Create Club

Thursday morning arrived with the sort of grey London drizzle that made Barbados seem less like a holiday destination and more like a personal insult.

Barry Brand stood beside the front door wearing his coat, his trainers and an expression of profound disappointment.

He was going to Create Club.

Create Club was held at his school during the holidays and involved seven hours of making things, painting things, sculpting things, dyeing things and generally allowing children access to materials that most sensible adults kept behind locked cupboards.

It was enormously popular.

So popular, in fact, that the school had restricted this particular session to children from Reception to Year Two, presumably because the organisers had decided that mixing a four-year-old with a ten-year-old and an industrial-sized tub of purple paint was not an experiment they wished to conduct.

Barry would be with children of roughly his own age and ability.

This was all very reassuring.

Unfortunately, Marmaduke wasn’t coming.

Marmaduke Jackson, Barry’s best friend and usual partner in any activity involving new experiences, questionable decisions or the possibility of biscuits, was currently in Barbados with his mum, Marjory.

He was visiting family, hearing stories about his late dad, Mark, and enjoying the sunshine.

Barry was pleased for him.

He was also beginning to suspect that Barbados had been invented specifically to inconvenience him.

Normally, when Barry went to a new club, Marmaduke went too. They would enter together, inspect the available opportunities for mischief, agree on a plan and then abandon it within approximately four minutes.

This morning, Barry would have to do all the inspecting and abandoning himself.

“Are you ready?” asked Mrs Brand, checking her phone for the fourth time in two minutes.

“Yes,” Barry said quietly.

Mrs Brand looked up.

Quiet Barry was unusual enough to be worth investigating. Ordinary Barry generally announced his readiness by running in circles, asking whether he could bring a dinosaur and attempting to put his coat on backwards.

“Are you feeling a little nervous?”

“No.”

“Are you missing Marmaduke?”

Barry looked down at his shoes.

“Yes.”

Mrs Brand crouched beside him.

“That’s understandable. New things can feel a bit strange when your best friend isn’t there. But you don’t have to be brilliant at everything today. You can just see what you enjoy.”

“What if I don’t enjoy anything?”

“Then we’ll know for next time.”

“What if I enjoy everything?”

“Then we’ll need a bigger diary.”

Barry considered this.

“What if I make something enormous?”

“Then we’ll discuss transport arrangements.”

That sounded promising.

“Can I make a dinosaur?”

“Probably.”

“A seven-foot velociraptor?”

Mrs Brand paused.

“Let’s see what the club offers before we start planning the removal of a seven-foot dinosaur through our front door.”

Barry nodded.

He had been sensible enough to ask.

That was practically a public service.

At school, the Create Club room was already buzzing.

There were tables covered in paper, cardboard, clay, fabric, paints, brushes, glue, scissors, coloured pencils, ribbons, feathers, buttons and various mysterious containers whose contents Barry suspected might be either treasure or something that would permanently stain his trousers.

A large sign read:

CREATE CLUB: IMAGINE IT. MAKE IT. TAKE IT HOME.

Barry read the sign again, with Mrs Brand’s guidance.

The final instruction was particularly appealing.

A cheerful member of staff welcomed him and showed him where to hang his coat. Then she explained that the children had seven hours today to begin a project of their choice, followed by another seven hours tomorrow to finish it.

Fourteen hours.

Barry stared at her.

“That’s longer than a football match.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“And longer than breakfast.”

“Several times longer.”

“What about lunch?”

“We’ll stop for lunch.”

Barry relaxed slightly. At least the school hadn’t abandoned civilisation entirely.

He found a space at a table and watched the other children settle in.

They were already talking excitedly about their plans.

A girl with two plaits announced that she was going to paint an enormous picture of her grandad’s boat.

“It’s a fishing boat,” she explained. “He takes me out on it, and we’re going to paint the sea and the sky and all the fish.”

“That sounds lovely,” said the club leader.

Barry thought about it.

He didn’t have an alive grandad.

Well, he had family stories and photographs, but he didn’t have a grandad with a boat that he could paint for fourteen hours.

And even if he had a grandad with a boat, he would have to know what the boat looked like.

He could invent one, of course, but that rather defeated the point.

He watched another boy explain that he wanted to sculpt a castle with a working drawbridge.

A girl opposite him planned to dye a length of white fabric in several colours and turn it into a rainbow cape.

Someone else was going to make a miniature village, complete with houses, roads and a tiny supermarket.

Barry was impressed.

Everybody seemed to have arrived with a plan.

He had arrived with a coat, a lunchbox and a small ache in his chest where Marmaduke normally lived.

He took a piece of paper and wrote his first idea in enormous letters.

SEVEN-FOOT RAPTOR.

He drew a dinosaur beside it.

The raptor looked magnificent. It had sharp teeth, enormous claws, a long tail and a face that suggested it had just discovered somebody had eaten its favourite biscuit.

Barry added measurements.

Seven feet tall.

Possibly eight.

He was about to add a note about the dinosaur’s diet when he considered the practical difficulties.

First, a seven-foot dinosaur would be difficult to carry home.

Second, it would be difficult to get up the stairs to his bedroom.

Third, it might frighten Snowball.

Snowball was a white cat with blue eyes, a strong sense of personal dignity and absolutely no interest in sharing her home with an enormous cardboard predator.

Barry could imagine her reaction.

She would stare at the dinosaur.

She would stare at him.

Then she would leave the room and never forgive him.

He crossed out the idea.

SEVEN-FOOT RAPTOR: LOGISTICS PROBLEM. CAT PROBLEM.

He drew a small line underneath it.

It was a very mature assessment of the situation.

Alfie would have been proud.

Alfie would also have pointed out that Barry had spelt “logistics” incorrectly, which would have ruined the moment.

Barry looked around the room again.

What did he really want to make?

Something big.

Something exciting.

Something he could show Marmaduke when they were reunited.

Something that reminded him of the place Marmaduke was visiting.

Barbados.

Sunshine. Turquoise sea. Palm trees. Beaches. Boats. Strange birds. Fish. Perhaps sharks.

And treasure.

Barry sat up straight.

TREASURE.

His eyes widened.

He could make a huge treasure map of the Caribbean!

Not just a picture of a map, either. A proper adventure map, with islands, secret routes, mysterious symbols, dangerous seas, hidden caves and a giant red X marking where the treasure was buried.

He and Marmaduke could use it when they arrived in Barbados next week.

They could find treasure together.

Perhaps the treasure would be gold coins.

Perhaps jewels.

Perhaps a chest filled with chocolate.

He briefly considered whether a treasure chest filled with chocolate would melt in the Caribbean heat.

This was a genuine concern. He decided they would need to store it somewhere cool.

He rushed over to the club leader.

“I know what I’m making!”

“Wonderful, Barry. What is it?”

“A treasure map of the Caribbean!”

Her face lit up.

“That sounds fantastic. Tell me more.”

“It needs to be enormous.”

“How enormous?”

Barry held his arms out as far as they would go.

“THIS enormous.”

“That is quite large.”

“It has to fit all the treasure.”

“Of course.”

“And Barbados.”

“Certainly.”

“And some dangerous bits.”

“Dangerous bits?”

“Pirates. Sharks. Volcanoes. Maybe a crocodile.”

“Crocodiles don’t usually feature prominently in Caribbean treasure maps.”

Barry gave her a patient look.

“They might if they’re looking for treasure.”

The club leader accepted that this was not a discussion she was likely to win.

She helped him find a long roll of paper and a large table where he could spread it out.

Barry was given pencils, rulers, paints, brushes and a selection of other materials. He studied them carefully.

This was no time for a slapdash approach.

He was creating a navigational document that could, potentially, lead to untold riches.

He began by drawing the Caribbean islands.

He had a rough idea of where Barbados was because Alfie had shown him a map before the trip was arranged. Unfortunately, Barry’s geographical knowledge had been acquired partly through looking at maps and partly through asking whether dinosaurs had ever lived in the Caribbean.

He drew a large island.

Then a smaller one.

Then several tiny islands scattered around the sea.

He labelled the largest one BARBADOS.

He drew a palm tree beside it.

Then he drew a shark.

Then another shark.

Then a pirate ship.

Then a volcano.

He paused.

“Is there a volcano in Barbados?” he asked the club leader.

“Not an active one like the sort you’re drawing.”

Barry considered this.

“Then it’s a sleeping volcano.”

“That seems more sensible.”

He added a little pillow to the volcano.

It was important to show that he had researched the matter.

By lunchtime, Barry had painted the sea in different shades of blue and turquoise. He had created green islands, sandy beaches and winding dotted lines connecting various locations.

He painted a pirate ship with black sails.

He painted a shark with a very large mouth.

He painted a cave labelled SECRET TREASURE PLACE.

Then, after some thought, he painted another cave labelled NOT THE SECRET TREASURE PLACE.

This was to confuse any pirates who might happen to obtain a copy of the map.

He was beginning to enjoy himself.

Not in the way he enjoyed things when Marmaduke was beside him, whispering ridiculous suggestions and giggling when they were supposed to be listening.

This was different.

He was concentrating. He was deciding things. He was experimenting with colours and working out how to make the islands look as though they were surrounded by water.

When he mixed blue and green together, he discovered a colour that looked almost exactly like the sea in the holiday photographs.

He painted a little patch.

Then another.

Then he added white paint near the shore to make waves.

It was beautiful.

He sat back to admire it.

A boy from the next table leaned over.

“That’s good.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to find real treasure?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When Marmaduke comes back.”

“Who’s Marmaduke?”

“My best friend.”

“Is he good at finding treasure?”

Barry considered this.

“He’s good at finding things he’s not supposed to have.”

The boy nodded, impressed.

“That’ll be useful.”

“It will.”

They returned to their work.

For the first time that morning, Barry didn’t feel like the only child in the room who was missing somebody.

He felt like a child making something.

Which was rather nice, really.

In the afternoon, the project grew more ambitious.

Barry decided that a proper treasure map needed clues.

He drew a palm tree with a red ribbon tied around it.

He drew three rocks in a triangle.

He drew a tiny beach hut with a secret door.

He added a dotted route from Barbados to a mysterious island he named MARMADUKE ISLAND.

At the centre of the island was a huge red X.

Underneath it, he wrote:

TREASURE. DO NOT DIG UNTIL BARRY AND MARMADUKE ARRIVE.

He asked the club leader to help him spell “Caribbean”.

She did.

He asked her whether the map could include a compass.

It could.

He asked whether a compass would work if the map was upside down.

“It would still point north,” she explained.

Barry looked at his map.

“That’s inconvenient.”

“Why?”

“Because I might turn it upside down.”

She suggested he mark north clearly.

Barry drew an enormous arrow and wrote NORTH beside it.

Then, for good measure, he wrote NOT SOUTH at the opposite end.

Nobody could accuse him of being unclear.

As the afternoon went on, the room filled with the smell of paint and the sound of happy chatter. Children moved between tables to borrow brushes, compare ideas and admire one another’s work.

The girl painting her grandad’s boat had finished the sky and was now working on the water. The boy making the castle had constructed a drawbridge that actually moved. The rainbow cape was drying on a rack near the window.

Barry watched them for a moment.

He had started the day worried that everybody else would know what to do and he wouldn’t.

Now he was pleased with his own project.

His map was enormous, colourful and gloriously ridiculous.

It was exactly the sort of thing Marmaduke would love.

He imagined showing it to him in Barbados.

Marmaduke would point at the sharks.

Barry would explain that one of them guarded the treasure.

Marmaduke would ask why there was a volcano with a pillow.

Barry would explain that it was asleep and mustn’t be disturbed.

Then they would plan their expedition.

Possibly with ice cream.

Definitely with snacks.

He smiled to himself and added one final warning to the map:

BEWARE OF PIRATES. ALSO, ASK AN ADULT BEFORE DIGGING.

He had been told that sort of thing often enough to know it was probably important.

At four o’clock, Mrs Brand arrived to collect him.

She found Barry standing beside the table, looking tired but happy, with paint on one sleeve and a small blue mark on his cheek.

The map lay spread out in front of him.

Mrs Brand stared.

“Barry! That is enormous!”

“I know.”

“What is it?”

“A treasure map of the Caribbean.”

“Of course it is.”

“It has Barbados, sharks, pirates, a volcano and treasure.”

“I can see that.”

“And the volcano is asleep.”

“I’m glad you’ve considered its welfare.”

“And this is Marmaduke Island.”

Mrs Brand leaned closer to read the words beneath the red X.

“‘Do not dig until Barry and Marmaduke arrive.’ Very sensible.”

“I don’t want anyone stealing our treasure.”

“Understandable.”

Barry looked at her, suddenly a little quieter.

“I thought about making a dinosaur, but it would be too big to get upstairs. And Snowball might be scared.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“I’m glad you thought of Snowball.”

“And then I thought about Barbados. Because Marmaduke is there.”

She looked at him carefully.

“It’s lovely that you want to make something for the two of you.”

Barry nodded.

“I miss him. But I had a good day.”

“You certainly did.”

“And tomorrow I get another seven hours to finish it.”

“Fourteen hours of art in total. A very serious commitment.”

“It’s a very serious map.”

“I can tell.”

He carefully rolled the map around a cardboard tube, with the club leader’s help, so it could be taken home safely and finished the next day.

On the way out, he stopped to admire the castle, the rainbow cape and the boat.

Then he turned to the club leader.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to make the treasure look more real.”

“What will you use?”

“Gold paint.”

“Excellent.”

“And maybe glitter.”

“Also excellent.”

“And possibly a tiny chocolate treasure chest.”

She laughed. “That sounds like a plan.”

Barry walked out of school with his map tucked safely under his arm.

He was still missing Marmaduke.

He would probably miss him tomorrow, too.

But now he had something to look forward to: another day of making, painting and creating, and then a reunion in Barbados where he and his best friend could begin the greatest treasure hunt the Caribbean had ever seen.

Assuming, of course, that the pirates hadn’t found the map.

Or that the sleeping volcano hadn’t woken up.

Or that Snowball hadn’t decided to eat the cardboard tube.

At home, Snowball was asleep on the sofa, entirely unaware that she had narrowly escaped becoming collateral damage in a seven-foot dinosaur project.

Barry laid the map on the table and showed his parents the route to the treasure.

Mr Brand studied it with great seriousness.

“Have you considered the legal implications of claiming buried treasure?”

Barry blinked.

“No.”

“Pirate law can be complicated.”

“Dad!”

“I’m only saying. You may need a solicitor.”

Mrs Brand looked at her husband.

“Do not encourage him.”

“I’m not encouraging him. I’m ensuring he has appropriate professional support.”

Barry pointed at the red X.

“We’re going to find treasure.”

“Then,” said Mr Brand, “I recommend you bring a very large bag.”

Barry grinned.

And for the first time all week, the thought of being without Marmaduke didn’t feel quite so enormous.

He had fourteen hours of creativity behind him, another seven hours ahead, and a treasure hunt waiting in Barbados.

There was, he decided, plenty to keep him busy.

Although he still thought it would have been easier if Marmaduke had been there.

Mostly because Marmaduke was very good at carrying things.

And because, if they found a real pirate, Barry felt it was only fair that his best friend should be there to help negotiate the ransom.

Preferably in exchange for chocolate.