Mr Mingin (3 page)

“There ye go, Duchess,” said Mr Mingin, flingin hauf a sassidge intae his dug’s mooth. The Duchess wis that stervin she didnae even chaw; insteid she swallaed it in hauf a milli-saicont afore returnin tae her expression that said ‘Gie’s anither sassidge!’ Did ony man or beastie ever eat a sassidge as fast as that dug? Chloe wis hauf-expectin a mannie in a smairt blazer and breeks wi a clipboard and a stapwatch tae appear and annoonce that the wee bleck dug had set a new sassidge-scrannin international warld record!

“Sae, young Chloe, is awthin awricht at hame?” spiered Mr Mingin, as he let the Duchess sook the slavers o sassidge juice aff his fingers.

“Whit?” replied a dumfoonert Chloe.

“I spiered if awthin wis awricht at hame. If things were tickety-boo, I am no sure ye wid be spendin yer Sunday bletherin tae an auld gaberlunzie like me.”

“
Gaberlunzie?
”

“I dinnae like the word ‘tink’. It aye maks me think o somebody that reeks.”

Chloe tried no tae shaw her surprise. Even the Duchess looked bumbazed and she didnae speak Scots, jist Dug.

“I prefer gaberlunzie, or stravaiger,” Mr Mingin cairried on.

The wey he pit it, thocht Chloe, it soonded awmaist poetic. Especially ‘stravaiger’. She wid love tae be a stravaiger. She wid stravaig aw roond the warld if she could. No stey in this borin wee toun whaur nothin happent that hadna awready happent the day afore.

“There’s nothin wrang at hame. Awthin’s braw,” said Chloe thrawnly.

“Are ye sure?” enquired Mr Mingin, wi the wiceness some folk hae that cuts richt through ye like a hoat knife through butter.

But things at hame for Chloe werenae braw at aw. She wis aften ignored. Her mither speyled Annabelle – probably because her youngest dochter wis jist a wee version o hersel. Ilka inch o ilka waw in the hoose wis comin doon wi celebrations o Annabelle’s uncoontable achievements Photies o her staundin, fu o hersel, on winner’s podiums, certificates wi her name embleezoned in italic gowd, trophies and stookie statues and medals enscrievit wi ‘winner’, ‘first place’ or ‘wee bampot’. (I made that last yin up.)

The mair Annabelle achieved, the mair Chloe felt like she wis nae use. Her parents spent maist o their lives chauffeurin Annabelle aboot tae her efter-schuil activities. Her schedule wid tire ye oot jist
lookin
at it.

5am Sweemin lesson

6am Bagpipe lesson

7am Daunce lesson, tap and contemporary jazz

8am Daunce lesson, ballet

9am tae 4pm Schuil

4pm Drama warkshoap, improvisation and movement

5pm Piana lesson

6pm Broonies

7pm Girls’ Brigade

8pm Jaivelin practice

4am Fiddle lesson

5am Stilt-walkin practice

6am Chess Society

7am Learnin Japanese

8am Flooer-arrangin cless

9am tae 4pm Schuil

4pm Creative scrievin warkshoap

5pm Wallie puddock paintin cless

6pm Hairp practice

7pm Wattercolour paintin cless

8pm Daunce cless, bawroom

3am Choir practice

4am Lang-lowp trainin

5am Hie-lowp trainin

6am Mair lang-lowp trainin

7am Trombone lesson

8am Scuba-divin

9am tae 4pm Schuil

4pm Chef trainin

5pm Moontain climbin

6pm Tennis

7pm Drama warkshoap, Shakespeare and his contemporaries

8pm Show lowpin

2am Learnin Arabic

3am Daunce lesson, brek-daunce, hip-hop, krumpin

4am Oboe lesson

5am Tour de France cycle trainin

6am Bible studies

7am Gymnastics trainin

8am Calligraphy cless

9am tae 4pm Schuil

4pm Wark experience shadowin a brain surgeon

5pm Opera chantin lesson

6pm NASA space-nebbin warkshoap

7pm Cake baikin cless, level 5

8pm Attend lecture on ‘A History o Victorian Moustaches’

1am Triangle lesson, grade 5

2am Badminton

3am Airchery

4am Flee tae Switzerland for ski-lowpin practice.

Learn aboot eggs fae a expert on eggs (TBC) on ootboond flicht.

6am Dae quick ski-lowp, and then lowp aboard inboond flicht. Tak pottery cless on flicht.

8am Thai kick-boaxin (mind tae tak skis aff afore cless).

9am tae 4pm Schuil

4pm Channel sweemin trainin

5pm Motorbike maintenance warkshoap

6pm Caunnle makkin

7pm Otter rearin cless

8pm Television viewin. A choice atween either a documentary aboot cairpet manufacturin in Belgium or a Polish cartoon fae the 1920s aboot a doon-in-the-dumps hoolet.

And that wis jist through the week. The weekends wis when things got
gey
busy for Annabelle. Nae wunner Chloe felt ignored.

“Weel, I suppose things at hame are … are …” Chloe stootered. She wantit tae talk tae him aboot it aw, but she wisnae sure hoo.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Naw, I’m no gaun gyte, readers. Yon wis meant tae be the kirk nock chappin fower o’clock.

Chloe gowped and keeked at her watch. Fower o’clock! Mither made her dae her hamework fae fower until sax ilka day, even in the schuil holidays when she didnae hae ony.

“Sorry Mr Mingin, I hae tae go,” she said. Secretly Chloe wis gled. Naebody had ever spiered her hoo she felt afore, and she wis stertin tae panic …

“Dae ye really hae tae go, lass?” said the auld man, lookin doonhertit.

“Aye, aye, I hae tae get hame. Mither will be bealin if I dinnae get at least a C in Maths nixt term. She gies me extra tests durin the holidays.”

“That doesnae soond like a holiday tae me,” said Mr Mingin.

Chloe shrugged her shooders. “Mither doesnae believe in holidays.” She stood up. “I hope ye liked the sassidges,” she said.

“They were magic,” said Mr Mingin. “Thank you. Undeemous kindness!”

Chloe noddit and turnt tae run aff towards her hoose. If she taen a short-cut through the backies, she’d be hame afore Mither.

“Fareweel!” Mr Mingin cawed efter her saftly.

Feart o bein late for hamework oor, Chloe sterted tae gang faster. She didnae want her mither nebbin at her wi questions aboot whaur she’d been or wha she’d been talkin tae. Mrs Ploom wid be bleck-affrontified if she foond oot her dochter had been sittin on a bench wi somebody she wid describe as a ‘soap-jouker’. Grown-ups ayewis hae a wey o speylin awthin.

Chloe stapped hurryin, though, when she realised she wis aboot tae gang past Raj’s shoap.
Jist the yin chocolate bar
, she thocht.

Chloe’s love o chocolate made her yin o Raj’s best customers. Raj ran the local newsagent’s shoap. He wis a muckle big joco jeelie o a man, as sweet and colourfu as his slichtly ower-priced sweeties. The day, though, whit Chloe really needit wis advice.

And mibbe some chocolate. Jist yin bar, mind. Mibbe twa.

“Haw, Miss Chloe!” said Raj, as she cam in the shoap. “Whit can I tempt ye wi the day?”

“Hullo, Raj,” said Chloe smilin. She aye smiled when she saw Raj. It wis pairtly because he wis sic a braw mannie, and pairtly because he selt sweeties.

“I hae some Rolos on special offer!” annoonced Raj. “They’re oot o date and haurd as stane. Ye micht loss some o yer wallies when ye chaw intae them, but at 10p aff ye cannae whack it!”

“Mmm, let me think aboot it,” said Chloe scoorin the raws and raws o confectionery.

“I had hauf a Lion bar earlier on, whit’ll ye gie me for the ither hauf? I’ll tak onythin upwards o 15p.”

“I think I’ll jist tak a Crunchie, thanks Raj.”

“Buy seeven Crunchie bars and I’ll gie an eichth Crunchie bar for free!”

“Nae thanks, Raj. I jist want yin.” She pit the siller doon on the coonter. 35p. Siller weel spent considerin the braw feelin the chocolate wid gie her as it slippit doon her thrapple and intae her belly.

“But Chloe, dae ye no unnerstaun? This is a yince-in-yer-puff opportunity tae enjoy the popular chocolate-smooried hinniecomb bar at an eediotic price!”

“I dinnae need eicht Crunchies, Raj,” said Chloe. “Can ye gie me some advice insteid?”

“Ye’re jokin. I’m no responsible enough tae gie oot advice,” replied Raj wioot a hint o irony. “But I’ll gie it a go.”

Chloe loved gabbin tae Raj. He wisnae a parent or a dominie, and whitever ye said tae him, he widnae ever judge ye. Hooever, Chloe still gowped, because she wis aboot tae try tae tell anither wee lee. “Weel, there’s this lassie I ken at the schuil …” she began.

“Aye? A lassie at the schuil. No you?”

“Naw, no me. Some ither lassie.”

“Richt,” said Raj
.

Chloe gowped again and keeked doon, no able tae look him in the ee. “Weel, this freend o mine, she’s sterted talkin tae a tink, and she really likes talkin tae him, but her mither wid dae her nut if she foond oot, sae I – I mean, ma freend – doesnae ken whit tae dae.”

Raj keeked at Chloe expectantly. “Aye?” he said. “And whit’s yer question, hen?”

“Weel, Raj,” said Chloe. “Dae ye think it’s wrang tae talk tae tinks?”

“Weel, it’s nae guid tae talk tae streengers,” said Raj. “And ye should never let onybody gie ye a lift in a caur!”

“Richt,” said Chloe, dooncast.

“But a tink is jist somebody wioot a hame,” Raj cairried on. “Ower mony folk walk by them and pretend they arenae there.”

“Aye!” said Chloe. “Yon’s whit I think as weel.”

Raj smiled. “Ony o us could become hameless yin day. I can see nothin wrang wi talkin tae a tink, jist like ye wid tae onybody else.”

“Thanks Raj, I will … I mean, I’ll tell her. This lassie at the schuil, I mean.”

“Whit’s this lassie cawed?”

“Ummm … Stephen! I mean Susan … naw, Sarah. She’s cawed Sarah, definately Sarah.”

“Is it no you, Chloe?” said Raj smilin.

“Aye, it’s me,” Chloe awned up efter a millisaicont.

“You are an awfie guid lassie, Chloe. It’s braw ye wid tak the time tae talk tae a tink. There but for the grace o Gode gang you and I.”

“Thanks, Raj.” Chloe turnt reid, embarrassed by his compliment.

“Noo whit can ye buy yer hameless freend for Christmas?” said Raj as he scoored aroond his midden o a shoap. “I hae a boax fu o Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties stationery sets I cannae seem tae shift. Aw yours for ainly £3.99. In fact, buy yin set, get ten free.”

“I’m no sure a tink wid be needin a Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties stationery set, thanks onywey Raj.”

“We aw need a Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties stationery set, Chloe. Ye hae yer Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties pincil, yer Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties rubber, yer Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties ruler, yer Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties pincil case, yer Teenage Mutant—”

“I get the idea, thanks, Raj, but I’m sorry, I’m no gonnae buy yin. I hae tae go,” said Chloe, edgin oot o the shoap as she slippit the wrapper aff her Crunchie.

“I’ve no feenished, Chloe. Please, I’ve no selt even wan! Ye hae yer Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties pincil shairpener, yer Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties jotter, yer Teenage Mutant … och, she’s awa.”

“And whit’s this, young lady?” demandit Mither. She wis staundin waitin in Chloe’s room. Atween her thoom and index fingir wis yin o Chloe’s jotters fae the schuil. Mither held it up for aw tae see as if it wis an exhibit in a coort case.