had to be top-secret. Chloe waited until darkness fell, and then led Mr Stink and the Duchess silently down her street, before slipping through the side gate to her garden.
“It’s just a shed…” said Chloe apologetically as they entered his new abode. “I’m sorry there’s no ensuite bathroom, but there is a bucket in the corner there just behind the lawnmower. You can use that if you need to go in the night…”
“Well, this is unimaginably kind, young Miss Chloe, thank you,” said Mr Stink, smiling broadly. Even the Duchess seemed to bark ‘thank you’, or at least ‘cheers’. “Now,” continued Mr Stink, “are you sure your mother and father don’t mind me being here? I would hate to be an unwelcome guest.”
Chloe gulped, nervous about the lie that was about to come out of her mouth. “No…no…they don’t mind at all. They’re just both very busy people and they apologise that they weren’t able to be here right now to meet you in person.”
Chloe had carefully picked the right time to settle Mr Stink in. She knew Mother was out campaigning for election, and Dad was picking up Annabelle from her sumo-wrestling class.
“Well I would love to meet them both,” said Mr Stink, “and see what people turned out such a wonderfully generous and thoughtful daughter. This will be so much warmer than my bench.”
Chloe smiled shyly at the compliment. “Sorry there are all these old cardboard boxes in here,” she said. She started to move them out of the way, to give him room to lie down. Mr Stink gave her a hand, lifting some of the boxes on top of each other. When she got to the bottom box, Chloe paused. Poking out of the top was a charred electric guitar. She examined it for a moment, puzzled, then rummaged through the box and found a pile of old CDs. They were all the same, stacks and stacks of an album entitled Hell For Leather by The Serpents of Doom.
“Have you ever heard of this band?” she asked.
“I don’t really know any music past 1958, I’m afraid.”
Chloe studied the picture on the cover for a moment. Super-imposed in front of a drawing of a giant snake stood four long-haired, leather-jacketed types. Chloe’s eyes fixed on the guitar player, who looked an awful lot like her dad, only with a mess of curly black hair.
“I don’t believe it!” said Chloe. “That’s my dad.”
She hadn’t had any idea her dad had ever had a perm, let alone that he’d been in a rock band! She didn’t know which was more shocking—the idea of him not being bald, or the idea of him playing electric guitar.
“Really?” said Mr Stink.
“I think so,” said Chloe. “It looks like him anyway.” She was still studying the album cover with a curious combination of pride and embarrassment.
“Well, we all have secrets, Miss Chloe. Now what should I do if I require a pot of tea or a round of sausage sandwiches on white bread please with HP sauce on the side? Is there a bell I should ring?”
Chloe looked at him, a little surprised. She hadn’t realised she was going to have to feed him as well as shelter him.
“No, there’s no bell,” she said. “Erm, you see that window up there? That’s my bedroom.”
“Ah yes?”
“Well if you need something, why don’t you flash this old bicycle light up at my window? Then I can come down and…erm…take your order.”
“Perfection!” exclaimed Mr Stink.
Being in the confined space of the shed with Mr Stink was beginning to make it difficult for Chloe to breathe. The smell was especially bad today. It was stinky even by Mr Stink’s stinky standards. “Would you like to have a bath before my family get back?” Chloe said hopefully. The Duchess looked up at her master with a look of desperate hope in her blinking eyes. It was the stink that made her blink.
“Let me think…”
Chloe smiled at him expectantly.
“Actually, I’ll leave it for this month, thank you.”
“Oh,” said Chloe, disappointed. “Is there is anything I can get you right now?”
“Is there an afternoon tea menu perhaps?” asked Mr Stink. “A choice of scones, cakes and French pastries?”
“Erm…no,” said Chloe. “But I could bring you a cup of tea and biscuits. And we should have some cat food that I could bring for the Duchess.”
“I am pretty sure the Duchess is a dog not a cat,” pronounced Mr Stink.
“I know, but we only have a cat, so we’ve only got cat food.”
“Well, maybe you could pop into Raj’s shop tomorrow and buy the Duchess some tins of dog food. Raj knows the brand she likes.” Mr Stink rummaged in his pockets. “Here’s a ten pence piece. You can keep the change.”
Chloe looked in her hand. Mr Stink had actually placed an old brass button there.
“Thank you so much, young lady,” he continued. “And please don’t forget to knock when you return in case I am getting changed into my pyjamas.”
What have I done? thought Chloe, as she made her way across the lawn back to the house. Her head was buzzing with more imaginary life-stories for her new friend, but none of them seemed quite right. Was he an astronaut who had fallen to earth and, in the shock, lost his memory? Or perhaps he was a convict who had escaped from prison after serving thirty years for a crime he didn’t commit? Or, even better, a modern-day pirate who had been forced by his comrades to walk the plank into shark-infested waters, but against all the odds had swum to safety?
One thing she knew for sure was that he did really whiff. Indeed she could still smell him as she reached the back door. The plants and flowers in the garden seemed to have wilted with the smell. They were all now leaning away from the shed as if they were trying to avert their stamens. At least he’s safe, thought Chloe. And warm, and dry, if only for tonight.
When she got up to her room and looked out of the window, the light was flashing already. “All-butter highland shortbread biscuits if you have them, please!” called up Mr Stink. “Thank you so much!”
“What’s that smell?” demanded Mother as she entered the kitchen. She had been out all day campaigning and looked stiffly immaculate as ever in a royal blue twin-set—except for her nose, which was twitching uncontrollably in disgust.
“What smell?” said Chloe, with a short delay as she gulped.
“You must be able to smell it too, Chloe. That smell of…Well, I’m not going to say what it reminds me of, that would be impolite and unbecoming of a woman of my class and distinction, but it’s a bad smell.” She breathed in and the smell seemed to take her by surprise all over again. “My goodness, it’s a very bad smell.”
Like a malevolent cloud of darkest brown, the smell had seeped through the timber of the shed, no doubt peeling off the creosote as it travelled. Then it had crept its way across the lawn, before opening the cat flap and starting its aggressive occupation of the kitchen. Have you ever wondered what a bad smell looks like? It looks like this…
Oh, that’s a nasty one. If you put your nose right up against the page you can almost smell it.
“Maybe it’s the drains?” offered Chloe.
“Yes, it must be the drains leaking again. Even more reason why I need to be elected as an MP.