bumbled around the shed sniffing his clothes and grimacing. If even he thinks they’re smelly, thought Chloe, they must be really bad.
“I could put some clothes on a quick wash and dry for you,” she offered hopefully.
“No, thank you, my dear. I don’t think washing machines are hygienic. I’ll just get the Duchess to chew some of the particularly nasty stains out.”
He dug through a pile of his clothes and pulled out a pair of spectacularly dirt-encrusted brown trousers. Whether they had been brown when they started their life was now anybody’s guess. He passed them to the Duchess, who began her task of a reluctant dry cleaner and started munching on the stains.
Chloe cleared her throat. “Um…Mr Stink. You said on the TV show how every homeless person has a different story to tell. Well, can you tell me your story? I mean, why did you end up on the streets?”
“Why do you think, my dear?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got millions of theories. Maybe you were abandoned in a forest as a baby and raised by a pack of wolves?”
“No!” he chuckled.
“Or I reckon you were a world-famous rock star who faked your own death as you couldn’t handle all the adulation.”
“I wish I was!”
“All right then, you were a top scientist who invented the most powerful bomb in the world and then, realising its dangers, went on the run from the military.”
“Well, those are all very imaginative guesses,” he said. “But I am sorry, none of them are right. You’re not even close, I’m afraid.”
“I thought not.”
“I will tell you when the time is right, Chloe.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Now please give me a few minutes, my dear. I must get ready to greet my public!”
“I AM NOT APOLOGISING TO HIM!”
“YOU HAVE TO!”
Mr Stink sat at the head of the kitchen table reading all about himself in the newspapers as Chloe stood at the stove frying some sausages for him. Her parents were arguing again in the next room. It wasn’t a conversation that their house guest was meant to hear, but they were so angry their voices were becoming louder and louder.
“BUT HE DOES SMELL!”
“I KNOW HE SMELLS BUT YOU DIDN’T NEED TO SAY IT ON THE TELEVISION.”
Chloe smiled over at Mr Stink. He looked so engrossed in all the headlines, ‘Supertramp!’, ‘Stinky Superstar Steals Show!’, ‘Homeless Man Saves Boring Election’, that he appeared not to be listening. Or maybe he’d put his rabbit dropping earplugs back in.
“OBVIOUSLY NOT!” shouted Mother. “LAST NIGHT I HAD ANOTHER CALL FROM THE PRIME MINISTER TELLING ME I HAVE EMBARRASSED THE PARTY AND HE WANTS ME TO WITHDRAW AS A CANDIDATE!”
“GOOD!”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘GOOD’?!”
“THIS WHOLE THING HAS TURNED YOU INTO A MONSTER!” shouted Dad.
“WHAT?! I AM NOT A MONSTER!”
“YES, YOU ARE! MONSTER! MONSTER! MONSTER!”
“HOW DARE YOU?!” screamed Mother.
“GO AND APOLOGISE TO HIM!”
“NO!”
“APOLOGISE!”
For a moment all you could hear was the sizzle of sausage fat and lard in the frying pan. Then, slowly, the door opened and Mother oozed like slime into the room. Her bouffant was still not what it was. She hesitated for a moment. Her husband appeared in the doorway and gave her a stern look. She did a little theatrical cough.
“Her-hum. Mr Stink?” she ventured.
“Yes, Mrs Crumb?” replied Mr Stink without looking up, still engrossed in the papers.
“I would like to say…sorry.”
“What on earth for?” he enquired.
“For what I said about you on Question Time last night. About you smelling of all those things. It was impolite.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs…”
“Call me Janet.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs Janet. It was rather hurtful as I do pride myself on my personal hygiene. Indeed I had a bath just before I went on the show.”
“Well, you didn’t really have a bath, did you? You had a pond.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I did have a pond. And if you so wish I will have another ‘pond’ next year, so I remain perfectly clean.”
“But you’re not clean you sti—” began Mother.
“Be nice!” interrupted Dad forcibly.
“You don’t know this,” said Mother to Mr Stink. “But after what I said on Question Time last night I have been asked by the Prime Minister to pull out of the election.”
“Yes, I do know actually. I heard you and your husband arguing just a moment ago in the living room.”
“Oh,” said Mother, uncharacteristically lost for words.
“Sausages are ready!” said Chloe, trying to save her Mother from further humiliation.
“I’d better be off to work now, love,” said Dad. “I don’t want to be late.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mother waving him away distractedly. He discreetly picked up a couple of slices of bread and slipped them in his pocket on the way out. Chloe heard the front door loudly open and close, and then door to the room under the stairs very quietly do the same.
“Just seven sausages today please, Miss Chloe,” said Mr Stink. “I don’t want to put on weight. I have to think of my fan base.”
“Fan base?!” said Mother in a barely disguised jealous rage.
The telephone, which had been crouching on the table doing very little, suddenly sang its little song. Chloe picked it up. “Crooombe residence. Who is speaking please…? It’s the Prime Minister!”
Mother’s face lit up with hope, and even her bouffant seemed to perk up a bit. “Ah yes! I knew
