CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Hamish MacTavish’s Haggis and Sporran Shop

Humphrey and Pickering stood outside the boarded-up shop.

‘That sign’ll have to go,’ Humphrey said, pointing above the door at a red and green tartan-checked board with HAMISH MACTAVISH’S HAGGIS AND SPORRAN SHOP written in gold block capitals.

‘Yes.’ Pickering nodded, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. ‘Shall we go in and see our new home?’

The cousins tramped into the shop on the Walworth Road in Elephant and Castle, south London. It had recently gone out of business due to the decline in customers interested in buying sporrans and eating haggis.

‘Look! A meat counter.’ Humphrey lumbered over to the left-hand side of the shop, carrying his white bucket of cranberry sauce, which hadn’t left his side since he’d got back to England. It was set up like a butcher’s.

‘Look! Display cabinets!’ Pickering was looking at the right-hand side of the shop, his arms opened wide as if he wanted to hug the wall of glass. ‘These will be perfect for my antiques.’

‘This will be perfect for my pies,’ Humphrey said from behind the counter. ‘I wonder what haggis pie tastes like? It could be a good addition to my menu.’

‘C’mon, let’s look upstairs,’ Pickering said, striding excitedly through the back of the shop and hurrying up a spiral staircase. He wanted to make sure he got the best bedroom.

‘I hate stairs,’ Humphrey grumbled. ‘Bagsy the first bedroom we come to.’

Pickering silently cursed under his breath.

They came to a kitchen. Pickering opened cupboards and found a couple of old mugs and a saucepan. ‘Shall we have tea?’

‘Why not?’ Humphrey nodded.

Pickering produced tea bags from his coat pocket and dropped them into the pan, filling it with water and placing it on the stove top. He poured the tea into the mugs and pulled out a handful of tiny pots of UHT milk that he’d stolen on the plane home, emptying a couple into each mug. The two cousins carried their mugs up another flight of stairs.

‘Here’s my bedroom,’ Humphrey said, pushing open the first door they came to. It was a large room with a threadbare carpet over floorboards, empty apart from an old blue armchair. He went and sat down in it. ‘Perfect. It has everything I need.’ He slurped his tea.

‘Aren’t you going to come and look upstairs?’ Pickering asked, annoyed that Humphrey’s room was so large. ‘There might be a better room up there.’

‘Nope.’ Humphrey shook his head.

Pickering huffed and stalked out of the room. Humphrey heard his cousin climbing the stairs.

‘Oh, Humphrey, it’s lovely up here. You should come and see,’ Pickering’s voice called.

Humphrey smiled to himself and finished his tea. He had no intention of moving. He put the empty mug on the floor and kicked it into the corner of the room. I’ll wash it up later, he thought.