Nanny Piggins and the Runaway Lion (2 page)

'How long are you going to be here?' asked Mr Green, beginning to accept that perhaps there was no way out of this predicament. 'Not six months I hope.'

'Non, non, non,' said François (which is French for 'no, no, no'). 'I will be here for twelve months. I am on the advanced program.'

'Twelve months!' exclaimed Mr Green, truly aghast. 'But what am I supposed to do with you?'

'Just treat me as you would your own children,' said François.

'He's going to wish he stayed in Belgium,' predicted Michael under his breath.

Mr Green would have dearly loved to send François packing, but after fetching the contract, and reading the fine print three times, he realised he could not. If he wanted his children to go to Nicaragua, he had to host the Belgian boy. But Mr Green reasoned that one foreign child had to be better than three of his own (it was just a case of simple mathematics to his mind), so he decided to stick to his decision. Once Derrick, Samantha and Michael were safely in Nicaragua, perhaps there would be some way he could billet François out to a sweat shop or a chimney sweeping service, or some such.

The next few days proved very interesting. François was a polite, charming little boy who went to his own international school in town. So he was no bother for Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children at all. But for some reason he was fascinated by Mr Green.

He kept muttering things like, 'Sacre bleu! (which is French for 'Wow!') We have no-one like this in our country.'

Every time Mr Green slurped his soup, picked his nose, or dug the wax out of his ear, François would be there taking notes and even drawing diagrams, which he would then delightedly take and show the other children.

'Observe your father. He is a most fascinating man,' exclaimed François.

'He is?' asked Derrick, not entirely convinced.

'Oh yes, there is none other like him I think. I must document all his behaviour to show the people back in Belgium or they would not believe it,' said François happily.

'You should get a tape recorder,' suggested Nanny Piggins, 'so you can capture the noises he makes in his natural habitat.' She liked to encourage children, particularly ones with such a talent for irritating Mr Green.

'Très bien, what a good idea!' exclaimed François. 'I shall purchase one now.'

'You will not,' protested Mr Green.

'Tsk, tsk, Mr Green,' chided Nanny Piggins. 'You don't want to cause an international incident. François is only trying to learn about our culture.'

But Mr Green could not bear it. Whenever he was home François followed him about, pestering him with questions all day long. 'Why do you comb your hair over your bald spot?' 'Are you ashamed of your head?' 'Why are you ashamed of your head?' 'Do you have a rude tattoo up there?' 'What does it say?' 'Can't you afford to buy new clothes?' 'Where do you get your suits from?' 'Do you buy them from widows whose husbands have just died?' 'Have you ever thought about plucking your nose hair?' 'Would you like to borrow my tweezers?'

And Mr Green could not do what he did to avoid his regular children – go to the office – because François' school encouraged his sociological research by giving him time off to follow Mr Green around at work too.

Everyone at the law offices loved François, which only irritated Mr Green even more. The secretaries all wanted to see François' diagrams of Mr Green and the ear wax. And even the senior partners had a good chortle when François played them the recordings he made of Mr Green getting into and out of a chair. As a result, François had only been staying with them for two days when Nanny Piggins found Mr Green hiding behind a bush down the far end of the garden.

'Are you doing a spot of pruning?' asked Nanny Piggins innocently.

'Is that boy anywhere about?' whispered Mr Green.

'What boy?' asked Nanny Piggins loudly.

'Shhh, he'll hear you,' said Mr Green. 'François, is he about? Is it safe for me to come out?'

'Of course,' said Nanny Piggins. 'He isn't here. He's up in your bedroom going through your closet, taking photographs. He says the university in Brussels wants him to document everything.'

'Oh dear,' moaned Mr Green.

'Are you coming in for lunch?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'No, I'll just stay here,' said Mr Green sadly. 'I'll sneak back in tonight after the little . . . tike has gone to bed.'

But Mr Green had underestimated François' dedication to his study. Later that night, the children were woken up by the sound of their father screaming. They rushed to his room. Not so much because they wanted to help but because, if their father was finally going to snap and be dragged off to a lunatic asylum, they wanted to see it for themselves.

'Get him out! Get him out!' screamed Mr Green.

'But what have I done wrong?' asked François, looking the picture of innocence.

'I woke up and he was standing over me, holding a flashlight with a video camera,' complained Mr Green.

'Perhaps the boy had trouble sleeping,' suggested Nanny Piggins.

'Monsieur Green is so fascinating when he slumbers,' explained François. 'He makes exactly the same noise as a wildebeest with its foot stuck in an ant hill.'

'Of course, you're right. I've never been able to put my trotter on it,' agreed Nanny Piggins, 'but that's the sound exactly.'

'I want this boy out of my house now!' yelled Mr Green.

'Very well,' said François with a hurt look on his little face. 'I don't want to be where I'm not wanted.' His lip quivered and he fled from the room.

The children were even more ashamed of their father than usual.

'But if he goes, Derrick, Samantha and Michael won't be able to go to Nicaragua next week,' protested Nanny Piggins.

'I don't care,' said Mr Green. (He did care but he was so deranged with lack of sleep he had forgotten.)

'And if Derrick, Samantha and Michael stay, who will take care of them? I'm due to start work at the bacon factory on Monday,' said Nanny Piggins, looking the picture of concern.

'Quit your job! You have to stay. I can't bear it!' exclaimed Mr Green.

'I would,' said Nanny Piggins, 'but the bacon factory pays so well. It would be a step backwards for me to go back to being a nanny.'

'What do you want? A pay rise. Fine, I'll double your wages,' said Mr Green, which shows how desperate he was because he hated parting with money.

'No, I don't want to be paid more,' said Nanny Piggins. 'I am not a greedy pig. Ten cents an hour is plenty. No, I just want a weekly chocolate allowance.'

'A what?' asked Mr Green.

'A weekly allowance to cover all my chocolate expenses. The bacon factory doesn't give me that,' explained Nanny Piggins. 'For a chocolate allowance I just might stay.'

'All right, I agree,' said Mr Green. 'How much do you want?'

'Fifty dollars ought to cover it,' said Nanny Piggins.

'What?!' exploded Mr Green.

'You're right,' said Nanny Piggins. 'That is ridiculous. Better make it sixty.'

Mr Green was so angry at this point that he lost the ability to make coherent sentences. He spluttered and blathered random sounds like 'wha . . . nnggg . . . rggrrrrr'.

'Father, perhaps you'd better agree to Nanny Piggins' request,' said Derrick. 'Just consider the alternative.'

'Remember what it was like when you had to look after us yourself,' added Samantha.

Mr Green shuddered. The pre-Nanny Piggins years had been a painful experience for him. Having to spend thirty or forty minutes with his children every day, sitting in the same room as them when they ate their meals, talking to them and making eye contact – it was too dreadful to recall.

'All right, I agree to it all,' said Mr Green.

'Excellent,' said Nanny Piggins. 'There's no need to write me a cheque, I'll just take the money out of your wallet when you're asleep some time.'

'You'll what?' said Mr Green.

'Don't worry, I'm much better at sneaking about a dark room than François,' Nanny Piggins assured him. 'You never wake up when I do it.'

And so Nanny Piggins and the children left Mr Green to get some sleep. (He locked the door and put a chair under the handle – as if that would stop a flying pig.)

Then they went downstairs to drink hot chocolate and plan how they were going to spend their new-found chocolate allowance. They were just in the middle of a heated debate over the comparative merits of chocolate freckles and chocolate cobbers when François entered.

'François!' exclaimed Samantha. 'Are you all right?'

'We're sorry Father was so rude,' added Derrick.

'He's not racist. He's mean to people of every nationality equally,' Michael assured him.

'Don't worry about it, ay,' said François in a broad Canadian accent.

'François?' said Samantha.

'You can call him Frank,' said Nanny Piggins. 'That's his real name.'

'You two know each other?!' exclaimed Derrick.

'Oh yes,' said Nanny Piggins. 'You didn't think someone so uniquely irritating solely to Mr Green could move in here just through pure coincidence, did you?'

The three children felt a little silly, realising that that is exactly what they had thought.

'Frank isn't an eleven-year-old Belgian boy,' explained Nanny Piggins. 'He's a thirty-seven-year-old Canadian acrobat from the circus.'

'I'm the guy who stands at the top of the human pyramid,' explained Frank.

'Have you ever been dropped on your head?' asked Michael in fascination.

'All the time. You don't get reliable staff in human pyramids like you used to. These days, all the really good human pyramiders are running hedge funds,' said Frank sadly.

'They are?' said Derrick.

'Yes, it's the same skill set, you see. It's all about keeping everything up in the air. And if one thing goes the whole lot comes tumbling down on your head,' explained Frank.

'Thank you for all your help,' said Nanny Piggins. 'We've really enjoyed having you here. If there is ever anything we can do for you in return . . .'

'No, it's my pleasure,' said Frank. 'I owed you one for that time I forgot my passport and you blasted me across the Bering Strait with your cannon.'

And so Frank went back to the circus and life in the Green household returned to normal. The children remained safe in the knowledge that if they ever did visit the turtles of Nicaragua, it would be voluntarily, and at a time of their own choosing.

It was the middle of the night and Nanny Piggins was standing alone in the dark, in the middle of the front garden. But do not worry, nothing bad was happening. Quite the contrary. Nanny Piggins was playing a wonderful game of Spotlight with the children. To play Spotlight everyone has to dress up in black, then smear black shoe polish (or dark chocolate) all over their faces and hands. Then one person stands in the middle of the yard with a flashlight while everyone else hides in the dark bushes. The idea is to rush up and tag the person holding the flashlight before they can spot you.

Nanny Piggins was incredibly good at this game as, indeed, she was at most games, because she had a huge advantage; her sense of smell was so good she could sniff anyone coming with her eyes closed. So she could easily detect Michael trying to sneak up on her from behind. She was just about to spin around and shine the flashlight in his face when, from somewhere down the street, she heard a noise.

'What was that?' asked Nanny Piggins at the precise moment when Michael launched himself at her. Nanny Piggins stepped sideways to have a look down the street. As a result Michael missed her and crash-tackled Derrick, who was running forward to tag his nanny from the front. Then Samantha landed on top of them both because she had climbed a tree so she could drop on Nanny Piggins from above.

'Shhh,' said Nanny Piggins, as the children picked themselves up. 'There's something going on down the street.'

'But it's three o'clock in the morning,' said Derrick disapprovingly.

'And it's a school night,' said Samantha even more disapprovingly.

'Exactly,' said Nanny Piggins. 'There can be no good reason for anyone to be out on the street at this hour.'

'Unless they're playing Spotlight with their nanny,' suggested Michael.

'I doubt that's the case,' said Nanny Piggins. 'Other nannies do not seem to share my dedication to duty. They always want to sleep at night, whereas I see the job as a twenty-four-hour responsibility.'

Nanny Piggins and the children peered down the street where they could see torches flashing about and hear the low murmur of voices.

'It could just be people coming home late,' said Samantha.

'In this neighbourhood!' scoffed Nanny Piggins. 'All the people who live here are too boring. They're all in bed by ten-thirty. I know that for a fact because when I knock on their doors asking to borrow some chocolate at one o'clock in the morning they always have to get out of bed to come and give it to me. No, it's obviously a gang of burglars.'

'Should we call the police?' asked Derrick.

'I suppose,' grumbled Nanny Piggins begrudgingly. 'Though I don't see why they should get to hog all the fun.'

'You know the Police Sergeant doesn't like it when you make citizens' arrests,' Samantha reminded her nanny.

'Yes, he is a spoilsport,' grumbled Nanny Piggins. (Nanny Piggins had not forgiven the Police Sergeant for telling her off after she brought into the police station a woman she had citizen's arrested for wearing shoes that did not match her handbag.) 'Michael, you run into the house and phone the police.'

Michael ran back inside. Nanny Piggins turned to Derrick and Samantha. 'Obviously we can't let the burglars get away before the police get here, so we'll just set up an ambush.'

'I can't ambush anyone! I'm only nine,' protested Samantha.

'That's why I'm giving you the most important job,' said Nanny Piggins. 'It's your responsibility to hold all my chocolate while I climb the tree and drop on them. It would be terrible if someone got burgled. But the real tragedy would be if something happened to my chocolate bars.'

So Samantha minded the twenty-seven chocolate bars her nanny had stashed about her person while Nanny Piggins shinnied up the tree. Once she was in position, Nanny Piggins called back down. 'Now, Derrick, when they come up the street you step out in front of them and ask them for directions to the cinema, then I'll take care of the rest.'

The gang of burglars slowly made their way up the road, flashing their torches into people's gardens and muttering among themselves.

'They're nearly here,' whispered Derrick.

'I think I'm going to faint,' whispered Samantha.

'Eat one of the chocolate bars,' advised Nanny Piggins.

The burglars drew alongside the Green house and flashed their torches about the yard.

'Now!' hissed Nanny Piggins.

Derrick leapt out of the bush and onto the footpath saying, 'Good evening, I was wondering if you could tell me the way to the nearest –'

'Heeeeyaiiiyaaaahhhhh!' screamed Nanny Piggins as she threw herself out of Mr Green's tree and knocked the whole gang of burglars down, like a strike in tenpin bowling. 'I am arresting you on behalf of the citizens of this street! You naughty burglars, you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourselves for breaking into people's homes at three o'clock in the morning. And on a school night too!'

'Weemmfffmmf,' said one of the burglars. It was hard to understand what he was saying because his face was pressed into the footpath and Nanny Piggins was sitting on his back.

'I think that burglar is trying to tell you something,' said Samantha, as she ate a second chocolate bar in an attempt to keep her hysterics at bay.

'They probably want to bribe us with a cut of their loot,' said Nanny Piggins knowledgably, 'so we should hear them out, just in case they've recently broken into a cake factory.'

Nanny Piggins got to her feet, which allowed the burglars the opportunity to sit up. There were three of them, one woman and two men. They were all smartly dressed and, surprisingly, they were all over the age of sixty.

'Gosh,' said Derrick. 'I never knew burglars could be so old.'

Nanny Piggins stood over the would-be thieves and gave them a piece of her mind. 'Shame on you! At your age you shouldn't be breaking into houses. You should be committing more genteel crimes, such as fraud.'

'But we're not burglars,' said the elderly woman.

'That's what all burglars say,' said Nanny Piggins, rolling her eyes.

'We're the local Neighbourhood Watch patrol,' said one of the elderly men.

'I don't care what your gang is called,' said Nanny Piggins. 'I'm not impressed.'

'Um . . . Nanny Piggins,' interrupted Derrick. 'Neighbourhood Watch isn't a gang. It's a group for community-minded people who patrol the streets and watch their neighbours' houses.'

'Burglars
and
peeping Toms. This gets worse and worse,' said Nanny Piggins.

'No, we're trying to
stop
burglars,' explained the elderly woman.

'So I'm not going to get to make a citizen's arrest?' asked a disappointed Nanny Piggins.

'No,' said Derrick.

'What a relief,' said Samantha as she finished off her fourth chocolate bar.

The three members of the Neighbourhood Watch patrol got to their feet, which took some time and a certain amount of groaning, because they were old.

'We could use a pig like you in Neighbourhood Watch,' said the elderly woman. 'I'm Valerie Darvas, captain of the local branch. This is Tom and Stanley.'

Nanny Piggins shook hands with them all.

'No hard feelings about me smashing you into the footpath then?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'Not at all,' said Valerie. 'It's good to meet a resident who is prepared to really tackle crime. And being ambushed from time to time is excellent training. It keeps us on our toes.'

'You should come along to our next Neighbourhood Watch meeting,' suggested Stanley.

'I don't know,' said Nanny Piggins. 'I don't approve of organisations.'

'If you join, you get a free torch,' said Tom.

'Hmm,' said Nanny Piggins. She did like torches.

'And we're having a self-defence lesson this week,' added Stanley.

'Will there be wrestling?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'I should think so,' said Valerie.

'Then we'll be there!' exclaimed Nanny Piggins.

Nanny Piggins was just about to shake Valerie's hand again when the police arrived and arrested them all (even though it was quarter past three in the morning on a school night). Nanny Piggins eventually got them all released by using the police station kitchen to bake a cake. The police soon agreed that anyone who made such a light, fluffy and delicious sponge could not be a criminal, and let them all go.

Nanny Piggins was very excited when she took the children along to the Neighbourhood Watch meeting that Thursday night. She had worn her hot-pink lycra wrestling leotard in anticipation. (Nanny Piggins owned this spectacular piece of clothing because she had enjoyed a brief stint as a professional wrestler during her time at the circus. But she had to go back to being blasted out of a cannon after just two short weeks, because she ran out of people willing to wrestle her. Even the Strong Man was no match for her flying leg lock or chomping teeth hold.) Nanny Piggins had brought Boris along as well. He was not as good at wrestling as his sister, but he was very good at sitting on people until it was their turn to be wrestled.

So Nanny Piggins was rather disappointed when she arrived and discovered that the Neighbourhood Watch consisted of a room full of middle-aged and elderly concerned citizens, many of them wearing cardigans.

'Do you think they're wearing wrestling leotards under their cardigans?' asked Nanny Piggins hopefully.

'From the look of these people, you'd have to wrestle them to get them to take their cardigans off ,' said Boris.

Even the self-defence instructor was unimpressive. He was a slightly overweight man of about fifty who taught techniques that emphasised avoiding violence, not instigating it.

'But attack is the best defence!' argued Nanny Piggins.

'No it's not,' argued the self-defence instructor.

'Do you want a bet?' challenged Nanny Piggins. 'Defend yourself against this then!' with which she hurled herself at his shins. It took her just three seconds to have him pressed into the mat in a total body lock.

'Where did you learn those techniques?' asked the self-defence instructor. 'You could hurt someone.'

'I know. They're good, aren't they?' agreed Nanny Piggins.

After they had sent the self-defence instructor home and Nanny Piggins had taught the group some really useful self-defence skills, the Neighbourhood Watch held their meeting. Nanny Piggins and the children stayed, partly to be polite, and partly because there was a large tray of doughnuts on a side table to which anyone could help themselves.

'There were two more break-ins last night after our patrol finished,' said Valerie. 'We really need to get up more patrols. The burglars are just working out what times we aren't on the streets and striking then. Who can volunteer for more duties?'

No-one put their hand up.

'I need my rest,' said one woman. 'My grandchildren are visiting on the weekend. It always takes me two weeks to recover.'

'And I can't take any more time away from my roses,' said another man. 'They get jealous if they think I am seeing other plants.'

'And I can't,' said a very old wrinkly man, 'because I don't want to. And I'm too old to be doing things I don't want to do.'

'Perhaps our new members would like to help?' said Valerie as she looked meaningfully at Nanny Piggins.

Samantha nudged her nanny, and Nanny Piggins looked up from the five jam-filled doughnuts she was trying to fit into her mouth all at once.

'Mmmfff?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'We would really appreciate your help,' said Valerie. 'All you need to do is walk the streets with a torch and check on everyone's homes.'

Nanny Piggins swallowed the doughnuts and spoke with as much dignity as a pig covered in icing sugar can muster. 'You're asking me to go around the neighbourhood at night looking into people's homes with a torch?'

'Yes,' said Valerie.

'Of course I'll do it!' said Nanny Piggins. 'I love spying on people and violating their privacy. When do we start?'

'Tomorrow night,' said Valerie.