Catamaran

By Monday morning, the Brands and the Jacksons had reached the stage of their Barbados holiday at which everyone had begun to believe they were experts.

Mr Brand, for example, had developed strong opinions about the best time to order coffee at the hotel, despite having been in the country for approximately thirty-six hours. Mrs Brand had discovered that her work emails did not become less numerous when viewed beside a swimming pool. Marjory had successfully negotiated three restaurant bookings, two family visits and one medical telephone consultation, because apparently even neurosurgeons were not allowed to have a holiday without somebody somewhere developing an unfortunate brain-related problem.

Alfie had acquired a small notebook in which he recorded interesting facts about Barbados.

Barry and Marmaduke had acquired a large quantity of sand in places where sand had no business being.

And on Tuesday morning, they were all going on a catamaran tour around the west coast of Barbados.

“Today,” announced Mr Brand at breakfast, consulting the leaflet for the fourth time, “we will be sailing along one of the most beautiful coastlines in the Caribbean, observing aquatic wildlife, eating lunch on a boat and possibly snorkelling.”

“Will there be sharks?” asked Barry.

“Possibly,” said Marjory.

“Will they eat us?”

“Almost certainly not,” said Mrs Brand.

“Almost certainly?” Barry repeated, his eyes widening with delighted horror.

“Barry,” said Alfie, “if you spent less time trying to arrange your own death by marine animal and more time listening, you might enjoy yourself.”

“I don’t want to die,” Barry explained. “I want to see a shark. They’re different things.”

“Thank you,” said Mr Brand. “It’s reassuring to know our holiday objectives are so clearly defined.”

Marmaduke was already wearing his swimming trunks beneath his shorts. He had also put on his goggles, which he wore around his neck like a professional underwater explorer.

“You can’t snorkel in the restaurant,” Alfie informed him.

“I might need to practise.”

“You can practise breathing through your nose.”

Marmaduke considered this.

“No.”

And so, after breakfast, sunscreen, hats, repeated warnings about drinking water and a brief disagreement about whether Barry needed to take his entire treasure map to sea, the party set off for the harbour.

Barry had decided that the map was essential.

“It says Marmaduke Island is somewhere in the Caribbean,” he explained. “We might find it.”

“It’s a piece of paper you drew yourself,” said Alfie.

“That’s what the pirates will think.”

“Which pirates?”

“The ones looking for treasure.”

“Right,” said Alfie. “Naturally. Silly me.”

Fortunately, Mrs Brand persuaded Barry that the treasure map would be safer in the hotel room. She did so by explaining that paper was not particularly good at swimming, and Barry reluctantly accepted this scientific fact.

The catamaran was magnificent.

It had two hulls, a broad deck, shaded seating, nets stretched over the water at the front and a crew who looked as though they had never once in their lives misplaced a sunhat or worried about whether their out-of-office message was working.

The sea was a brilliant blue, the sky was almost offensively beautiful, and the coastline stretched away in a series of green headlands, pale beaches and rocky coves.

Barry stood at the side of the boat, staring.

“It’s enormous,” he whispered.

“The sea?” asked Marmaduke.

“No, the boat.”

“Oh.”

They both stared at the sea.

“That’s enormous too,” Marmaduke conceded.

The crew welcomed everyone aboard, explained the safety rules and showed them where to put their bags. Barry listened carefully to the instructions about staying seated while the boat moved, keeping clear of ropes and following the crew’s directions.

Mrs Brand looked at him suspiciously.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m listening.”

“Yes, I can see that. It’s just unusual enough to be medically significant.”

The catamaran eased away from the harbour and headed up along the west coast.

The water sparkled in the sunshine. The breeze lifted the boys’ hair, and the boat glided across the waves with a gentle rocking motion.

Marmaduke lay on the front netting until Marjory reminded him that the crew had specifically asked everyone to remain seated on the deck while the boat manoeuvred.

“I was looking at the water,” he explained.

“You can look at the water from the seat.”

“It’s not as close.”

“Neither is A&E,” Marjory replied. “Let’s keep it that way.”

They were soon introduced to the day’s instructors.

The senior diving instructor was going to take Mr Brand and Alfie out to explore some underwater rock formations and reef. The younger instructor would supervise the snorkelling group staying in a sheltered bay near the catamaran.

His name was Oz.

Barry liked him immediately.

Oz had sun-bleached hair, a relaxed grin, a faded T-shirt and the sort of effortless confidence that suggested he could probably identify a fish, fix an engine and rescue a tourist’s hat without interrupting his lunch.

He looked, Barry thought, like someone who might live in a treehouse and have a pet octopus.

“Hi, guys,” said Oz. “Ready to see what’s going on under there?”

Barry nodded so vigorously that his hat nearly came off.

“Are you a real diver?”

Oz looked down at his fins.

“Last time I checked.”

“How long have you been diving?”

Oz scratched his head.

“Since I could walk, pretty much.”

“How old are you?”

“Excellent question.”

Barry stared at him.

“You don’t know?”

“I know I’m old enough to pay taxes, young enough to still enjoy jumping off boats, and somewhere in between the two.”

“That’s not an age.”

“Good spot.”

Oz grinned.

“Honestly, mate, I stopped keeping track. My birthday comes round, people ask me how old I am, and I have to do some maths. It’s embarrassing.”

Barry was enthralled.

Here was an adult who admitted not knowing something.

Mrs Brand had spent years explaining to Barry that adults were not all-knowing, although Barry had largely interpreted this as evidence that adults needed to improve their training.

Oz was apparently living proof.

“Do you live in the sea?” Barry asked.

“Not full-time. The rent’s terrible.”

“Do you have a house?”

“Yep.”

“Does it have a bathroom?”

“Two.”

Barry’s expression suggested that Oz had just revealed a second head.

“Two?”

“Luxury, isn’t it?”

“Can I come to your house?”

“Let’s start with the sea, mate.”

Oz explained that he spent much of the year guiding diving trips, but outside the busy holiday season he worked with a university team surveying marine life around Barbados.

He helped students identify fish, record aquatic plants, study reefs and monitor changes in the underwater environment. He also spent time collecting plastic rubbish from the sea and coastline.

“People think the ocean is just a big swimming pool,” he explained, crouching beside Barry so they could hear him over the breeze. “But it’s a whole world down there. Fish have places they need to live, plants help keep the ecosystem working, and coral reefs provide homes and shelter for loads of creatures. If we dump rubbish in the sea, it doesn’t just disappear because we can’t see it.”

Barry frowned.

“What happens to the plastic?”

“Sometimes it floats around. Sometimes it sinks. Animals can get tangled in it, or mistake bits of it for food. And plastic can break into smaller and smaller pieces, which makes it even harder to deal with.”

“Who puts it there?”

“Lots of different people, sometimes carelessly. Rubbish can blow off land, wash out of drains or get dropped from boats. The important thing is that we can all help stop it.”

Barry thought about this with great seriousness.

“Can I pick it up?”

“On the beach, with an adult, if it’s safe and suitable. Underwater, we leave anything dangerous or tangled to trained people. You never grab unknown rubbish in the sea.”

Barry nodded.

He had absorbed every word.

Mrs Brand glanced at Marjory.

“Is it possible to hire Oz for the rest of the holiday?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Marjory. “He seems to have achieved more with Barry in five minutes than we’ve managed in four years.”

“Five minutes?” said Barry. “It’s been at least seven.”

“Apologies,” said Mrs Brand. “We wouldn’t want to understate the educational experience.”

The catamaran anchored in a sheltered bay, where the water was calmer and so clear that Barry could see patches of pale sand and darker reef beneath the surface.

The senior instructor took Mr Brand and Alfie off for their underwater exploration, leaving them with a reminder to follow all instructions and stay within the agreed diving route.

Alfie was thrilled. He had packed his notebook in a waterproof bag and was already asking questions about the reef formations.

Mr Brand looked equally enthusiastic, although his excitement was tempered by the discovery that his diving mask made him look like a man who had lost an argument with a garden hose.

“Try not to frighten the fish,” Mrs Brand called after him.

“I’ll try not to frighten the children when I get back,” he replied.

Then he and Alfie disappeared with the senior instructor into the water.

Barry watched them go.

“Dad looks like a frog.”

“Your father has many gifts,” said Mrs Brand. “Graceful underwater movement is not necessarily one of them.”

Oz helped the remaining group prepare to snorkel. He showed them how to fit their masks, how to breathe calmly through the snorkel and how to avoid touching the seabed, coral or marine animals.

He explained that the reef was alive, even when it looked like rock.

“Some of the things you see are animals, some are plants, and some are other organisms doing their own jobs. It’s a community. Imagine if your school was made of living creatures and you weren’t allowed to kick the walls.”

Barry considered this.

“Some people kick the walls at school.”

“Then those people need a chat with their head teacher.”

“Mrs Carter,” said Barry gravely.

“Sounds terrifying.”

“She is.”

Oz laughed.

Mrs Brand helped Barry settle his mask, while Marjory checked Marmaduke’s. They entered the sheltered water carefully, with Oz close by and the adults keeping the boys within the designated area.

At first, Barry’s attention was entirely occupied by the practical difficulties of snorkelling.

Water had got into his mask.

His snorkel tasted strange.

His fins made his feet look enormous.

And he had discovered that breathing through a tube was surprisingly demanding for someone who had spent four years breathing quite successfully without one.

“I can’t do it!” he announced, lifting his head.

“You’ve done it,” Oz replied. “You just came up for air.”

“I was already having air.”

“True. You’ve got a point there.”

Oz helped him adjust his mask and encouraged him to try again when he felt ready.

This time, Barry lowered his face into the water.

And everything changed.

Below the surface was another world.

Small fish flickered between patches of coral and rock. The sandy seabed rippled with sunlight. Darker shapes marked the reef, where tiny creatures moved in and out of crevices. A fish with bright yellow markings darted past, followed by another that appeared to be in a tremendous hurry despite having absolutely nowhere obvious to go.

Barry lifted his head.

“There’s fish!”

Oz nodded. “A few, yes.”

“LOTS of fish!”

“That’s more like it.”

“Why are they all different colours?”

“Good question. Colour can help with camouflage, warning, attracting a mate or recognising members of the same species. Some fish blend into their surroundings. Others are practically advertising themselves.”

“Like Dad’s socks,” said Marmaduke.

“Your dad wears very loud socks,” Mrs Brand conceded.

“They’re tasteful,” Marjory said.

“They have pineapples on them,” Mrs Brand replied.

“Pineapples are tasteful.”

Oz was trying not to laugh.

Barry, meanwhile, had become utterly absorbed.

Oz pointed out fish and explained how some fed on algae, how others hunted smaller animals, and how reef structures provided hiding places. He showed the boys how to float calmly and observe without chasing anything.

Barry obeyed.

He didn’t splash. He didn’t grab at anything. He didn’t attempt to catch a fish, despite announcing that one particularly colourful specimen would make an excellent pet.

“Can I take it home?”

“No, mate,” said Oz. “It belongs here.”

“But I could give it a nice tank.”

“It’s already got a whole reef.”

Barry looked back down.

“Oh.”

He seemed to consider the injustice of being denied a pet and then recognised the larger injustice of removing a creature from a perfectly good home.

“Okay,” he said. “It can stay.”

Mrs Brand was so astonished by this decision that she nearly swallowed seawater.

For the next half-hour, Barry followed Oz around the sheltered area, listening to every explanation. He asked questions about sea plants, fish behaviour, coral, rubbish and whether sharks ever got bored.

Oz answered all of them.

When Barry asked whether the fish had names, Oz explained that scientists used species names to identify them accurately.

“Can I call that one Kevin?”

“You can call it Kevin in your head.”

“Kevin the fish.”

“Just don’t put it on an official university survey.”

Barry nodded solemnly, as if the university had a strict policy on fish called Kevin.

Marmaduke was having a wonderful time too, although he spent rather more of it popping his head above the water to announce what he had seen.

“I saw a blue fish!”

“Lovely,” said Marjory.

“I saw a brown fish!”

“Excellent.”

“I saw a fish that looked at me!”

“Perhaps it was wondering why you were wearing goggles.”

When they returned to the catamaran, lunch was being laid out on deck.

There were sandwiches, fresh fruit, salads and cold drinks, all of which tasted particularly good after swimming. Barry ate with the intense concentration of someone who had just discovered a new branch of science and now required sandwiches to fuel it.

Mr Brand and Alfie returned a little later, both looking delighted.

Alfie’s notebook was damp around the edges despite being in its waterproof bag, which he regarded as a personal betrayal by modern engineering.

“We saw some amazing rock formations,” Alfie explained. “And sections of reef where the fish were sheltering. The instructor showed us how the shape of the rocks affected the currents.”

“Did you see a shark?” Barry demanded.

“No.”

“A turtle?”

“No.”

“A giant squid?”

“No, Barry. We were not exploring the entire contents of the ocean in one afternoon.”

“Did you see Kevin?”

Alfie paused.

“Who is Kevin?”

“A fish.”

“Of course he is.”

Barry spent lunch telling everyone what Oz had taught him. He explained that the reef was a living community, that rubbish could hurt marine animals, and that people should never touch coral or chase fish.

He even explained why he was not allowed to bring a fish home.

Mr Brand looked impressed.

“That’s excellent, Barry.”

“I know.”

“Perhaps we should ask Oz to teach you about household chores.”

Barry considered this.

“Are there fish in the washing machine?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t think he knows enough about that.”

“Remarkable,” said Mr Brand. “A four-year-old has discovered the loophole in domestic education.”

After lunch, Oz showed them a few pieces of plastic rubbish that the crew had safely collected from the water during the trip. He explained that it was only a small amount compared with what could accumulate in the sea, but removing it was still worthwhile.

Barry looked at a crumpled plastic wrapper.

“Someone dropped that.”

“Probably,” Oz said. “We don’t always know how it got there. But we do know we can do better.”

Barry stared at the wrapper for a moment.

“Can I help next time?”

“Absolutely. You can help keep beaches clean, put rubbish in the right bins, and remind grown-ups when they forget. You can also learn about the sea and tell other people why it matters.”

Barry puffed out his chest.

“I can tell people.”

“I’m sure you can,” said Mrs Brand.

“I’m going to tell Dad not to wear pineapple socks near the sea.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Oz admitted.

The catamaran sailed back along the coast as the afternoon light softened. The boys sat together near the shaded seating, tired and happy, while Alfie reviewed his notes and Mr Brand attempted to remove salt from his hair using a napkin.

Marjory leaned back, looking out at the coastline.

“That was wonderful.”

“It was,” said Mrs Brand. “And Barry has been listening to an adult for nearly an hour without trying to climb anything, run away or acquire an animal.”

“Don’t jinx it,” said Marjory.

Barry had one final question for Oz.

“If I come back to Barbados when I’m bigger, can I learn to dive properly?”

Oz smiled.

“If you’re old enough, properly trained, and happy in the water, absolutely. There’s a lot more to discover down there.”

“Will you still be here?”

“Probably. Unless I’ve finally worked out how old I am and retired.”

Barry giggled.

“Don’t retire. You don’t know how old you are yet.”

“Good point. I might have another forty years left.”

“Or a hundred!”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

As they stepped off the boat, Barry turned back to wave at Oz.

“Bye, Oz! Thank you for teaching me about Kevin!”

“Any time, mate!”

“And the plastic!”

“Especially the plastic!”

“And the fish!”

“Definitely the fish!”

Barry marched towards the harbour, holding Marmaduke’s hand and talking at full volume about reefs, currents, sea plants, fish and the importance of not touching things that were alive.

Alfie walked beside them, making a few additions to his notebook.

Mr Brand watched Barry for a moment.

“He’s learned a lot today.”

Mrs Brand smiled. “He really has.”

“He’s also been unusually obedient.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“I’m just saying. Perhaps the sea has calmed him.”

From several paces ahead came Barry’s voice.

“Marmaduke! When we get home, we’re going to build an aquarium for Kevin!”

“No, we aren’t,” called Mrs Brand.

“Okay! A pretend aquarium!”

“No water in the bedroom!”

“Okay! A pretend pretend aquarium!”

Mr Brand sighed.

“Education is a wonderful thing.”

“Indeed,” said Mrs Brand. “Especially when it happens to someone else’s child.”

Marjory laughed, Alfie shut his notebook, and Marmaduke began asking whether Kevin would like a dinosaur friend.

The Caribbean sun shone down on the harbour, the sea glittered beside them, and Barry Brand had acquired a new obsession.

It was not treasure.

It was not dinosaurs.

It was not even sharks.

It was the ocean.

And somewhere beneath the waves, a small fish with yellow markings continued going about its business, blissfully unaware that it had been named Kevin by a four-year-old English boy who was already planning their next meeting.

Kevin, fortunately, had no idea what was coming.