22 Long Lion Days
Chloe and Mr Stink weren’t invited to take the helicopter home. They had to get the bus.
As it was Christmas Eve, the bus was chock-a-block with people, most of them barely visible under their mountains of shopping bags. As Chloe and Mr Stink sat side by side on the top deck, bare branches dragged against the grimy windows.
“Did you see the look on his face when you told him to stick it up his…?” exclaimed Mr Stink.
“I can’t believe I did it!” said Chloe.
“I’m so glad you did,” said Mr Stink. “Thank you so much for sticking up for me.”
“Well, you stuck for me with that awful Rosamund!”
“’Stick it up your bum!’ So naughty! Though I might have said something far ruder! Ha ha!”
They laughed together. Mr Stink reached into his trouser pocket to pull out a dirty old handkerchief to dry his tears of joy. As he raised the handkerchief to his face, Chloe spotted that a label had been sewn on to it. Peering closer, she saw that the label was made of silk, and a name was embroidered delicately on it…
“Lord…Darlington?” she read.
There was silence for a moment.
“Is that you?” said Chloe. “Are you a lord?”
“No…no…” said Mr Stink. “I’m just a humble vagabond. I got this handkerchief…from a jumble sale.”
“May I see your silver spoon then?” said Chloe, gently.
Mr Stink gave a resigned smile. He reached into his jacket pocket and slowly withdrew the spoon, then handed it to her. Chloe turned it over in her hands. Looking at it close up, she realised she’d been wrong. It wasn’t three letters engraved on it. It was a single letter on a crest, held on each side by a lion.
A single, capital letter D.
“You are Lord Darlington,” said Chloe. “Let me see that old photograph again.”
Mr Stink carefully pulled out his old black and white photograph.
Chloe studied it for a few seconds. It was just as she’d remembered. The beautiful young couple, the Rolls Royce, the stately home. Only now, when she looked at it, she could see the resemblance between the young man in the photo and the old tramp beside her. “And that’s you in the picture.”
Chloe held the photograph delicately, knowing she was handling something very precious. Mr Stink looked much younger, especially without his beard and dirt. But the eyes were sparkling. It was unmistakably him.
“The game’s up,” said Mr Stink. “That is me, Chloe. A lifetime ago.”
“And who’s this lady with you?”
“My wife.”
“Your wife? I didn’t know you were married.”
“You didn’t know I was a lord, either,” said Mr Stink.
“And that must be your house then, Lord Darlington,” said Chloe, indicating the stately home standing behind the couple in the photograph. Mr Stink nodded. “Well then, how come you’re homeless now?”
“It’s a long story, my dear,” said Mr Stink, evasively.
“But I want to hear it,” said Chloe. “Please? I’ve told you so much about my life. And I’ve always wanted to know your story, Mr Stink, ever since I first saw you. I always knew you must have a fascinating tale to tell.”
Mr Stink took a breath. “Well, I had it all, child. More money than I could ever spend, a beautiful house with its own lake. My life was like an endless summer. Croquet, tea on the lawn, long lion days spent playing cricket. And to make things even more perfect I married this beautiful, clever, funny, adorable woman, my childhood sweetheart. Violet.”
“She is beautiful.”
“Yes, yes, she is. She was. Unutterably so. We were deliriously happy, you know.”
It was all so obvious now to Chloe. The way Mr Stink had expertly bowled the screwed up piece of paper into the bin, his silver monogrammed cutlery and his impeccable table manners, his insistence on walking on the outside of the pavement, the way he had decorated the shed. It was all true. He was super-posh.
“Soon after that photograph was taken Violet became pregnant,” continued Mr Stink. “I couldn’t have been more thrilled. But one night, when my wife was eight months pregnant, my chauffeur drove me to London to have dinner with a group of my old school friends at a gentlemen’s club. It was just before Christmas, actually. I stayed late into the night, selfishly drinking and talking and smoking cigars…”
“What do you mean, selfishly?” said Chloe.
“Because I should never have gone. We were caught in a blizzard on the way home. I didn’t get back until just before dawn, and found that the house was ablaze…”
“Oh no!” cried Chloe, not sure if she could bear to hear the rest of the story.
“A piece of coal must have fallen out of the fireplace in our bedroom, and set the carpet alight as she slept. I ran out of the Rolls and waded through the deep snow. Desperately I tried to fight my way into the house, but the fire brigade wouldn’t let me. It took five of them to hold me back. They tried their best to save her but it was too late. The roof fell in. Violet didn’t stand a chance.”
“Oh my God!” Chloe gasped.
Tears filled the old tramp’s eyes. Chloe didn’t know what to do. Dealing with emotions was a new thing to her, but tentatively she reached out her hand to comfort him. Time seemed to slow down as her hand reached his. This made the tears really flow, and he shook with half a century of pain.
“If only I hadn’t been at the club that night, I could have saved her. I could have held her all night, made her feel safe and warm. She wouldn’t have needed the fire. My darling, darling Violet.” Chloe squeezed his dirty hand tight.
“You can’t blame yourself for the fire.”
“I should have been there for her. I should have been there…”
“It was an accident,” said Chloe. “You have to forgive yourself.”
“I can’t. I never can.”
“You are a good man, Mr Stink. What happened was a terrible accident. You must believe that.”
“Thank you, child. I shouldn’t really cry. Not on public transport.” He sniffed, and gathered himself together a little.
“So,” said Chloe, “how you did you end up living on the streets?”
“Well,
