The World of David Walliams: 7 Book Collection. David Walliams
my dear. I must get ready to greet my public!”
“I AM NOT APOLOGISING TO HIM!”
“YOU HAVE TO!”
Mr Stink sat at the head of the kitchen table reading all about himself in the newspapers as Chloe stood at the stove frying some sausages for him. Her parents were arguing again in the next room. It wasn’t a conversation that their house guest was meant to hear, but they were so angry their voices were becoming louder and louder.
“BUT HE DOES SMELL!”
“I KNOW HE SMELLS BUT YOU DIDN’T NEED TO SAY IT ON THE TELEVISION.”
Chloe smiled over at Mr Stink. He looked so engrossed in all the headlines, ‘Supertramp!’, ‘Stinky Superstar Steals Show!’, ‘Homeless Man Saves Boring Election’, that he appeared not to be listening. Or maybe he’d put his rabbit dropping earplugs back in.
“OBVIOUSLY NOT!” shouted Mother. “LAST NIGHT I HAD ANOTHER CALL FROM THE PRIME MINISTER TELLING ME I HAVE EMBARRASSED THE PARTY AND HE WANTS ME TO WITHDRAW AS A CANDIDATE!”
“GOOD!”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘GOOD’?!”
“THIS WHOLE THING HAS TURNED YOU INTO A MONSTER!” shouted Dad.
“WHAT?! I AM NOT A MONSTER!”
“YES, YOU ARE! MONSTER! MONSTER! MONSTER!”
“HOW DARE YOU?!” screamed Mother.
“GO AND APOLOGISE TO HIM!”
“NO!”
“APOLOGISE!”
For a moment all you could hear was the sizzle of sausage fat and lard in the frying pan. Then, slowly, the door opened and Mother oozed like slime into the room. Her bouffant was still not what it was. She hesitated for a moment. Her husband appeared in the doorway and gave her a stern look. She did a little theatrical cough.
“Her-hum. Mr Stink?” she ventured.
“Yes, Mrs Crumb?” replied Mr Stink without looking up, still engrossed in the papers.
“I would like to say…sorry.”
“What on earth for?” he enquired.
“For what I said about you on Question Time last night. About you smelling of all those things. It was impolite.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs…”
“Call me Janet.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs Janet. It was rather hurtful as I do pride myself on my personal hygiene. Indeed I had a bath just before I went on the show.”
“Well, you didn’t really have a bath, did you? You had a pond.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I did have a pond. And if you so wish I will have another ‘pond’ next year, so I remain perfectly clean.”
“But you’re not clean you sti—” began Mother.
“Be nice!” interrupted Dad forcibly.
“You don’t know this,” said Mother to Mr Stink. “But after what I said on Question Time last night I have been asked by the Prime Minister to pull out of the election.”
“Yes, I do know actually. I heard you and your husband arguing just a moment ago in the living room.”
“Oh,” said Mother, uncharacteristically lost for words.
“Sausages are ready!” said Chloe, trying to save her Mother from further humiliation.
“I’d better be off to work now, love,” said Dad. “I don’t want to be late.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mother waving him away distractedly. He discreetly picked up a couple of slices of bread and slipped them in his pocket on the way out. Chloe heard the front door loudly open and close, and then door to the room under the stairs very quietly do the same.
“Just seven sausages today please, Miss Chloe,” said Mr Stink. “I don’t want to put on weight. I have to think of my fan base.”
“Fan base?!” said Mother in a barely disguised jealous rage.
The telephone, which had been crouching on the table doing very little, suddenly sang its little song. Chloe picked it up. “Crooombe residence. Who is speaking please…? It’s the Prime Minister!”
Mother’s face lit up with hope, and even her bouffant seemed to perk up a bit. “Ah yes! I knew my darling Dave would change his mind!”
“He wants to talk to Mr Stink, actually,” continued Chloe. Mother’s smile turned upside down.
Mr Stink picked up the receiver with a nonchalance that suggested he often received calls from world leaders. “Stink here. Yes? Yes? Oh yes…?”
Mum and Chloe studied his face like a map, trying to read from his reactions what the Prime Minister was saying.
“Yes, yes, yes. Well, yes, thank you Prime Minister.”
Mr Stink put the receiver down and sat back at the table to resume his now daily task of reading about himself in the newspapers.
“Well?” asked Chloe.
“Yes, well?” chimed in Mother.
“The Prime Minister has invited me to go for tea at Number Ten Downing Street today,” said Mr Stink matter-of-factly. “He wants me to take over from you, Mrs Crumb, as the local candidate. May I have those sausages now please, Chloe?”
“Hoooorrraaaayyyyy!” There was a huge cheer as Mr Stink appeared at the upstairs window. All he had to do was stand and wave for the crowd to roar their approval. The cameras all zoomed in and the microphones leaned forward. One lady even held her baby up so the infant could catch sight of this new star. Chloe stood a few paces behind Mr Stink, watching like a proud parent. She hadn’t enjoyed being on the television that much and preferred to let Mr Stink take centre stage. He gestured for everyone to be quiet. And there was quiet.
“I have written a short speech,” he announced, before unrolling a very long, grubby toilet roll and reading from it.
“First of all, may I say how very honoured I am that you have all turned out to see me today.”
The crowd cheered again.
“I am but a humble wanderer. A vagrant maybe, certainly a vagabond, a street dreamer if you will…”
“Oh, get on with it!” hissed Mother from behind Chloe.
“Shussshh!” shushed Chloe.
“As such, I had no idea that simply appearing on the electric televisual apparatus would have quite such an astonishing effect. All I can say at this time is that I am meeting with the Prime Minister today at Number Ten to discuss my political future.”
The crowd went wild.
“Thank you all for your incredible kindness,” he concluded, before rolling his toilet roll back up and disappearing from view.
“Miss Chloe?”