Читать книгу The World of David Walliams: 6 Book Collection - David Walliams, Quentin Blake, David Walliams - Страница 51

12 Pongy Pong

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,” Dad went on. “The pong was…well…pongy. It was an extremely pongy pong…”

“I wanted to tell you, honestly I did,” said Chloe. “He needs a home, Dad. Mother wants all homeless people driven off the streets!”

“I know, I know, but I’m sorry Chloe, he can’t stay. Your mother will go nuts if she finds out.”

“Dad, I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK, love. I am not going to say anything to your mother. You’ve kept your promise not to tell anyone about me losing my job, haven’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good girl,” said Dad.

“So,” said Chloe, glad to have Dad to herself for a while. “How did your guitar get all burned?”

“Your mother put it on the bonfire.”

“No!”

“Yes,” said Dad sorrowfully. “She wanted me to move on with my life. She was doing me a favour, I suppose.”

“A favour?”

“Well, The Serpents of Doom were never going to make it. I got the job at the car factory and that was that.”

“But you had an album! You must have been dead famous,” chirped Chloe excitedly.

“No, we weren’t at all!” chuckled Dad. “The album only sold twelve copies.”

“Twelve?” said Chloe.

“Yes, and your grandma bought most of those. We were pretty good, though. And one of our singles got into the charts.”

“What, the top forty?”

“No, we peaked at 98.”

“Wow,” said Chloe. “Top 100! That’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t,” said Dad. “But you’re very sweet to say so.” He kissed her on the forehead and opened his arms to give her a hug.

“There’s no time for cuddles!” said Mother as she strode into the kitchen. “The man from The Times will be here soon. Father, you make the scrambled eggs. Chloe, you can lay the table.”

“Yes, of course, Mother,” said Chloe, with at least half her brain worrying about when Mr Stink was going to get his breakfast.

“So how important is your family to you, Mrs Crumb?” asked the serious-looking journalist. He wore thick glasses and was old. In fact he had probably been born an old man. Plopped out of his mother, wearing glasses and a three-piece suit. He was called Mr Stern, which Chloe thought was pretty fitting. He didn’t look like he smiled a lot. Or indeed ever.

“Actually, it’s pronounced Croombe,” corrected Mother.

“No, it’s not,” said Dad before his wife shot him a look of utter fury. The Crumb family was sitting around the dining table and not enjoying their posh breakfast. It was all such a lie. They didn’t normally sit round the dining room table eating smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. They would be round the kitchen table eating Rice Krispies or Marmite on toast.

“Very important, Mr Stern,” said Mother. “The most important thing in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without my husband, Mr Crooome, my darling daughter, Annabelle and the other one…whatshername? Chloe.”

“Well, then I ask you this Mrs…Croooooome. Is your family more important to you than the future of this country?”

That was a toughie. There was a pause during which a civilization could rise and fall.

“Well, Mr. Stern…” Mother said.

“Yes, Mrs Croooooooooome…?”

“Well, Mr Stern…”

“Yes, Mrs Crooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooome…?”

At that moment there was a little rat-tat-tat on the window. “Excuse me for interrupting,” said Mr Stink with a smile, “but please could I have my breakfast now?”