Nanny McPhee Returns (11 page)

The Diary 18

Still hotter than Hades. Talking of Hades, an odd coincidence in our world is that Ralph Fiennes is playing Hades in the next-door stage in
The Clash of the Titans
. I am going to visit. Ralph is playing our Lord Gray later in the shoot. Am very curious to see his Hades costume. Liam Neeson is also in it, giving his Zeus. Blimey. Grand or what?

Later: Have been next door to visit the Titans. They are all in an excessive amount of plastic armour and woollens and nearly dead from the heat. They don’t have enough air conditioning and what’s more, they are shooting Olympus and the entire set is floodlit and dotted with actual flaming torches. I’ve never seen hotter actors in my life. Plus, this week is set to be the hottest for many years. It’s 32°C in London! Great. Thanks, O Weather Gods.

I am too exhausted and sweaty to write much.

Next day: Still hotter. We can’t work in the make-up room any more – it’s like a sauna and all the make-up comes off as it goes on. They’ve moved downstairs. Air-con units are sprouting up everywhere, like mushrooms. I visited Titans in full costume and gave Ralph my ear lobes. We are going to do a new film called
Clash of Nanny McPhee and the Titans
. Nanny McPhee will be Hades’s girlfriend. Ralph has a big pretend forehead, so we think they will suit each other.

We are mopping up some unfinished scenes, which is very confusing. Lots of long discussions about who is looking where and when and what they were doing when we shot the first bit and so forth. Many people scratching heads and looking thoroughly flummoxed. Even Irene, who is never flummoxed. Quite funny really. Except not.

Was walking down the corridor to the set when I heard a weird noise behind me. Like a collection of Tupperware being banged together. Turned round and it was Apollo. Any time I get the chance I go upstairs and disrobe and lie in front of my little air-con unit. Toby, our wonderful Movement Director (see Glossary), came in rather suddenly and found me naked except for my nose, boots and hat. He took it quite calmly, all things considered.

The Story 18

Mrs Green was dashing up the lane to the farm, hoping to get there before Farmer Macreadie came to buy the piglets. She was talking to herself: ‘So. We sell the piglets. I take the money and pay for the tractor and if there’s any extra – well, Vinnie needs new wellies because his are too small and Megsie’s old ones are too big at the minute and Norman needs new – new everything, oh dear, perhaps we’ll just make a cake.’

She reached the gate and went straight into the barn to check that the piglets were fed and watered. But the sty was empty. Mrs Green said, ‘No’, and, ‘No, that’s not right.’ She looked and looked. But it was empty. She looked everywhere – and thinking that they must have all escaped into the barn, she looked inside all the nooks and crannies, inside the old watering cans and under the Scratch-O-Matic, making little noises of distress. All of a sudden Phil walked in, carrying his contract.

‘How’s my gorgeous sister-in-law?’ he said cheerily.

Mrs Green, who had got into the sty, looked up from behind the trough with a face as grey as putty.

‘There’s a hole,’ she whispered. ‘Someone’s dug a hole. They’re not here. They’ve all escaped.’

‘Oh no,’ said Phil, putting down the contract and pretending to look for the piglets. Because of course it was he who had dug the hole. It was he who had let out the piglets and who now hoped to get Mrs Green to sign his papers so that he could save his skin. You knew that.

The sound of hoofs was heard in the yard and a shout of ‘Ahoy!’ from Farmer Macreadie. Mrs Green went weak in the legs.

‘Oh no. What are we going to do? How are we going to pay for the tractor?’

Farmer Macreadie walked in and immediately saw that something was badly wrong. As Mrs Green explained, he shook his head sadly and said he’d try to help – but of course both his boys were off in the war too and he had his own fields to harvest and his own tractor to pay for. Regretfully, he started back to his horse and cart.

‘Terrible thing, war,’ said Phil. ‘Curse these flat feet! . . .’ And he tried to look frustrated about not being able to fight with all the others.

As soon as Farmer Macreadie had left the barn, Phil grabbed the contract and thrust it under Mrs Green’s nose.

‘Izzy, sign it, look! Sign it! One little signature and all your problems will be solved! No more worrying about tractors, no more worrying about harvests, no more worrying about –’

But his last word was cut off by a great cry from Farmer Macreadie.

‘Pigs,’ he cried. ‘Pigs!’

Mrs Green and Phil stared at each other and ran out to see what was happening.

Farmer Macreadie was sitting in his cart at the gate to the farm and pointing and laughing and clapping at the five chattering, filthy, cheering children who were now making their way into the yard with seven exhausted piglets in their arms. Vincent’s were on leads made out of Megsie’s hair ribbons. It was a wonderful sight. Nanny McPhee was at the kitchen door, a little smile playing about her mouth.

There was much laughing and shouting as they all put the piglets into the back of the cart and Farmer Macreadie, greatly relieved and happy for Mrs Green, paid her the money. Cyril caught sight of what he was handing over and ran up.

‘They’re worth a lot more than that!’ he cried. ‘These pigs can swim – and fly – and climb trees!’

Farmer Macreadie fell about laughing.

‘No, no, it’s true!’ cried all the children. ‘They can make a carousel and they can dive and do the breaststroke!’

‘And synchronised swimming!’ added Celia.

Mrs Green regarded them all rather sternly and said, ‘Now, now. That’s one thing we don’t do in this family. We don’t tell fibs. What will Farmer Macreadie think of us?’

But Farmer Macreadie was laughing so hard he was doubled over.

‘Synch— synchronised – oh give over!’ he kept saying.

Nanny McPhee came up, smiling at the children.

‘But it’s true!’ yelled Vincent.

‘Stop that now, Vinnie,’ said Mrs Green.

‘Leave him be, Mrs Green,’ said Farmer Macreadie, wiping his eyes. ‘He’s just trying to get a bit more for them, and why not, eh?’

So saying, he pulled out his wallet once again and handed Mrs Green a bit extra. Then he got into the cart, and amidst much waving and shouting, drove off still giggling to himself about pigs doing synchronised swimming, which was the funniest thing he had ever heard, but you have to understand that he didn’t get out much.

‘Isn’t it wonderful, Phil?’ said Mrs Green, turning to show Phil the money – but he was no longer there.

Nanny McPhee smiled at her. ‘I am happy to say, Mrs Green, that Lesson Three – to help each other – is complete,’ she said.

‘Oh, how wonderful!’ said Mrs Green, staring rather hard at Nanny McPhee, who somehow didn’t seem quite so ugly today. Perhaps it had been the storm last night that made her look so threatening. At any rate, she certainly looked much better on a sunny day. Mrs Green turned to the triumphant children.

‘You are the best pig-catchers in all the –’ she stopped. She walked up to Celia, who was covered in mud. She stared at her with a little frown.

‘Is that my wedding dress?’ she asked finally.

Celia looked down at her toes, deeply ashamed.

‘I’m very sorry –’ she began.

But Megsie then interrupted. ‘It was our fault, Mum! We spoilt all her clothes and she had to wear something!’

Mrs Green stayed very still.

‘Where’s the veil?’ she asked.

Cyril was holding the veil, but where once it had been a lovely white gauzy thing, it was torn and tattered and grimy in his hands like an old bit of unravelled bandage. Mrs Green walked over and took it from him.

‘I’m sorry too,’ said Cyril, meaning it. ‘It’s just that we needed a net. To catch the piglets with. We put apples down and they came to eat them and we threw the net – I mean, the veil – over them and they couldn’t get out.’

There was a pause during which all the children wondered how they were going to be punished for having done such a dreadful thing to something so precious. Mrs Green looked at their stricken faces and then did something very brave. She swallowed her upset and her anger and she put a huge smile on her face, which took a lot of effort.

‘Well I never!’ she said. ‘What an incredibly clever thing to do! You’ve saved the harvest, my darlings! Let’s have a picnic to celebrate! We’ll do it tomorrow and we’ll use the extra pennies for ginger beer!’

And everyone cheered and cheered.

You see, parents are very annoying a lot of the time, but they are great when they do things like that. I hope you are proud of Mrs Green, because I am.

Anyway, just at that moment, when the children were all happy and friendly together, the Rolls-Royce purred up to the gate. No one had heard it approaching, what with all the excitement, but there it was. Celia yelped with amazed delight. But Norman noticed that Cyril’s mouth suddenly turned downward and he frowned.

Celia was overcome with ecstasy. She jumped up and down and clapped her hands and said proudly to everyone, ‘Look! It’s Mummy. I told you she’d come! Mummy!’ she cried. ‘You’ll never guess what!’ and she ran up to the passenger door of the Rolls to tell her mother about the morning’s adventures.

‘We rescued these little piggies, and I wore wellingtons, and I ran about in the grass and everything but I got a bit dirty, I hope you won’t mind – look!’

Celia threw open the door. But there was no one there.

‘Mummy?’ she said, in a very small voice.

Blenkinsop, his uniform cleaned and ironed (or maybe he had two – who’s to know?) stepped up to Celia.

‘Her Ladyship is still in London, Miss Celia,’ he said.

‘Oh. I suppose she’s sent you to bring me home,’ said Celia, smiling uncertainly at the group behind her.

‘Regretfully not, Miss Celia,’ said Blenkinsop, thoroughly discomfited. ‘My only instructions was to bring you these pumps what you left behind. Fontarelli, I believe.’

Blenkinsop handed Celia a pretty box. She took it without a word and, in order to disguise the fact that she was crying, held it high over her face and walked away. Just as she reached the gate, she threw the box into a pile of mud. And then she was gone. There was one of those dreadfully uncomfortable silences. Cyril looked at the faces around him and felt that they were pitying his sister. It made him very angry to think that, so, when Norman came forward and rather tentatively said, ‘Cyril –’ he flew off the handle.

‘We’re not some kind of freak show!’ he shouted. ‘Just leave us alone! You don’t know anything about us!’ And he marched off to find Celia.

‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Green.

‘I’d best be off, ma’am,’ said Blenkinsop, his face a picture of misery.

‘Oh no, Mr Blenkinsop, can’t you stay for a cup of tea at least? It’s a long journey back,’ Mrs Green said kindly.

But Blenkinsop shook his head.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to,’ he explained glumly. ‘It’s just . . .’

Mrs Green knew. If he stopped even for a glass of water Lady Gray would have his guts for garters. Mrs Green nodded and the children waved him off, feeling rather sorry for him even though he got to drive such a dramatic vehicle. Mrs Green went off to pay up the tractor money, leaving the others in a sombre mood despite the morning’s triumph. Megsie wandered over to the big pile of mud and picked up the dirty shoebox.

Vincent went into the barn and found Cyril loitering by the Scratch-O-Matic, looking sulky.

‘I could scratch you if you like,’ said Vincent helpfully. But Cyril was in no mood to be helped by anyone and he stalked out of the barn with a curt ‘No, thanks’ to Vincent, who shrugged and got on to the machine sadly, since there were no longer any piglets to scratch.

Back in the house, Megsie had gone up to the bedroom to change her wet socks. She found Celia sitting on the edge of the bed. Celia had been crying, she knew, and was refusing to look at her. She stood at the door and thought for a moment. Then she came forward with the shoebox.

‘I picked this up,’ she said. ‘I thought you might want them.’

Celia sniffed. ‘I don’t care for them. You can have them if you like,’ she said carelessly.

Now Megsie was quite a wise person. She knew fine well that Celia was only behaving in that way because she was hurt, and everyone had seen her getting hurt, which is always unpleasant. So she realised that Celia probably didn’t mean it about her having the shoes. But she had never seen a fancy pair of shoes and she was very curious about them. So she sat down on the bed near Celia, but not too near, and opened the box. She couldn’t help gasping when she found what was underneath the cerise tissue paper. A pair of pink pumps, so dainty, so elegant, the sort of thing a young Cinderella would have worn before the Ugly Sisters came along. They were patent leather and they glowed in Megsie’s hands like a sunset. Celia glanced at Megsie’s rapt face. It made her feel better to think that Megsie liked the shoes.

‘No, really,’ she said. ‘You can keep them.’