The thunderous title music started, there was polite applause from the audience and the pompous-looking presenter, Sir David Squirt addressed the camera. “Tonight on Question Time it’s an election special. We have representatives from all the major political parties, and also a tramp who goes by the name of Mr Stink. Welcome to the programme, everyone.”
Everyone around the table nodded, apart from Mr Stink who proclaimed loudly, “May I say what a delight it is for me to be on your show tonight?”
“Thank you,” said the presenter uncertainly.
“Being homeless I have never seen it,” said Mr Stink. “In fact, I have absolutely no idea who you are. But I am sure you are wildly famous. Please continue, Sir Donald.”
The audience laughed uncertainly. Mother looked displeased. The presenter coughed nervously and tried to continue.
“So the first question tonight…”
“Are you wearing make-up, Sir Declan?” enquired Mr Stink innocently.
“A little, yes. For the lights of course.”
“Of course,” agreed Mr Stink. “Foundation?”
“Yes.”
“Eye liner?”
“A little.”
“Lip-gloss?”
“A smidge.”
“Looks nice. I wish I’d had some now. Blusher?”
The audience chuckled throughout this exchange. Sir David moved on rapidly. “I should explain that Mr Stink is here tonight as he has been invited to live with Mrs Crumb…”
“Crooommmbe,” corrected Mother.
“Oh,” said Sir David. “I do apologise. We checked the pronunciation with your husband, and he said it was Crumb.”
Mother went red with embarrassment. Sir David turned his attention back to his notes. “Later on in the programme,” he said, “we will be discussing the difficult topic of homelessness.”
Mr Stink put his hand up.
“Yes, Mr Stink?” asked the presenter.
“May I just pop to the lavatory, Sir Duncan?”
The audience laughed louder this time.
“I should have gone before we started, but I asked the make-up lady to do my hair and it took forever. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled with the results; she gave me a wash and blow-dry. They even put something called gel in it, but I didn’t get a chance to go to the little boy’s room.”
“Of course, if you need to go, go…”
“Thank you so, so much,” said Mr Stink. He rose to his feet and started to potter off the set. “I shouldn’t be too long, I think it’s just a number one.”
The audience howled again with laughter. In the little room with the stale crisps and the television Chloe and Dad were laughing too. Chloe looked at Annabelle. She was trying not to laugh, but a smile was definitely creeping up her face.
“My apologies!” exclaimed Mr Stink as he crossed the stage again in the opposite direction. “I am told the lavatory is this way…!”
“And that’s why I feel that there should be a curfew on all people under thirty.” Mother was in full flow now, and she smiled as she received a smattering of applause for this comment from the people over thirty in the audience. “They should all be in bed by eight o’clock at the latest…”
“Sorry I was a while,” said Mr Stink as he ambled back on to the set. “I thought it was just a number one, but while I was standing there I suddenly got the urge to have a number two.” The audience erupted into laughter, some even applauding in delight as this serious show descended into a discussion of an old tramp’s toilet habits. “I mean, I usually do my number twos in the mornings, between 9:07 and 9:08, but I had an egg sandwich backstage before I came on the show tonight. I don’t know if you made the sandwiches, Sir Derek?”
“No, I don’t make the sandwiches, Mr Stink. Now please can we get back to the question of curfews for young—”
“Well, it was a delicious sandwich, don’t get me wrong,” said Mr Stink. “But egg can sometimes make me want to go. And I don’t always get that much of a warning, especially at my age. Do you ever have that problem, Sir Doris? Or do you have the bum of a much younger man?”
Another massive wave of laughter crashed on to the stage. In the stale crisps room even Annabelle was laughing now.
“We are here to discuss the serious topics of the day, Mr Stink,” continued Sir David. His face was redder than red with anger as his serious political programme, a programme he had presented for forty tedious years, was rapidly turning into a comedy show starring an old tramp. The audience was enjoying it immensely though, and booed Sir David a little as he tried to steer the show back to politics. He shot them a steely stare before turning to the new star of the show. “And my name is Sir David. Not Sir Derek, or Sir Doris. Sir David. Now, let’s move on to the question of homelessness, Mr Stink. I have a statistic here which says that there are over 100,000 homeless people in the UK today. Why do you think so many people are living on the streets?”
Mr Stink cleared his throat a little. “Well, if I may be so bold, I would venture that part of the problem stems from the fact that we are seen as statistics rather than people.” The audience applauded and Sir David leaned forward with interest. Perhaps Mr Stink wasn’t the clown he had taken him for.
“We all have different reasons for being homeless,” continued Mr Stink. “Each homeless person has a different story to tell. Perhaps if people in the audience tonight, or out there watching at home, stopped to talk to the homeless people in their town, they would realise that.”
The audience were applauding even louder now, but Mrs Crumb leaped in. “That’s what I did!” she exclaimed. “I just stopped to talk to this tramp one day and then asked him to come and live with my family. I’ve always put others before myself. I suppose that’s always been my downfall,” she said, tilting her head to the side and smiling at the audience as if she were an angel sent down from heaven.
“Well, that’s not really true is it, Mrs Crumb?” said Mr Stink.
There was silence. Mother stared at Mr Stink in horror. The audience shifted excitedly in their seats. Dad, Annabelle and Chloe all leaned forward closer to the television. Even Sir David’s moustache twitched in anticipation.
“I don’t know what you mean, my very close friend…” squirmed Mrs Crumb.
“I think you do,” said Mr Stink. “The fact is, it wasn’t you who invited me in, was it?”
Sir David’s eyes gleamed. “Then who did invite you to stay with the Crumb family, Mr Stink?” he enquired, back in his stride now.
“Mrs Crumb’s daughter, Chloe. She’s only twelve but she’s an absolutely fantastic girl. One of the sweetest, kindest people I have ever met.”
These words fell on Chloe like an enormous YES. Then everyone in the stale crisps room looked towards her and she was overcome by embarrassment. She hid her face in her hands. Dad stroked her back proudly. Annabelle pretended not to be interested, and helped herself to another stale crisp.
“She should really come out here and take a bow,” announced Mr Stink.
“No, no, no,” snapped Mother.
“No,