Nanny McPhee and the Big Bang (13 page)

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‘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.

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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 . . .

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?

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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?’