Sunday morning dawned over Barbados in a blaze of sunshine, turquoise sea and the sort of tropical beauty that made London in October seem like a clerical error.
The Brand family had arrived the previous day after a long flight, during which Barry had slept through the in-flight breakfast, woken up convinced he had missed an important meeting, and then asked whether the aeroplane could turn around because he had forgotten to tell Snowball something.
It had not turned around.
The pilot had presumably had other things to do.
After landing, the Brands had travelled to their hotel, where they had been reunited with Marjory Jackson and Marmaduke, who had spent the previous week staying with family on the island.
Barry and Marmaduke had embraced with the intensity of two explorers reunited after years lost in the wilderness.
In reality, they had been apart for approximately one week.
For four-year-old best friends who normally saw each other every day, however, this was practically a geological age.
There had been hugging, shouting, laughing, and had engaged in a detailed discussion about whether the airport had any dinosaurs.
It did not, as far as anyone knew.
Marmaduke had then asked Barry whether he had brought a treasure map.
Barry had confirmed that he had.
He had also brought the flag for Marmaduke Island, which had been made at Create Club, complete with a skull, crossed bones, dinosaur and enough glitter to make a passing aircraft reconsider their flight path.
Marmaduke had been suitably impressed.
The boys had immediately begun planning their Caribbean treasure expedition, which had been postponed until they could establish whether the hotel had any rules about digging holes in the grounds.
Mr Brand had said it almost certainly did.
Barry had replied that rules were sometimes written by people who had never found treasure.
Mr Brand had said that this was also true of several government departments.
Mrs Brand had told both of them to unpack.
It had been a long day.
By bedtime, the boys were exhausted, the adults were desperate for sleep, and the hotel room arrangements had been agreed.
Barry and Marmaduke would share a room, for now, on one very important condition: best, safest behaviour.
This had been explained carefully.
There would be no climbing furniture, no experimenting with balcony doors, no leaving the room without an adult, no attempting to investigate hotel machinery, and absolutely no searching for treasure without permission.
The boys had nodded solemnly.
They were, after all, mature four-year-olds.
At least, that was the theory.
At 6:17 on Sunday morning, Barry opened his eyes.
He lay still for approximately three seconds.
Then he remembered.
Barbados.
Marmaduke.
Treasure.
His best friend was in the bed beside him.
He turned his head.
“Marm?”
There was no answer.
Barry sat up.
“MARMADUKE.”
A small arm emerged from beneath the duvet.
“I’m sleeping.”
“It’s morning.”
“Go away.”
“We’re in Barbados.”
Marmaduke opened one eye.
For a moment, he looked confused.
Then his face transformed.
“WE’RE IN BARBADOS!”
“Yes!”
They sprang out of bed and began jumping.
This continued until Barry remembered that they had been told not to jump on furniture, and decided that jumping on the floor was a technical distinction that deserved further consideration.
Marmaduke was less interested in technical distinctions.
He was jumping enthusiastically.
“STOP!” Barry shouted.
Marmaduke stopped.
“What?”
“We have to be safe.”
Marmaduke nodded.
Then he jumped again.
“That’s not safe!”
“I’m on the floor!”
Barry paused.
This was annoyingly difficult to argue with.
After a short negotiation, they agreed to stop jumping and investigate the more urgent matter of breakfast.
They were starving.
Barry had eaten breakfast on Saturday morning in England, then slept through the aeroplane breakfast, and had eaten dinner at the hotel. Marmaduke had eaten his own dinner and had apparently spent the night dreaming about food.
Now they were both experiencing the sort of hunger that made a four-year-old capable of eating an entire packet of crackers and then asking whether the packet was edible.
“Do you think the restaurant is open?” Marmaduke asked.
“Probably.”
“Do you think they have pancakes?”
“Probably.”
“Do you think they have ice cream?”
“It’s breakfast.”
“So?”
Barry nodded thoughtfully.
Marmaduke had raised a valid point.
They opened the bedroom door and found Marjory in the adjoining sitting area, already dressed and attempting to drink a coffee while reading messages on her phone.
She was a neurosurgeon. She had performed extraordinarily complex operations, made decisions under immense pressure, and spent years developing the ability to concentrate in situations that would make most people lie down in a darkened room.
However, she had not yet developed the ability to drink a hot coffee while two four-year-old boys were within a five-metre radius.
“Morning, boys,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes!” they chorused.
“Of course you are.”
“Can we have breakfast?” asked Barry.
“I was just about to get some more coffee. Why don’t you come down with me?”
The boys looked at each other.
This was excellent news.
Breakfast.
Coffee for Marjory.
Pancakes, possibly, for them.
An expedition downstairs.
It was practically a treasure hunt, only with more cutlery.
Marjory slipped her phone into her bag, picked up her room key and led them towards the lifts.
She had agreed to stay with the Brands this week, while the Jackson family would meet them for dinners and other family activities. The arrangement meant that everyone could spend time together without attempting to squeeze an entire extended family into one house.
It was a sensible arrangement.
Which, as events would shortly demonstrate, was not the same thing as a foolproof arrangement.
The hotel restaurant was beautiful.
Large windows overlooked the gardens, beyond which the Caribbean Sea sparkled in the morning sunshine. Tables were laid with white linen, the buffet was being prepared, and the smell of coffee drifted through the air.
Marjory stopped just inside the entrance.
“Right, boys. Let’s find a table.”
She spotted a familiar member of staff and paused to ask about breakfast timings.
It was a perfectly ordinary conversation.
It was also the precise moment at which Barry and Marmaduke discovered that the hotel had a lobby.
And the lobby had things.
There was a large decorative bowl filled with polished stones.
There were plants.
There was a magnificent staircase.
There was a display of brochures showing local beaches, boat trips and wildlife excursions.
There was, most importantly, a very large model sailing boat displayed inside a glass cabinet.
Barry stopped.
“Marm.”
“What?”
“Boat.”
Marmaduke turned.
His eyes widened.
“BOAT.”
“It’s not a real boat.”
“I know.”
“But it might have treasure.”
Marmaduke considered the display.
It was a beautifully crafted model, complete with tiny sails, ropes and little wooden details.
“Maybe there’s treasure inside,” he whispered.
“It’s in a cabinet.”
“Maybe the cabinet is protecting the treasure.”
Barry stared at it.
This was a compelling theory.
They looked towards Marjory.
She was still talking to the member of staff.
The boys looked at each other again.
They were not intending to disobey.
They were intending to investigate.
There was a difference.
At least, there was in their minds.
They wandered a few steps towards the boat.
Then a few more towards a display of local maps.
Then they spotted a corridor leading towards the gardens.
And beyond the gardens, through the glass doors, they could see palm trees and a glimpse of the swimming pool.
Barry stopped.
“Marmaduke.”
“What?”
“Look.”
“I see it.”
“That’s where treasure might be.”
“Definitely.”
They began to walk towards the garden doors.
They were not running.
They were not climbing anything.
They were not touching machinery.
They were simply conducting a quiet, professional investigation into the geographical possibilities of the hotel grounds.
The fact that neither of them had informed an adult was, in their view, a minor administrative omission.
Marjory finished her conversation and turned towards the restaurant entrance.
“Right, boys. Shall we—”
She stopped.
There were no boys.
There was a lobby.
There was a glass cabinet.
There was a decorative bowl of polished stones.
There was a model sailing boat.
There was a growing suspicion that she had just lost two small children in a hotel while standing approximately twelve metres away from them.
She looked behind the nearest plant.
Nothing.
She checked the other side of the entrance.
Nothing.
She peered towards the restaurant tables.
No Barry.
No Marmaduke.
She looked at the member of staff.
“Have you seen two little boys? One with dark hair, one with lighter hair. Four years old. Together. Very together.”
The member of staff blinked.
“I’m sorry, madam?”
“Two little boys.”
“Ah.”
The man’s expression changed.
He looked towards the lobby.
Then towards the corridor.
Then back at Marjory.
“Madam, I believe I saw two young gentlemen near the garden doors.”
Marjory closed her eyes.
Young gentlemen.
Of course.
They had been missing for approximately ninety seconds and had already acquired a title.
“Thank you.”
She moved towards the garden doors at a pace that was brisk enough to suggest urgency but controlled enough to avoid alarming the other guests.
Inside her head, however, a full emergency meeting was taking place.
Barry and Marmaduke were four.
They were curious.
They were best friends.
They had just been reunited after a week apart.
They were also both perfectly capable of turning a simple breakfast into an international incident.
Marjory had been a neurosurgeon for years.
She had dealt with complicated anatomy, high-pressure situations and people who believed that Google was an acceptable substitute for medical training.
Yet nothing in her professional life had adequately prepared her for the phrase two missing four-year-olds in a tropical hotel.
She was about to call the Brands when a familiar voice sounded behind her.
“Excuse me, madam?”
Marjory turned.
The concierge was approaching.
And beside him, holding hands, were Barry and Marmaduke.
Both boys looked entirely content.
Barry was carrying a hotel brochure.
Marmaduke had acquired a small paper napkin.
Neither appeared to have suffered even the slightest inconvenience.
The concierge smiled politely.
“I believe these two young gentlemen may belong to you.”
Marjory stared at him.
Then at the boys.
Then at the brochure.
“Where have you been?”
Barry looked surprised.
“Exploring.”
“Exploring where?”
“The hotel.”
“I can see that. Which part?”
“The boat.”
“What boat?”
“The little boat in the cabinet.”
Marmaduke nodded enthusiastically.
“And the garden.”
Marjory took a slow breath.
“Why did you leave the lobby?”
Barry looked at her with the bewildered expression of a child who has been asked to explain why the sea is wet.
“We were hungry.”
Marjory blinked.
“You were hungry, so you left the restaurant?”
“We were looking for breakfast,” Marmaduke explained.
The concierge pressed his lips together.
He was doing an admirable job of maintaining professional composure.
Barry held up the brochure.
“We found the swimming pool.”
“Did you go into the swimming pool?”
“No.”
“Did you go outside?”
“Yes.”
Marjory inhaled.
The concierge intervened gently.
“I spotted them near the garden entrance, madam. They were discussing whether the hotel had a treasure map. I thought it best to bring them back.”
Marjory looked at the boys.
“Were you looking for treasure?”
Barry nodded.
“Of course.”
“Of course,” she repeated.
The concierge handed her the brochure.
“They seemed particularly interested in the local boat trips.”
Barry looked delighted.
“He knows about boats!”
“Yes,” said Marjory. “He probably knows about boats because he works in a hotel, where people book boat trips.”
Barry looked impressed by this level of professional expertise.
The concierge smiled.
“Perhaps they might enjoy a supervised excursion later in the week.”
Marjory managed a smile.
“That sounds lovely. With adults.”
“Absolutely, madam.”
Barry looked up.
“Can we go on a boat trip?”
“We can discuss it after breakfast.”
“Can we look for treasure?”
“We can discuss that after breakfast too.”
“Can we have pancakes?”
Marjory stared at him.
“Yes, Barry. You can have pancakes.”
He nodded, satisfied.
The crisis had been resolved.
The important issue of breakfast was back on the agenda.
Marjory took both boys by the hand and marched them into the restaurant.
They were returned safely to their table, where she seated them side by side and made it abundantly clear that they were not to leave without her.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Barry.
“Yes,” said Marmaduke.
“If you want to go somewhere, you tell me.”
“Yes.”
“You do not wander off.”
“No.”
“You do not go exploring the hotel.”
“No.”
“You do not investigate boats, gardens, swimming pools or anything else without an adult.”
“No.”
Marjory looked at them.
“Repeat the rule.”
Barry sat up straight.
“We stay with you.”
“And?”
“We ask before going anywhere.”
“And?”
Marmaduke thought hard.
“We don’t become young gentlemen.”
Marjory stared at him.
The concierge, who had been passing the table, made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a cough.
Barry leaned towards Marmaduke.
“What’s a young gentleman?”
“Someone who gets returned to people.”
Barry considered this.
“That sounds useful.”
“It is,” Marmaduke agreed.
Marjory placed her coffee cup on the table and took a long, uninterrupted sip.
It was, she reflected, the best coffee she had ever tasted.
Not because it was particularly good coffee.
Because she was drinking it while both boys were visible.
The boys were soon presented with pancakes, fruit and toast. Barry ate enthusiastically, explaining that he had been conducting a very important investigation.
Marmaduke agreed.
“We were checking the hotel.”
“Checking it for what?” Marjory asked.
“Treasure.”
“Did you find any?”
Barry looked at the pancake on his plate.
“No.”
“Then I suggest you concentrate on your breakfast.”
Marmaduke dipped a piece of pancake into syrup.
“Maybe the treasure is the breakfast.”
Barry stopped chewing.
He looked at his plate.
He looked at Marmaduke.
Then he nodded solemnly.
“That is possible.”
Marjory shook her head.
She had survived a week of visiting relatives, a long flight, a hotel check-in and the challenge of spending time with two small boys who had been separated for a week and were now determined to make up for lost opportunities.
It was only Sunday morning.
There were still six days to go.
She took another sip of coffee.
Perhaps she should have booked a holiday for herself.
Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere with no children.
Somewhere with excellent coffee and a locked door.
Then Barry reached across the table and took her hand.
“Marjory?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I’m glad Marmaduke is back.”
Marjory’s expression softened.
“Me too.”
“And I’m glad we’re all here.”
She squeezed his hand.
“So am I.”
Marmaduke leaned across the table.
“Can we find treasure after breakfast?”
Marjory’s face returned to its previous expression.
“Only with an adult.”
“Can the adult be you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you bring coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Can we have pancakes first?”
Marjory looked at the two boys.
They were smiling at her with identical expressions of innocent hope.
She had performed brain surgery.
She had raised a child.
She had survived grief, work, and the complexities of family life.
But she knew, with absolute certainty, that Barbados was going to test her in entirely new ways.
“Finish your breakfast,” she said. “Then we’ll talk about treasure.”
Barry and Marmaduke exchanged a triumphant look.
The expedition was back on.
The hotel had been explored.
The concierge had been introduced to the concept of two four-year-old treasure hunters.
And Marjory had finally managed to drink her coffee.
For approximately four minutes.
In Barbados, this counted as a successful morning.
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