Sorry, Mr Henley

Monday morning arrived with all the warmth and enthusiasm of a tax investigation.

The Barbados holiday was over. The suitcases had been unpacked, most of the washing had been done, and the family had returned to the grim reality that school uniforms needed ironing and snack boxes needed filling.

Mr Brand had spent Sunday evening looking at the family calendar and wondering whether it was possible to book another holiday before Christmas.

Mrs Brand had spent Sunday evening looking at her work emails and wondering whether it was possible to resign and open a small beach bar in Barbados.

Alfie, meanwhile, was delighted.

It was the first day back at school, and he had been looking forward to it since approximately the middle of the second week of half-term.

He had also been looking forward to buying new stationery.

Unfortunately, this had not happened.

Alfie had prepared a list. It was a detailed list. It had included specific pencils, a particular type of ruler, a new pencil case, replacement handwriting pens, a selection of highlighters and a notebook with exactly the right number of pages.

Mrs Brand had looked at the list.

Mr Brand had looked at the list.

Then Mr Brand had asked whether Alfie was preparing to sit his GCSEs.

Alfie had explained that he simply liked being organised.

The family had been too busy travelling, unpacking, washing clothes and dealing with the general aftermath of international air travel to visit the stationery shop.

Alfie was disappointed.

He had, however, discovered that he already had enough stationery to open a small branch of WHSmith.

“You don’t need any of it,” Mr Brand had told him.

“I do.”

“You have six pencils.”

“They’re not all the same.”

“You have three rulers.”

“One is a protractor.”

“It’s a ruler with an identity crisis.”

Alfie had not found this funny.

He was now sitting at the kitchen table, carefully sharpening a pencil that was already sharp.

Barry and Marmaduke were not interested in stationery.

They were interested in something considerably more serious.

They were going back to school feeling like murderers.

Barry was sitting on the bottom stair, wearing his school uniform and looking miserable.

Marmaduke was beside him, holding his school bag.

Neither boy had spoken much that morning.

This was unusual. Normally, getting Barry and Marmaduke dressed, fed and ready for school required the organisational skills of a military operation and the patience of a saint.

Today, they had dressed almost silently.

Barry had even put on his shoes without attempting to put one on the wrong foot.

Mr Brand had noticed.

“That’s impressive,” he had said. “Perhaps we should have international disasters more often.”

Mrs Brand had given him a look.

Barry had looked up.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Mr Henley will hate us?”

Mr Brand put down his coffee.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Even though Brutus died?”

“Even though Brutus died.”

Marmaduke looked worried.

“What if he thinks we killed him?”

Mr Brand crouched down.

“Listen to me. You did not kill Brutus. You didn’t do anything wrong. Snowball got into the cupboard and injured him. You weren’t even in the country.”

“But we brought him home,” said Barry.

“You brought him home because Mr Henley said we could look after him. You took care of him. You gave him food, water and a clean cage. You were kind to him.”

“He bit people,” Marmaduke said quietly.

“He did,” agreed Mr Brand. “But that doesn’t mean he deserved to be hurt.”

Barry nodded.

“Will Mr Henley be sad?”

“He might be. Brutus was his hamster. But he knows what happened.”

Barry looked at his shoes.

“Will he shout?”

“No.”

“Will he cry?”

“I don’t know. He might be upset. But he won’t blame you.”

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

“Maybe we should tell him we’re sorry.”

“You can,” said Mr Brand. “But you don’t need to apologise for something you didn’t do.”

Barry thought about this.

Then he asked, “Can I tell him Snowball is sorry?”

Mr Brand considered the cat, who was currently sitting on the windowsill, watching a bird with the intense concentration of a professional sniper.

“I wouldn’t speak on her behalf.”

Mr Brand had already spoken to Mr Henley that morning.

He had called before the school run, explained exactly what had happened and apologised that Brutus had died while in the family’s care.

Mr Henley had been very understanding.

He had not been upset at all. Brutus had been part of the school’s Animal Club, and although the hamster had never been a particularly enthusiastic participant in human interaction, this had been an accident. 

Mr Henley had also been entirely clear that he did not blame the children.

He had thanked Mr Brand for letting him know and agreed that the best thing would be to return Brutus’s belongings to school once the children were in class and distracted.

There was no need for Barry and Marmaduke to be involved in the practical business of returning the cage, food, bedding and other equipment.

Mrs Abraham had also been told.

She had promised to keep an eye on the boys and make sure they had somewhere quiet to go if they felt sad.

Mr Brand had been impressed.

It was reassuring to discover that the school had a more effective crisis-management process than some international insurance companies he could mention.

He had not mentioned them.

He liked to remain employed.

The school gates were busy.

Parents were arriving with children, bags, coats and the sort of expressions that suggested they had spent the entire morning searching for something.

One mother was holding a lunchbox and a shoe.

A father was carrying a scooter and a water bottle.

A small boy was crying because his mother had given him the wrong flavour of yoghurt.

It was, in short, a perfectly ordinary Monday morning.

Alfie walked confidently towards the entrance.

He was pleased to be back.

He had missed his friends, his teachers, his football club and the reassuring routine of the school day.

He had also missed homework.

This was not a sentence Mr Brand had ever expected to hear from one of his children.

“Have a good day,” Mrs Brand said.

“I will.”

“Don’t worry about the stationery,” said Mr Brand.

Alfie sighed.

“I wasn’t.”

“Good. Because we have enough pencils to supply the entire Reception class.”

Alfie walked away without answering.

Barry and Marmaduke remained at the gate.

They were looking at the school building.

“Ready?” asked Mrs Brand.

Barry shook his head.

“Not really.”

Marmaduke shook his head too.

“Me neither.”

Mrs Brand crouched down.

“Remember what Dad said. Mr Henley knows what happened. Mrs Abraham knows too. You can talk to her whenever you need to.”

Barry nodded.

“Will she be cross?”

“No, darling.”

“Will she tell everyone?”

“No. She’ll help you.”

Marmaduke took Barry’s hand.

“Come on.”

They walked through the gate together.

It was a brave entrance.

Rather less dramatic than the arrival of a victorious army, admittedly, but still brave.

Mrs Abraham was waiting near the classroom door.

She smiled when she saw them.

“Good morning, Barry. Good morning, Marmaduke.”

“Good morning,” they said quietly.

“Did you have a lovely holiday?”

Barry nodded.

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy Barbados?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see lots of interesting things?”

Barry nodded again.

“We saw a tortoise.”

“And fish,” said Marmaduke.

“And a man called Oz who knows about fish,” Barry added.

“Wonderful.”

Mrs Abraham paused.

“And I heard you’ve had a rather sad weekend.”

Barry looked down.

Marmaduke squeezed his hand.

“Brutus died,” Barry said.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m very sorry.”

“He was our hamster.”

“He was.”

“Snowball hurt him.”

Mrs Abraham nodded gently.

“Your dad explained what happened. I know you must be feeling very sad.”

Barry’s eyes began to fill.

“Are you cross?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Even though he’s dead?”

“Especially not. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Marmaduke looked up.

“Mr Henley knows?”

“He does.”

“Is he cross?”

“No. He’s sad, but he knows it wasn’t your fault.”

Barry looked relieved.

Then he asked, “Can we still go to Animal Club?”

Mrs Abraham smiled.

“Of course you can.”

“Even though we’re murderers?”

Mrs Abraham blinked.

It was not a word she had expected to hear before registration.

“Oh, Barry. You’re not murderers.”

“But Brutus died.”

“Brutus died because he was badly injured. You didn’t hurt him. You were away on holiday.”

Barry considered this.

“Can we have a quiet minute?”

“Of course.”

She took them to a quiet corner of the classroom, where they sat together for a moment.

There was a box of tissues nearby.

Barry took one.

Marmaduke took two.

Mrs Abraham sat with them.

“You can be sad,” she said. “It’s all right to miss him.”

Barry nodded.

“Even if he was grumpy?”

“Even if he was grumpy.”

“He bit people.”

“I remember.”

“He didn’t like me.”

Mrs Abraham smiled.

“I think Brutus found most people a little difficult.”

Marmaduke looked thoughtful.

“He probably didn’t like Mondays.”

Mrs Abraham laughed softly.

“Perhaps not.”

By the time the rest of the class arrived, Barry and Marmaduke were feeling a little better.

They hung up their coats, put their bags away and joined the other children on the carpet.

The classroom was full of noise.

There were stories about holidays, trips to grandparents, visits to the seaside, days out, swimming pools and one boy who had apparently spent half-term watching television in his pyjamas.

Barry was not entirely convinced that this counted as a holiday.

He wanted to tell everyone about Barbados.

He wanted to tell them about the tortoises, the fish, the catamaran, the beach barbecue, the treasure map and the hotel piano.

But he didn’t want to talk about Brutus.

Not yet.

Mrs Abraham began the morning meeting.

“Welcome back, everyone. I hope you’ve all had a lovely half-term.”

The children settled.

“We’re going to start by talking about our holidays. You can share something you enjoyed, or something you did.”

Several hands went up.

One child had been to Spain.

Another had visited a farm.

A third had been to a soft-play centre and had apparently gone down the same slide seventeen times.

Then Mrs Abraham looked at Barry.

“Would you like to share something?”

Barry nodded.

“We went to Barbados.”

“Lovely. What did you do?”

“We went on a boat.”

“What did you see?”

“Fish. And a tortoise. And a man called Oz.”

“What did Oz do?”

“He knows about fish and the sea. He showed us things under the water.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Barry nodded.

Then he looked down.

“And Brutus died.”

The room went quiet.

Mrs Abraham nodded.

“Yes. Barry has had some sad news about Brutus. We’re going to remember that he was part of our Animal Club and that we looked after him.”

A little girl raised her hand.

“Was Brutus the hamster who bit me?”

Mrs Abraham smiled gently.

“Yes, he was.”

“He was horrible.”

A boy beside her nodded.

“He tried to bite me too.”

Barry looked up.

“He was a bit grumpy.”

Mrs Abraham smiled.

“He was. But he was still a little animal who needed looking after.”

Barry nodded.

Then Marmaduke said, “He had a nice cage.”

This was true.

It was also, under the circumstances, a rather good thing to remember.

Meanwhile, at home, Mr Brand was preparing to return Brutus’s belongings.

The cage was in the walk-in cupboard, cleaned and ready to go. The food, bedding, water bottle and other equipment were washed and packed into a box.

Snowball was sitting outside the cupboard.

Mr Brand looked at her.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Snowball blinked.

He picked up the box.

Mrs Brand appeared in the doorway.

“Are you taking that now?”

“Yes. Once the boys are settled.”

“Are you all right?”

Mr Brand nodded.

“It’s a shame.”

“It is.”

“Victoria must have felt dreadful.”

“She did. She was very upset.”

“I know. I told her she did everything she could.”

Mrs Brand looked at Snowball.

The cat had begun washing her face.

“She’s absolutely untroubled by the whole thing.”

“She’s a cat.”

“I know.”

“She’s not going to write a letter of apology.”

Mrs Brand sighed.

“Perhaps we should.”

Mr Brand looked at her.

“Dear Mr Henley. We regret to inform you that our cat has demonstrated a concerning lack of respect for school property and small mammals.”

Mrs Brand laughed.

“Don’t.”

“Yours sincerely, Snowball Brand.”

He lifted the box.

“Right. I’m off.”

Back at school, Barry and Marmaduke were beginning to feel more like themselves.

They had joined in with a counting activity, sung a song and listened to a story.

Barry had even managed to make Marmaduke laugh by suggesting that Brutus might have enjoyed Barbados because there were no school children there to annoy him.

Marmaduke had said that Brutus would probably have bitten a tortoise.

Barry had said that tortoises had shells and therefore were probably quite safe.

Mrs Abraham had gently reminded them that tortoises should not be bitten by hamsters, even hypothetical ones.

At break time, the boys stood together in the playground.

“Do you think Mr Henley is here?” asked Marmaduke.

“Maybe.”

“Should we go and see him?”

Barry hesitated.

Then he nodded.

They walked towards the Animal Club room.

Mr Henley was inside, putting away some equipment.

He looked up as they appeared.

“Good morning, boys.”

“Good morning,” said Marmaduke.

Barry stood very still.

Mr Henley smiled.

“It’s lovely to see you both back.”

Barry looked at him.

“Are you cross?”

Mr Henley shook his head.

“No, Barry. Not at all.”

“Brutus died.”

“I know. I’m very sad about it.”

Barry’s eyes filled again.

“I’m sorry.”

Mr Henley crouched down.

“Thank you, Barry. I know you loved looking after him. You took very good care of him while he was with you.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“He was grumpy.”

Mr Henley smiled.

“Yes, he could be.”

“He bit people,” said Barry.

“He did.”

“He wasn’t very friendly.”

“No. But he was still our hamster, and we’ll miss him.”

Barry looked at the floor.

“Will you get another one?”

Mr Henley thought for a moment.

“Not immediately. I think we’ll give ourselves a little time.”

Barry nodded.

Then he asked, “Can we still look after the guinea pigs?”

Mr Henley laughed.

“Absolutely.”

“Are they still at your house?”

“Yes. They’re doing very well.”

“Is the round one still round?”

Mr Henley smiled.

“She is.”

“Is she having babies?”

“We’re keeping an eye on her.” (The true answer was, yes, any minute now!) 

Barry nodded.

“Good.”

Then Marmaduke asked, “Can we see the fish?”

“Of course.”

Mr Henley opened the door to the school reception.

The fish were swimming calmly around their tank.

Barry looked at them.

“Hello, fish.”

Marmaduke waved.

“Hello.”

Mr Henley smiled.

“I’m glad you’re back, boys.”

Barry looked up at him.

“I’m glad too.”

At the end of the school day, Barry and Marmaduke came out of the classroom looking considerably happier than they had gone in.

Mrs Brand was waiting at the gate.

“How was your day?”

“Good,” said Barry.

“Really good,” said Marmaduke.

“Did you see Mr Henley?”

Barry nodded.

“He wasn’t cross.”

“I’m pleased.”

“He said Brutus was his hamster and he misses him.”

Mrs Brand nodded.

“That’s right.”

“And we can still go to Animal Club.”

“Of course.”

Barry paused.

“Can Snowball come to school?”

Mrs Brand looked at him.

“Why?”

“So she can say sorry.”

Mrs Brand considered this.

“I think we’ll leave Snowball at home.”

“Why?”

“Because the school has quite enough to deal with.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“And she might eat the fish.”

“Quite,” said Mrs Brand.

Barry thought about it.

Then he smiled.

“Can we see each other tomorrow?”

Mrs Brand laughed.

“I’m sure you can.”

“Good.”

They walked home together, hand in hand, chatting about the fish, the guinea pigs and the possibility of a new hamster one day.

Alfie came out of school a few minutes later, carrying his school bag and looking extremely pleased.

“How was your day?” asked Mr Brand.

“Excellent.”

“Did you need the new stationery?”

Alfie paused.

“No.”

Mr Brand nodded.

“Thought not.”

“I did need a new handwriting pen.”

Mr Brand sighed.

“Of course you did.”

Barry looked at Marmaduke.

“Do you think Mr Henley will get another hamster?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think it’ll be nice?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think it’ll bite?”

“Maybe.”

Barry considered this.

“Perhaps he should get a fish.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Fish are nice.”

Mr Brand looked at them.

“Fish are not necessarily nice. They’re just less likely to bite you.”

Barry smiled.

“That’s a good start.”

And with that, the boys headed home.

They had survived their first day back.

They had spoken to Mr Henley.

They had remembered Brutus.

And, most importantly, they had discovered that being sad about something didn’t mean they had to stop enjoying everything else.

It was a useful lesson.

One that would have been even more useful if Snowball had been capable of learning it too. 

But Snowball was at home, asleep on the sofa, and had absolutely no intention of attending school, apologising to anyone or taking responsibility for anything.

She was, after all, a cat.

And cats, as the Brands were discovering, were not renowned for their ability to accept blame.