The Adventures of Nanny Piggins (11 page)

'Spread out and start looking,' Nanny Piggins instructed.

'For what?' asked Derrick.

'Trust me, you'll know,' called Nanny Piggins as she disappeared behind a display of overpriced soap.

Boris and the children looked at each other for a moment. 'We'd better do as we're told,' suggested Samantha.

And so they did. They split into two groups. Derrick searched with Samantha and Boris searched with Michael. None of them had any idea what they were doing. But since this was so often the case, they were not particularly uncomfortable with the arrangement.

A short time later Michael and Boris had inadvertently wandered into the fresh food section of the markets when they heard the sound of Nanny Piggins' voice.

'Get your broccoli here! Lots of healthy broccoli! If you don't want to die of bowel cancer, get your broccoli here!' called Nanny Piggins.

'That sounds like Nanny Piggins, but it doesn't sound like anything she would say,' said Michael. He had never known his nanny to praise the health benefits of vegetables before.

'Let's go and have a look,' said Boris.

So they walked towards the sound of Nanny Piggins' voice. She was saying more strangely uncharacteristic things like, 'Lots of lovely carrots! Good for your eyesight, even better for your bowels! Take them home tonight!'

Then, up ahead, they saw her. Nanny Piggins was standing in front of a stall and selling fruit and vegetables to passing shoppers.

'Sarah, what are you doing?!' exclaimed Boris, concerned that his sister had lost her mind.

Nanny Piggins looked Boris up and down. 'I have no idea who you are,' she said rudely, 'but you're are very big and fat, so please move. You are blocking the view of my customers.'

Boris promptly burst into tears. He was not really overweight. All bears are big-boned. Especially ones that are 10 foot tall.

'Don't be mean to Boris,' scolded Michael as he patted Boris' hand.

'You can run along as well. Children never buy fruit and veg. They always waste their money on chocolate,' said Nanny Piggins contemptuously.

'Have you been hit on the head? Or suffered a stroke?' asked Michael, not meaning to be rude but genuinely concerned that something had gone wrong inside Nanny Piggins' brain. He had never known his nanny to be mean before.

'Suffered a stroke indeed! I've a good mind to give you a stroke across the backside. Now clear off out of here!' said Nanny Piggins.

'Sarah Piggins! What's got into you?' wailed Boris. 'Has stress driven you insane?'

'I have no idea what you are talking about. My name is not Sarah Piggins. I am Katerina Mueller-stock. I've never known anyone called Sarah Piggins in my life. Except for my morally bankrupt twin sister, who works as a flying pig in the circus. But she's probably dead by now because she never ate any vegetables,' said the pig.

'Oh come on, give it up, Nanny Piggins, there's no use pretending for us. We know you don't really have a twin sister,' said Michael.

'What a rude little child you are. I bet you never eat any fruit, do you? You're probably older than you look because your growth has been stunted by a poor diet,' she said.

Now Michael took exception to this. He was a little on the short side, but he believed that was because he had been hit on the head by a falling dictionary as a small child.

'There's no need to be mean to the little one,' argued Boris.

'He wouldn't be so little if he had more vitamins in his diet,' she said.

Then, just as Boris drew breath to start yelling at her in Russian, their argument was interrupted.

'Katerina, we meet again,' said a voice behind them.

Boris and the Michael turned to see . . . another Nanny Piggins standing right there.

'Aaahh!' screamed Boris because he was Russian and a ballet dancer, so he was twice as emotional as most bears. 'One of them is a robot clone of Nanny Piggins! We'll never work out who is the real one.'

Nanny Piggins (the one who had just arrived) stomped hard on Boris' foot.

'It's all right,' said Boris, immediately calming down. 'She's the real one. I'd know that stomp anywhere.'

'Allow me to explain. Katerina is my identical twin sister,' announced Nanny Piggins.

'You mean there
are
two of you?' exclaimed Michael.

'No,' said Nanny Piggins. 'There are fourteen of us.'

Nanny Piggins took a crumpled old photograph out of her pocket and showed it to them. It was a picture of a very attractive looking middle-aged pig, with fourteen identical baby piglets all crowded around her. 'You see, there's me, there's Anthea, Beatrice, Abigail, Gretel, Deidre, Jeanette, Ursula, Nadia, Sophia, Sue, Charlotte, Wendy and there's Katerina.' Boris and the children stared hard at the photograph.

'But you all look exactly the same,' pointed out Derrick.

'Of course we do,' said the pig. 'We're identical fourteentuplets. It's quite common in pigs, you know.'

'Do we really have to have a family reunion in front of my stall on a market day?' asked Katerina rudely.

'Yes, we do,' said Nanny Piggins. 'Because I have a proposition to put to you.'

* * *

Later that night, at exactly eight o'clock, the Ringmaster returned to the house. He did not bother to knock on the door. He climbed in through the upstairs bathroom window as a matter of course. But Samantha had been on the look-out so they were not at all surprised when he burst into the living room declaring, 'Good evening!' In fact it was he who was surprised upon seeing Nanny Piggins sitting next to her identical twin. 'My goodness! Two flying pigs! I'm going to make a fortune!'

'No, you are not,' said Nanny Piggins firmly. 'You'll get just one flying pig and only if you agree to certain conditions.'

'What conditions?' asked the Ringmaster.

'We'll get to those later. First of all I should explain. I am the real Sarah Piggins,' said Nanny Piggins.

'I knew it,' said the Ringmaster triumphantly.

'I shall not be returning with you. Partly because I have a much more important job looking after these children.' Nanny Piggins smiled at the children. 'But mainly because I don't want to. And you can't make me because I've consulted an astrologer and she assures me a contract signed by a three-year-old piglet is not legally binding.'

'I don't see what's in this deal for me,' said the Ringmaster, grumbling.

'I'm getting to that. I don't want to be a flying pig anymore. But my twin sister, Katerina Mueller-stock, does,' said Nanny Piggins.

'Really?' asked the Ringmaster, genuinely surprised, because he would never agree to be fired out of a cannon for all the money in Switzerland.

'But only,' continued Nanny Piggins, 'if you allow her the opportunity to educate the world about the benefits of eating vegetables.'

'Are there any benefits?' Michael whispered to Boris. Boris just shrugged his shoulders.

'But how?' asked the Ringmaster.

'Katerina is willing to be fired out of a cannon and sent hurtling through the air in front of thousands of people on the condition that, as she does this, she can have a sign painted on her side saying, "Eat more vegetables",' explained Nanny Piggins.

'It is my motto, my mantra and my life's work to spread this message,' explained Katerina. 'I am quite willing to risk my life to spread the word about the importance of a high-fibre diet.'

'A flying pig with an important health message painted on her side,' mused the Ringmaster. 'Th at is bound to get a lot of publicity from the newspapers. I agree to it all!'

The Ringmaster and Nanny Piggins shook hands on it. Then the Ringmaster gave Katerina two kisses on each cheek. And then Katerina gave him a hard stomp on the foot. (Like Nanny Piggins, she had been raised properly.) This did not deter the Ringmaster at all. He was delighted by his feisty new flying star.

'I have a blank fifty-year contract here for you to sign,' he said, holding out a contract and a pen to Katerina.

'There will be no more fifty-year contracts!' said Nanny Piggins authoritatively. 'Katerina will sign a one-year contract with an option for renewal. But only on the condition that you present her with one thousand cabbages every 2nd of October.'

'I'd do anything for a nice cabbage,' admitted Katerina.

So Katerina and the Ringmaster left happily together. Given his evil cunning and her puritanical meanness, they were well suited to each other. But, most importantly, Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children were left in peace, without the immediate threat of being dragged anywhere, at least for the time being. So they all celebrated their good fortune with a big bowl of chocolates.

Nanny Piggins
and the Great Pie Fiasco

Samson Wallace's favourite thing in the world was to spend the day playing with the Green children because their nanny, Nanny Piggins, would let them play his favourite game in the world: Mud People. Mud People was a game that involved digging a large pile of fresh dirt out of Mr Green's rose bed, mixing it with water, then smearing it all over yourself and pretending to be a mud person.

Samson would never be allowed to play this at home. If he so much as got a speck of dust on his blazer he would get a stern talking to from his own nanny, Nanny Anne.

Nanny Anne was perfect. She did everything perfectly, she said everything perfectly and everything around her had to be perfect. If something was not perfect, she would not yell. She would sit you down and talk perfectly reasonably to you until you were so tired of her reasonableness that you lost the will to live.

The only reason Samson was able to play Mud People with the Green children is because Nanny Piggins had no qualms about deceiving Nanny Anne. Nanny Piggins simply provided Samson with a complete change of clothes (from Mr Green's wardrobe) while he played the game. That way his own clothes could be taken and sealed in a plastic bag as soon as he entered the Green house and then returned to him in mint condition when they saw Nanny Anne walking up the front path.

On this particular day, when Nanny Anne re-entered the house, she was almost disappointed to see that Samson's clothes were as immaculate as when she left him. (She had not figured out Nanny Piggins' plastic-bag trick.) She naturally suspected Nanny Piggins of subterfuge but she was too perfectly polite to say anything. Instead, her eyes searched for something to 'compliment'.

'Complimenting' things was Nanny Anne's way of insulting people. You see, if you insult people through compliments, by the time they figure out what you meant, you will have gone home so they can not yell at you. For instance, Nanny Anne had, in the past, told Nanny Piggins that she loved her hair: 'More people should be brave enough to try that unwashed look.' She loved her dress: 'It hid everything very well.' And that she loved Nanny Piggins' cooking: 'It was fun to eat junk food every once in a while.'

Unfortunately for Nanny Anne, on this particular day there was nothing to compliment. Nanny Piggins had thoroughly cleaned Samson with the garden hose, a scrubbing brush and two litres of turpentine. So there was no moss behind his ears, lichen up his nose or dirt under his fingernails, which was amazing given that only half an hour earlier, Derrick had dragged him backwards through a bog.

But Nanny Anne had many more weapons at her disposal. After a lifetime of politely making other people feel inadequate and bad about themselves, she could not be bested so easily.

'Thank you so much for taking care of dear little Samson,' began Nanny Anne.

'My pleasure,' said Nanny Piggins, knowing her rival was up to something.

'We'll be seeing you at the show tomorrow then?' asked Nanny Anne.

'Yes, of course you will,' agreed Nanny Piggins, despite the fact that she had absolutely no idea what Nanny Anne was talking about.

Nanny Anne sensed that Nanny Piggins was bluffing. 'You'll be entering then?' she asked.

This is where Nanny Piggins snapped. She was tired of trying to avoid being insulted. She just wanted this horrible nanny to leave her (Mr Green's) house. 'Entering what?' Nanny Piggins snapped. 'A house? A doorway? A naval submarine? Would you please just specify what on earth you are talking about?'

Nanny Anne smiled smugly. She liked winning these little games. 'Have you had too many sugary drinks, dear?' she asked reasonably. 'You seem to be a little grumpy today.'

Nanny Piggins hated it when Nanny Anne started using her reasonable voice on her, it made her want to bite the other nanny's leg. 'Just tell me what it is you're talking about,' said Nanny Piggins coldly.

Perhaps Nanny Anne sensed that she was about to be the victim of some terrible violence. Or perhaps, having won their mini-battle, she decided to put Nanny Piggins out of her misery. Either way, she did explain herself. 'The baking competition that's held every year at the town show. I was just wondering if you were planning to give it a go.'

'Oh that,' said Nanny Piggins, trying to regain her dignity by pretending she had known about it all along. 'Yes, I'm entering that. Of course I am extremely busy. I have to test fly a plane for NASA this weekend and discover a cure for pimples for Médecins Sans Frontières. But the Lord Mayor came to the house and personally begged me to participate. He said the quality of the competition had been so awful in previous years that they desperately wanted me to compete.'

'I see,' said Nanny Anne, for she was temporarily bested by this unexpectedly fictitious speech.

'You had better go now,' said Nanny Piggins, opening the front door for Nanny Anne and Samson. 'The children and I promised Greenpeace we would try to invent the hydrogen engine before dinner.'

'Very well,' said Nanny Anne. 'I look forward to trying your pie.'

Nanny Piggins was just in the process of slamming the door in Nanny Anne's face when she heard this last word and jammed her own trotter in the doorway, which hurt but she did not care. 'What did you say?' she demanded.

'I look forward to trying your pie,' said Nanny Anne.

'Not cake?' asked Nanny Piggins hopefully.

'No, definitely pie. It is a pie-baking competition. Anyone can bake a cake but a pie with a crust and a lid – that is a real cooking challenge,' Nanny Anne replied smugly.

Nanny Piggins closed the door and slumped down on the umbrella stand.

'What's wrong?' asked Michael. He had never seen his nanny looking so devastated before.

'Oh, children,' said Nanny Piggins. 'You had better fetch me some chocolate, I'm all a flutter.'

The children ran to the kitchen to fetch chocolate and they fetched Boris the bear from the garden shed too, because even though he was Russian and extremely over emotional, he was 10 foot tall and children instinctively look to tall people for leadership.

'What's wrong?' asked Boris as they all watched Nanny Piggins wedge a large chocolate bar into her mouth.

'Oh, Boris,' said Nanny Piggins between mouthfuls. 'The most dreadful thing has happened. I am being forced to enter a pie-baking competition.'

'No!' gasped Boris.

'Yes,' admitted Nanny Piggins.

Boris wrapped Nanny Piggins in a big bear hug. 'Don't worry, we'll help you through this.'

'What's the problem?' asked Samantha, 'Don't you know how to cook pie?'

Boris laughed once. 'Ha!' This is the way people laugh in Russia when they want to be dramatic. 'The problem is the exact opposite. Nanny Piggins is the greatest pie baker ever in the world.'

'In the entire world?' asked Derrick. He was not exactly incredulous. But he was aware that the entire world was a large place.

'It's true,' admitted Nanny Piggins, still chomping on the chocolate bar for comfort.

'But Nanny Piggins has never made a pie for us,' Michael pointed out.

'Of course not,' declared Boris. 'She swore on her mother's snout that she would never bake another pie again.'

'Why?' asked Samantha.

'Her pies were so good,' whispered Boris, 'they were dangerous!'

'How can a pie be dangerous?' asked Michael curiously. He had visions of exploding pies that he could take to school and give to his most horrible teacher.

'You'll soon find out. I'm going to start baking,' said Nanny Piggins. She had finished her chocolate bar now.

'But you can't! You took an oath!' insisted Boris.

'I have to. It's a matter of pride. I have to do it to show Nanny Anne that she's a . . . she's a . . .' Nanny Piggins struggled to think just what Nanny Anne was.

'A big stupid head?' suggested Michael.

'That's exactly it,' exclaimed Nanny Piggins. 'Nanny Anne is a big stupid head and I refuse to let her show me up.'

'But, Nanny Piggins,' pleaded Boris, 'you remember what happened last time.'

'I was young and foolish then. I won't let that happen again,' Nanny Piggins assured him.

'Well, I won't stand by and watch you do it,' said Boris, drawing himself up to his full ten feet so that his head made a dent in the ceiling. 'I refuse to support you. If you do this, I wash my hands of it!'

The children gasped. Boris did not often wash his hands so they knew this must be important.

'But, Boris, I hoped you'd help,' said Nanny Piggins.

'I will have nothing to do with this terrible idea,' said Boris and with that he stomped out through the house, across the garden, into his shed and slammed the door.

* * *

Nanny Piggins enjoyed being lazy as much as the next person. But she was not afraid of hard work. The children had seen Nanny Piggins work hard many times: the time she carved a rude message into the side of Mr Richardson's garage with a chainsaw (a success); the time she made her own hang-glider out of newspaper and Mr Green's golf clubs (not a success); or the time she threw rock-cakes at policemen to see if she could knock their hats off (a triumph). But they had never seen her work as hard as she did when she set to work baking pies.

Every part of the process was carried out meticulously. She stewed the filling, mixed the pastry and prepared the baking dishes all with immaculate care. She approached the task with the concentration of a chess grandmaster. She did not joke about or juggle the utensils like she usually did when she was cooking.

Derrick, Samantha and Michael did their best to help her while Nanny Piggins issued tense, whispered instructions, behaving as though she were defusing a bomb instead of making deliciously flaky shortcrust pastry.

Once the pies (Nanny Piggins had made four pies 'just in case') were in the oven, the children were relieved. They would be able to send a pie off to the competition and their nanny would go back to normal. They all sat and watched the pies baking through the glass oven door as though it was a television. They could see the pastry puff up and turn golden-brown.

'How do you know when they're ready?' Michael asked.

Suddenly the oven made a 'ping' noise.

'Because the oven will make a "ping" noise,' declared Nanny Piggins, hopping off her seat and going over to the stove.

As she opened the oven door a delicious smell of buttery, apply goodness wafted out into the kitchen. The children breathed in deeply. It smelled heavenly. If there was a pie-smelling competition they were sure Nanny Piggins would have won already.

Nanny Piggins carried the hot pies over to the kitchen table.

'So, shall we pack one up and take it down to the town hall?' asked Samantha.

'In a minute. We'd better test one first, just to be sure,' said Nanny Piggins.

This made sense to the children. After all, there were four pies. So they watched as Nanny Piggins cut a thin slice out of the pie and put it on a plate. Nanny Piggins then picked up a spoon, scooped up a small morsel and blew on it to cool it down. 'Now for the moment of truth,' she said, before slipping the tiny piece of pie into her mouth. Then she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the complete pie experience.

'How is it?' asked Derrick.

Nanny Piggins did not even open her eyes. 'Mmm,' she said.

'Is it good?' asked Michael. He was not fluent in 'mmm' noises.

But Nanny Piggins still had her eyes closed. 'Mmm-mm-mmm,' she repeated.

'Are you all right?' asked Samantha, growing concerned that her Nanny was having a pie-induced out-of-body experience.

Nanny Piggins swallowed the pie and opened her eyes. 'Poetry! A masterpiece! Breathtakingly beautiful!' she said. (When it came to her own pies, Nanny Piggins was not a modest pig.) There were tears in her eyes she was so emotional.

'It's good then?' queried Michael, just to confirm things.

'Well, that piece was,' said Nanny Piggins. 'But we will have to check the rest of the pie. It could have been a freak accident and only that tiny sliver was okay. We must check the other parts.' So Nanny Piggins and the children picked up a spoon each and started testing the pie from all directions.

And the children had to admit, Nanny Piggins was not exaggerating. The pie was 'poetry', 'a masterpiece' and 'breathtakingly beautiful'. If anything, she was understating the case. The children felt it was also 'delicious', 'scrummy' as well as 'yummy yummy yummy in my tummy'. They checked all parts of the pie until it was all gone and they agreed that every bit was excellent.

'You did it, Nanny Piggins! You made the perfect pie,' said Derrick.

'I know. I told you I was the world's greatest pie baker,' said Nanny Piggins, simply stating the facts.

'Now do we take one down to the town hall?' asked Samantha.

'I don't know,' said Nanny Piggins cautiously. 'Just because that pie was perfect does not mean the other three are. We had better check another one, just to be sure.'

So Nanny Piggins and the children picked up their spoons and checked another pie. This second pie was just as good. It stood up to all their testing and soon there was nothing left but another empty plate.

'It wasn't an accident. You've made a perfect batch of pies,' said Michael. He did not think it was possible that he could be more impressed with his nanny. He already knew she could fly out of cannons, scuba dive and tap dance. But now that he knew she could bake pies better than anyone else in the world, he loved her even more.

'We've got two pies left and we only need one to enter the competition. So we might as well finish off the spare one,' suggested Nanny Piggins. Th e children were happy to agree with this. You don't get to eat the world's best pie every day. So getting to eat three in a row was an opportunity too good to refuse. The third pie was soon gone.

They sat looking at the final competition-entry pie. It looked delicious. 'You know,' said Nanny Piggins. 'It's sixteen hours until the competition deadline. If this pie was eaten, accidentally somehow, there would still be plenty of time for me to make another one.'