“You just did! What’s in there anyway? Have you got a boyfriend hiding in there or something?”
“No, I haven’t got a boyfriend, Annabelle.”
“No, of course not. You would need to lose some weight first.”
“Just go back to bed,” said Chloe.
“I am not going to bed until you tell me what you’ve got in the shed,” announced Annabelle.
“Keep your voice down. You are going to wake everyone up!”
“No I won’t keep my voice down! In fact it is going to get louder and louder. La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la!”
“Shush!” hissed Chloe.
“La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la…!”
Chloe pulled her little sister’s hair sharply. There was a pause for a moment, as Annabelle stared at Chloe in shock. Then she opened her mouth.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHH!” wailed Annabelle.
“Girls! What on earth is all this noise?” said Mother as she sailed out of her bedroom in her silk nightgown.
Annabelle tried to speak, but hyperventilated through her tears.
“Ugh…eh…ah…eh…ah…ughhhh…ah…eh…ugh…”
“What on earth have you done to her, Chloe?” demanded Mother.
“She’s putting it on! I didn’t pull her stupid hair that hard!” Chloe protested.
“You pulled her hair? Annabelle is down to the last thousand for a model casting tomorrow for George at Asda and she has to look perfect!”
“Ugh…ah…eh…ah. She’s ah eh got ugh ugh ugh hiding ugh ugh something eh ah ugh in the ugh ugh ughu shed,” said Annabelle as she squeezed out some more tears.
“Father,” ordered Mother. “Come out here this instant!”
“I’m asleep!” came the muffled cry from their bedroom.
“THIS INSTANT!”
Chloe looked down at the carpet so Mother couldn’t read her face. There was a pause. The three ladies of the house listened as Dad got out of bed. Next they heard the sound of someone passing water into a toilet bowl. Mother’s face turned red with fury.
“I SAID THIS INSTANT!”
The sound abruptly stopped and Dad scurried out of the bedroom in his Arsenal FC pyjamas.
“Annabelle said Chloe is hiding something in the shed. Chocolate, most likely. I need you to go down there and take a look.”
“Me?” protested Dad.
“Yes you!”
“Can’t it wait until the morning?”
“No it can’t.”
“There’s nothing down there,” pleaded Chloe.
“SILENCE!” demanded Mother.
“I’ll just get a torch,” sighed Dad.
He made his way slowly downstairs, and Mother, Chloe and Annabelle rushed to the window of the master bedroom to watch him walk to the end of the garden. The moon was full, and it bathed the garden in an eerie glow. The torchlight danced around the trees and shrubs as he walked. They looked on breathlessly as Dad slowly opened the shed door. It creaked like a muffled scream.
Chloe could hear her heart beating. Was this the moment that would seal her doom forever? Would she be made to eat only cabbage for every meal from now on? Or get sent to bed before she’d even got up? Or be grounded for the rest of her life? Chloe gulped louder than she had ever gulped before. Mother heard this and shot her a look of dark, burning suspicion.
The silence was like thunder. A few seconds passed, or was it a few hours or even years? Then Dad emerged slowly from the shed. He looked up at the window and shouted, “There’s nothing here!”
Did I dream the whole thing? thought Chloe as she lay in bed. She was in that place between asleep and awake. That place where you can still remember dreaming. It was 4:48am, and now she was beginning to wonder if Mr Stink even really existed.
At dawn her curiosity got the better of her. Chloe edged down the stairs, and tiptoed across the cold wet grass to the shed door. She lingered outside for a moment, before opening it.
“Ah, there you are!” said Mr Stink. “I am very hungry this morning. Poached eggs please, if it’s not too much trouble. Runny in the middle. Sausages. Mushrooms. Grilled tomatoes. Sausages. Baked beans. Sausages. Bread and butter. Brown sauce on the side. Don’t forget the sausages. English breakfast tea. And a glass of orange juice. Thank you so much.”
Chloe obviously hadn’t dreamed the whole thing, but she was beginning to wish she had. It was all thrillingly, terrifyingly real.
“Freshly-squeezed orange juice to your liking, sir?” she asked sarcastically.
“Actually, have you got any that’s very slightly off? I prefer that. Perhaps that was squeezed a month or so ago?”
Just then, Chloe spotted an old dog-eared black-and-white photograph that Mr Stink had placed on a shelf. It showed a beautiful young couple standing proudly next to an immaculate and perfectly rounded Rolls Royce, parked in the driveway of a magnificent stately home.
“Who’s that?” she asked, pointing to the photo.
“Oh, nobody, n-n-n-nothing…” he stammered. “Just a sentimental old photograph, Miss Chloe.”
“Can I see?”
“No, no, no, it’s just a foolish picture. Please, pay it no heed.” Mr Stink was becoming increasingly flustered. He snatched the photograph from the shelf, and put it in his pyjama pocket. Chloe was disappointed. The photograph had seemed like another clue to Mr Stink’s past, like his little silver spoon, or the way he’d bowled that piece of paper into the bin. This one had seemed like the best clue yet. But now Mr Stink was shoo-ing her out of the shed. “Don’t forget the sausages!” he said.
How on earth did Dad miss him? thought Chloe, as she went back to the house. Even if he hadn’t seen Mr Stink in the shed, he surely must have smelled him.
Chloe tiptoed into the kitchen and opened the fridge door as quietly as possible. She stared into the fridge, and began carefully moving jars of mustard and pickle so they wouldn’t clink. She hoped to find some out of date orange juice that might appeal to Mr Stink’s tainted palate.
“What are you doing?” said a voice.
Chloe startled. It was only Dad, but she wasn’t expecting to see him up this early. She gathered herself for a moment.
“Nothing, Dad. I’m just hungry that’s all.”
“I know who’s in the shed, Chloe,” he said.
Chloe looked at him, panicked, unable to think, let alone speak.
“I opened the shed door last night to see an old tramp snoring next to my lawnmower,”