”
Oliver looked disappointed. Apparently, he had hoped the classroom might become a ski resort.
Barry kneaded his dough, pressing it with the heel of his hand and folding it over, just as Mrs Rossi had shown him.
At first he worked slowly. Then he became absorbed in the task.
The dough was soft and springy. It changed shape beneath his hands, becoming smoother as he worked.
“Look!” he said. “It’s getting bigger.”
“Not yet,” Mrs Rossi explained. “First we knead it. Then it needs time to rise.”
“Why?”
“Because the yeast produces gas, which makes the dough expand.”
Barry stared at the bowl.
“So it’s full of bubbles?”
“Exactly.”
“Like Marmaduke after fizzy drinks?”
Mrs Rossi paused.
“Possibly rather more pleasant.”
Barry giggled.
It was a small laugh, but Mrs Rossi noticed.
She did not point it out. She simply moved on to the next step.
Once the dough was ready, the children left it to rise and prepared their toppings. There were tomatoes, mozzarella, peppers, mushrooms, sweetcorn and pepperoni.
Barry immediately began arranging pepperoni slices into a dinosaur shape.
Mrs Rossi leaned over his worktop.
“Ah! A pepperoni dinosaur.”
“It’s a Tyrannosaurus rex.”
“Of course.”
“He’s eating the sweetcorn.”
“Very realistic.”
“He’s vegetarian.”
Mrs Rossi raised an eyebrow.
“An unusual Tyrannosaurus rex.”
“He changed his mind.”
“Quite right. A flexible attitude to food is important.”
Barry grinned.
By lunchtime, the classroom smelled wonderful. The pizzas had risen, been topped and baked until the cheese bubbled and the edges turned golden.
Barry’s dinosaur had lost one leg in the oven, but he regarded this as a minor geological incident.
“It’s still a dinosaur,” he announced.
“Indeed,” said Mrs Rossi. “And I think it looks delicious.”
They sat together to eat.
Barry took a bite, chewed thoughtfully and looked at Mrs Rossi.
“This is really good.”
“Grazie, Barry.”
“I made it.”
“You did.”
“By myself.”
“With a little help.”
Barry considered this.
“That’s still making it.”
“Absolutely.”
He took another bite.
Then he looked at the empty chair beside him.
“Marmaduke would have liked this.”
Mrs Rossi followed his gaze.
“I’m sure he would.”
“He likes pepperoni.”
“Many sensible people do.”
“And he would have made a dinosaur too.”
“Probably.”
Barry’s shoulders slumped.
Mrs Rossi sat beside him.
“Tell me about Marmaduke.”
Barry looked surprised.
“What?”
“Tell me what you like about him.”
Barry thought for a moment.
“He’s funny. And he likes the same games as me. He doesn’t mind if my dinosaurs have explosions.”
“That’s important.”
“And he comes round nearly every day. Sometimes I go to his house. Sometimes he comes to mine. We do everything together.”
Mrs Rossi nodded.
“And now he’s away.”
Barry stared at his pizza.
“Yes.”
“Does it feel strange?”
Barry nodded again.
“It’s too quiet. Even when Alfie is there.”
Mrs Rossi smiled gently.
“Ah. Alfie is not quite the same kind of person as Marmaduke.”
“No. Alfie tells me the rules.”
“Someone must.”
Barry gave a small snort of laughter.
Mrs Rossi folded her hands on the table.
“You know, Barry, having a very close friend is a wonderful thing. But it doesn’t mean you have to stop doing everything else when that friend is away.”
Barry looked doubtful.
“But I want to do things with Marmaduke.”
“Of course you do. And you will do lots of things together when he comes home. But you can also have adventures while he’s away.”
“What sort of adventures?”
“Today, you made a pizza. A very fine pizza, I might add. You learned how dough works. You made a new friend in Oliver, who appears to believe that flour is a recreational substance. And you made me laugh with your vegetarian dinosaur.”
Barry glanced at Oliver, who was attempting to persuade another child that the remaining flour could be used to make a snowman.
“He’s a bit silly.”
“Most people are, in one way or another.”
“Even Marmaduke?”
“Especially Marmaduke, I expect.”
Barry smiled.
Mrs Rossi continued.
“You can miss Marmaduke and still enjoy today. You can look forward to seeing him and still have fun before he comes back. One doesn’t cancel out the other.”
Barry was quiet.
“So I don’t have to wait until Barbados to have a good time?”
“Exactly.”
“And I don’t have to stop missing him?”
“No, darling. You can miss him as much as you need to.”
Barry thought about this for a long moment.
Then he looked down at his pizza.
“Can I make another one?”
Mrs Rossi laughed.
“Perhaps not another whole pizza. But you may help me prepare the gelato.”
Barry’s face brightened.
He sat up straight.
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Because I was trying to have a meaningful conversation with you.”
“Can we have meaningful conversations while eating ice cream?”
“Apparently, we can.”
In the afternoon, the children prepared a simple gelato mixture with Mrs Rossi’s help. They measured ingredients, stirred carefully and watched as the mixture was chilled and churned.
Mrs Rossi explained that gelato was often served at a slightly warmer temperature than ordinary ice cream, which helped bring out its flavour.
Barry listened with great interest.
“So if it’s too cold, it can’t taste properly?”
“Not quite. But very cold temperatures can make flavours harder to detect.”
Barry nodded gravely.
“That’s why Snowball doesn’t like frozen fish.”
Mrs Rossi considered this.
“I suspect Snowball has other reasons for her preferences.”
When the gelato was ready, each child was given a small tasting bowl.
Barry took a spoonful.
His eyes widened.
“Mrs Rossi.”
“Yes?”
“This is amazing.”
“I’m pleased you approve.”
“Can I take some to Barbados?”
“I don’t think so, darling.”
“Can I take some on the plane?”
“No.”
“Can I take some in my suitcase?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Can I put it in a very cold box?”
Mrs Rossi gave him a look.
Barry grinned.
“I’m only asking.”
By three o’clock, the class started to clean their worktops, wash their bowls and pack their aprons away. Barry helped Oliver tidy the flour, and Oliver admitted that Barry’s dinosaur pizza was “quite good, actually”, which was practically a Michelin star in the world of four-year-olds.
At 3.45pm, Mrs Rossi gathered the children for their final chat before home time.
“What was your favourite part of today?” she asked.
“Pizza,” said Oliver.
“Gelato,” said another child.
“Eating the pepperoni before it went on the pizza,” said someone else.
Mrs Rossi looked stern.
“We will discuss kitchen hygiene another day.”
When it was Barry’s turn, he thought carefully.
“Making the pizza,” he said. “And talking about Marmaduke.”
Mrs Rossi smiled.
“I’m glad.”
Barry looked down at his apron.
“I still miss him.”
“I know.”
“But I had a good day.”
“Yes, you did.”
“And when he comes back, I can tell him all about it.”
“Exactly.”
Barry’s smile widened.
“Then we can make pizzas together.”
“An excellent plan.”
“And gelato.”
“We’ll see.”
“And dinosaur pizzas.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that.”
At four o’clock, Mr Brand arrived to collect him.
Barry came running out with his bag and a small recipe sheet from Mrs Rossi.
“Daddy! We made pizza! And gelato! And I made a Tyrannosaurus rex out of pepperoni!”
Mr Brand looked suitably impressed.
“Did you?”
“Yes! He lost a leg, but he was still delicious.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Barry climbed into the car and fastened his seat belt.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“I still miss Marmaduke.”
“I know, mate.”
“But Mrs Rossi says I can have fun while he’s away.”
“She sounds like a very wise woman.”
“She is. She makes good pizza.”
“An excellent qualification.”
Barry looked out of the window, smiling to himself.
He still wished Marmaduke had been there. He still wanted to share every new experience with his best friend. But he was beginning to understand that friendship was not a pause button.
Marmaduke was having his own important adventures in Barbados, spending time with family and learning more about his dad. Barry could be happy for him, miss him and still make memories of his own.
And next week, when the Brands finally arrived, Barry would have plenty to tell him.
He would tell him about the pizza, the gelato, the flour explosion and the vegetarian Tyrannosaurus rex.
He would probably tell him several times.
Possibly while eating another pizza.
Back at home, Snowball was waiting on the sofa, and Brutus was in his enclosure, chewing something with his usual air of deep personal dissatisfaction.
Barry ran over to them.
“Guess what?” he announced. “I had a really good day!”
Snowball blinked.
Brutus chewed.
Barry nodded.
“That’s all right. You can have good days too.”
Then he paused.
“Although you can’t have my gelato.”
Brutus disappeared into his hide.
Snowball closed her eyes.
And Barry, who had spent the morning feeling that the world had lost its most important person, discovered that it was possible to miss his best friend terribly and still have a rather excellent Tuesday.
Especially when there was homemade pizza involved.
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