strictly speaking, dearest, no…”
Chloe glared at her, but at that moment the telephone tinkled.
“Get that will you, someone? It’s probably for me,” said Mother, grandly.
Annabelle dutifully picked up the phone. “Crooombe residence. Who is speaking please?” she asked, just as her mother has instructed her to. Mother even had a special telephone voice, a note posher than her usual one.
“Who is it, dear?” said Mother.
“It’s the Prime Minister,” replied Annabelle, putting her hand over the mouthpiece.
“The Prime Minister?” squealed Mother.
She hurled herself towards the telephone.
“Mrs Croooombe speaking!” said Mother in a truly ridiculous voice, a good note posher than even her usual telephone one. “Yes, thank you, Prime Minister. It was a super piece in the newspaper, Prime Minister.”
Mother was drooling again. Dad rolled his eyes.
“I would be delighted to be a guest on Question Time tonight, Prime Minister,” said Mother.
Then she went quiet. Chloe could hear a murmur from the other end of the line, followed by silence.
Mother’s jaw dropped open.
“What?” she growled into the phone, losing her poise and dignity for an instant.
Chloe looked at Dad questioningly and he shrugged.
“What do you mean, you want the tramp to go on as well?” said Mother, incredulous.
Dad grinned. Question Time was a serious political discussion programme hosted by a Sir. It was Mother’s big chance to shine, and she obviously didn’t want it ruined by a malodorous old tramp.
“Well, yes,” went on Mother, “I know it makes a good story, but does he really have to be on too? He reeks!”
There was another pause while the Prime Minister spoke, the murmur getting a little bit louder. Chloe was impressed with the man. Anyone who could get Mother to stop talking for a moment deserved to run the country.
“Yes, yes, well, if that’s what you really want Prime Minister, then yes, of course I will bring Mr Stink along. Thank you so much for calling. By the way I make a very moist Lemon Drizzle Cake. If you are ever passing by on your battle bus I would be delighted to offer you a slice or two. No? Well, goodbye…Goodbye…Goodbye…” She checked one last time that he had definitely gone. “Goodbye.”
Chloe rushed into the garden to tell Mr Stink the news. She heard a “Grrrrrr” and assumed it must be the Duchess. However, it was actually Elizabeth the cat who was growling. She was looking up at the roof of the shed, where a trembling Duchess was hiding. The little black dog was yelping softly. Chloe chased Elizabeth away, and eventually coaxed the Duchess down. She patted her.
“There, there,” she said. “That nasty puss has gone now.”
Elizabeth flew out of the bushes and through the air like a kung-fu kitten. A terrified Duchess rocketed up the apple tree to safety. Elizabeth prowled around the trunk, hissing malevolently.
Chloe knocked on the shed door. “Hello?”
“Is that you, Duchess?” came Mr Stink’s voice from inside.
“No, it’s Chloe,” said Chloe. He’s nuts! she thought.
“Oh, lovely Chloe! Do come in, dear heart.”
Mr Stink upturned a bucket. “Please, please take a seat. So did your mother and I make the newspaper?”
“You’re on the front page. Look!”
She held up the paper and he let out a little chuckle. “Fame at last!”
“And that’s not all. We just had a call from the Prime Minister.”
“Winston Churchill?”
“No, we’ve got a new one now, and he wants you and mother to go on this programme called Question Time tonight.”
“On the televisual box?”
“The TV? Yes. And I was thinking, before you go on…” Chloe looked at Mr Stink hopefully. “It might be a good idea if you had a…”
“Yes, child?”
“Well a…”
“Yes…?”
“A…” She finally plucked up the courage to say it, “…bath?”
Mr Stink looked at her suspiciously for a few seconds.
“Chloe?” he asked at last.
“Yes, Mr Stink?”
“I don’t smell, do I?”
How could she answer that? She didn’t want to hurt Mr Stink’s feelings, but then again it would be much easier to be around him if he were introduced to Mr Soap and his charming wife, Mrs Water…
“No, no, no, of course you don’t smell,” said Chloe, gulping the biggest gulp that had ever been gulped.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Mr Stink, seeming almost convinced. “Then why do people call me Mr Stink?”
In her head, Chloe heard the intensely dramatic music from Who Wants to be a Millionaire? This could in fact have been the million pound question. But Chloe had no ‘50/50’, no ‘ask the audience’ and not even a ‘phone a friend’ at her disposal. After a long pause, in which you could have watched all three Lord of the Rings films in their specially extended director’s cuts, words started to form in Chloe’s mouth.
“It’s a joke,” she heard herself saying.
“A joke?” asked Mr Stink.
“Yes, because you actually smell really nice so everyone calls you Mr Stink as a joke.”
“Really?” His suspicion seemed to be thawing a little.
“Yes, like calling a really small man ‘Mr Big’ or a very thin person ‘Fatso’.”
“Oh, yes, I understand, most amusing!” chuckled Mr Stink.
The Duchess looked at Chloe with a look that said, You had the chance to tell him, but you chose to carry on the lie.
How do I know that the Duchess’s look said this? Because there is an excellent book in my local library entitled One Thousand Doggy Expressions Explained by Professor L. Stone.
I digress.
“But,”
