Nanny Piggins and the Pursuit of Justice Page 8

  ‘I can’t think what to do,’ explained Nanny Piggins. ‘Normally when I wake up in the morning my mind is bubbling with ideas for adventures and fun. But this morning when I opened my eyes, all I could think was: nothing.’

  ‘How can you think nothing?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Nanny Piggins. ‘But I am forever doing extraordinary things I did not know I was capable of. And thinking of nothing must just be another one.’

  ‘Perhaps if you ate some cake,’ suggested Samantha.

  ‘I tried that,’ said Nanny Piggins, pointing towards the dozens of Swiss roll packets strewn across the floor. ‘And while that certainly made me feel better about thinking of nothing, it didn’t help me think of something.’

  ‘Do you want us to take you to the doctor?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Pish to that!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘A doctor is hardly the person you turn to for original ideas. They wouldn’t know how to tie their shoelaces if they hadn’t been taught it at medical school. Which, incidentally, is why so many doctors wear loafers.’

  ‘Then what are we going to do?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘Do you want us to stay home so we can look after you?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘Obviously you should all stay home from school,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘But not so you can look after me. So you can help me, because I’ve had an idea about how to come up with an idea.’

  ‘You have?’ asked Derrick suspiciously.

  ‘It’s not going to be dangerous, is it?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Well, not very.’

  Five minutes later Nanny Piggins was standing in the backyard (still wearing her pyjamas) while Boris and the children hung out of the second storey window directly above, with a great big bucket of apples. (They did not have any apples in the house but Mrs Simpson next door did have several apple trees, so Nanny Piggins thought it would be an act of kindness if they were to pick them for her. Nanny Piggins assumed Mrs Simpson shared her belief that fruit and vegetables were an eyesore in any garden.)

  ‘I think this is a terrible idea,’ worried Samantha.

  ‘Nonsense,’ scoffed Nanny Piggins. ‘If having an apple drop on his head gave Isaac Newton the idea of gravity, just think what it will do for me.’

  ‘What exactly is gravity?’ asked Michael.

  ‘It’s the reason –’ sobbed Boris, breaking down into tears, ‘we weigh so much when we stand on the bathroom scales.’

  ‘There, there,’ comforted Samantha. ‘I’m sure the scales are wrong. They are probably broken.’

  ‘They were definitely broken after Boris stood on them,’ said Derrick under his breath.

  ‘I’m sure being hit by an apple will help me come up with something much more interesting than one of the fundamental laws of physics,’ said Nanny Piggins confidently. ‘At the very least, a new apple strudel recipe.’

  ‘But won’t it hurt?’ asked Samantha, holding a Granny Smith in her hand and thinking that the last thing in the world she wanted to do was to drop it on her nanny’s head.

  ‘That’s the wonderful thing about head injuries,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘If they are severe enough, you don’t feel very much of anything at all. Besides, you forget that I am a former flying pig, and I was blasted out of a cannon hundreds of times before it occurred to me that perhaps I should be wearing a helmet. So I have an unusually thick skull.’

  ‘Plus it is super strong because of all the calcium Sarah gets in her diet from eating so much butter and cream,’ explained Boris.

  ‘And chocolate!’ added Nanny Piggins. ‘Never forget that chocolate is a dairy food. Thanks to my high chocolate diet, you could drop anything you liked on my head and I’d be fine. Just don’t drop any vegetables on me – it takes forever to get the smell out.’

  ‘What type of apple would you like us to drop first?’ asked Michael. ‘A red gala or a Golden Delicious?’

  ‘Surprise me,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  And so Michael dropped a Golden Delicious apple onto his nanny’s head. His aim wasn’t terribly good, so Nanny Piggins had to do some fancy footwork to make sure it hit her, but in the end it bopped her right on the top of her skull.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Boris.

  ‘I did just remember where I put my house keys, but no brilliant plans for a day of exciting fun,’ said Nanny Piggins sadly.

  ‘How about I drop a Granny Smith on you?’ suggested Derrick. ‘They’re bigger.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ enthused Nanny Piggins.

  Unfortunately all the blow from the Granny Smith did was remind Nanny Piggins that she needed to buy nutmeg from the supermarket. Some time later, after 138 apples of varying varieties had been dropped on Nanny Piggins, she still had not come up with any brilliant ideas. She had not even come up with any revolutionary breakthroughs in physics – although she did remember that she’d put her romance novel in the freezer so that burglars would not steal it, that Tuesday was Mrs McGill’s birthday, that Michael needed a haircut, that Addis Ababa was the capital of Abyssinia and that electric blue would be the perfect colour to repaint the downstairs bathroom.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘This having an apple dropped on my head isn’t working for me at all. Perhaps I need to do what Benjamin Franklin did and fly a kite in an electrical storm.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed all the children at once. It was one thing to drop fruit on their nanny’s head, but they did not want to stand by and watch her get struck by lightning.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘I’d hate to ruin our kite.’

  ‘I’ve got an idea!’ exclaimed Boris.

  ‘How? Did an apple hit you?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘No, I came up with it on my own, just using my brain regularly,’ said Boris.

  ‘Good for you!’ encouraged Nanny Piggins. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Wait here!’ said Boris excitedly.

  They all waited as they listened to Boris run out of the room, along the corridor, down the stairs, into the kitchen, open and shut several cupboards, then run back up the stairs and back into the bedroom. (Even though Boris was a ballet dancer and therefore very dainty, he was still a 700-kilogram bear, and sometimes when he was excited he would sound like one.)

  Boris emerged at the window with a triumphant smile on his face, holding a watermelon. ‘If the apples don’t work, why don’t we try a watermelon?’ suggested Boris, proud of his idea.

  ‘You can’t drop a watermelon on Nanny Piggins’ head!’ squealed Samantha.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Boris. ‘I’m sure it will still be good to eat afterwards.’

  ‘But that watermelon is huge!’ exclaimed Derrick.

  ‘It’s bigger than Nanny Piggins!’ added Michael.

  ‘You’ll hurt her,’ added Samantha.

  ‘Piffle!’ called Nanny Piggins. ‘Just drop the thing. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I won’t let you!’ said Michael, grabbing hold of Boris’ arm. Samantha and Derrick grabbed at Boris too.

  Now as you know, Boris was a very big bear, and three normal-sized children should have been no match for him. But he was also delicate of heart, so being roughly accosted by three of his four favourite people in the world shocked him deeply, and predictably made him cry. In his hurry to find a handkerchief so he could blow his nose, Boris dropped the watermelon without thinking. And when Nanny Piggins saw the watermelon coming she purposefully stepped into its path.

  As soon as they heard the ‘thud’, the children and Boris instantly stopped their wrestling so they could look out the window. On the ground below they saw Nanny Piggins lying prostrate and surrounded by shattered chunks of watermelon.

  ‘She looks so peaceful lying there,’ said Derrick. />
  ‘And the watermelon goes beautifully with her sienna yellow pyjamas,’ said Michael.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ exclaimed Samantha. ‘We’ve killed her.’

  Boris just wailed.

  (Now reader, please don’t panic. As you can see, this is only Chapter 5 and there are another five chapters to come of this book, and my publisher would never let me kill the title character halfway through. So rest assured Nanny Piggins is not dead. It’s just for purposes of dramatic storytelling – the children, though, do not know that at this time.)

  They all rushed downstairs to the garden. (Boris tried jumping directly out the window but he would not fit through.) When they reached their nanny she was breathing normally and there were no outward signs of head wounds.

  ‘Nanny Piggins! Are you all right?’ asked Derrick as they all knelt around her.

  ‘Should we slap her?’ asked Michael.

  ‘You can,’ said Derrick, ‘but even if she’s in a coma she’ll probably still bite you.’

  ‘Look, there’s no need,’ said Samantha. ‘She’s coming round.’

  Nanny Piggins’ eyes began to flutter open and she struggled to sit up.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Samantha. ‘Do you want us to call an ambulance?’

  ‘Ayyymmmmsoooso-o-orrrrrrreeee,’ wailed Boris, crying with the shuddering intensity only a Russian can muster.

  Nanny Piggins rubbed her head. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘A watermelon slipped out of Boris’ hands and fell onto your head,’ explained Michael.

  Boris wailed harder.

  ‘A watermelon?’ said Nanny Piggins, dazedly looking about at the shattered fruit surrounding her, and pulling a chunk from her hair.

  ‘Would you like some medicinal chocolate?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  The children and Boris gasped. Now they were really worried about her.

  ‘You don’t want chocolate?!’ asked Samantha.

  ‘No, I want to know where I am,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘In the garden,’ said Michael.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked, looking at the children, ‘and who am I?’ she added, rubbing her head.

  ‘Oh no,’ sobbed Boris. ‘I hit her so hard, she’s started asking profound philosophical questions. Next she’ll be asking if a tree falling in the forest will make people clap!’

  ‘No, it’s worse than that!’ exclaimed Derrick. ‘Nanny Piggins has got amnesia!’

  ‘Aaaaaaaggghhhhh!!!!’ screamed Nanny Piggins as she suddenly leapt to her feet. ‘There’s a bear!’

  ‘Of course, it’s your brother, Boris,’ explained Samantha.

  ‘But how can a woman have a brother who’s a bear?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  The children looked at each other.

  ‘Um, I’m not sure how to put this delicately,’ said Derrick, ‘but you’re not a woman, you’re a pig.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘How can I be a pig when I’m wearing such elegant pyjamas?’

  ‘Aaaaaaggggggggghhhhh!!!’ screamed Nanny Piggins, two minutes later when she saw her reflection in a mirror. ‘I am a pig!’

  ‘But a very, very beautiful one,’ Michael assured her.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘If I’m a pig and I’m not wearing a wedding ring, how did I come to have three children?’ She turned to look at Derrick, Samantha and Michael.

  ‘We’re not your children,’ explained Samantha.

  ‘I’m a pig and a kidnapper!?’ exclaimed a horrified Nanny Piggins.

  ‘No, you’re our nanny,’ explained Michael.

  Nanny Piggins slumped down in a chair. ‘I’m a domestic servant? Why, that’s even worse. At least if I was a kidnapper I would be showing some career initiative.’

  ‘I think we should take Nanny Piggins to see a doctor,’ said Derrick. ‘Aside from having no memories of anything, she doesn’t seem to be thinking straight.’

  After several X-rays, a cat scan (which sadly did not involve an actual cat) and lots of prodding Nanny Piggins’ head exactly where it hurt, the doctor took Boris and the children aside to tell them his conclusions.

  ‘Your nanny is very lucky,’ said the doctor. ‘She has an unusually thick skull.’

  ‘Yes, it’s because chocolate is a dairy food,’ explained Michael.

  ‘But what about Nanny Piggins’ amnesia?’ asked Derrick. ‘When will it go away?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. These things differ from case to case,’ said the doctor.

  ‘But I want my sister back,’ sobbed Boris, while shaking the doctor by his lapels.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘The brain is a tricky thing.’

  ‘You’re a neurosurgeon and that’s the best you can come up with?’ scoffed Nanny Piggins. (She could hear every word he was saying because the curtain they were standing behind was not sound-proof.) ‘Where did you get your medical degree? The back of a cereal packet?’

  ‘I’ve got an idea!’ exclaimed Boris, letting go of the doctor and whipping out a watermelon. ‘How about I hit her over the head again?’

  ‘No!’ screamed everyone in the room.

  ‘You have to give her brain time to heal,’ explained the doctor. ‘She will be all right. The human body has wonderful self-healing abilities.’

  ‘She isn’t a human, she’s a pig,’ Michael whispered to the doctor.

  ‘Sorry, I keep forgetting,’ admitted the doctor. ‘She’s just so attractive.’

  Boris and the children took Nanny Piggins home and let her re-acquaint herself with the house while they tried to figure out what to do.

  ‘Your father must be quite a man to have such a lovely house,’ said Nanny Piggins as she looked around. ‘Are he and I romantically involved?’

  ‘Gross!’ exclaimed all three children simultaneously.

  ‘I only ask because I do remember from reading romance novels that nannies are catnip to men,’ explained Nanny Piggins.

  ‘What are we going to do with her?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘We can’t go to school and leave her like this,’ said Samantha.

  ‘We’ll just have to take the day off,’ said Michael.

  ‘If Nanny Piggins wasn’t out of her mind, it’s what she would want,’ agreed Derrick.

  Unfortunately no sooner had the children decided to play truant than Miss Britches, the truancy officer (and another one of Nanny Piggins’ arch-nemeses) turned up. It was almost as if she had listening devices planted in the house and knew that their nanny had fallen ill. And without their nanny’s superior shin-biting-, door-slamming-, and escape-route-finding skills, the children were defenceless. In fact, in her memory loss state Nanny Piggins invited the truancy officer in for a cup of tea and a chat, which the truancy officer took to be a ruse to slip her doctored cake, and so she grabbed the children and fled as fast as she could.

  The children worried about their nanny all day. They found it even harder to concentrate on the tedious lessons and teacher waffle than usual. After a long day of learning nothing, they could not wait to get back to the house to see if their nanny was all right.

  But when they burst into the living room, they were met with a horrible sight. There, in the best armchair, sat Nanny Piggins’ arch nemesis – Nanny Anne. A nanny so perfectly perfect her hair looked like it had been ironed (as indeed it had, but Nanny Anne never admitted this because she did not want people to know that she did something as undignified as resting her head on an ironing board). They were shocked to see her because Nanny Piggins had banned Nanny Anne from entering their house ever since the time she had whipped an electric razor out of her handbag and tried to shave Michael’s head, claiming to have seen a nit. He actual
ly did have nits but Nanny Piggins’ secret shampoo recipe (which primarily contained chocolate) remedied that in a way that was much kinder to the nits and Michael’s hairstyle.

  But even more horrifyingly, sitting right next to Nanny Anne was a woman who looked exactly like Nanny Anne in all respects, except for the fact that she was two feet shorter.

  ‘Where’s Nanny Piggins?’ demanded Derrick.

  Nanny Anne ignored them and turned to address her clone. ‘Now this is exactly what I was just talking about,’ smiled Nanny Anne. ‘Your children need a lesson in manners. It isn’t nice to burst in and start yelling at a guest.’

  ‘You’re no guest,’ scoffed Samantha. ‘Where’s our nanny?’

  ‘Sitting right in front of you,’ said Nanny Anne with a smirk.

  ‘Good afternoon children, did you have a good day at school?’ asked the Nanny Anne clone.

  The children recoiled in horror, for they now realised this clone was a pig. A pig who, if you ignored the bleached blonde hair, perky lavender twin-set and natty little pearl necklace, looked a lot like Nanny Piggins.

  ‘It’s one of Nanny Piggins’ evil twin sisters!’ exclaimed Michael.

  ‘Who are you? Anthea, Beatrice, Abigail, Gretel, Deidre, Jeanette, Ursula, Nadia, Sophia, Sue, Charlotte, Wendy or Katerina? And what are you doing here?’ demanded Derrick.

  Nanny Anne laughed. ‘Don’t you recognise your own nanny when you see her?’

  The children peered at the alien-looking pig.

  ‘It can’t be Nanny Piggins,’ said Samantha. ‘She would rather die than wear pearls. She takes the expression “pearls before swine” very personally.’

  ‘And she’d never bleach her hair,’ added Derrick. ‘She likes referring to herself as a raven-haired beauty too much.’

  ‘It is Nanny Piggins,’ gasped Michael. ‘Look, you can see the scar on her leg where she climbed up on the kitchen bench and banged into the toaster oven while she was trying to eat the pancake that was stuck to the ceiling.’