Nanny McPhee Returns (14 page)

The Story 21

How Cyril and Norman managed to survive the evening and night without telling anyone what they were up to, I have no idea. But they did. It was, of course, an indescribably miserable evening, with Mrs Green trying desperately to be brave and behave more or less normally but unable to stop huge tears from sliding down her cheeks all the time. Nanny McPhee had a very calming influence upon Vincent, who was in a state of hysteria. Finally it was Megsie who said they should all go to bed, and Celia agreed and everyone went upstairs. Vincent slept with his mum, and Megsie cried herself to sleep with Celia lying by her, open-eyed and sleepless with the horror of it all. Finally, very early, when Celia was asleep at last, Megsie crept out and joined her mother and brother in the big bed, but she didn’t notice that Cyril and Norman’s bed was empty except for two pillows they’d placed under the blankets to make it look as if they were still there.

I feel I ought to say a word here about the family’s reaction to the terrible news. In those days, every single person in England, whether they were rich or poor, believed that when a dreadful thing happened to you, you HAD to be brave about it. I mean, you had to try not to cry in front of people and you even had to try to be cheerful. I can’t quite explain why they believed this but they did. Personally, if I’d had a day like that I’d get into bed with everyone who felt like it and sob and sob and sob until I couldn’t sob any more. And I’d probably be allowed too as well, because things have changed and people don’t really believe in not showing how they feel any more. Isn’t it interesting, though? What would you do? Don’t answer that now – we’re in the middle of the story.

You don’t need me to tell you that neither Cyril nor Norman slept a wink that night. Norman had a torch under the covers and checked his watch every half-hour. He wanted to get up at 2 a.m. but Cyril persuaded him, in a hissed undertone, that that would make it far more likely they’d be discovered and the plan would fail before it had even started. Finally, they rose at 4 a.m., when it was still dark, crept out with their clothes and got dressed, shiveringly, in the kitchen. Norman wrote a little note to Megsie, instructing her what to say to Mrs Green if the necessity arose, and went and hid it in the egg basket, knowing she would find it when she got up to fetch the eggs. When he came back from the barn, there was a sliver of light on the edge of the hill, and the boys found that after all their waiting they had to hurry. They reached the duck pond and found a wonderful sight.

It was Nanny McPhee in a pair of goggles and leather gauntlets sitting astride the best vehicle they had ever seen – a khaki army-issue motorcycle complete with sidecar! It knocked the Rolls-Royce into a cocked hat! They just managed to stop themselves from whooping before Nanny McPhee kitted them out with capes and goggles of their own and hurried them into the sidecar. In great spirits and full of hope, they were off before the sun had even hit the side of the hill. No one noticed Mr Edelweiss following at a discreet distance.

Back in the farmhouse, everyone was still sound asleep. They had slept so badly it was likely that Norman and Cyril’s absence would not be noticed for some time.

Meanwhile, Phil, who had also not slept, was up and about. He was getting himself ready to go and get Isabel to sign the contract. He knew that she would, now that Rory was dead. He also knew that it wasn’t a very nice thing to do at such a time, but that if he didn’t he too would be dead. He looked at his watch. It really was too early to knock on the door. Isabel would be so furious she might just refuse to sign it at all. And then – well, he shuddered to think about what might happen to him. He decided to bite his nails for a while until it was time.

The Diary 22

Very overcast today. My eyes are still sore and itchy and I am in a very bad mood. Have managed not to bite anyone’s head off so far, but woe betide anyone who bounces up cheerily and says anything like ‘How’s it going?’.

Muddled and tired, but as Arthur, the boom operator with screwdriver scar, said to me only the other day, ‘We do a knackering job, Em – what do you expect?’ Thank God he didn’t follow it up with ‘And you’re not as young as you were.’ At any rate, he’s quite right and one should expect to be tired, for heaven’s sake. A large number of people have also had allergic reactions to the barley, so all in all, as well as being one of the most beautiful things in the world, it has caused a lot of bother.

Maggie Smith has come up with a wonderful line – trying to get Mr Spolding to come to after he’s fainted, she’s standing over him shrieking, ‘Wake up, Algernon, wake
up
, I don’t want you to miss it going off!’

And, we have just shot one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen: Maggie in the wind machine. When the huge wind comes to reap the barley, everyone is blown about like anything and it was Maggie’s turn and she just walked into it and everything came off her head almost immediately, including parts of her wig, and, as she said afterwards, not an insignificant portion of her brain. We yelled with hysteria all the way through and then watched it on the video and yelled again. Bliss.

I’ve just looked at the new schedule and realised that during the next four weeks I get precisely four days off. Not to complain or anything but that’s barely enough time to wash my knickers. Sigh.

The Story 22

For the boys, the huge excitement of getting into a motorcycle and being expertly driven through the countryside by Nanny McPhee had settled into new thoughts and cold knees. Norman was very worried about his father and equally concerned that his mother might do something rash in the face of the terrible news she’d received. Cyril was very apprehensive about visiting his father without having made a proper appointment and, as they approached the outskirts of the city, that apprehension started to congeal into fear. But then he turned and looked at Norman. They were coming up to Chelsea Bridge and Norman, who had never seen anything like it, was beginning to get excited all over again.

‘Where are we?’ he yelled at Cyril.

‘Chelsea Bridge, of course!’ shouted Cyril. ‘Haven’t you ever seen it before?’

‘Don’t be daft!’ yelled Norman, his eyes shining. ‘I’ve never even been to London before!’

When Cyril realised that Norman was seeing the bridges and statues and grand buildings of London for the first time, he began to enjoy himself more. He started to see things through Norman’s eyes, and kept pointing out all the landmarks he knew. What a pleasure it was to be able to gesture at Buckingham Palace and shout, ‘That’s where the King lives!’

As they passed the palace, where the busbied guards stood like granite figures before the great golden gates, both the boys saw a figure on the central balcony. It was definitely a man, and he appeared to be wearing a dressing gown and a crown. As they passed, the figure seemed to get very excited. It started to jump up and down and wave. Nanny McPhee turned and gave a delicate wave back. The boys looked at each other with eyes like saucers. Apparently Nanny McPhee wasn’t of quite as little consequence as she’d led them to believe.

From the palace they drove down Pall Mall towards Trafalgar Square.

‘This is where Nelson lives!’ shouted Cyril as they swung round the wonderful column and the huge black lions. As the boys looked up at the Admiral standing proud upon his pedestal, the strangest thing occurred. The old sailor seemed to take off his hat with his good arm and bow in their direction. Cyril squealed with shock and both boys whipped around to look at Nanny McPhee. She blew a kiss at Nelson and then waved at one of the lions, which had woken up and roared with excitement as they drove past. Norman couldn’t stop laughing with delight – it was all so unreal and yet absolutely real at the same time.

*

Back at the farm, Mrs Green was lying in bed with Megsie and Vincent, who were still asleep. She looked at the ceiling and wondered why she could still do all the normal things like breathing and speaking when inside there was this terrifying black hole that was going to suck her inside out. Just then, there was a very gentle knock on the door. Mrs Green sat up as the children beside her stirred.

‘Come in,’ she said.

The door opened and Celia came in backwards, holding a tray.

‘I thought you might like breakfast in bed,’ she said kindly. The tray had a full teapot and a little jug of milk, toast and butter, boiled eggs and a mug full of wild flowers that Celia had gone out very early to pick. It looked so pretty that when Megsie and Vincent sat up it made them want to eat something from it, which was really very clever of Celia, because when you are in shock you really need to eat and you never feel like it.

‘That is so beautiful,’ said Mrs Green, truly touched. ‘Put it here.’ And she made a space in the centre of the bed. ‘How lovely you’ve made it and how pretty everything looks! Come on, pour us a mug of tea then, Megs.’

Celia, pleased with how her offering had been received, started to leave the room, but Megsie and Mrs Green called out after her, ‘Where are you going?’

‘Well,’ said Celia, feeling a bit embarrassed, ‘I thought you might want to be just the family.’

‘But you
are
family,’ said Megsie. ‘Come on, hop in, there’s a warmy patch there.’

‘Breakfast in bed,’ said Vincent wonderingly. He had only ever had his breakfast in the kitchen.

Celia buttered him the biggest piece of toast and handed it to him.

‘Thank you, Celia, you’re very kind,’ said Vincent, in such a grown-up way and such a small voice that Mrs Green had to work very hard not to burst into tears again.

‘Will you stay and help us with the harvesting, Celia?’ said Megsie.

‘Of course I will!’ said Celia. ‘I’d love to!’

Mrs Green gave a little sigh. ‘No harvesting for us, my darlings,’ she said.

‘What?’ said Megsie, as she and Vincent turned to look at their mother, puzzled.

Mrs Green looked at their faces and took a deep breath.

‘We can’t manage this place without Dad, not really. I should have admitted it long ago. We’d never have got all that barley in, even with the tractor. Uncle Phil’s got a buyer, but only if we sell right now, before harvest time –’

Vincent started to interrupt. ‘Sell? What? Sell our farm?’ he said, horror growing in his eyes.

‘I know, I know, darling, it’s horrible, but Dad would want – I mean would have wanted us to if we couldn’t look after it properly and we can’t –’

‘No!’ shouted Vincent.

‘Listen, Vinnie, maybe in our new house you could have your own room!’

Mrs Green spoke as soothingly as she could, but Vincent was not to be soothed. He hurled his toast across the room and screamed out, ‘I don’t want my own room! I want to share with Megsie and Norman and Celia and Cyril! And I want my dad!!’

And with that he started to sob loudly and bury himself under the bedclothes. Everyone put down their cups and toast and tried to help. But Vincent was inconsolable. Finally, he flung himself out from the bed and ran out of the room.

Mrs Green looked at the girls. Megsie didn’t want to add to the trouble by showing how upset she was, so she got up too and said she was going to feed the animals.

‘Why don’t you go with her?’ Mrs Green suggested to Celia kindly. Celia ran off and Mrs Green started to clear up the breakfast things, worried that she had gone about telling the children the bad news in quite the wrong way and that it was too late to do anything about it.

Back on the motorcycle, the boys were both still shouting about Nelson when Nanny McPhee suddenly pulled into a forecourt filled with soldiers and sandbags and came to a stop in front of the tallest building Norman had ever seen. She turned off the engine and said, ‘Here we are.’

A gigantic brass sign saying ‘THE WAR OFFICE’ rose up before the boys, who immediately got out of the sidecar, took off their goggles and tried to straighten themselves out. Mr Edelweiss flapped up, panting, and tried to land on the handlebars but was cuffed away by Nanny McPhee, by no means pleased to see that he’d followed them. Nanny McPhee gave the boys an approving nod and they marched off towards the entrance. They could see the great main door – lots of men and women in uniform were coming in and out of it at great speed and with a tremendous sense of urgency. Norman could feel the suspense constricting his heart, and Cyril was so nervous that his mouth had gone completely dry. Just as they were about to mount the steps and go in, they found their way blocked by a gigantic soldier in red, who seemed to have come out of nowhere. Thinking he had just made a mistake, Norman tried to get past him, but he moved to block them again and both the boys realised that he was preventing them from going in on purpose. They looked up at him. His face was impassive and his eyes stared straight ahead. It was very odd. If it hadn’t been for the fact that every time they tried to get around him he blocked their path, they could have sworn he hadn’t even seen them. Norman nudged Cyril, who said, ‘Excuse me, sir, we’re here to see Lord Gray.’

The soldier did not reply and did not move. Norman decided to have a go.

‘Sir – we’re here to see Lord Gray!’ he shouted, in case the soldier couldn’t hear very well.

Then the boys heard something.

‘GetlorstbeforeIthumpyer,’ it sounded like. Had it come from the soldier? He hadn’t budged and neither of the boys had seen his mouth move. They looked around, confused, and then it came again, louder this time.

‘GET LORST BEFORE I THUMP YER,’ it said, and this time Norman saw the side of the soldier’s lips move slightly. He looked at Cyril worriedly.

Cyril caught the look and nodded as if he knew what to do. ‘He’s my father,’ he said, in that important tone that Norman had once hated so much but was now very grateful for.

But the soldier gave no sign of having heard. Norman grew impatient.

‘He’s his FATHER,’ he shouted, with all his might.

‘Prove it or hop it,’ said the giant.

‘What?’ said Cyril, suddenly feeling sick.

‘PROVE IT OR HOP IT.’

Norman turned to Cyril expectantly.

‘Go on, then,’ he said.

Cyril had gone very pale. He drew Norman aside and said, ‘How can I
prove
it? Do you carry your blinking birth certificate around with you everywhere you go? Because
I
don’t!’

Norman thought. ‘There must be someone inside who could say it was you,’ he said.

‘No, no,’ said Cyril wretchedly. ‘I’ve never even been here before – I’m not allowed.’

Norman lost his temper. ‘Then why are we here? How on earth did you think we were going to get in? Why didn’t we go to your house first? We’re running out of time!’

Cyril started to hiss back, furious with himself, with the soldier and with Norman, when they heard a little cough behind them.

‘Ahem,’ it went.

They turned and there was Nanny McPhee – but so different! Gone was the rusty black cloth trimmed with jet, the black straw hat and button-boots! In their place was a full army uniform, complete with tin helmet, khaki boots and cartridge belt. The only things they recognised were the medals and, of course, the stick.