Sunday morning arrived in the Brand household with all the enthusiasm of a wet sock.
The Brands and Jacksons had returned from Barbados the previous evening, and everyone was exhausted. The flight had been long, the luggage had been heavy, and the journey from Heathrow had involved the sort of traffic that made Mr Brand question whether the entire country had decided to drive home at precisely the same time.
The children had gone to bed late. The adults had gone to bed even later, having unpacked the essentials, located passports, plugged in phones and conducted a brief investigation into why a suitcase containing perfectly ordinary clothes weighed approximately as much as a small elephant.
By Sunday morning, the house was quiet.
Well, relatively quiet.
Barry was lying on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Dad?”
There was no answer.
“DAD?”
A muffled noise came from somewhere beyond his bedroom door.
“What?”
“Can we go and see Marmaduke?”
Mr Brand appeared in the doorway. His hair was sticking up on one side, his eyes were half closed and he was holding a mug of tea.
“It is seven fifteen.”
“So?”
“So some people are still asleep.”
“Is Marmaduke asleep?”
“I expect so.”
“Can we wake him up?”
“No.”
Barry considered this.
“What about Snowball?”
“Snowball is probably asleep too.”
“Can I wake her up?”
“No.”
Barry looked disappointed.
“Everyone’s asleep.”
“Yes, Barry. That’s generally what happens when people are tired.”
“I’m not tired.”
Mr Brand looked at him.
“You were asleep ten minutes ago.”
“I was resting.”
“Ah. A completely different activity.”
Barry sat up.
“Is Snowball still here?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see her?”
Mr Brand sighed.
“Come on, then.”
Snowball was indeed fine. In fact, Snowball appeared to have had an excellent holiday in the absence of the humans who normally occupied her home.
She was stretched out on the sofa, white fur immaculate, blue eyes half open, looking as though she had spent the previous week in a luxury spa rather than being looked after by a vet nurse.
Victoria had clearly done a wonderful job.
Snowball had eaten well, slept in her favourite places, enjoyed attention when she wanted it and ignored everyone when she didn’t. She had been perfectly settled.
Barry approached her carefully.
“SNOWBALL!”
Snowball opened one eye.
“She’s pleased to see you,” said Mr Brand.
Barry stroked her head.
“I missed you.”
Snowball purred.
Barry looked delighted.
“She missed me too.”
“Possibly,” said Mr Brand. “Or she has just remembered that you’re the person who provides breakfast.”
Barry ignored this.
He pressed his cheek against her fur.
“I’m home now.”
Snowball purred louder.
For a few minutes, everything was lovely.
Then Barry remembered something.
“Where’s Brutus?”
Mr Brand’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Barry noticed.
“Dad?”
“Brutus is…”
Mr Brand stopped.
He had known this moment would come. Victoria had told him the previous evening, when the family arrived home. He had been tired, the children were tired, and the last thing he wanted was to explain the death of a school hamster at half past ten at night.
He had decided to speak to Barry and Marmaduke in the morning, when he could explain properly.
Unfortunately, Barry had chosen seven fifteen.
“Dad? Where’s Brutus?”
“Come and sit down, Barry.”
Barry looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I need to tell you something.”
Barry’s face became serious.
“Is Brutus poorly?”
Mr Brand nodded slowly.
“Yes. I’m afraid something happened while we were away.”
Victoria had returned to the house the previous evening to hand over the keys and give Mr Brand a proper account of everything that had happened.
She had been house-sitting and looking after Snowball. It had all been going very well.
Until it hadn’t.
The walk-in cupboard had been kept closed, as instructed. Inside it was Brutus’s cage, along with his bedding, food and various supplies.
Snowball had apparently decided that the cupboard door was an unnecessary obstacle.
Over time, she had scratched at it repeatedly. She had worked at the gap around the door until she managed to push it open sufficiently to get inside.
Victoria had returned to find the door ajar.
Snowball was in the cupboard.
Brutus was in his cage.
And Snowball had been attempting to catch him by pushing her forelimb through the bars at the top of the cage.
It was not a game Brutus had been particularly keen to participate in.
He had sustained serious injuries.
Victoria had acted immediately. She had contacted the veterinary practice and taken Brutus for urgent assessment.
Sadly, his injuries were too severe, and the decision had been made to put him to sleep to prevent further suffering.
Victoria had been deeply upset. She had stayed with him and made sure he was not alone.
Mr Brand had listened in silence.
He had thanked her for acting so quickly, reassured her that she had done everything she could, and told her not to blame herself.
Then he had gone upstairs and stared at the ceiling for a while.
It had been an unexpectedly awful end to a lovely holiday.
Barry sat on the sofa beside his father.
“Brutus died?”
Mr Brand nodded.
“I’m afraid so.”
Barry stared at him.
“But why?”
“Snowball managed to get into the cupboard. She got her paw through the top of Brutus’s cage and injured him very badly.”
Barry looked towards Snowball.
She was now washing one paw.
Completely unaware that she was the subject of a family crisis.
“Snowball did it?”
“Yes.”
“But Snowball’s nice.”
“She is nice, Barry. She’s a cat. Cats have hunting instincts. She probably thought she was playing or trying to catch something.”
“But Brutus was in his house.”
“I know.”
Barry’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Did he hurt?”
Mr Brand took a breath.
“He was badly hurt, yes. Victoria got him help straight away, but the vet couldn’t make him better. They decided it was kinder to let him go to sleep.”
Barry looked down at his hands.
For a moment he said nothing.
Then his face crumpled.
And he sobbed.
Not a little sniffle. Not a quiet tear. A full, heartbroken, four-year-old sob, with his shoulders shaking and his face buried in his father’s shirt.
Mr Brand wrapped his arms around him.
“Oh, mate.”
“He was only little!”
“I know.”
“He was horrible sometimes!”
Mr Brand paused.
“Well, he could be a little difficult.”
“He bit people!”
“He wasn’t always very friendly.”
“But he was still little!”
“Yes, he was.”
Barry cried harder.
Mr Brand held him tightly and let him cry.
Snowball eventually wandered over, jumped onto the sofa and settled beside Barry’s leg.
Barry looked at her through his tears.
“Snowball, why did you do that?”
Snowball purred.
Barry began crying again.
“She’s not even sorry!”
Mr Brand gently stroked his back.
“She doesn’t understand what happened, Barry.”
“But Brutus is dead.”
“I know.”
“And we can’t get another one.”
“Not straight away, no.”
Barry wiped his nose on his sleeve.
Mr Brand produced a tissue.
“Here.”
Barry took it.
“Can I have another one?”
“Of course.”
“Not that one. It’s got my nose on it.”
Mr Brand handed him a fresh tissue.
“Quite right. We wouldn’t want to contaminate the entire household.”
A little later, Marmaduke arrived.
Marjory had texted Mrs Brand to say that Marmaduke was awake and asking whether Barry could come over. Mrs Brand had explained what had happened, and Marjory had suggested that they come round instead.
Marmaduke arrived in his pyjamas, carrying a small stuffed dinosaur.
“Barry!”
He ran into the sitting room.
Barry looked up.
“Marmaduke.”
Marmaduke immediately knew something was wrong.
“What’s happened?”
Barry’s face crumpled again.
“Brutus died.”
Marmaduke stopped.
“What?”
“Brutus died. Snowball got into the cupboard and hurt him.”
Marmaduke looked at Snowball.
Then at Barry.
Then back at Snowball.
“Did she bite him?”
“She put her paw through the top of his cage.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know!”
Marmaduke sat down beside him.
“I’m sorry, Barry.”
Barry nodded, tears still running down his cheeks.
“Brutus was horrible.”
Marmaduke thought about this.
“He was quite grumpy.”
“He bit people.”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t like being picked up.”
“No.”
“He looked at you like he wanted to eat your fingers.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“But he was still our school hamster.”
Barry nodded.
“Exactly.”
The boys sat quietly for a moment.
Then Marmaduke asked the question that Barry had been dreading.
“What will Mr Henley say?”
Barry looked up sharply.
“I DON’T KNOW!”
“Will he be cross?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
“Will he shout?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
Barry began to cry again.
Mr Brand looked at Marjory, who had just come into the room.
Marjory sat down.
“Let’s take this one thing at a time.”
Barry looked at her.
“Mr Henley is going to be cross.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because Brutus was his hamster.”
Marjory nodded.
“I expect he’ll be sad. I’m sure he loved Brutus, even if Brutus wasn’t the friendliest animal in the world.”
“He was a bit horrible,” said Marmaduke.
“I’m sure Mr Henley knew that.”
Barry sniffed.
“Will he think it’s my fault?”
“No,” said Mr Brand firmly. “Why would he think that?”
“Because we brought Brutus home.”
“You didn’t make Snowball open the cupboard.”
“I made the cupboard door shut.”
Mr Brand looked at him.
“When?”
“Before Barbados.”
“That’s right. You closed it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Barry thought about this.
“But Snowball scratched it.”
“Yes.”
“Can she get told off?”
Mr Brand looked at the cat.
Snowball was now lying on her side, paws tucked beneath her, looking deeply comfortable.
“I’m not sure she’d understand a telling-off.”
“She needs one.”
“I suspect she would disagree.”
Mrs Brand appeared downstairs, dressed and carrying her phone.
She had already checked her work emails.
This was a mistake.
There were 1377 unread messages.
She looked at the sitting room.
“Good morning.”
Nobody answered.
She looked at Mr Brand.
“Has he been told?”
Mr Brand nodded.
“Unfortunately.”
Mrs Brand sat beside Barry and hugged him.
“Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.”
Barry leaned into her.
“Brutus died.”
“I know.”
“Snowball did it.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“She’s still here.”
Mrs Brand glanced at Snowball.
“Yes. She is.”
“Can she go and live somewhere else?”
Mrs Brand looked at Mr Brand.
Mr Brand looked at the ceiling.
Marjory hid a smile.
Mrs Brand chose her words carefully.
“Snowball is part of our family, Barry. She didn’t understand what she was doing. We need to make sure she can’t get into places where other animals are kept.”
“But Brutus is dead.”
“I know.”
Barry looked down.
“Can we tell Mr Henley?”
“Yes. We will tell him properly. Dad and I will speak to him, and we’ll explain exactly what happened.”
“Will he be sad?”
“Probably.”
“Will he cry?”
“No, I’m sure he’ll be ok.”
Barry thought about this.
“I cried.”
“I know.”
“I’m four.”
Mrs Brand kissed his head.
“People of all ages cry when they’re sad.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“My mummy cries sometimes.”
Marjory looked at him.
“I do.”
“Even though you’re a doctor?”
“Especially because I’m a doctor. Doctors aren’t robots.”
Marmaduke considered this.
“Could you fix Brutus?”
Marjory shook her head gently.
“No, darling. Not after injuries like that.”
Marmaduke looked at Barry.
“I’m sorry.”
Barry leaned against him.
By lunchtime, the family had begun to recover a little.
Not from the news, exactly. That would take longer. But the immediate shock had settled, and the adults were trying to make Sunday feel manageable.
There was no grand plan.
Nobody was going anywhere.
The suitcases remained partly unpacked, the washing machine was working hard, and Mr Brand had discovered that somebody had packed a pair of swimming trunks inside a shoe.
He suspected Barry.
Barry denied it.
Alfie said he had seen Barry doing it.
Barry said Alfie was “a witness who tells stories”.
Alfie replied that this was not what a witness was.
It was all very reassuringly normal.
The boys sat at the kitchen table with paper and coloured pencils.
“What are you doing?” asked Mrs Brand.
“Making something for Mr Henley,” said Barry.
Marmaduke nodded.
“A card.”
Barry drew a large hamster.
It had enormous ears, four legs, a tail and what appeared to be a crown.
“Why has Brutus got a crown?” asked Marmaduke.
“Because he’s the king.”
“Of what?”
“Hamsters.”
Marmaduke accepted this.
Barry wrote his name at the bottom, with help from Mrs Brand.
Then he dictated a message.
“Dear Mr Henley. We are sorry Brutus died. He was sometimes grumpy and bit people, but we liked him. We hope he is happy now. From Barry and Marmaduke.”
Mrs Brand smiled.
“That’s lovely.”
Barry looked at the drawing.
“Can we put a dinosaur on it?”
“Why?”
“Because Brutus liked dinosaurs.”
“Did he?”
“No. But I do.”
Marmaduke added a small green dinosaur in the corner.
Then Barry looked up.
“Will Mr Henley get another hamster?”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs Brand. “He might decide to wait.”
“Could he get a nicer one?”
Mr Brand, who was making coffee, turned around.
“Perhaps he could get one that doesn’t bite.”
“Or one that doesn’t look cross,” added Marmaduke.
“Or one that doesn’t smell,” said Barry.
Mr Brand raised an eyebrow.
“Hamsters do tend to smell a little.”
“Not Snowball.”
“Snowball is a cat.”
“Exactly.”
Mr Brand shook his head.
“I’m not sure that’s a scientific comparison.”
Barry ignored him.
“Maybe Mr Henley should get a rabbit.”
Alfie looked up from his book.
“Rabbits need a lot of space and proper care. They’re not a replacement for a hamster.”
Barry looked at him.
“Thank you, Alfie.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’ve ruined the idea.”
“I’m used to it.”
Later, when Marmaduke had gone home for lunch, Barry found Snowball curled up on his bed.
He climbed onto the mattress and sat beside her.
For a while, he simply stroked her.
“I still love you,” he whispered.
Snowball purred.
“But you mustn’t do that again.”
Snowball closed her eyes.
“Never again.”
He stroked her back.
“Brutus was little. You can’t catch little animals.”
Snowball gave a soft purr.
Barry rested his head against her.
“I miss him.”
The cat shifted closer.
And for the first time that morning, Barry didn’t cry.
He was still sad. He knew Brutus wasn’t coming back. He knew Mr Henley would be upset, and he knew that the next time Animal Club met, things would be different.
But he also knew that Snowball hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.
He could love Snowball and miss Brutus at the same time. He was getting used to feeling more than on
It was a complicated idea for a four-year-old, but he was beginning to understand it.
Downstairs, Mr Brand was explaining to Mrs Brand that he had found a second swimming costume inside a shoe.
Mrs Brand asked whether he had checked the other shoes.
Mr Brand said he was afraid to.
Alfie was already writing a list of things that needed doing before school restarted…. Tomorrow!
And Barry, upstairs, was making a quiet promise to Snowball.
There would be no more hamsters in the Brand house.
Not while Snowball lived there.
It was a sensible plan.
For once, everyone agreed.
Although Snowball, who had no intention of attending any future family planning meetings, was already asleep.
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