“Name it,” said Mother.
“I would like Mr. Stink to move in properly.”
“What?” asked Mother with a gasp.
“That’s a great idea,” said Dad. “We’ve all loved having you around, Mr. Stink.”
“Yes, you feel like part of the family now,” said Annabelle.
“Well, I suppose he could stay for a little while longer in the shed . . .” said Mother reluctantly.
“I didn’t mean in the shed. I meant in our house,” said Chloe.
“Of course,” said Dad.
“That would be great!” chimed in Annabelle.
“Well, erm, oh, um . . .” Mother looked increasingly flustered. “I do really appreciate what Mr. Stink had done for us, but I’m not sure he would feel at home here. I don’t imagine he has ever lived in a house as nice as this. . . .”
“Actually, Mr. Stink used to live in a stately home,” corrected Chloe gleefully.
“What? As a servant?” said Mother.
“No, it was his stately home. Mr. Stink is really a lord.”
“A lord? Is this true, Mr. Stink?”
“Yes, Mrs. Crooooooombe.”
“A stately hobo! Well, that changes everything!” announced Mother, beaming with pride that she finally had someone truly posh in the house. “Husband, take the plastic covers off the sofa. Annabelle, get out the best china! And if you would like to use the downstairs lavatory at any time, Lord Stink, I have the key right here.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need to go right now. Oh, hang on a moment . . . .”
They all looked at Mr. Stink expectantly. Chloe, Annabelle, and Dad were just curious to finally see what the downstairs bathroom actually looked like from the inside, since none of them had ever been allowed in there.
“No . . . no, false alarm.”
Mother continued babbling breathlessly. “And . . . and . . . and you can have our bedroom, your lordship! I can sleep on the sofa bed and my husband would be more than happy to move into the shed.”
“What the—?” said Dad.
“Please . . . please . . . please stay here with us,” interjected Chloe.
Mr. Stink sat in silence for a moment. The cup and saucer in his hands started rattling, then a little tear formed in his eye. It traveled slowly down his cheek, creating a little streak of white on his grimy face. The Duchess looked up at him and tenderly licked it off her master’s face. Chloe’s hand tiptoed its way across the sofa to comfort him.
He held it tight. He held it so tight that she knew this was goodbye.
“Such unimaginable kindness. Thank you. Thank you all, so much. However, I am going to have to say no.”
“Stay with us for Christmas Day and Boxing Day at least,” pleaded Annabelle. “Please . . . ?” said Chloe.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Stink. “But I am afraid I have to refuse.”
“But why?” demanded Chloe.
“My work here is done. And I’m a wanderer,” said Mr. Stink. “It’s time for me to wander on.”
“But we want you to be safe and warm here with us,” said Chloe. Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. Annabelle wiped away her sister’s tears with her sleeve.
“I am sorry, Miss Chloe. I have to go. No tears please. No fuss. Farewell to you all and thank you for all your kindness.” Mr. Stink put down his cup and saucer, and headed for the door. “Come on, Duchess,” he said. “It’s time to go.”
26
Little Star
He walked off into the moonlight. The moon was full and bright that night, and it looked so perfect that it couldn’t be real. It was as if it had been painted, and hung there on a hook, it was so impossibly beautiful. There wasn’t any snow, there never is at Christmas these days, except on the cards. Instead the streets were damp from a storm, and the moon was reflected in hundreds of little puddles. Most of the houses were adorned with Christmas decorations of one sort or another, with fairy-lit trees glinting through the double glazing. The decorations looked almost beautiful too, competing with the moon and the stars in their own feeble way. All you could hear was the rhythmic scuff of Mr. Stink’s battered oxford shoes as he walked slowly along the road, the Duchess following dutifully a pace behind, her head bowed.
Chloe watched him unseen from an upstairs window. Her hand touched the cold glass, trying to reach out to him. She watched him disappear out of sight, before descending back to her room.
Then, sitting there on her bed, she remembered a reason to see him one last time.
“Lily and the Flesh-Eating Zombie Teachers!” she shouted, as she ran down the street.
“Miss Chloe?” said Mr. Stink, turning round.
“I have been thinking and thinking about Lily’s second adventure. I would love to tell it to you now!”
“Write it down for me, child.”
“Write it down?” asked Chloe.
“Yes,” said Mr. Stink. “One day I want to walk into a bookshop and see your name on one of the covers. You have a talent for telling stories, Chloe.”
“Do I?” Chloe had never felt she had a talent for anything.
“Yes. All that time spent alone in your room will pay off one day. You have an extraordinary imagination, young lady. A real gift. You should share it with the world.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stink,” said Chloe shyly.
“I’m glad you came running after me, though,” said Mr. Stink. “I just remembered I have something for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, I saved up all my loose change and bought you a Christmas present. I think it’s something rather special.”
Mr. Stink rummaged in his bag and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. He handed it Chloe, who unwrapped it excitedly. Inside was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stationery set.
“It is a Teenybopper Mucus Karate Tortoise thing. I thought you’d like it. Mr. Raj told me it was the very last one he had in his shop.”
“Did he now?” Chloe smiled. “This is the best present I have ever had.” She wasn’t lying. That Mr. Stink had saved up all his pennies to buy her something meant the whole world to her. “I will treasure this forever, I promise.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Stink.
“And you’ve just given my whole family the best Christmas present ever. You brought us together.”
“Well, I’m not sure I can take all the credit for that!” He smiled. “Now, you should really go home, young Chloe. It’s cold, and it feels like it’s going to rain.”
“I don’t like the thought of you sleeping outside,” she said. “Especially on a cold damp night like this.”
Mr. Stink smiled. “I like being outside, you know. On our wedding night my darling Violet showed me the brightest star in the sky. Do you see? That one there?”
He pointed it out. It twinkled brightly like his eyes.
“I see it,” said Chloe.
“Well, that night we stood on the balcony of our bedroom and she said she would love me for as long as that star kept shining. So every night, before I go to sleep, I like to gaze at that star and think about her, and the great love we shared. I see the star, and it’s her I see.”
“That’s beautiful,” said Chloe, trembling and trying hard not to cry.
“My wife isn’t gone. Every night she meets me in my dreams. Now go home. And don’t worry about me, Miss Chloe. I have the Duchess and my star.”
“But I’ll miss you,” said Chloe.
Mr. Stink smiled, then pointed up at the sky. “Do you see Violet’s star?” he asked.
Chloe nodded.
“Do you see how there’s another little star just under it?”
“Yes,” said Chloe. Up in the night sky, Violet’s star burned brightly. Below it a smaller star twinkled in the blackness.
“Well, you are a very special young lady,” said Mr. Stink. “And when I look at that star, I am going to think about you.”
Chloe felt overwhelmed. “Thank you,” she sai
d. “And I’ll look at it and think about you.”
She gave him a big hug and didn’t want to let go. He stood still and held her for a moment before rocking a little to set himself free. “I have to go now. My soul is restless and I need to wander. Goodbye, Miss Chloe.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Stink.”
The wanderer wandered off down the road as night slinked like a panther down the sky. She watched him disappear out of sight, until all that could be heard was silence echoing around the streets.
Later that night, Chloe sat alone on her bed. Mr. Stink was gone. Perhaps forever. But she could still smell him. She would always be able to smell him.
She opened her math exercise book and began to write the first words of her new story.
Mr. Stink stank . . . .
Thank-yous:
Once again Quentin Blake has honored my writing with his sublime illustrations, and to him I am enormously grateful. I still can’t quite believe I have collaborated with him, as he is such a legend. I would like to thank my British publishers Mario Santos and Ann-Janine Murtagh, for believing in me again. Nick Lake, my editor, deserves a big thank you for making me work so hard and buying me tea and cakes. Finally, I’m grateful to Ben Schrank, Gillian Levinson, and the whole team at Razorbill for bringing my books to the USA.
Finally I would also like to thank all the people who wrote to me to say they enjoyed my first book, The Boy in the Dress, particularly the children. It is very touching when someone takes the time to write a letter, and greatly encouraged me when working on Mr. Stink. I hope it doesn’t disappoint.
Mr. Stink Page 10