Mr. Stink

by David Walliams

  “Whaaaat . . . ?” she said, and was shocked by how deep and gravelly she sounded. Telling stories all night had turned Chloe’s voice into that of a sixty-year-old ex-coal miner who smoked a hundred cigarettes a day.

  “Don’t ‘what’ me, young lady! It’s time you stopped lazing in bed. Your sister has already completed a triathlon this morning. Now get up. I need your help today on the campaign trail!”

  Chloe was so tired she felt like she had grown into her bed. In fact, she wasn’t sure where her body ended and the bed began. She slid out from under her duvet and crawled to the bathroom. Blinking in the mirror, Chloe thought for a moment that she was looking at her own nana. Then, sighing, she made her way downstairs and to the kitchen table.

  “We are going campaigning today,” said Mother as she sipped her grapefruit juice and swallowed the traffic jam of vitamin pills and food supplements she had lined up neatly on the table.

  “It sounds booorrrring,” said Chloe. She made the word boring sound even more boring by making it longer than it really needed to be. On Sunday mornings, Mother would allow the television to be switched on so she could watch programs about politics. Chloe liked watching television. In a house where viewing was rationed, even an advertisement for a Stannah stair lift was a treat. However, these political discussion shows—which for no apparent reason were broadcast on Sunday mornings—were bum-numbingly boring. They made Chloe think that she wanted to be a kid forever if this was what the grown-up world was like.

  Chloe always suspected that her mother had another motive for watching: She had a crush on the Prime Minister. Chloe couldn’t see it herself, but lots of women her mother’s age seemed to find him dishy. To Dad’s amusement, Mother would always stop whatever she was doing to watch the Prime Minister if he came on the news. Once, Chloe had even spotted a little bit of drool ooze out of her mother’s mouth when there was some footage of the Prime Minister in denim shorts playing Frisbee on a beach.

  Of course, even the sight of her mother drooling didn’t make those politics shows any less boring. But Chloe would have watched a hundred of them if it meant not having to spend the day campaigning with Mother. That was how boring it was going to be.

  “Well, you are coming whether you like it or not,” said Mother. “And put on that frilly yellow dress that I bought you for your birthday. You look almost pretty in that.”

  Chloe did not look anywhere near pretty in it. She looked like a Quality Street candy. If that wasn’t bad enough, she looked like one of the unpopular flavors that get left in the tin until way into the New Year. The only color she really liked wearing was black. She thought black was cool, and even better it made her look less chubby. Chloe desperately wanted to be a goth, but she didn’t know where to start. You couldn’t buy goth clothes at Marks & Spencer. And anyway, you also needed the white makeup and the black hair dye, and most importantly the skill of looking down at your shoes at all times.

  How would she go about becoming a goth? Was there an application form to fill out? A committee of super-goths who would vet you for gothness, or was it gothnicity? Chloe had once seen a real-life goth hanging around by a garbage bin in the high street and become incredibly excited. She really wanted to go over and ask her how to get started in the goth world, but she was too shy. Which was ironic, since shyness is something you need if you want to be a successful goth.

  In the unlikely event of Elizabeth the cat becoming a goth, she would look like this.

  Let’s get back to the story. . . .

  “It’s cold outside, Chloe,” said Mother, when Chloe came downstairs in the horrible Quality Street dress. “You’ll need a coat. How about that tangerine-colored coat your grandmother made you last Christmas?”

  Chloe reached into the room under the stairs. This was where everyone in the family kept their coats and rubber boots. She heard a rustle in the darkness. Had Elizabeth the cat got shut in there by mistake? Or had Mr. Stink moved indoors? She switched on the light. Peeking out from behind the bottom of an old fur coat was a frightened face.

  “Dad?”

  “Shush!”

  “What are you hiding in here for?” Chloe whispered. “You are supposed to be at work.”

  “No, I’m not. I lost my job at the factory,” said Dad sorrowfully.

  “What?”

  “A whole load of us got made redundant two weeks ago. No one is buying new cars right now. It’s the recession, I suppose.”

  “Yes, but why are you hiding?”

  “I’m too frightened to tell your mother. She’ll divorce me if she finds out. Please, I beg you, don’t tell her.”

  “I’m not sure she’d div—”

  “Please, Chloe. I’ll sort all this out soon. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll get another job if I can.”

  He leaned forward so that the hem of the fur coat was draped over his head, the thick fur looking like a mess of curly hair.

  “So that’s what you look like with hair!” Chloe whispered.

  “What?”

  It was definitely Dad on that CD cover. With the fur over his head, he looked just like he did in the photo, with that astonishing perm!

  “If you need a job, you could always go back to playing guitar with The Serpents of Doom,” said Chloe.

  Dad looked startled. “Who told you I was in a band?”

  “I saw your CD and I asked Mother, but she—”

  “Shh!” said Dad. “Keep it down. Wait . . . where did you see this CD?”

  “Er . . . I was . . . um . . . looking for my old hamster cage in the shed and it was in a box with a load of old junk. There was a burnt guitar with it.”

  Dad opened his mouth to say something, but just at that moment, a door slammed upstairs.

  “Come along, Chloe!” boomed Mother.

  “Promise you won’t say anything about me losing my job,” whispered Dad.

  “I promise.”

  Chloe shut the door, leaving her dad on all fours in the darkness. Now she had two fully grown men hiding around the house. What’s next? she thought. Am I going to find Grandad in the dryer?!

  10

  Slightly Chewed

  Being on the political campaign trail meant Chloe knocking on what seemed like everybody’s front door in the town and Mother asking people if she could “rely on their vote.” Those who said they were going to vote for Mother were instantly rewarded with a big smile and an even bigger sticker to put in their window proclaiming Vote Crumb! Those who said they weren’t voting for her were going to miss an awful lot of daytime telly. Mother was the kind of person who wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  They passed the newsstand. “I wonder if Raj would put one of my posters up in his window,” said Mother, as she strode toward the store. Chloe clomped behind in her uncomfortable Sunday-best shoes, struggling to keep up. Her mind had been elsewhere all day. Now she was carrying around two hot-air-balloon-sized secrets in her head—Mr. Stink hiding in the garden shed and her dad hiding in the cupboard under the stairs!

  “Ah, my two favorite customers!” exclaimed Raj as they entered the shop. “The beautiful Mrs. Crumb and her charming daughter, Chloe!”

  “It’s Croooome!” corrected Mother. “So, Raj, can I rely on your vote?”

  “Are you on The X-Factor?!” said Raj excitedly. “Yes, yes, of course I will vote for you. What are you singing on Saturday?”

  “No, she’s not doing The X-Factor, Raj,” interjected Chloe, trying not to laugh at the thought.

  “Britain’s Got Talent perhaps? You are maybe doing a ventriloquist act with a naughty otter puppet named Jeremy? That would be most amusing!”

  “No, she’s not doing Britain’s Got Talent either.” Chloe smirked.

  “How do you solve any dream will I’d do anything or whatever it’s called with Graham thingy?”

  “It’s the election, Raj,” interrupted Mother. “You know, the local election? I am running to be our local Member of Parliament.”

  �
�And when is this election thing happening then?”

  “Next Friday. I can’t believe you’ve missed it! It’s all over these newspapers, Raj!” Mother gestured at the piles and piles of newspapers in the shop.

  “Oh, I only read Nuts and Zoo,” said Raj. “I get all the news I need from them.”

  Mother looked at him disapprovingly, even though Chloe suspected she wasn’t sure what either Nuts or Zoo was. Chloe had once seen a copy of Nuts that one of the older boys had brought into school, and knew it was rude.

  “What do you think are the important issues facing Britain today, Raj?” asked Mother, delighted with the cleverocity and intelligentness of her own question.

  Raj pondered for a moment, then shouted over at some boys who were loitering by the pick ’n’ mix. “Don’t put the liquorice in your mouth unless you are going to buy it, young man! Oh dear, I will have to put that liquorice on sale now!”

  Raj grabbed a pen and an index card. He wrote slightly chewed, and put it on the liquorice box. “Sorry, what was the question again?”

  Note to self, thought Chloe. Never buy liquorice from this shop again.

  “Erm . . . Now where was I?” said Mother to Raj. “Ah yes, what do you think are the most—?”

  “—important issues affecting Britain today, Raj?” chimed in Raj. “Oh, I didn’t need to say ‘Raj.’ I am Raj. Well, I think it would be a great advance if Cadbury’s Crème Eggs were available not just at Easter but all year round. They are one of my most popular items. I also strongly believe that Quavers should diversify from cheese flavors to incorporate Asian Chicken and Lamb Rogan Josh varieties. And most importantly, and I know this may be controversial, but I think that coffee Revels should be banned as they spoil an otherwise wonderfully enjoyable confectionery. There, I’ve said it!”

  “Right,” said Mother.

  “And if you promise to change the government policy on those issues, you can rely on my vote, Mrs. Crumb!”

  Mother had had a mixed response to her campaigning so far, and was eager to secure this potentially crucial vote.

  “Yes, I will certainly try, Raj!” she said.

  “Thank you so much,” said Raj. “Please help yourself to something from the shop.”

  “No, I couldn’t possibly, Raj!”

  “Please, Mrs. Crumb. Have a nice box of Terry’s All Gold, I have only taken out the caramel squares. Mmm, they are delicious. And perhaps Chloe would like this Finger of Fudge? It’s a bit squashed as my wife sat on it, but it’s perfectly fine to eat.”

  “We couldn’t possibly accept these kind gifts, Raj,” said Mother.

  “Well, why not buy them then? One box of Terry’s All Gold, 4.29 pounds, and a Finger of Fudge, twenty pence. That’s 4.49 pounds. Let’s call it 4.50 pounds. Easier if I just take five pounds. Thank you so much.”

  Chloe and Mother exited the shop holding their confectionery. Mother held her partially eaten box of chocolates with barely disguised disdain.

  “Now, don’t forget, Raj. The election is next Friday!” said Mother as she opened the door.

  “Oh, I can’t do next Friday, Mrs. Crumb. I have to stay here as I am expecting a large shipment of Smarties! But good luck to you!”

  “Ah . . . Thank you,” replied Mother, looking crestfallen.

  “Mrs. Crumb,” said Raj. “May I interest you in something incredibly special that will certainly become something of a family heirloom to be passed down through the generations? Something your grandchildren will one day take proudly to have valued on The Antiques Road Show?”

  “Yes?” said Mother expectantly.

  “It’s a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stationery set. . . .”

  11

  Hair Pulling

  “What are you hiding in the shed?” said Annabelle with accusatory glee.

  It was midnight and Chloe was once again tiptoeing past her sister’s room, this time to tell Mr. Stink about Lily’s newest adventure with her flesh-eating zombie teachers. Annabelle stood in her doorway in her pink pony pajamas. Her hair was in bunches. And in case of fire she slept in lip gloss. She looked sickeningly cute.

  “Nothing,” said Chloe, gulping.

  “I know when you’re lying, Chloe.”

  “How?”

  “You gulp when you tell a lie.”

  “No I don’t!” said Chloe, trying very hard not to gulp. She gulped.

  “You just did! What’s in there anyway? Have you got a boyfriend hiding in there or something?”

  “No, I haven’t got a boyfriend, Annabelle.”

  “No, of course not. You would need to lose some weight first.”

  “Just go back to bed,” said Chloe.

  “I am not going to bed until you tell me what you’ve got in the shed,” announced Annabelle.

  “Keep your voice down. You are going to wake everyone up!”

  “No I won’t keep my voice down! In fact, it is going to get louder and louder. La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la!

  “Shush!” hissed Chloe.

  “La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la . . . !”

  Chloe pulled her little sister’s hair sharply. There was a pause for a moment, as Annabelle stared at Chloe in shock. Then she opened her mouth.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHH!”

  “Girls! What on earth is all this noise?” said Mother as she sailed out of her bedroom in her silk nightgown.

  Annabelle tried to speak, but hyperventilated through her tears.

  “Ugh eh . . . ah . . . eh . . . ah . . . ughhhh . . . ah . . . eh . . . ugh . . .”

  “What on earth have you done to her, Chloe?” demanded Mother.

  “She’s exaggerating! I didn’t pull her stupid hair that hard!” Chloe protested.

  “You pulled her hair? Annabelle is down to the last thousand for a model casting tomorrow for George at Asda and she has to look perfect!”

  “Ugh . . . ah . . . eh . . . ah. She’s ah eh got ugh ugh ugh hiding ugh ugh something eh ah ugh in the ugh ugh ughu shed,” said Annabelle as she squeezed out some more tears.

  “Father,” ordered Mother. “Come out here this instant!”

  “I’m asleep!” came the muffled cry from their bedroom.

  “THIS INSTANT!”

  Chloe looked down at the carpet so Mother couldn’t read her face. There was a pause. The three ladies of the house listened as Dad got out of bed. Next they heard the sound of someone passing water into a toilet bowl. Mother’s face turned red with fury.

  “I SAID THIS INSTANT!”

  The sound abruptly stopped and Dad scurried out of the bedroom in his Arsenal FC pajamas.

  “Annabelle said Chloe is hiding something in the shed. Chocolate, most likely. I need you to go down there and take a look.”

  “Me?” protested Dad.

  “Yes you!”

  “Can’t it wait until the morning?”

  “No it can’t.”

  “There’s nothing down there,” pleaded Chloe.

  “SILENCE!” demanded Mother.

  “I’ll just get a flashlight,” sighed Dad.

  He made his way slowly downstairs, and Mother, Chloe, and Annabelle rushed to the window of the master bedroom to watch him walk to the end of the garden. The moon was full, and it bathed the garden in an eerie glow. The flashlight danced around the trees and shrubs as he walked. They looked on breathlessly as Dad slowly opened the shed door. It creaked like a muffled scream.

  Chloe could hear her heart beating. Was this the moment that would seal her doom forever? Would she be made to eat only cabbage for every meal from now on? Or get sent to bed before she’d even got up? Or be grounded for the rest of her life? Chloe gulped louder than she had ever gulped before. Mother heard this and shot her a look of dark,
burning suspicion.

  The silence was like thunder. A few seconds passed, or was it a few hours or even years? Then Dad emerged slowly from the shed. He looked up at the window and shouted, “There’s nothing here!”

  12

  Pongy Pong

  Did I dream the whole thing? thought Chloe as she lay in bed. She was in that place between asleep and awake. That place where you can still remember dreaming. It was 4:48 a.m., and now she was beginning to wonder if Mr. Stink even really existed.

  At dawn her curiosity got the better of her. Chloe edged down the stairs, and tiptoed across the cold wet grass to the shed door. She lingered outside for a moment, before opening it.

  “Ah, there you are!” said Mr. Stink. “I am very hungry this morning. Poached eggs please, if it’s not too much trouble. Runny in the middle. Sausages. Mushrooms. Grilled tomatoes. Sausages. Baked beans. Sausages. Bread and butter. Brown sauce on the side. Don’t forget the sausages. English breakfast tea. And a glass of orange juice. Thank you so much.”

  Chloe obviously hadn’t dreamed the whole thing, but she was beginning to wish she had. It was all thrillingly, terrifyingly real.

  “Freshly squeezed orange juice to your liking, sir?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Actually, have you got any that’s very slightly off? I prefer that. Perhaps that was squeezed a month or so ago?”

  Just then, Chloe spotted an old dog-eared black-and-white photograph that Mr. Stink had placed on a shelf. It showed a beautiful young couple standing proudly next to an immaculate and perfectly rounded Rolls-Royce, parked in the driveway of a magnificent stately home.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, pointing to the photo.

  “Oh, nobody, n-n-n-nothing . . .” he stammered. “Just a sentimental old photograph, Miss Chloe.”

  “Can I see?”

  “No, no, no, it’s just a foolish picture. Please, pay it no mind.” Mr. Stink was becoming increasingly flustered. He snatched the photograph from the shelf, and put it in his pajama pocket. Chloe was disappointed. The photograph had seemed like another clue to Mr. Stink’s past, like his little silver spoon, or the way he’d tossed that piece of paper into the bin. This one had seemed like the best clue yet. But now Mr. Stink was shooing her out of the shed. “Don’t forget the sausages!” he said.