Nanny McPhee and the Big Bang (12 page)

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‘Um – I think it’s mostly tulle,’ she said, pleased that Megsie, who wouldn’t know an item of haute couture if it bit her on the ankle, was taking an interest.

Megsie got up and pointed an accusing finger at Celia. ‘That’s our mother’s wedding dress!’ she said. ‘Take it off at once!’

Oh dear. This is what had happened. Unable, of course, to find anything suitable in the children’s bedroom, Celia had tiptoed into Mr and Mrs Green’s room and rifled through their wardrobe. She’d felt a little guilty but had justified her actions by remembering all her spoilt new things lying in the mud. There hadn’t been much in the wardrobe – a few frocks, darned and mended many times over, and a depressing pinafore or two, nothing she could possibly have countenanced wearing. But then she’d found a pretty box in one of the drawers. She’d opened it and found a lovely little floaty dress in pearly white with, of all things, a veil. She’d tried it on and it had fitted quite well and there she was, looking presentable, ready for when her mother arrived to take her home.

‘Wedding dress? What – this old thing?’ said Celia disbelievingly. ‘No, it can’t be. Look – it hasn’t even got a train.’ And she twirled round so that Megsie could see how wrong she’d been.

Now I
know
that what Celia had done was rather awful and rude, but you must remember she really didn’t have anything to wear and she came from a world where wedding dresses were kept either in their own special trunks in rooms set apart from the rest of the house or in the vaults of banks if they were encrusted with particularly precious gems. Her mother’s dress had had a train that was twenty feet long and covered in doves’ feathers and diamonds, so try to understand – the poor girl had no idea that other people were different. No one had ever thought to tell her. The puffball dress was the sort of thing her mother might have worn to a coffee morning, and not a very posh one at that. But Megsie wasn’t to know this and she lunged at Celia violently, yelling, ‘Take it OFF!! TAKE IT OFF!!!’

Celia shrieked and ran behind a chair as Nanny McPhee stood, watching the proceedings with her usual calm.

‘Help me get it off her!’ shouted Megsie but everyone except Cyril had already gone off to do their chores. Casting a defiant glance at Nanny McPhee, Megsie was just about to pull the dress off Celia by force when Norman rushed back into the kitchen, white to the teeth.

‘The piglets have escaped! They’ve all gone!!’

Vincent, behind him, was practically in tears. Norman was frantic.

‘Everyone – now – you’ve got to help us, quickly, we have to catch them, I need
all
of you – Cyril, Celia, come quickly –’

But Cyril and Celia had no intention of going anywhere. Norman went up to Cyril and faced him square on.

‘Listen, Cyril – these are prize piglets. The money we get from them will pay for the tractor hire and that will mean we can get the harvest in – if we don’t get the harvest in, we could lose the farm – we promised our dad we’d look after it.
Now
will you help us?’

For answer, Cyril calmly started to file his nails. Norman looked as if he wanted very much to hit Cyril but there was no time and, anyway, Nanny McPhee had made them promise and he had a nasty feeling that breaking that promise would not help him find the piglets. He turned, feeling hopeless, to Megsie and said, ‘Come on then. We’ll just have to try on our own.’ And out he ran, followed by Megsie and Vincent, who paused only to yell resentfully at Cyril, ‘You’d help if it was
your
dad’s farm, wouldn’t you?’

When they’d gone, the room was very quiet. Cyril sensed Nanny McPhee’s gaze on him and whirled to face her.

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‘And you can’t make me, either!’ he shouted, ‘I’ve got my gas mask, and that stick of yours won’t work!’

Almost by way of an answer, Nanny McPhee quietly leant her stick against the table and stepped away from it. Cyril thought he had won, but there was a little voice inside his head that simply would not be quiet. It kept saying: ‘If it was
your
dad . . . if it was
your
dad . . . if it was
your
dad . . .’ over and over.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it any more. He flung away his gas mask, muttered, ‘Oh blast you all!’ and marched out of the door. Nanny McPhee gave a little smile, picked up her stick and turned to Celia, who had come out from behind the chair to see where Cyril had gone. She saw Nanny McPhee coming towards her and panicked.

‘No. Oh no, no, no, no, no. I simply can’t run in these heels,’ she said, backing up against the staircase and screwing up her eyes in fright. When she opened them again, Nanny McPhee was standing in front of her holding a pair of wellies.

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.

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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.

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‘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.