Mr Mingin (7 page)

Chloe keeked at the spines o her buiks. They were maistly for lassies. Loats o pinky-coloured buiks that matched her stupit pinky-coloured room that she hatit. She hadnae chosen the colour o her waws. She hadnae even been consultit. Why could her room no be paintit bleck? Noo
that
wid be guid. Her mither ainly bocht her buiks aboot pownies, princesses, ballet schuils and glaikit blonde-heidit teenagers in America whase ainly worry wis whit they were gonnae wear tae the prom. Chloe wisnae the tottiest bit interestit in ony o them, and she wis gey sure Mr Mingin widnae be either. The yin story she had scrievit had been rived intae a thoosand wee bitties by her mither. This wisnae gonnae be easy.

Chloe tiptaed back doon the stair and shut the kitchen door ahint her gey slow, sae it widnae mak a soond, and chapped gently on the shed door.

“Wha is it?” cam a suspeecious voice.

“It's me, Chloe. Wha else did ye think it wis?”

“I wis soond asleep! Whit dae ye want?”

“Ye asked me tae read ye a story.”

“Acht weel, noo ye've waukened me up, ye micht as weel come in …”

Chloe taen yin last deep braith o the fresh nicht air and entered his bothy.

“Braw!” said Mr Mingin. “I used tae love a bed-time story.”

“Weel, I'm awfie sorry, but I couldnae really find onythin,” said Chloe. “Aw ma buiks are jist for lassies. In fact, maist o them are pink.”

“Oh dear,” said Mr Mingin. He looked disappointit for a meenit, then he smiled at a thocht.”But whit aboot yin o your stories?”

“Ma stories?”

“Aye. Ye telt me ye liked tae mak them up.”

“But I couldnae jist … I mean … whit if ye didnae like it?” Chloe's wame jibbled wi a funny mixter-maxter o excitement and fear. Naebody had ever spiered her for yin o her stories afore.”

“I'm sure I'll love it,” said Mr Mingin. “And onywey, ye'll never ken until ye try.”

“Yon's true,” said Chloe, noddin. She stapped for a meenit, then taen in a deep braith. “Dae ye like vampires?” she spiered.

“Weel, I dinnae ken ony socially.”

“Naw, I mean, wid ye like tae hear a story aboot vampires? These are vampires that are dominies in a schuil. They sook the bluid oot o their puir unsuspectin pupils …”

“Is this the story yer mither rived intae a thoosand wee bitties?”

“Aye, it wis,” replied Chloe wi a dowie look. “But I think I can mind maist o it.”

“Weel, I wid love tae hear it!”

“Wid ye?”

“Coorse I wid.”

“Awricht,” said Chloe. “Please can ye gie me the torch?”

Mr Mingin haundit it tae her and she turnt it on and pit it ablow her chin tae mak her fizzog aw eerie.

“Yince upon time …” she sterted, afore lossin her nerve.

“Aye?”

“Yince upon a time … naw, I cannae dae it! Sorry.”

Chloe hatit readin oot lood in cless. She wis sae feart tae speak in public she wid even try tae hide unner the desk tae get oot o daein it. This wis even
mair
frichtenin. These were her ain words. It wis much mair private, mair personal, and she suddently felt like she wisnae ready tae share it wi onybody.

“Please, Miss Chloe,” said Mr Mingin, encouragin her. “I wid really like tae hear yer story. It soonds braw bananaes! Noo ye were sayin, yince upon a time …”

She taen a deep braith. “Yince upon a time, there wis a wee lassie cawed Lily that hatit gaun tae the schuil. It wisnae because the lessons were haurd, it wis because aw her dominies were vampires …”

“Guid stert!”

Chloe smiled, and cairried on. Soon she wis really gettin intae it, and pittin on voices for her heroine, Lily, Lily's best freend Justin wha got bitten by the music teacher in a piana lesson and became a bluidsooker tae, and Mrs Murk, the ill-trickit heidmaistress, wha wis in fact heidbummer o aw vampires.

The tale unraivelled aw nicht. Chloe feenished the story jist afore daw o day as Lily finally stoved her hockey stick richt through the heidmaistress's hert.

“… Mrs Murk's bluid skooshed oot o her like newly struck ile, redecoratin the gym haw a daurk shade o crammassie. The end.”

Chloe turnt aff the torch, her voice sair and her een hauf shut wi wabbitness.

“Whit a stottin guid story,” annoonced Mr Mingin. “I cannae wait tae find oot whit happens in Buik Twa.”

“Buik
Twa
?”

“Aye,” said Mr Mingin. “Nae doot efter bumpin aff the heidmaistress, Lily has tae move tae anither schuil. And aw the dominies there could be flesh-scrannin zombies!”

That
, thocht Chloe,
is an awfie guid idea.

Chloe keeked at her alairm-nock radio when she finally drapped intae bed. 6:44am. She had never been tae bed that late, ever.
Adults
didnae even gang tae their bed that late. Mibbe really dementit rock-star yins, but no mony. She shut her een for a saicont.

“Chloe?
Chloeee
? Git up!
Chloeeee
?” shoutit Mither fae ootside the door. She chapped on the door three times. Then paused and chapped yin mair time which wis especially annoyin, as Chloe hadnae expectit her tae. She keeked at the alairm-nock radio thingwy again. 6:45am. She had either been asleep for a haill day or a haill meenit. Since she couldnae open her een, Chloe jaloused it must hae been a meenit.

“
Whiiiit … ?
” she said, and wis shoacked by hoo deep and roch she soonded. Tellin stories aw nicht had turnt Chloe’s voice intae that o a sixty-year-auld ex-coal miner that smoked a hunner cigarettes a day.

“Dinnae ‘whit’ me, young lady! It’s time you stapped loongin aboot in yer bed. Yer sister’s awready feenished a triathlon this mornin. Noo get up. I need yer help the day on the campaign trail.”

Chloe wis sae wabbit she felt like she had grown intae her bed. In fact, she wisnae sure whaur her body endit and the bed sterted. She slippit oot fae unner her duvet and crowled tae the cludgie. Blenkin in the mirror, Chloe thocht for a meenit that she wis lookin at her ain grannie. Then, sechin, she made her wey doon the stair tae the kitchen table.

“We are gaun oot campaignin the day,” said Mither as she sooked her grapefruit juice and swallaed the motorwey tailback o vitamin peels and scran-supplements she had aw lined up neatly on the table.

“It soonds
boooorrrrrin
,” said Chloe. She made the word ‘borin’ soond even mair borin by makkin it langer than it really needit tae be. On Sunday mornins, Mither wid alloo the television tae be switched on sae she could watch programmes aboot politics. Chloe liked watchin television. In a hoose whaur viewin wis rationed, even an advert for a Stannah stair lift wis a treat. Hooever, the poleetical discussion programmes – which for nae apparent reason were broadcast on Sunday mornins – were heid-numbinly borin. They made Chloe think that she wantit tae be a wean forever if this wis whit the grown-up warld wis like.

Chloe aye suspectit her mither o haein anither motive for watchin: she had a crush on the Prime Meenister. Chloe couldnae see it hersel, but hunners o weemen her mither’s age seemed tae think he wis a bit o a stotter. Tae Da’s amusement, Mither wid aye stap whitever she wis daein tae watch the PM if he cam on the news. Yince, Chloe had spottit a wee slaver dreeblin oot o her mither’s mooth when there wis some footage o the Prime Meenister in a pair o dookers flingin a Frisbee aboot on a beach.

Coorse, even the sicht o her mither slaverin didnae mak thae poleetical programmes ony less borin. But Chloe wid hae watched a hunner o them if it meant no haein tae spend the day campaignin wi her Mither.
Yon
wis how borin this wis gaun tae be.

“Weel, ye’re comin whither ye like it or no,” said Mither. “And pit on that frilly yellae gounie I bocht ye for yer birthday. Ye jist aboot look bonnie in that.”

Chloe didnae look onywhaur near bonnie in it. She looked like a sweetie oot o a boax o Quality Street. If yon wisnae bad enough, she looked like yin o thae unpopular flavours that get left in the boax until weel efter the New Year. The ainly colour she really liked wearin wis bleck. She thocht bleck wis braw, and even better it made her look less pudgie. Chloe desperately wantit tae be a Goath, but she didnae ken whaur tae stert. Ye couldnae buy Goath claes in Marks & Spencer’s. And onywey, ye needit the white mak-up and the bleck hair-dye, and maist importantly the ability tae look doon at yer shuin at aw times.

Whit wid she hae tae dae tae become a Goath? Wis there an application foarm tae fill oot? A committee o super-Goaths that wid check ye oot for Goathness, or wis it Goathnicity? Chloe had yince seen a real-life Goath hingin aroond aside a bin in the high street and got aw excitit. She really wantit tae gang ower and spier her hoo tae get sterted in the Goath warld, but she wis ower blate. Which wis ironic, because blateness is somethin ye need if ye want tae become a successful Goath.

In the unlikely event o Elizabeth the bawdrins becomin a Goath, this is whit she wid look like.

Haw, let’s get back tae the story …

“It’s cauld ootside, Chloe,” said Mither, when Chloe cam doon the stair in the boaksome Quality Street gounie. “Ye’ll need a jaiket. Whit aboot that tangerine-coloured jaiket yer grandmither made ye last Christmas?”

Chloe raxed intae the room ablow the stairs. This wis whaur awbody in the faimlie kept their jaikets and wellie bitts. She heard a reeshle in the daurkness. Had Elizabeth the bawdrins got shut in there by accident? Or had Mr Mingin flitted intae the hoose? She switched on the licht. Keekin oot fae ahint the bottom o an auld fur coat wis a frichtened fizzog.

“Da?”

“Wheesht!”

“Whit are ye hidin in there for?” Chloe whuspered. “Ye’re meant tae be at yer wark.”

“Naw, I’m no. I loast ma joab at the factory,” said Da dowiely.

“
Whit?
”

“A haill loat o us got made redundant twa weeks ago. Naebody’s buyin new caurs richt noo. It’s nae doot because o the recession.”

“Aye, but why are ye hidin?”

“I’m ower feart tae tell yer mither. She’ll divorce me if she finds oot. Please, I’m beggin ye, dinnae tell her.”

“I’m no sure if she’d div—”

“Please, Chloe. I’ll sort aw this oot soon. It’s no gonnae be easy, but I’ll get anither joab if I can.”

He leaned forrit sae that the hem o the fur coat wis draped ower his heid, the thick fur lookin like a rammy o curly hair.

“Sae that’s whit ye look like wi hair!” Chloe whuspered.

“Whit?”

It wis
definately
Da on yon CD cover. Wi the fur on his heid, he looked jist like he did in the photie, wi that stotter o a perm!

“If ye need a joab, ye could aye go back tae playin guitar wi The Serpents o Deeth,” said Chloe.

Da looked shoacked. “What telt ye I wis in a band?”

“I saw yer CD and I spiered Mither, but she—”

“Wheesht!” said Da. “Keep it doon. Wait … whaur did ye see this CD?

“Eh … I wis … um … lookin for ma auld hamster cage in the shed and it wis in a boax wi a load o auld junk. There wis a brunt guitar wi it.”

Da opened his mooth tae say somethin, but jist at that moment, a door slammed up the stair.

“C’moan, Chloe!” raired Mither.

“Promise me ye’ll no say onythin aboot me lossin ma joab,” whuspered Da.

“I promise.”

Chloe shut the door, leain her da on aw fowers in the daurk. Noo she had twa fu-grown men hidin aroond the hoose.
Whit’s nixt?
she thocht.
Am I gonnae find ma Granda in the tummle dryer?!

Bein on the poleetical campaign trail meant Chloe chappin on whit seemed like awbody’s front door in the toun and Mither spierin folk if she could “rely on their vote”. The folk that said they were gonnae vote for Mither were instantly rewardit wi a muckle smile and an even mair muckle sticker tae pit in their windae proclaimin ‘Vote Ploom’. The folk that said they
werenae
votin for her were gonnae miss an awfie loat o daytime telly. Mither wis the kind o buddie that widnae gie up wioot a fecht.

They passed the newsagent’s shoap. “I wunner if Raj wid pit yin o ma posters up in his windae,” said Mither, as she stramped towards the shoappie. Chloe hirpled ahint her in her uncomfortable Sunday shuin, strauchlin tae keep up. Her mind had been elsewhaur aw day. Noo she wis cairryin aroond
twa
hoat-air balloon-sized secrets in her heid – Mr Mingin hidin in the gairden shed and her da in the cupboard unner the stairs!