The World of David Walliams: 6 Book Collection. David Walliams
“We all have use of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stationery set, Chloe. You have your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pencil, your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles eraser, your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ruler, your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pencil case, your Teenage Mutant—”
“I get the idea, thanks, Raj, but I’m sorry, I’m not going to buy one. I’ve got to go,” said Chloe, edging out of the shop as she unwrapped her Crunchie.
“I haven’t finished, Chloe. Please, I haven’t sold one! You also have your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pencil sharpener, your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles notepad, your Teenage Mutant…oh, she’s gone.”
“And what’s this, young lady?” demanded Mother. She was standing waiting in Chloe’s room. Between her thumb and index finger was one of Chloe’s exercise books from school. Mother held it as if it were an exhibit in a court case.
“It’s just my maths book, Mother,” said Chloe, gulping as she edged into the room.
You might think that Chloe was worried because her maths work wasn’t up to scratch. But that wasn’t quite it. The problem was, Chloe’s maths book didn’t have any maths in it! The book was supposed to be full of boring numbers and equations, but instead it was positively overflowing with colourful words and pictures. Spending so much time alone had turned Chloe’s imagination into a deep dark forest. It was a magical place to escape to, and so much more thrilling than real life. Chloe had used the exercise book to write a story about a girl who is sent to a school (loosely based on her own) where all the teachers are secretly vampires. She thought it was much more exciting than boring equations, but Mother clearly didn’t agree.
“If it is your mathematics book, why does it contain this repulsive horror story?” said Mother. This was one of those questions when you aren’t supposed to give an answer. “No wonder you did so poorly in your mathematics exam. I imagine you have spent the time in class writing this…this drivel. I am so disappointed in you, Chloe.”
Chloe felt her cheeks smarting with shame and hung her head. She didn’t think her story was drivel. But she couldn’t imagine telling her Mother that.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” shouted Mother.
Chloe shook her head. For the second time in one day she wanted to just disappear.
“Well, this is what I think of your story,” said Mother, as she started trying to rip up the exercise book.
“P-p-please…don’t…” stammered Chloe.
“No, no, no! I’m not paying your school fees for you to waste your time on this rubbish! It’s going in the bin!”
The book was obviously harder to rip than Mother had expected, and it took a few attempts to make the first tear. However, soon the book was nothing more than confetti. Chloe bowed her head, tears welling up in her eyes, as her mother dropped all the pieces in the bin.
“Do you want to end up like your father? Working in a car factory? If you concentrate on your maths and don’t get distracted by silly stories, you have a chance of making a better life for yourself! Otherwise you’ll end up wasting your life, like your father. Is that what you want?”
“Well, I—”
“How dare you interrupt me!” shouted Mother. Chloe hadn’t realised this was another one of those questions you’re not actually meant to answer. “You’d better buck your ideas up, young lady!”
Chloe wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it didn’t seem like the best time to ask. Mother left the room, dramatically slamming the door behind her. Chloe slowly sat down on the edge of her bed. As she buried her face in her hands, she thought of Mr Stink, sitting on his bench with only the Duchess for company. She wasn’t homeless like him, but she felt homeless in her heart.
Monday morning. The first proper day of the Christmas holidays. A day Chloe had been dreading. She didn’t have any friends she could text or email or SMS or Facebook or Twitter or whatever, but there was one person she wanted to see…
By the time Chloe got to the bench it was raining heavily, and she wished she’d at least paused to pick up an umbrella.
“The Duchess and I weren’t expecting to see you again, Chloe,” said Mr Stink. His eyes twinkled at the surprise, despite the rain.
“I am sorry I ran off like that,” said Chloe,
“Don’t worry, you are forgiven,” he chuckled.
Chloe sat down next to him. She gave the Duchess a stroke, and then noticed that the palm of her hand was black. She surreptitiously wiped it on her trousers. Then she shivered, as a raindrop ran down the back of her neck.
“Oh, no, you’re cold!” said Mr Stink. “Shall we take shelter from the rain in a coffee shop establishment?”
“Err…yes, good idea,” said Chloe, not sure if taking someone quite so stinky into an enclosed space really was a good idea. As they walked into the town centre, the rain felt icy, almost becoming hail.
When they arrived at the coffee shop, Chloe peered through the steamed-up glass window. “I don’t think there’s anywhere to sit down,” she said. Unfortunately, the coffee shop was full to bursting with Christmas shoppers, trying to avoid the cruel British weather.
“We can but try,” said Mr Stink, picking up the Duchess and attempting to conceal her under his tweed jacket.
The tramp opened the door for Chloe and she squeezed herself inside. As Mr Stink entered, the pleasing aroma of freshly-brewed coffee keeled over and died. His own special smell replaced it. There was silence for a moment. Then panic.
People started running towards the door, clutching serviettes to their mouths as makeshift gas masks.
“Abandon Starbucks!” screamed a member of staff, and his colleagues immediately stopped making coffees or bagging muffins and ran for their lives.
“It seems to be thinning out a little,” announced Mr Stink.
Soon they were the only ones left in the shop. Maybe smelling this bad has its advantages, thought Chloe. If Mr Stink’s super-smell could empty a coffee shop, what else could it do? Maybe he could clear the local ice rink of skaters so she could have it all to herself? Or they could go to Alton Towers together and not have to queue for a single ride? Better still, she could take him and his smell into school one day, and if he was particularly stinky the headmistress would have to send everyone home and she could have the day off!
“You take a seat here, child,” said Mr Stink. “Now, what would you like to drink?”
“Er…a cappuccino, please,” replied Chloe, trying to sound grown-up.
“I think I’ll have one too.” Mr Stink shuffled behind the counter and started opening tins. “Righty-ho, two cappuccinos coming right up.”
The machines hissed and spat for a few moments, and then Mr Stink pottered back over to the table with two mugs of a dark, unidentifiable liquid. On closer inspection, it appeared to be some kind of black slime, but Chloe was too well brought up to complain and pretended to sip whatever it was that he had concocted for her. She even managed an almost convincing, “Mmm…lovely!”
Mr Stink stirred his solid liquid with a dainty little silver spoon he pulled out from his breast pocket. Chloe stole a glance at it and noticed it was monogrammed, with three little letters delicately engraved on the handle. She tried to get a better look, but he put