Friday morning began with Barry Brand standing in the kitchen, guarding a cardboard tube as though it contained the Crown Jewels, the national gold reserves and the last chocolate biscuit in Britain.
Inside the tube was his Caribbean treasure map.
He had spent many hours at Create Club yesterday, designing it, painting it, labelling it and generally turning a large piece of paper into something that looked like a cross between a pirate’s navigation chart and a geography lesson conducted by somebody who had eaten too much sugar.
It featured Barbados, several other Caribbean islands, a pirate ship, three sharks, a cave labelled SECRET TREASURE PLACE, a second cave labelled NOT THE SECRET TREASURE PLACE, and a sleeping volcano with a pillow.
There was also Marmaduke Island, with a giant red X marking the location of the treasure.
Underneath, Barry had written:
DO NOT DIG UNTIL BARRY AND MARMADUKE ARRIVE.
It was a masterpiece.
Possibly not a masterpiece that would be displayed at the Royal Academy, unless the Royal Academy had recently lowered its standards considerably. But a masterpiece nonetheless.
Today, Barry was returning to Create Club for the second and final day of his project.
And he had plans.
“Don’t put that on the breakfast table,” Mrs Brand said, watching him carefully lower the cardboard tube beside his cereal bowl.
“I’m not putting it on the table.”
“You are literally putting it on the table.”
“I’m putting the tube on the table. The map is inside.”
Mrs Brand closed her eyes briefly.
She had spent years negotiating commercial contracts with businesses across the world. She had drafted complex agreements, managed regulatory issues and dealt with people who believed that the words urgent and immediately were interchangeable.
Yet she had somehow arrived at Friday morning discussing the legal distinction between a cardboard tube and its contents with a four-year-old.
It was not, she reflected, the career trajectory she had anticipated.
“Please eat your breakfast,” she said.
Barry took a spoonful of cereal.
“Can I put glitter on the map today?”
“Probably.”
“And beads?”
“Ask the teacher.”
“And chocolate coins?”
“Ask the teacher.”
“And can I eat the chocolate coins?”
“Ask the teacher.”
Barry frowned.
“Why do I have to ask the teacher everything?”
“Because I am not the teacher.”
“You’re a lawyer.”
“Correct.”
“Can’t you just make a rule?”
Mr Brand, who was reading the news on his phone, lowered it.
“Your mother could make a rule. But then you’d ask whether the rule applied retrospectively, and we’d all lose the will to live.”
Barry considered this.
“What’s retrospectively?”
“It’s when something applies to what has already happened.”
Barry looked at his cereal.
“Does that mean if I eat all the chocolate coins before I get to school, I can say I was following the rule retrospectively?”
Mr Brand stared at him.
Mrs Brand pointed towards the front door.
“Coat. Shoes. Now.”
The conversation had reached the stage at which nobody was winning.
Alfie was already ready for his day, of course.
He had his bag, his water bottle and the calm expression of a person who had never once considered eating an entire packet of chocolate coins before breakfast.
“Are you taking your map back?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing with it?”
“Making it better.”
Alfie looked sceptical.
“It’s already covered in sharks.”
“More sharks.”
“That’s not necessarily better.”
“More glitter.”
“That’s definitely not better.”
Barry drew himself up.
“You don’t understand art.”
Alfie adjusted his bag.
“You’re right. I prefer things that don’t shed glitter for the next six months.”
Barry nodded as if this proved his point.
“That’s because you’re eight.”
“An excellent observation.”
“And I’m four.”
“Another one.”
“Which means I know more about dinosaurs.”
Alfie paused.
“Unfortunately, that’s probably true.”
Barry beamed.
He had won.
It was important to enjoy these victories because Alfie had a habit of winning arguments through logic, facts and being irritatingly correct. Barry preferred a more creative approach, involving confidence and occasional references to dinosaurs.
At the front door, Mrs Brand reminded him to listen to the club leader, take care with the materials and avoid getting anything permanent on his clothes.
Barry nodded earnestly.
“Of course.”
Mr Brand looked at the blue mark still faintly visible on Barry’s cheek from the previous day.
“Your record suggests otherwise.”
“That’s old paint.”
“I’m aware.”
“It’s not today’s paint.”
“I’m sure the school will be relieved.”
Barry picked up his map tube and marched out.
The expedition was beginning.
Create Club was already lively when Barry arrived.
The room smelled of paint, glue and the faintly alarming scent of something that might have been papier-mâché.
Children were busy finishing their projects. The girl painting her grandad’s boat was adding tiny white details to the waves. The boy with the castle had improved his drawbridge and was now attempting to construct a tower that didn’t fall over every time somebody breathed near it.
Barry found his own table and carefully unrolled his map.
The club leader came over.
“Good morning, Barry! Ready to finish your treasure map?”
“It’s already finished.”
She looked at the map.
“Ah.”
“Today I’m decorating it.”
“Of course you are.”
“And making it more treasure-y.”
“An entirely reasonable artistic objective.”
Barry began unloading his supplies.
He had brought no actual chocolate coins, because Mrs Brand had drawn a firm line between decorating an artwork with chocolate wrappers and eating the materials before the artwork existed.
Instead, he had a small collection of empty gold-coloured wrappers saved from chocolate coins, along with some colourful beads and a little pot of glitter he had been given permission to use.
The glitter was particularly exciting.
Glitter was not merely a craft material. Glitter was a commitment.
Once glitter entered a household, it did not leave. It settled into carpets, attached itself to socks, appeared in bedsheets and occasionally materialised in places that suggested it had developed independent transport arrangements.
Mrs Brand had once found glitter inside a closed laptop.
She had not investigated further. Some mysteries were best left alone.
Barry began by adding gold glitter around the red X on Marmaduke Island.
He dabbed glue carefully onto the paper and sprinkled the glitter over it.
A little landed on the map.
A little landed on the table.
A little landed on his sleeve.
And a considerable amount landed on the boy sitting beside him, who looked down at his arm.
“Why am I shiny?”
“Because you’re near the treasure.”
The boy considered this.
“Can I have some treasure?”
“No. It’s for me and Marmaduke.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s a secret treasure.”
“It’s not a secret if you’ve told me.”
Barry stopped.
This was a serious point.
He thought about it for a moment.
“Then you have to promise not to tell.”
The boy agreed, although Barry suspected that the secrecy arrangements might not withstand the pressure of lunchtime.
Next came the chocolate coin wrappers.
Barry cut them into small pieces and glued them around the cave entrance, making it look as though the treasure had spilled out of the rock.
He arranged several beads along the coastline to represent jewels, then used smaller ones to mark the route between islands.
The map was becoming magnificent.
It was also becoming extremely difficult to fold.
“Perhaps we should keep this flat,” the club leader suggested.
“It’s supposed to be a map,” Barry explained.
“Yes.”
“So it has to travel.”
“Maps can travel flat.”
Barry considered this.
He had a lot to learn about cartography.
He pressed a bead into place near Barbados.
“This is where Marmaduke is now.”
The club leader smiled.
“And this is where you’ll meet him next week?”
“Yes. Then we’ll find the treasure.”
“What sort of treasure do you think you’ll find?”
“Gold. Jewels. Chocolate. Maybe a dinosaur.”
“A dinosaur?”
Barry looked at her as though she had asked whether the sea was wet.
“Obviously not a real one. It would be too big to fit in the treasure chest.”
“I’m relieved you’ve thought that through.”
“I’m very good at planning.”
The club leader looked at the map, where a sleeping volcano wore a pillow and a shark appeared to be guarding a pile of gold wrappers.
“I’m beginning to see that.”
By mid-morning, Barry’s treasure map was sparkling so fiercely that it could probably have been used as a navigation aid by passing aircraft.
He had added a line of beads around the treasure cave and glued several chocolate coin wrappers into the centre of the red X.
He had also drawn a tiny sign saying TREASURE THIS WAY, complete with an arrow that pointed in three different directions.
When the club leader asked why, Barry explained that pirates were not to be trusted.
“They might follow the wrong arrow,” he said.
“Very clever.”
“And if they follow all three, they’ll get confused.”
“An excellent defensive strategy.”
Barry beamed.
He was having a wonderful time.
Yesterday, he had been quiet and uncertain, watching other children confidently choose their projects while he wondered whether he ought to build a seven-foot dinosaur.
Today, he knew exactly what he wanted to do.
He had his map. He had his treasure. He had a plan for Barbados.
He still missed Marmaduke, of course, but that feeling had become easier to carry. It was rather like his map tube: awkward at first, but manageable once he worked out how to hold it.
The club leader stood beside him, admiring his work.
“This is a really lovely project, Barry. You’ve put a lot of thought into it.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you know what would make it even more special?”
Barry’s eyes widened.
“More treasure?”
“Possibly. But I was thinking about a flag.”
“A FLAG?”
“A flag for Marmaduke Island. Every proper treasure island needs its own flag.”
Barry stared at her.
She had just suggested the greatest idea in the history of flags.
Of course Marmaduke Island needed a flag.
How else would they know they had arrived? How else would they identify their territory? How else would they tell passing pirates that the island belonged to two small boys with extremely strong opinions about chocolate?
Barry leapt to his feet.
“WE NEED A FLAG!”
Several children turned around.
The boy with the castle dropped a small cardboard tower.
The girl with the boat looked up.
The club leader raised her eyebrows.
“Indoor voices, Barry.”
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Then, at a volume that was still considerably louder than necessary, he added, “WE NEED A FLAG.”
The first step was designing the flag on paper.
Barry sat down with a sheet of white paper and a selection of coloured pencils.
He began by drawing a skull.
Then he drew two crossed bones.
Then he added a dinosaur.
He looked at it.
The dinosaur was excellent. The skull was a little lopsided, but it had character.
The club leader leaned over.
“That’s an interesting design. Tell me about it.”
“The skull means pirates aren’t allowed to steal the treasure.”
“Right.”
“The bones mean the pirates should be careful.”
“Careful of what?”
“Us.”
“Of course.”
“And the dinosaur means Marmaduke Island is protected by dinosaurs.”
The club leader nodded thoughtfully.
“Do you think you need all three?”
Barry looked offended.
“Obviously.”
“Perhaps we could make the design a little simpler so it transfers well onto the fabric.”
Barry considered this.
He had never thought about a flag needing to transfer from paper to fabric. He had assumed that things simply became flags once somebody decided they were flags.
It turned out there were procedures.
There were always procedures.
He redrew the design, making the skull larger, the crossed bones clearer and the dinosaur smaller. He added a blue sea at the bottom and a golden X in the middle.
At the top, he wrote:
MARMADUKE ISLAND
Underneath, in smaller letters, he added:
BARRY AND MARMADUKE’S TREASURE. KEEP OUT, PIRATES.
The club leader helped him check that the lettering was clear and the design would fit onto the fabric.
Barry was satisfied.
It was bold.
It was colourful.
It had dinosaurs.
And it made the legal position concerning ownership of the island perfectly clear.
Mrs Brand would have approved of that last part.
Possibly.
The club leader brought out a piece of fabric.
“This is where we transfer your design,” she explained.
Barry watched as she positioned the paper and helped him mark out the design on the fabric.
He carefully copied the main shapes, adding the skull, crossed bones, dinosaur and golden X.
The flag was taking shape.
Then came the question of how to attach the decorative elements and finish it in the time available.
“We can use spray glue today,” the club leader explained. “It will help us finish the flag before the end of the session. I’ll handle the spraying and make sure we use it safely in the appropriate area.”
Barry nodded.
He had no objection to spray glue. It sounded like a very efficient invention.
“Can I spray it?”
“Not this time. It needs an adult to handle it safely.”
“Can I watch?”
“Of course.”
The club leader took the fabric to the designated work area and applied the adhesive according to the instructions. When she returned, she helped Barry position the decorative pieces carefully.
He added small beads to the border and a little gold detail around the treasure X. The skull received two black eyes, the crossed bones were straightened, and the dinosaur acquired a surprisingly fierce expression.
The club leader helped him press everything into place.
Barry stepped back.
His flag was glorious.
It was also, he noticed, slightly crooked.
“Is it meant to be like that?” he asked.
“Flags don’t have to be perfectly symmetrical.”
“Good.”
“Some flags are very simple.”
“Mine has a dinosaur.”
“Yes.”
“Some flags don’t have dinosaurs.”
“That’s true.”
“Those flags are missing out.”
The club leader wisely declined to debate international vexillology with a four-year-old who had glitter in his eyebrows.
She explained that, if Barry wanted to, he could come back to Create Club the following week and learn to sew.
They could teach him how to stitch fabric, attach a proper border and perhaps even make a little sleeve so the flag could be mounted on a pole.
Barry stared at her.
“Sewing?”
“Yes. With a needle and thread, under supervision.”
“Can I make clothes?”
“Eventually, perhaps.”
“Can I make dinosaur clothes?”
“I’m sure we could explore that.”
Barry looked at his flag.
Then he looked at the sewing materials.
Then he looked at the flag again.
“Can I come next week?”
“Of course. We’d love to have you.”
Barry’s face fell slightly.
“Oh.”
The club leader noticed.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Barry lifted his chin proudly.
“Because I’ll be in Barbados with my best friend in the world, Marmaduke.”
The club leader smiled.
“Ah! That’s a very good reason.”
“I’m going to find treasure with him.”
“Then I hope you have a wonderful adventure.”
“I will. We have a map.”
“Of course you do.”
“And a flag.”
“Definitely.”
“And a volcano that is asleep.”
The club leader paused.
“Do remember not to wake it.”
Barry nodded solemnly.
“We’ll be very quiet.”
He considered this for a moment.
“Unless there’s a dinosaur.”
“Quite right.”
At home time, Barry carefully packed his flag and rolled up his map with the assistance of the club leader.
He carried both outside, where Mrs Brand was waiting.
She looked at the flag first.
“Barry! That’s brilliant.”
“It’s the flag of Marmaduke Island.”
“Of course it is.”
“It has a skull, bones, a dinosaur and treasure.”
“I can see that.”
“And I might have learned to sew next week, but I’m going to Barbados.”
Mrs Brand smiled.
“You sound very pleased about that.”
“I am.”
He paused, looking down at the flag.
“Can I take it with me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can Marmaduke hold it?”
“I’m sure he can.”
Barry considered this carefully.
“Maybe I’ll let him hold it first.”
Mrs Brand raised an eyebrow.
“That’s generous.”
“I’ll hold the map.”
“An excellent division of responsibilities.”
Barry grinned.
He had spent two days making something that belonged to him and Marmaduke, even though Marmaduke hadn’t been there to help.
He had discovered that he could choose a project, learn new techniques, solve problems and create something wonderful without his best friend beside him.
But now the best part was getting closer.
Next week, he would be in Barbados.
He would see Marmaduke again.
They would have stories to tell, adventures to plan and a treasure map to follow.
And they would have a flag.
A very important flag.
One that declared, in glitter, beads and slightly crooked lettering, that Marmaduke Island belonged to two small boys who had absolutely no intention of sharing their chocolate with pirates.
Back at home, Mr Brand inspected the flag with professional seriousness.
“Very impressive. Have you registered the island with the relevant authorities?”
Barry frowned.
“Which authorities?”
“International authorities.”
“Are they pirates?”
“Some of them might be.”
Barry clutched the flag.
“Then they can’t have it.”
“An understandable position.”
Mrs Brand sighed.
“Please don’t teach him international law.”
“I wasn’t teaching him international law. I was encouraging him to consider his rights.”
“He’s four.”
“His rights remain important.”
Barry had already moved on.
He was holding the flag up in front of Snowball.
“Look! It’s Marmaduke Island!”
Snowball stared at the skull, the dinosaur and the glitter.
Then she blinked slowly, turned around and walked away.
Barry watched her go.
“She likes it.”
Mr Brand looked at the cat.
“She has left the room.”
“She likes it so much she needs a rest.”
“An interesting interpretation.”
Barry carefully rolled up the flag and placed it beside the map.
His expedition was almost ready.
The Caribbean awaited.
The treasure was hidden.
The volcano was asleep.
The sharks were on duty.
And somewhere in Barbados, Marmaduke Jackson was going about his holiday completely unaware that his best friend had spent fourteen hours preparing a treasure hunt, establishing an island and designing a flag.
Barry grinned.
Marmaduke was going to be very impressed.
And if he wasn’t, Barry had a skull-and-crossbones flag, several chocolate coin wrappers and a dinosaur.
There was, frankly, very little room for disagreement.
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