“Well, I don’t know how to explain…” No one in Chloe’s family was good at expressing their feelings. To her mother, feelings were at best an embarrassment, at worst a sign of weakness.
“Just take your time, young lady.”
Chloe took a deep breath and it all came flooding out. What started off as a stream soon became a rushing river of emotion. She told him how her parents argued most of the time and how once she was sitting on the stairs when she heard her Mother shout, “I am only staying with you for the sake of the girls!”
How her little sister made her life a misery. How nothing she did was ever good enough. How if she brought home some little bowl she had made in pottery class her Mother would put it at the back of a cupboard, never to be seen again. However, if her little sister brought any piece of artwork home, however awful, it was put in pride of place behind bulletproof glass as if it was the Mona Lisa.
Chloe told Mr Stink how her mother was always trying to force her to lose weight. Up until recently, Mother had described her as having “puppy fat”. But once she turned twelve, Mother rather cruelly started calling it “flab” or even worse “blubber”, as if she was some species of whale. Perhaps Mother was trying to shame her into losing weight. In truth, it only made Chloe more miserable, and being miserable only made her eat more. Filling herself up with chocolate, crisps and cake felt like being given a much-needed hug.
She told Mr Stink how she wished her dad would stand up to her mother sometimes. How she didn’t find it easy to make friends, as she was so shy. How she only really liked making up stories, but it made her mother so angry. And how Rosamund ensured that every day at school was an absolute misery.
It was a long, long list, but Mr Stink listened intently to everything she said as jolly Christmas songs played incongruously in the background. For someone who spent every day with only a little black dog for company, he was surprisingly full of wisdom. In fact, he seemed to relish the opportunity to listen and talk and help. People didn’t really stop to talk to Mr Stink—and he seemed pleased to be having a proper conversation for once.
He told Chloe, “Tell your Mother how you feel, I am sure she loves you and would hate you to be unhappy.” And, “…try and find something fun you can do with your sister.” And, “…why not talk to your dad about how you feel?”
Finally, Chloe told Mr Stink about how Mother had ripped her vampire story to shreds. She had to try very hard not to cry.
“That’s terrible, child,” said Mr Stink. “You must have been devastated.”
“I hate her,” said Chloe. “I hate my mother.”
“You shouldn’t say that,” said Mr Stink.
“But I do.”
“You are very angry with her, of course, but she loves you, even if she finds it hard to show it.”
“Maybe.” Chloe shrugged, unconvinced. But having talked everything through she felt a little calmer now. “Thank you so much for listening to me,” she said.
“I just hate to see a young girl like you looking sad,” said Mr Stink. “I may be old, but I can remember what it was like to be young. I just hope I helped a little.”
“You helped a lot.”
Mr Stink smiled, before letting the last sludge of his volcanic gloop slip down his throat. “Delicious! Now, we’d better leave some money for our beverages.” He searched around in his pockets for some change. “Oh, bother, I can’t read the board without my spectacles. I’ll leave six pence. That should be enough. And a tuppence tip. They will be pleased with that. They can treat themselves to one of those new-fangled video cassettes. Right, I think you’d better be heading home now, young lady.”
The rain had stopped when they left the coffee shop. They sauntered down the road as cars hummed past.
“Let’s swap places,” said Mr Stink.
“Why?”
“Because a lady should always walk on the inside of the pavement and a gentleman on the outside.”
“Really?” said Chloe. “Why?”
“Well,” replied Mr Stink, “the outside is more dangerous because that’s where the cars are. But I believe it was originally because in the olden days people used to throw the contents of their chamber pots out of their windows and into the gutter. The person on the outside was more likely to get splattered!”
“What’s a chamber pot?” said Chloe.
“Well I don’t wish to be crude, but it’s a kind of portable toilet.”
“Ugh! That’s gross. Did people do that when you were a boy?”
Mr Stink chuckled. “No, that was a little before my time, child. In the sixteenth century, in fact! Now, Miss Chloe, etiquette demands we swap places.”
His old-world gallantry was so charming it made Chloe smile, and they changed places. They strolled side by side, passing high-street shop after high-street shop, all trying to herald the approach of Christmas louder than the next. After a few moments Chloe saw Rosamund walking towards them with a small flotilla of shopping bags.
“Can we cross the road, please? Quickly,” whispered Chloe anxiously.
“Why, child? Whatever is the matter?”
“It’s that girl from school I just told you about, Rosamund.”
“The one who stuck that sign to your back?”
“Yes, that’s her.”
“You need to stand up to her,” pronounced Mr Stink. “Let her be the one to cross the road!”
“No…please don’t say anything,” pleaded Chloe.
“Who is this? Your new boyfriend?” laughed Rosamund. It wasn’t a real laugh, like people do when they find something funny. That’s a lovely sound. This was a cruel laugh. An ugly sound.
Chloe didn’t say anything, just looked down.
“My daddy just gave me £500 to buy myself whatever I wanted for Christmas,” said Rosamund. “I blew the lot at Topshop. Shame you’re too fat to get into any of their clothes.”
Chloe merely sighed. She was used to being hounded by Rosamund.
“Why are you letting her talk to you like that, Chloe?” said Mr Stink.
“What’s it to you, Grandad?” said Rosamund mockingly. “Hanging around with smelly old tramps now, are you Chloe? You are tragic! How long did it take you to find that sign on your back then?”
“She didn’t find it,” said Mr Stink, slowly and deliberately. “I did. And I didn’t find it amusing.”
“Didn’t you?” said Rosamund. “All the other girls found it really funny!”
“Well, then they are as vile as you,” said Mr Stink.
“What?” said Rosamund. She wasn’t used to being talked to like that.
“I said ‘then they are as vile as you’,” he repeated, even louder this time. “You are a nasty little bully.” Chloe looked on anxiously. She hated confrontation.
To make matters worse, Rosamund took a pace forward and stood eye to eye with Mr Stink. “Say that to my face, you old stinker!”
For