Mr Mingin (14 page)

A singil capital letter D.

“Ye
are
Lord Darlington,” said Chloe. “Let me see that auld photie again.”

Mr Mingin cannily poued oot his auld bleck and white photie.

Chloe studied it for a wheen saiconts. It wis jist as she minded. The braw young couple, the Rolls Royce, the stately hame. Ainly noo, when she keeked at it, she could see the resemblance atween the young man in the photie and the auld man aside her. “And that’s you in the pictur.”

Chloe held the photie delicately, kennin she wis haunnlin somethin precious. Mr Mingin looked faur younger, especially wioot his baird and aw the clart. But his een were spairklin. There wis nae doot aboot it. It wis him.

“The gemme’s a bogey,” said Mr Mingin. “That
is
me, Chloe. A lifetime langsyne.”

“And wha’s this lady wi ye?”

“Ma wife.”

“Yer wife? I didnae ken ye were mairried.”

“Ye didnae ken I wis a lord, either, did ye?” said Mr Mingin.

“And that must be yer hoose then, Lord Darlington,” said Chloe, pointin tae the stately hame staundin ahint the couple in the photie. Mr Mingin noddit. “Weel then, hoo come ye’re hameless noo?”

“It’s a lang story, ma dear,” said Mr Mingin wi a sech.

“But I want tae hear it,” said Chloe. “Please? I’ve telt ye aw aboot ma life. And I’ve aye wantit tae ken your story, Mr Mingin, ever since I first saw ye. I ayewis kent ye must hae a fascinatin tale tae tell.”

Mr Mingin taen a braith. “Weel, I had it aw, lass. Mair siller than I could ever spend, a bonnie hoose wi its ain loch. Ma life wis like an enless simmer. Croquet, tea on the lawn, lang lion days spent playin cricket. And tae mak things even mair perfect I mairried this bonnie, smairt, funny, adorable wummin. Ma bairnhood sweethert, Violet.”

“She is bonnie.”

“Aye, aye, she is. She wis. Unutterably sae. We were awfie happy, ye ken.”

It wis aw sae obvious tae Chloe noo. The wey Mr Mingin had been sae skeelie boolin the screwed up bit o paper intae the bin, his siller monogrammed cutlery and his perjink table mainners, his insistence on walkin on the ootside o the pavement, the wey he had decoratit the shed. It wis true. He wis
super
-poash.

“Soon efter that photie wis taen Violet became pregnant,” continued Mr Mingin. “I couldnae hae been mair thrilled. But yin nicht, when ma wife wis eicht months pregnant, ma chauffeur drove me tae London tae hae denner wi a group o ma auld freends fae schuil at a gentlemen’s club. It wis jist afore Christmas, actually. I steyed late intae the nicht, selfishly drinkin and talkin and smokin cigars …”

“Whit dae ye mean, selfishly?” said Chloe.

“Because I shouldnae ever hae left ma wife on her ain. We were caucht in a snawstorm on the wey hame. I didnae get back until jist afore daw o day, and foond that the hoose wis in a bleeze …”

“Och naw!” cried Chloe, no sure if she could bear tae hear the lave o the story.

“A piece o coal must hae fawn oot o the fireplace in oor bedroom, and set the cairpet alicht as she slept. I ran oot o the Rolls and wadit through the deep snaw. Desperately I tried tae fecht ma wey intae the hoose, but the fire brigade widnae let me. It taen five o them tae haud me back. They tried their best tae save her but it wis ower late. The roof cowped in. Violet didnae staund a chaunce.

“Oh ma Gode!” Chloe sabbed.

Tears filled the auld tink’s een. Chloe didnae ken whit tae dae. Dealin wi emotions wis a new thing tae her, but tentatively she raxed oot her haun tae comfort him. Time seemed tae slow doon as her haun raxed his. This made the tears flow even mair, and he shoogled wi hauf a century o pain.

“If ainly I hadnae been at the club that nicht, I could hae saved her. I could hae held her aw nicht, made her feel safe and warm. She widnae hae needit the fire. Ma darlin, darlin Violet.” Chloe squeezed his clarty haun ticht.

“Ye cannae blame yersel for the fire.”

“I should hae been there for her. I should hae been there …”

“It wis an accident,” said Chloe. “Ye hae tae forgie yersel.”

“I cannae. I cannae ever.”

“Ye’re a guid man, Mr Mingin. Whit happent wis an awfie accident. Ye hae tae believe that.”

“Thank you, lass. I shouldnae really greet. No on public transport.” He sniffed, and gaithered himsel thegither a wee bit.

“Sae,” said Chloe, “hoo did ye end up livin on the streets?”

“Weel, I wis hertbroken. Utterly inconsolable. I had loast ma unborn bairn and the wummin I loved. Efter the funeral I tried tae gang back tae bide in the hoose. I steyed alane in a pairt o the hoose that hadnae been sae badly damaged in the bleeze. But the hoose cairried sae mony painfu mindins, I couldnae sleep. Steyin there gied me sic awfie nichtmares. I kept seein her face in the flames. I had tae get awa.

Sae yin day I sterted walkin and I never gaed back.”

“I am sae sorry,” said Chloe. “If ainly folk kent that …”

“Like I said on the televisual apparatus, ilka hameless buddie has a story tae tell,” said Mr Mingin. “That’s mines. I am sorry it doesnae involve spies or pirates or onythin like yon. Real life isnae like that, ken? And I didnae mean tae upset ye.”

“Christmas must be the haurdest time for ye,” said Chloe.

“Aye, aye, coorse. Christmas is an emblem o perfect happiness I find awfie haurd tae bear. It’s a time when faimlies come thegither. For me it minds me o wha’s no here.”

The bus raxed their stap, and Chloe’s airm foond a hame in Mr Mingin’s as they walked towards the faimlie hoose. She wis gled tae see that aw the reporters and camera crews were awa. The funny auld tink must be auld news by noo.

“I jist wish I could mak awthin richt,” said Chloe.

“But ye are makkin awthin richt, Miss Chloe. Ever since you cam and talked tae me. Ye’ve made me smile again. Ye’ve been sae kind tae me. Ye ken, if ma bairn had endit up like you, I wid hae been awfie prood.”

Chloe wis sae touched she could haurdly think o whit tae say. “Weel,” she said. “I ken ye wid hae made a brilliant faither.”

“Thank ye, lass. Undeemous kindness.”

Near the hoose, Chloe looked at it and realised somethin. She didnae
want
tae go hame. She didnae want tae bide wi her awfie Mither and hae tae gang tae that horrible poash schuil ony mair. They walked in silence for a meenit, then Chloe taen a deep braith and turnt tae Mr Mingin.

“I dinnae want tae go back there,” she said. “I want tae go stravaigin wi you.”

“
I’m sorry Miss Chloe, but ye cannae possibly cam wi me,” Mr Mingin said as they stood in the drivewey.

“Why no?” protestit Chloe.

“For a million different reasons!”

“Name yin!”

“It’s tae cauld.”

“I dinnae mind the cauld.”

“Weel,” said Mr Mingin, “livin on the streets is faur ower dangerous for a young lassie like you.”

“I’m near thirteen!”

“It’s awfie important that ye dinnae miss schuil.”

“I hate the schuil,” said Chloe. “Please, please please, Mr Mingin. Let me cam wi ye and the Duchess. I want tae be a stravaiger like you.”

“Ye hae tae think aboot this properly for a meenit, lass,” said Mr Mingin. “Whit in the name o the wee man is yer mither gaun tae say?”

“I dinnae care,” snashed Chloe. “I hate her onywey.”

“I’ve telt ye afore, ye shouldnae say that.”

“But it’s true.”

Mr Mingin seched. “Yer mind is made up, is it?”

“Yin hunner percent!”

“Weel, in that case, I’d better gang and talk tae yer mither for ye.”

Chloe grinned. This wis superbrawguidpuredeidmagic! It wis really gonnae happen. She wis gaun tae be free at lang last! Nae mair gettin sent early tae bed. Nae mair maths hamework. Nae mair wearin frilly yellae gounies that made her look like a sweetie oot o a boax o Quality Street. Chloe wis a hunner times mair excitit than she’d ever been in her life. She and Mr Mingin were gonnae stravaig the warld thegither, haein sassidges tae their breakfast, denner and tea, takkin baths in dubs, and clearin oot Starbucks onytime they wantit …

“Thank you sae awfie muckle, Mr Mingin,” she said, as she pit her key in the lock for the last time.

As Chloe raced aw excitit aroond her room flingin claes and the chocolate bars she’d posed unner her bed intae her bag, she could hear faint voices in the kitchen doon the stair.
Mither’ll no gie tuppence when I’m oot o here
, thocht Chloe.
She’ll haurdly miss me! The ainly person she cares aboot is Annabelle.

Chloe looked roond her wee pink room. It wis streenge but she felt a kittle o fondness for it noo that she wis leavin. And she wis gonnae miss her Da, and coorse she’d miss Annabelle, and even the bawdrins Elizabeth, but a new life wis cawin her. A life o mystery and adventure. A life o makkin up bed-time stories aboot bluidsookers and the undeid. A life o boakin in the faces o bullies!

Jist then, there wis a gentle chappin on the door. “I’m jist comin, Mr Mingin!” Chloe cawed oot, as she flung the last cheena hoolet intae her poke.

The door opened slowly. Chloe turnt aroond and peched oot lood in amazement.

It wisnae Mr Mingin.

It wis her Mither. She stood in the loabby, her een reid fae greetin. A tear wis chasin doon her cheek and a wee plastic snawman hingin incongruously abinn her heid.

“Ma darlin Chloe,” she sabbed. “Mr Mingin jist telt me ye wantit tae leave hame. Please. I’m beggin ye. Dinnae go.”

Chloe had never seen her Mither look sae sad. Aw o a sudden, she felt a wee bit guilty. “I, er, jist thocht ye widnae mind,” she said.

“Mind? I couldnae bear it if ye left.” Mither stertin bubblin noo. This wisnae like her. It wis as if Chloe wis lookin at anither person awthegither.

“Whit did Mr Mingin say tae ye?” she spiered.

“The auld man gied me a guid tellin aff,” said Mither. “Telt me hoo unhappy ye’ve been at hame. Hoo I had tae get ma fingir oot and be a better mither. He telt me hoo he’d loast his ain faimlie, and if I didnae watch oot, I wis gonnae loss you. I felt sae ashamed. I ken we hivnae ayewis agreed aboot things, Chloe, but I dae love ye. I really dae.”

Chloe wis scunnered. She’d thocht Mr Mingin wis jist gaun tae spier if she could gang wi him, but insteid he’d got her Mither greetin. She wis bealin at him. This wisnae the plan at aw!

And jist then, Mr Mingin appeart solemnly in the doorwey. He stood jist ahint Mither.

“I’m sorry Chloe,” he said. “I hope ye can forgie me.”

“Why did ye say whit ye did?” she spiered, ragin. “I thocht we were gaun tae stravaig the warld thegither.”

Mr Mingin smiled kindly. “Mibbe yin day ye’ll stravaig the warld on yer ain,” he said. “But for noo, trust me, ye need yer faimlie. I wid gie onythin tae hae mine back. Onythin.”

Mither’s shanks looked like they were aboot tae gie up, and she stummled towards Chloe’s bed. She sat there and gret, hidin her fizzog in shame at her tears. Chloe looked at Mr Mingin silently for a lang time. Deep doon, she kent he wis richt.

“Coorse I forgie ye,” she said tae him at lang last, and he smiled that ee-skinklin smile o his.

Then she saftly sat doon nixt tae her mither and pit an airm aroond her.

“And I love you as weel, Maw. Awfie much.”

It wis weel intae the nicht on Christmas Eve noo, and doon in the front room, Da waved a muckle festive assortment tin unner Mr Mingin’s neb. “Wid ye like a biscuit?” he spiered.

Da had awready scranned a guid wheen, efter hidin in the room unner the stair aw day wi ainly a couple o dauds o dry breid tae keep him gaun. Mr Mingin turnt his neb up at the contents o the tin.

“Hiv ye nae foostie yins?” he spiered. “Mibbe wi jist a wee daud o mould?”

“I dinnae think sae, sorry aboot that,” replied Da.

“Nae thanks then,” said Mr Mingin. He clapped the Duchess, wha wis sittin on his lap, giein Elizabeth the evil ee across the coffee table. The faimlie bawdrins wis bunnled up in a touel on Annabelle’s lap, aye recoverin fae her ‘sweem’.

“Never mind aboot the biscuits,” said Annabelle. “I want tae ken whit ye said tae the Prime Meenister’s offer?”

“Chloe telt him tae stick it up his—”

“We telt him he wisnae interestit,” interjectit Chloe hastily. “Sae mibbe ye can still staund as the local MP, Maw.”

“Och naw, I dinnae want tae,” said Maw. “No efter I humiliatit masel on television.”

“But noo ye’ve met Mr Mingin and seen hoo ither folk live their lives ye could try tae mak things
better
for people,” suggestit Chloe.

“Weel, mibbe I could try and staund again at the nixt election,” said Mither. “Though I will hae tae chynge ma policies. Especially that yin aboot the hameless. I am sorry I got it sae wrang.”

“And the yin aboot the unemployed, eh, Da?” said Chloe.

“Whit’s this?” said Mither.

“Aw cheers, Chloe,” said Da sarcastically. “Weel, I didnae want tae tell ye, but the caur factory looks like it’s gonnae get shut doon soon and it had tae let maist o us go.”

“Sae you are …?” spiered Mither incredulously.

“Unemployed, aye. Or a ‘dole mink’ as you micht say. I wis tae feart tae tell ye sae I’ve been hidin in the wee room unner the stair for the last month.”