Mr Mingin Read online

  Mr Mingin sat in silence for a meenit. The cup and saucer in his hauns sterted rattlin, then a wee tear formed in his ee. It traivelled slowly doon his cheek, makkin a lang streak o white on his clatty fizzog. The Duchess looked up at him and tenderly licked it aff her maister’s coupon. Chloe’s haun tiptaed its wey across the sofae tae comfort him.

  He held it ticht. He held it sae ticht that she kent this wis fareweel.

  “Sic undeemous kindness. Thank you. Thank you aw sae muckle. But I’m gonnae hae tae say naw.”

  “Stey wi us for Christmas Day and Boaxin Day at least,” pleadit Annabelle. “Please …?” said Chloe.

  “Thank you,” said Mr Mingin. “But I hae tae refuse.”

  “But why?” demandit Chloe.

  “Ma wark here is feenished. And I’m a stravaiger,” said Mr Mingin. “It’s time for me tae stravaig on.”

  “But we want ye tae be safe and warm wi us,” said Chloe. Tears were rollin doon her cheeks noo. Annabelle dichted awa her sister’s tears wi her sleeve.

  “I am sorry, Miss Chloe. I hae tae go. Nae tears please. Nae fuss. Fareweel tae you aw and thank you for aw yer kindness.” Mr Mingin pit doon his cup and saucer, and heided for the door. “Come oan, Duchess,” he said. “It’s time tae gang.”

  26

  Wee Star

  He walked aff intae the muinlicht. The muin wis fu and bricht that nicht, and it looked sae perjink that it couldnae be real. It wis as if it had been paintit, and hingit there on a heuk, it wis sae impossibly bonnie. There wisnae ony snaw, there never is at Christmas nooadays, except on the cairds. Insteid the streets were weet fae a stoarm, and the muin wis reflectit in hunners o wee dubs. Maist o the hooses were fantoosh wi Christmas decorations o yin sort or anither, wi the fairy lichts on Christmas trees glentin through the double-glazin. The decorations looked awmaist bonnie as weel, competin wi the stars and the muin in their ain dwaiblie wey. Aw ye could hear wis the rhythmic sclaff o Mr Mingin’s sharnie shuin as he shauchled slowly alang the road, the leal Duchess follaein a pace ahint him, her heid boued.

  Chloe watched him unseen fae an upstairs windae. Her haun touched the cauld gless, tryin tae rax oot tae him. She watched him disappear oot o sicht, afore slippin back tae her room.

  Then, sittin there on her bed, she minded a reason tae see him yin last time.

  “Lily and the Flesh-Scrannin Zombie Dominies!” she shouted, as she ran doon the street.

  “Miss Chloe?” said Mr Mingin turnin aroond.

  “I hae been thinkin and thinkin aboot Lily’s saicont adventure. I wid love tae tell it tae ye noo!”

  “Scrieve it doon for me, lass.”

  “Scrieve it doon?” spiered Chloe.

  “Aye,” said Mr Mingin. “Yin day I want tae walk intae a buikshoap and see your name on yin o the covers. You hae a talent for tellin stories, Chloe.”

  “Dae I?” Chloe had never felt she had a talent for onythin.

  “Aye. Aw that time spent alane in yer room will pey aff yin day. You hae a byordinar imagination, young lady. A real gift. Ye should share it wi the warld.”

  “Thank you, Mr Mingin,” said Chloe blately.

  “I’m gled ye cam runnin efter me though,” said Mr Mingin. “I jist minded I hae somethin for ye.”

  “For me?”

  “Aye, I saved up aw ma loose chynge and bocht ye a Christmas present. I think it’s somethin raither special.”

  Mr Mingin raiked aboot in his poke and poued oot a package wrapped in broon paper and tied up wi string. He haundit it tae Chloe, wha unwrapped it aw excitit. Inside wis a Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties stationery set.

  “It’s yin o thae Teenybasher Mental Karate Tatties stationery sets. I thocht ye’d like it. Mr Raj telt me it wis the verra last yin he had in his shoap.”

  “Did he noo?” Chloe smiled. “This is the brawest giftie I’ve ever had.” She wisnae leein. That Mr Mingin had saved up aw his bawbees tae buy her somethin meant the haill warld tae her. “I will treisure it ayewis, I promise.”

  “Thank you,” Mr Mingin said.

  “And you’ve jist gien ma haill faimlie the brawest Christmas present ever. Ye brocht us thegither.”

  “Weel, I’m no sure I can tak aw the credit for that!” he smiled. “Noo, ye should really go hame noo, young Chloe. It’s cauld, and it feels like it’s gonnae rain.”

  “I dinnae like the thocht o ye sleepin ootside,” she said. “Especially on a cauld dreich nicht like this.”

  Mr Mingin smiled. “I like bein ootside, ye ken. On oor waddin nicht, ma darlin Violet shawed me the brichtest star in the sky. Can ye see? That yin there?”

  He pointit it oot. It skinkled brichtly like his een.

  “I see it,” said Chloe.

  “Weel, that nicht we stood on the balcony o oor bedroom and she said she wid love me for as lang as that star kept sheenin. Sae ilka nicht, afore I go tae sleep, I like tae gaze up at that star and think aboot her, and the great love we shared. I see the star, and it’s her I see.”

  “That is sae bonnie,” said Chloe, tremmlin and tryin haurd no tae greet.

  “Ma wife is aye wi me. Ilka nicht she meets me in ma dreams. Noo awa hame. And dinnae worry aboot me, Chloe. I hae the Duchess and ma star.”

  “But I’ll miss ye,” said Chloe.

  Mr Mingin smiled, then pointit up at the sky. “Dae ye see Violet’s star?” he spiered.

  Chloe noddit.

  “Dae ye see hoo there’s anither wee star jist unner it?”

  “Aye,” said Chloe. Up in the nicht sky, Violet’s star bleezed brichtly. Ablow it, a smawer star skinkled in the bleckness.

  “Weel, you are an awfie special young lady,” said Mr Mingin. “And when I keek up at that star I am gonnae think aboot you.”

  Chloe wis whummled wi emotion. “Thank you,” she said. “And I’ll keek up at it and think aboot you.”

  She gied him a muckle hug and didnae want tae let go. He stood still and held her for a meenit afore rockin a wee bit tae himsel tae set himsel free. “I hae tae gang noo. Ma sowel is restless and I need tae stravaig. Guidbye, Miss Chloe.”

  “Guidbye, Mr Mingin.”

  The stravaiger stravaiged aff doon the road as nicht paddit like a panther doon the sky. She watched him disappear oot o sicht, until aw that could be heard wis silence echoin aroond the streets.

  Later that nicht, Chloe sat alane on her bed. Mr Mingin wis gane. Mibbe forever. But she could aye smell him. She wid ayewis be able tae smell him.

  She opened her maths jotter and sterted tae scrieve the first words o her new story.

  Mr Mingin minged …

  Thank yous:

  Yince again Quentin Blake has honourt ma scrievin wi his heivenly illustrations, and tae him I am undeemously gratefu. I still cannae jist credit that I hae collaboratit wi him, as he is sic a legend. Ither folk that I wid like tae thank are Mario Santos and Ann-Janine Murtagh at HarperCollins for believin in me yince again. Nick Lake, ma editor, deserves a muckle thank you for makkin me wark sae haurd and takkin me oot for tea and cakes. The copy editor Alex Antscherl, cover designer James Annal and text designer Elorine Grant hae aw done mervellous joabs on this tae. Thank you as weel tae aw the folk at HarperCollins wha wark sae eidently tae promote and distribute the buik, particularly Sam White. Ma literary agent Paul Stevens at Independent is an awfie braw man tae, and dealt brilliantly wi aw the important contractual things that ma heid cannae process.

  Finally I wid like as weel tae thank aw the folk that scrievit tae me tae say they enjoyed ma first buik, The Laddie in the Gounie, particularly the bairns. It is awfie touchin when somebody taks the time tae scrieve a letter, and it gied me muckle encouragement when warkin on Mr Mingin. I hope it doesnae scunner.

  Copyright

  First published 2015 by Itchy Coo

  Itchy Coo is an imprint and trade mark of James Francis Robertson and Matthew Fitt and used under licence by

  Black & White Publishing Limited

  Black & White Publishing Ltd
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  29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL

  www.blackandwhitepublishing.com

  This electronic edition published in 2015

  ISBN: 978 1 84502 999 9 in Epub format

  ISBN: 978 1 84502 958 6 in paperback format

  Originally published as Mr Stink by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2010

  Copyright © David Walliams 2010

  Illustrations copyright © Quentin Blake 2010

  Translation copyright © MatthewFitt 2015

  The right of Matthew Fitt to be identified as the translator of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Ltd, Bungay