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       15 Bath Time

      This was no ordinary bath time. Chloe realised this had to be run like a military operation.

      Hot water? Check.

      Towels? Check.

      Bubble bath? Check.

      Rubber duck or similar animal-based bath toy? Check.

      Soap? Was there enough soap in the house? Or in the town? Or indeed in the whole of Europe, to make Mr Stink clean? He hadn’t had a bath since—well, he claimed last year, but it might as well have been since dinosaurs ruled the earth.

      Chloe turned on the taps, running them both together so the temperature would be just right. If it was too hot or too cold it might scare Mr Stink off baths for ever. She poured in some bubble bath, and gave it a swirl. Then she laid out some neatly folded towels, pleasingly warm from the airing cupboard, on a little stool by the bath. In the cabinet she found a multi-pack of soaps. It was all going perfectly according to plan, until…

      “He’s escaped!” said Dad, poking his head around the bathroom door.

      “What do you mean, ‘escaped’?” said Chloe.

      “He’s not in the shed, he’s not in the house, I couldn’t see him in the garden. I don’t know where he is.”

      “Start the car!” said Chloe.

      They sped off out of their street. This was exciting. Dad was driving faster than usual, although still one mile an hour less than the speed limit, and Chloe sat in the front seat, which she hardly ever did. All they needed were some doughnuts and coffee to go, and they could be two mismatched cops in a Hollywood action movie. Chloe had a hunch that if Mr Stink was anywhere he would be back sat on his bench where she had first talked to him.

      “Stop the car!” she said, as they passed the bench.

      “But it’s a double yellow line,” pleaded Dad.

      “I said, stop the car!”

      Dad stamped on the brake. The tyres screeched as the car stopped. They were both propelled forward a little in their seats. They smiled at each other at the excitement of it all—it was as if they had just ridden a rollercoaster. Chloe sprang out of the car and slammed the door shut, something she would never dare do if her mother were around.

      But the bench was empty. Mr Stink wasn’t there. Chloe sniffed the air. There was a faint whiff of him, but she couldn’t really tell if this was a recent one or a lingering odour from a week or so ago.

      Dad drove around the town for another hour. Chloe checked all the places she thought her tramp friend might be—under bridges, in the park, in the coffee shop, even behind bins. But it seemed as though he really had disappeared. Chloe felt like crying. Maybe he had left the town—he was a wanderer, after all.

      “We’d better head home now, darling,” said Dad softly.

      “Yep,” said Chloe, trying to be brave.

      “I’ll put the kettle on,” said Dad as they walked indoors.

      In Britain, a cup of tea is the answer to every problem.

      Fallen off your bicycle? Nice cup of tea.

      Your house has been destroyed by a meteorite? Nice cup of tea and a biscuit.

      Your entire family has been eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex that has travelled through a space/time portal? Nice cup of tea and a piece of cake. Possibly a savoury option would be welcome here too, for example a Scotch egg or a sausage roll.

      Chloe picked up the kettle and went to the sink to fill it. She looked out of the window.

      Just then, Mr Stink’s head popped up from the pond. He gave her a little wave. Chloe screamed.

      When they’d got over their shock, Chloe and Dad walked slowly towards the pond. Mr Stink was humming the song ‘Row row row your boat’ to himself. As he sang, he rubbed algae into himself with a water lily. A number of goldfish floated upside down on the water’s surface.