Nanny McPhee Returns (10 page)

The Diary 17

Am very glum today. Gaia (my daughter, who’s nine) is fed up with me not being at home for four nights a week. I reassured her by reminding her that school hols start next week and she’ll be able to come and stay with me and be on set. Her big brother, Tindy, is working as the Video Assist (see Glossary), so she’s also a bit jealous of him. Whatever it is, it’s never any fun when your children are sad.

In studio it’s hotter than the hottest bit of the Sahara on an unusually hot day. There are huge tubes hanging around, pointing into the set and blowing cold air about the place – it looks like we’re in the complicated section of a giant’s stomach. But there never quite seems to be enough cool air to cool it down, unless, that is, you stand in front of the end of one of the tubes, in which case you look like something the giant’s just eaten.

However – and oddly – on the parlour set it is rather COLD because there are no lights in it or pointing at it. I’m hoping that soon, when the very hot air meets the cold air, some kind of weather front will be created and it will start to rain. It wouldn’t help filming but it would be very exciting.

The reason it gets so hot in studio is that when we are shooting bits that take place during the day, we have to make it look like it’s a sunny day outside and for this we use gigantic great lights about the size of a small car. When these behemoths are switched on they belt out incredible heat. If you stood in front of one for longer than a few seconds you’d probably get burnt. And there are several of them, so that’s why the temperature soars and we all get sweaty and grumpy and have to drink eighty-seven gallons of water an hour. It’s really quite unpleasant now I come to think about it. The Sparks (see Glossary) are all very apologetic, especially Paul, the Gaffer (see Glossary), who is very polite and says things like, ‘Do forgive us, ma’am,’ when it’s hot.

The Story 17

All the children were off trying to find the piglets. Nanny McPhee was in the garden sniffing the air when she heard a very familiar noise. It was a sort of squawky burp. She sighed to herself and turned to find the jackdaw, Mr Edelweiss, standing on the garden fence looking sheepish.

‘You have the collywobbles again, haven’t you?’ said Nanny McPhee sternly. Mr Edelweiss tried to deny it but another burp popped out and he flew around in a small, distressed circle before landing on the fence again, this time a little farther away.

‘You’ve been eating window putty again, haven’t you?’ she said, even more sternly.

Mr Edelweiss jumped up and down, flew off to do a burp behind the barn, flew back and squawked again, this time with some urgency.

‘I’m not interested in anything you might have to tell me, Mr Edelweiss. You are a destructive person with revolting habits. Our relationship is over,’ said Nanny McPhee, turning her back on him. Very upset, Mr Edelweiss flew around her head squawking loudly and persistently. All of a sudden Nanny McPhee went very still.

‘Really?’ she said. ‘That
is
interesting. Show me.’

Delighted, Mr Edelweiss led Nanny McPhee around the barn to where a small stream ran and the peelings were composted. There was a strong smell of rotting vegetation. There, at the foot of the barn wall, was a hole, a very large hole that led to a tunnel that had clearly been dug by something or someone very big.

‘Hmph,’ said Nanny McPhee. ‘How very odd. That’s far too big for the piglets to have dug, and it must be how they escaped. Hmph.’

She and Mr Edelweiss went into the barn and found the entrance to the tunnel behind the feeding trough. This made Nanny McPhee very thoughtful and cured Mr Edelweiss’s collywobbles. They both made their way out into the sunshine and Mr Edelweiss flew to the top of the dovecote to see if there was any sign of the children or the piglets. In the distance, he could see Vincent and Megsie and Celia. They were all carrying piglets. He reported his sightings to Nanny McPhee, who, instead of looking pleased, frowned and lifted her stick. Mr Edelweiss squawked in fright.

‘Well, we don’t want to make it too easy for them,’ she said, and down came the stick, scattering golden sparkles all through the yard, which the chickens tried, unsuccessfully, to eat.

Out in the fields, this is what had been happening. Cursing his pricking conscience, Cyril had run after Norman doggedly for some time and was just catching up with him as Norman spotted a piglet under a tree, rootling. Norman, amazed to see Cyril at all, shushed him and indicated the piglet. Silently, they both started to move in on it.

Over in the next-door field, Celia, now in wellies, had run up to Vincent and Megsie saying, ‘I’m only helping till Mummy comes,’ and now was cooing with delight over the piglet in Vincent’s arms, which was so pretty and pink and sweet. I’m not sure the children felt it, but that was the moment when a strange tremor ran through the land, as though there might just have been a very minor earthquake. Megsie was about to give Celia her piglet so she could look out for another one when both hers and Vincent’s made a sudden wriggle and leapt out of their arms, racing like mad things towards the pond.

Megsie screeched.

‘This is all your fault!’ she shouted at Celia, which wasn’t very fair, but then she had to race down the hill to catch up with the piglets. Celia and Vincent followed.

Meanwhile, Norman and Cyril had closed right in on their piglet. Norman made a sign and they both grabbed for it at once. But the piglet slipped through their hands, jumped on to the trunk of the tree, RAN UP IT, and then wandered along a branch looking down at the boys and sniggering. Norman and Cyril stood there with their mouths hanging open.

‘Is that normal?’ said Cyril, after a long moment.

‘No. No, it’s not,’ said Norman.

‘I see. Well, how are we going to get it down?’

As though it had heard, the piglet ran down to the end of the branch and
somersaulted
off it into the undergrowth, turning for a second to make sure the children had seen it and then running away.

‘Do they all have circus skills?’ asked Cyril, who, having never been to the country, had no idea just how peculiar a pig doing a somersault was. But Norman was already chasing after the piglet.

Cyril followed, his fatigue forgotten in the thrill of the chase and the hugely entertaining nature of the piglets.

Back at the pond, it looked as though the children were going to catch their piglets again without any problem – the pond was in front of them and there was no escape either side. Pigs aren’t very good swimmers, so Megsie slowed down and gestured to Celia and Vincent to do the same. They crept up on the piglets, who were looking around as if they realised they were trapped. But then another very odd thing occurred. The piglets looked at the children, chortled and suddenly DIVED balletically into the pond, making a sort of
whee!
noise.

Megsie gasped, Celia pointed and Vincent gave a shout of surprise.

‘We’ll have to go in after them,’ said Megsie, starting to take off her wellies. But then, up came two wet pink heads and the piglets started to bring their little trotters up and down in unison, going from left to right in the pond and staring at the children enthusiastically.

Celia was astounded. Like Cyril, her experience of pigs was limited to the rashers of bacon brought to her bedroom by her maidservant in the mornings. ‘Can all pigs do synchronised swimming?’ she asked innocently.

‘No,’ said Megsie, and then started to laugh. The piglets were so comical in the water. Vincent giggled and Celia giggled and soon everyone was just enjoying the show. Then, just as suddenly as they had started, the piglets swam elegantly to the other side of the pond, got out, shook themselves like a couple of dogs and ran off. Megsie groaned through her laughter.

‘We’ve
got
to catch them!’ she said, and once again, the three children raced off in hot pursuit.

Now all the piglets were heading in the same direction, and Norman and Cyril reached the top of a little hill at exactly the same time as Celia, Megsie and Vincent. Everyone started babbling at once about what they’d seen when Vincent suddenly shouted, ‘Look!’

Everyone turned. There, on the very top of the hill, were the piglets, all seven of them. They were flying in formation around the old cherry tree, looking for all the world like a carousel at a funfair but with NOTHING HOLDING THEM UP.

‘They’re flying!’ said Vincent.

Awed and thrilled, the children approached the carousel of pigs and watched and clapped. Then Norman said, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Listen, everyone. Get in a circle round the tree. When I say the word, grab them!’

The children began to encircle the tree. The piglets were having such a good time flying that they didn’t appear to notice. But just at the moment when Norman hissed, ‘Now!’ they all dropped to the ground and ran off gleefully, giving no one the chance to catch even one of them. Norman was getting frustrated.

‘How on earth are we going to catch them now? They can fly, they can swim and they can climb trees – we’re done for! What am I going to tell Mum?’

Everyone went very quiet. The piglets had been wonderful to watch, it was true, but if it meant that they couldn’t be caught, the situation was serious indeed. Cyril had been thinking. He was also scratching in the mud with a stick.

‘What we need are tactics,’ he said importantly. ‘A movement order. A plan.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Norman sarcastically. ‘And where did you learn tactics then?’

‘Cadet school,’ said Cyril.

‘Oh,’ said Norman. ‘Fair enough. Let’s hear it then.’

So Cyril proceeded to outline his plan . . .