Friday in Barbados dawned with a sky so blue it looked as though somebody had painted it, stood back, decided it wasn’t blue enough, and applied another coat.
The sea sparkled. The palm trees swayed. The hotel pool glittered invitingly.
And Barry Brand was trying to persuade his mother that he needed a snorkel for dinner.
“Barry,” said Mrs Brand, without looking up from her phone, “we are going to Oistins Fish Fry. We are not going snorkelling.”
“But there might be fish.”
“There will be fish.”
“Alive?”
“Not the ones we’re eating.”
Barry considered this.
“That’s a bit sad.”
“It’s a fish fry, darling. The clue is in the name.”
Marmaduke, who had been listening while attempting to balance a mango slice on his forehead, looked alarmed.
“Are they going to fry Kevin?”
“No,” said Barry firmly. “Kevin lives in the sea.”
“Perhaps we should check,” Marmaduke suggested.
“We are not taking Kevin’s photograph to a fish stall to establish his identity,” said Alfie.
“Why not?”
“Because Kevin is a name you invented for a fish you saw for approximately four seconds.”
“That’s how you make friends,” Barry replied.
Alfie sighed. He was eight years old, and already he had developed the expression of a man who had spent decades sitting on committees that should have been emails.
The family had a plan for Friday evening. They were going to Oistins, the famous fishing town on the south coast of Barbados, where the Friday night Fish Fry brought together food stalls, music, dancing and a glorious amount of noise. Marjory had arranged for her family to join them, including the family of her late husband, Mark.
It was going to be a big gathering.
A very big gathering.
The sort of gathering at which there were enough adults to supervise every child individually, provided the children stood perfectly still and nobody blinked.
Unfortunately, children have never been famous for standing perfectly still.
“Right,” announced Marjory when she joined them for lunch. “Tonight, we all stick together. There will be lots of people, lots of food, music and plenty of children running about. We need to know where everyone is.”
“Easy,” said Barry. “We count them.”
“Excellent idea,” said Mr Brand. “How many children are there?”
Barry looked around.
“Seven.”
“There are nine,” said Alfie.
“Then two have escaped.”
Marjory took a long sip of her drink.
“We haven’t even left the hotel yet.”
“It’s best to be prepared,” said Mr Brand.
By early evening, everyone was dressed and ready to go.
Mrs Brand had chosen a lovely summer dress. Mr Brand had selected a shirt that was, by his standards, almost restrained. Alfie looked smart and tidy, while Barry and Marmaduke had both been told to wear comfortable shoes and stay close to an adult.
They had interpreted this as permission to run around the hotel room wearing one shoe each.
“Why are you doing that?” asked Mrs Brand.
“We’re practising,” Barry explained.
“For what?”
“Running away.”
Mr Brand slowly put down his phone.
“Thank you for your honesty. It saves us a great deal of investigative work.”
Marmaduke raised his hand.
“Can I practise too?”
“No,” said Marjory.
“Why?”
“Because you will be practising staying with us.”
Marmaduke thought about this.
“That’s not as fun.”
“Neither is losing your child in a crowd,” said Marjory.
The boys looked at one another.
Barry nodded.
“That’s true. We should lose someone else’s child.”
“BARRY!” said three adults at once.
He grinned.
The convoy to Oistins was organised with military precision. Marjory had coordinated the transport, William was helping with the younger children, and various members of the extended family had agreed to meet at a designated point.
Mark’s parents, whom Barry had already met briefly earlier in the holiday, would be there too.
They were Marmaduke’s paternal grandparents. They had lived in Barbados all their lives until Mark had gone to the United Kingdom to study medicine. He had been their only child, and they had remained close to Marjory and Marmaduke after his death.
Marjory had always made sure they were part of family life. They were not people to be invited only on special occasions and then politely forgotten until the next birthday. They were there for ordinary dinners with Marjory’s mum and dad who still lived on the island, the school news WhatsApp, celebrations, holidays and the small everyday moments that made up a family.
They were also Jade and Esme’s godparents.
Which meant they were firmly established as part of the family, with all the rights and responsibilities that involved.
Including being expected to remember which child belonged to whom when nine children ran in different directions at once.
“Are we there yet?” asked Barry, about six minutes into the journey.
“No,” said Mr Brand.
“Are we there yet now?”
“No.”
“What about now?”
“Barry, if you ask that again, I shall tell the driver to take us to a different country.”
“Which one?”
“Somewhere with fewer questions.”
“Does it have fish?”
Mr Brand looked out of the window.
“I’m beginning to understand why your mother drinks coffee.”
Oistins was already alive with activity.
The air smelled of grilled fish, spices and fried food. Music floated across the gathering crowds. People chatted at tables, children darted between relatives, and the sound of steel pans rang out over the evening.
Barry stopped as soon as they arrived.
“It’s LOUD!”
“Yes,” said Alfie. “That’s what happens when lots of people enjoy themselves in the same place.”
“Why?”
“Because they make noise.”
Barry considered this.
“Perhaps people should enjoy themselves quietly.”
“Perhaps you should try it.”
Marmaduke was already dancing.
He hadn’t decided to dance. The music had simply started, his feet had begun moving, and the rest of him had apparently been informed that standing still was no longer an option.
Esme joined in immediately. Jade and Alfie were laughing, and William was attempting to shepherd the children towards the agreed meeting point while simultaneously keeping an eye on the adults’ bags.
Marjory looked around at the gathering.
“There they are!”
Her family greeted them warmly, with hugs, laughter and the sort of affectionate shouting that made it possible to have a conversation with someone standing three feet away while sounding as though you were addressing a football stadium.
Mark’s parents were waiting near the tables.
Mark’s mum embraced Marjory, then Marmaduke, holding him close for a moment before kissing his cheek.
Mark’s dad shook hands with Mr Brand and gave Barry a warm smile.
“Ah, young Barry. And how are you enjoying Barbados?”
“Very much,” Barry replied. “I’ve seen fish, a tortoise, a crab and a very big piano.”
Mark’s dad raised his eyebrows.
“A piano?”
“It’s in the hotel ballroom. We’re using it for espionage.”
Mark’s dad paused.
“Are you?”
“Yes. The concierge knows.”
“Then I imagine the investigation is in safe hands.”
Barry beamed. He liked this man. He understood important matters.
The adults settled at the tables, and the children were counted.
There were nine.
Then ten, when a cousin arrived.
Then twelve, when another family member appeared with two children.
“Who invited all these children?” asked Mr Brand.
Marjory looked at him.
“They’re family.”
“I’m not questioning their existence. I’m questioning the operational planning.”
William began counting again.
“Right. Everyone stay where you are.”
A small child immediately ran behind a chair.
“Everyone except that one,” William added.
The child reappeared carrying a plastic cup.
“Excellent,” said William. “We have recovered one.”
Dinner was a magnificent affair.
There were fish, grilled meats, rice, vegetables, sauces and more choices than Barry could possibly understand. He examined the food stalls as though he were conducting a formal investigation.
“What is that?”
“Grilled fish,” said Marjory.
“What is that?”
“Macaroni pie.”
“What is that?”
“Chicken.”
“What is that?”
“Barry,” said Mrs Brand, “if you ask what every single thing is, the kitchen will close before you’ve finished.”
“But I need to know.”
“Then start with something you recognise.”
Barry pointed at a piece of bread.
“Bread.”
“Excellent. A breakthrough.”
Marmaduke was equally intrigued by the food, though he had become distracted by the music and was attempting to persuade a cousin to teach him a dance.
Alfie, meanwhile, was listening to Mark’s dad explain how Oistins had changed over the years.
“There used to be fewer places for visitors to sit,” he explained. “Fishing has always been important here. It’s part of the island’s life, not just something people come to watch on holiday.”
Alfie nodded, genuinely interested.
“Do lots of people still fish?”
“Yes. The sea has supported families for generations. You have to respect it, and you have to look after it.”
Barry, who had been listening while chewing a piece of bread, looked up.
“Like Oz said?”
“Who’s Oz?” asked Mark’s dad.
“He’s a diving instructor. He studies fish for a university and picks plastic out of the sea.”
“Ah. A good man.”
“He told me not to take fish home because they already have a whole reef.”
Mark’s dad smiled.
“That’s good advice.”
Barry nodded gravely.
“I thought so. Kevin would miss his home.”
“Kevin?”
“A fish.”
“Of course.”
Mark’s dad seemed to accept this without the slightest difficulty. Barry liked him even more.
As the evening went on, the steel pan music grew livelier.
The adults ordered food and drinks, and the occasional rum cocktail appeared at the table. Mr Brand, who had been looking forward to an evening without emails, took a sip of his drink and leaned back.
“This,” he announced, “is a very good decision.”
Mrs Brand smiled.
“Marjory’s?”
“The entire evening. The food, the music, the company. The fact that nobody has asked me to review a contract.”
At that exact moment, his phone buzzed.
He looked at it.
Mrs Brand held out her hand.
“Give it to me.”
“It’s probably nothing.”
“Then you won’t mind me taking it.”
He handed it over.
She placed it face down on the table.
“There. Nothing.”
Mr Brand looked impressed.
“You should be in charge of security.”
“I am in charge of security. You are in charge of making it difficult.”
Meanwhile, the children had been given strict instructions to stay within the designated area and remain in sight of the adults. The grown-ups were doing their best to keep track of everyone, but it was like trying to count individual grains of sand while somebody poured another bucket onto the beach.
“Where’s Esme?” asked Julia.
“She’s with Jade,” said William.
“Where’s Jade?”
“With Alfie.”
“Where’s Alfie?”
“Over there.”
“Where’s Barry?”
A pause.
Everyone looked around.
Barry was standing beside Mark’s dad, apparently engaged in a serious conversation.
Marmaduke was sitting nearby, listening with his whole face.
Marjory smiled.
“At least two of them are in one place.”
“That’s progress,” said William.
“Let’s not get carried away,” said Mr Brand.
Barry had been asking Mark’s dad about Mark.
It had begun with a simple question.
“What was Marmaduke’s dad like when he was little?”
Mark’s dad had looked at him with a warm expression.
“Very curious. Always asking questions. He liked knowing how things worked.”
Barry’s eyes widened.
“Like me?”
“Very much like you, I think.”
Barry sat down on the edge of a chair.
“Did he get into trouble?”
Mark’s dad smiled.
“Occasionally.”
“Lots?”
“Enough to keep his mother busy.”
Barry looked delighted.
“Did he do things like climb trees?”
“Oh, yes. And he liked exploring. He could spend hours looking at the sea, asking what was beyond the horizon.”
Barry leaned closer.
“Did he have a treasure map?”
Mark’s dad laughed.
“Not that I remember. But he certainly had a good imagination.”
Marmaduke had stopped playing with his cup and was listening too.
“Did he live here?” Barry asked.
“Yes. He grew up in Barbados. He went to school here, played with his friends, spent time with family, and learnt about the island. He loved it. Then he went to the United Kingdom to study medicine.”
“Why did he go away?”
“To learn how to become a doctor. He wanted to help people. There were opportunities for him to study there, and he worked very hard.”
“Was he scared?”
Mark’s dad thought carefully before answering.
“Perhaps sometimes. New places can be frightening. But being brave doesn’t mean you never feel scared. It means you do something worthwhile even when you aren’t completely sure of yourself.”
Barry looked down at his hands.
“I’m scared sometimes.”
“Of course you are. Everyone is, now and then.”
“I’m scared of going on the big diving board.”
“That’s sensible. You’re still learning to swim, so you wait until you’re ready. Being brave doesn’t mean doing something before it’s safe.”
Barry considered this with great seriousness.
“So I can be brave by not jumping?”
“Absolutely. Sometimes the wisest thing you can do is wait, learn and try again when you’re ready.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“I’m scared of the dark sometimes.”
Mark’s dad turned towards him.
“That’s all right too. You can tell someone when you’re frightened. You don’t have to pretend to be brave all the time.”
Marmaduke thought about that.
“Can Barry come with me?”
“I’m sure he can.”
Barry immediately looked pleased.
“I can protect him.”
“From the dark?” asked Alfie, who had wandered over.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Barry paused.
“By being there.”
Mark’s dad smiled.
“That’s actually a very good answer.”
After a moment, Barry asked another question.
“Do you miss Mark?”
The question was gentle and direct, the way children’s questions often are. They don’t always know when they’ve walked into a difficult subject, and they don’t always know that adults have spent years building complicated walls around things they feel.
Mark’s dad didn’t look away.
“Yes,” he said. “We miss him every day.”
Barry’s face grew solemn.
“Are you sad?”
“Sometimes. But we have many happy memories too. And we are proud of him. Very proud.”
Mark’s mum had joined them and sat beside Marmaduke, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“He loved his family,” she said. “He loved Barbados. He worked hard, and he cared about people. He wanted to make a difference.”
“Did he make a difference?” Barry asked.
Mark’s dad looked at Marmaduke.
“Yes. He did.”
Marmaduke was quiet. He had heard stories about his father many times, but he always listened as though he might discover something new.
“Because he was a doctor?” he asked.
“Because of that, yes. But not only because of that. He made a difference in the way he treated people, the way he cared for his family, and the things he taught those around him. And he continues to make a difference through you.”
Marmaduke looked up.
“Me?”
Mark’s mum smiled.
“You have his kindness. And you have his curiosity. Sometimes, when you ask a question, I hear your father asking the very same thing.”
Marmaduke looked thoughtful.
“Do I look like him?”
Mark’s dad nodded.
“You do.”
“Even my ears?”
“Even your ears.”
Barry leaned forward.
“His ears are good ears.”
“Thank you, Barry,” said Marjory, arriving just in time to hear this.
“They’re listening ears.”
Mark’s mum laughed.
“They certainly are.”
There were no tears. Mark’s parents had lived with their loss for years, and they had found ways to carry it with courage, humour and love. They were not untouched by grief, but they were not defined by it either. They had chosen to remain close to Marjory and Marmaduke, to be present in the lives of the children, and to celebrate the family Mark had left behind.
They were proud of their son.
And they were proud of the boy sitting beside them.
Barry seemed to understand that this was an important conversation, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. He simply knew that Mark’s dad had answered his questions honestly, and that Marmaduke looked comforted.
After a moment, Barry reached for Marmaduke’s hand.
“Your dad sounds really good.”
“He was,” Marmaduke said quietly.
“And you’re good too.”
Marmaduke smiled.
“I’m a bit naughty.”
“So was he, apparently.”
Mark’s dad chuckled.
“I’m afraid that is true.”
Barry turned to him.
“Can you tell us what to do when we grow up?”
Mark’s dad raised his eyebrows.
“That is a very big question.”
“We’re very small,” Barry explained. “We need help.”
“Fair enough.”
He leaned forward, speaking slowly enough that both boys could follow.
“First, remember that family matters. The people who love you are worth making time for. Listen to them, help them, and tell them when you need help yourself. Don’t think you have to do everything alone.”
Barry nodded.
“Even if you can do it yourself?”
“Especially then. Being able to do something doesn’t mean you should refuse help. Everyone needs other people sometimes.”
Marmaduke looked at Barry.
“Like when I can’t reach the biscuit tin.”
“Precisely,” said Mark’s dad. “Although I suspect your mother might have some opinions about that example.”
Marjory, who had been listening, folded her arms.
“Several.”
Mark’s dad continued.
“Second, be kind. Not because you’ll always get something back, but because kindness is worth doing. Third, be curious. Ask questions. Learn about the world. But remember that other people have feelings and experiences of their own, so listen as well as talk.”
Barry looked mildly concerned.
“Does that mean I have to talk less?”
“Sometimes,” said Alfie.
Mark’s dad smiled.
“Sometimes. And finally, when life is difficult, don’t assume that means you have failed. People who love you will help you through it. You can be strong and still ask for support.”
Marmaduke leaned against his grandmother.
“Can I always come here?”
Mark’s mum kissed his forehead.
“Always, darling.”
“Even if I’m naughty?”
“Especially if you’re naughty. We may have a conversation about your behaviour, but you’re still family.”
Barry looked relieved.
“That’s good. Because Marmaduke is naughty quite a lot.”
“So are you,” said Marmaduke.
“I’m curious.”
“That’s what you call it.”
Mark’s dad laughed.
“And that, young men, is why family is so important. They know you well enough to see the difference.”
The evening continued around them.
The music played, the adults chatted, and the children ate more food than anyone thought possible. Jade and Esme joined Marmaduke and Barry at the table, and Alfie told everyone about the diving trip and the things he’d learnt about the reef.
Mr Brand listened while sampling a second rum cocktail.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mrs Brand asked.
“It’s a holiday.”
“That’s not a medical argument.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“Neither am I, but I can recognise a man attempting to use Barbados as a defence.”
Marjory laughed.
The children were counted again.
Nine.
Then ten.
Then nine.
“Where’s the tenth?” asked William.
A cousin appeared from behind a table holding a plate of food.
“Here.”
William nodded.
“Excellent. We have recovered another one.”
Barry and Marmaduke eventually returned to the table, full of food and conversation. Barry had clearly been thinking about what Mark’s dad had told them.
“Dad,” he said to Mr Brand, “when I grow up, I’m going to be kind and curious.”
“That’s a good plan.”
“And I’m going to help my family.”
“Excellent.”
“And if Marmaduke is scared of the dark, I’ll go with him.”
Mr Brand smiled.
“That’s very kind.”
“And if I can’t reach the biscuit tin, I’ll ask for help.”
Mrs Brand looked impressed.
“Now that is real personal development.”
Barry nodded.
“Mark’s dad said so.”
Mr Brand looked across the table at Mark’s dad and raised his glass.
“Wise man.”
Mark’s dad smiled.
“I’m still learning myself.”
“That’s reassuring,” said Mr Brand. “I’ve been waiting eight years for someone to tell me how to do this properly.”
The evening drifted on, warm and lively, with steel pan music in the air and the smell of grilled fish lingering around the tables. The adults enjoyed their drinks, the children played under watchful eyes, and Marjory sat with the people who had helped her carry the hardest parts of her life.
She looked around at the family gathered together: her brother, William; Julia; Jade and Esme; Mark’s parents; the Brands; Alfie; Barry; and Marmaduke.
They had come together because of love, and they stayed together because of it.
Mark was not there, but his presence was woven into the evening. In the stories his parents told, in Marmaduke’s smile, in the way everyone looked after one another, and in the ordinary, joyful chaos of a family that had learned to keep going.
Barry, who had finished his dinner and was now studying a steel pan musician with intense interest, leaned towards Marmaduke.
“Do you think your dad would have liked me?”
Marmaduke didn’t hesitate.
“Of course.”
“Even if I asked lots of questions?”
“He asked lots of questions too.”
“Even if I was naughty?”
Marmaduke grinned.
“Especially then.”
Barry seemed satisfied.
“Good. I think I would have liked him.”
Marmaduke took his hand.
“I think he would have liked you too.”
Then Barry spotted a small child carrying a plate of chips and immediately asked whether they could be used as treasure.
The moment passed.
The music played on.
And Mark’s dad, watching the boys run back towards the table, smiled to himself.
Family, he thought, was not about having a perfect life.
It was about having people to share it with.
Even when those people were four years old, sticky with mango, and attempting to classify chips as a form of currency.
Especially then.
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