Nanny Piggins and the Accidental Blast-off (16 page)

Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children then made their way over to the chimney and peered over the edge. It was very dark and black inside.

‘I’m going to throw the presents down first,’ said Nanny Piggins, emptying her sack into the chimney. ‘That way they can break my fall.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like us to fetch a rope so we can lower you down?’ offered Michael.

‘Pish!’ said Nanny Piggins as she climbed up on the chimney stack. ‘There’s no time for that. I have a whole planet’s worth of toys to deliver. Wish me luck!’ And with one last wave to the children she dived headfirst down the chimney. The children heard nothing for a moment … then the distinctive sound of a pig falling headfirst onto a pile of toys.

‘Ow!’ said Nanny Piggins

‘Are you all right?’ called Derrick, his voice echoing down the chimney.

‘Yes,’ replied Nanny Piggins. ‘Although in hindsight I probably should have only thrown the soft toys down first. A scale model of the Taj Mahal does not make for a very soft landing.’

‘Can you see the Christmas stockings?’ asked Michael.

‘I can’t see anything, it’s too dark down here,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘No, hang on, I can’t see anything because my skirt is over my head. I’ll just adjust that … Wait a minute, there’s no way out! There are bricks on all four sides.’

‘I didn’t like to say anything earlier, Sarah,’ said Boris, leaning over the chimney, ‘but Mrs Roncoli did get a gas heater installed last month. You remember, you made the workmen lend you their van so you could get even more chocolate than usual from the sweet shop.’

‘What’s your point?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

‘I’m pretty sure that to install a gas heater you first have to brick-up the fireplace,’ explained Boris.

‘Well of all the …’ Nanny Piggins muttered a few very rude things that I cannot repeat here in print. But the gist of it was – she was not impressed that Mrs Roncoli had failed to explain the full details of her renovation plans to Nanny Piggins both personally and in writing.

‘What are we going to do?’ worried Samantha.

‘I’m going to give Mrs Roncoli a piece of my mind,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘But how are you going to get you out of there?’ asked Derrick.

Nanny Piggins looked up at Boris and the children six metres above as they stared down the chimney at her.

‘Hmmm,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘What are you thinking?’ asked Boris.

‘I was just thinking … that from the inside, a
chimney is an awful lot like a cannon,’ said Nanny Piggins.

Twenty minutes later the children were standing a safe distance away on the far side of the street as Boris rolled out the last of the fuse wire.

‘This is safe, isn’t it?’ asked Samantha.

‘Well, I wouldn’t say it was safe,’ admitted Boris (he was an honest bear). ‘If anyone else tried it I’m sure it would go horribly wrong. But at the circus, Nanny Piggins used to get blasted out of a cannon seven times a night, so this will be a walk in the park for her.’

Boris lit the fuse.

‘You know we could just knock on Mrs Roncoli’s door and explain what happened,’ said Derrick, beginning to panic.

‘Or lower a rope down and pull her out,’ suggested Michael.

‘Ooh, that is a good idea,’ said Boris. ‘It’s a shame it’s too late now. Look, the fuse is almost there.’

The children watched in horror as the fuse dis appeared into the chimney.

‘Cover your ears,’ advised Boris.

Derrick, Samantha and Michael only just put
their hands to their ears before they were shaken by the huge blast. The shockwaves knocked Derrick and Samantha off their feet (it would have knocked Michael off his feet except he was standing right in front of Boris and it is hard to go anywhere when there is a 700 kilogram bear right behind you). Then they saw a streak of crimson rocket up into the sky with the distant cry of ‘Yippeeeeeeeeeee!’ from Nanny Piggins as she flew up into the stratosphere.

‘Oh my goodness, how is she going to land?!’ exclaimed Samantha. ‘We didn’t rig up a safety net.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ said Boris confidently.

‘What do you mean she’ll be fine?!’ said Derrick. ‘Gravity causes a body to accelerate at 9.8 metres per second. If she goes a thousand metres in the air that means she will hit the ground going –’ Derrick struggled to do the maths in his head.

‘Really fast,’ supplied Michael.

‘Sarah knows what she is doing,’ said Boris.

‘Does she secretly have a parachute in her ball gown?’ asked Samantha.

‘She has got one in her red clutch purse. But whoops!’ said Boris, holding up a red clutch purse. ‘She gave that to me to mind.’

‘Oh no,’ said Samantha. ‘This is going to be the
worst Christmas ever.’ And Samantha knew quite a bit about bad Christmases because their beloved mother had gone missing in mid-December (and before she’d had a chance to make a Christmas cake, so it was a double tragedy).

But a moment later, instead of seeing their nanny plummeting back to earth as they expected, they saw, illuminated in the moonlight, what looked like a giant red umbrella with two pig’s feet in the middle, floating slowly down towards the ground.

‘I don’t believe it!’ exclaimed Derrick. ‘Nanny Piggins’ skirt has puffed out and it’s acting as a parachute!’

‘Now I can see why Nanny Piggins says it is vitally important to always wear clean underwear,’ said Michael.

Nanny Piggins gently drifted down below the line of the rooftops, then they heard the most wonderful sound. Instead of a crash or a thud, there was a huge ‘kersplash!’ as Nanny Piggins landed safely in the backyard swimming pool of Mr and Mrs Taylor, three blocks away.

‘You see, I told you she’d be fine,’ said Boris.

Boris and the children ran around to the Taylors’ house and met a very soggy Nanny Piggins emerging from the front gate.

‘Well that was fun!’ said Nanny Piggins excitedly. ‘Although I think I’ve ruined my best ball gown. I must have a word to Mr Taylor about using less chlorine in his pool.’

‘You’re not hurt?’ asked Samantha.

‘Not at all,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I enjoyed it tremendously. There was just enough time in my flight for me to eat my chocolate earrings.’

‘But what are you going to do about delivering all the toys?’ asked Derrick. ‘You’ve been Santa Claus for forty minutes now and you haven’t managed to deliver any presents.’

‘At this rate you’ll never get presents to everyone in just one night,’ added Michael.

‘I must admit I don’t seem to be as effortlessly good at this job as I am at every other job I try,’ conceded Nanny Piggins. ‘Perhaps we should go and consult Santa. He may have regained consciousness by now, and he might be able to let me in on some of his tricks. He could at least tell me where he parked his reindeer.’

So Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children went back to their house where they found Santa still lying on the couch. They knew he was all right because no-one with a serious head injury would snore that loudly.

‘Wake up, Santa,’ called Nanny Piggins. ‘Wake up!’

Santa suddenly woke up with a grunt and a very unattractive snort. ‘What, what, what?’ said Santa. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

‘Santa sounds awfully familiar,’ said Samantha, with growing dread.

‘Aaaggghhh! His beard has fallen off!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins when Santa’s beard came away on her toffee-stained trotters.

But the children were not looking at the beard, they were looking at a far more shocking sight – the now naked-faced Santa.

‘Aaaaggghhh, it’s Father!’ yelled the children.

‘Urg,’ moaned Mr Green. ‘What happened? I’ve just had the most peculiar dream. I was walking along the street when suddenly a great big fat bear started yelling at me.’

Boris (who had hidden under a lampshade as soon as he saw Mr Green) whimpered. He was very sensitive about his weight.

Nanny Piggins, who was very protective of her brother, slapped Mr Green hard across the face.

‘Ow!’ squealed Mr Green. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Slapping
is for hysteria, isn’t it? And icepacks are for head injuries. I always get those two confused. I really must finish reading that first-aid book.’

‘Give me back my fake beard,’ demanded Mr Green. ‘I don’t want to lose my deposit at the costume shop.’

‘I will not. How dare you walk the street impersonating a beloved holiday icon,’ scolded Nanny Piggins. ‘Children love Santa. Just think how dis appointed they would be if they thought Santa was like you.’

‘I’m not dressed up in this ridiculous costume voluntarily,’ snapped Mr Green. ‘I only did it because the Senior Partner made me for the firm’s Christmas party.’

‘Why you?’ asked Derrick.

‘I was the only one the red suit would fit,’ admitted Mr Green.

‘Ah yes, because you’re fat,’ said Nanny Piggins nodding knowingly.

‘But why were you bringing home a big sack full of toys?’ asked Michael. ‘Shouldn’t you have given them out at the Christmas party?’

‘I didn’t get a chance to give away any toys because none of the children would come and sit on my lap,’ grumbled Mr Green. ‘I threatened to
take a wooden spoon to them if they didn’t do as they were told, but that only seemed to make them cry harder.’

‘What I want to know,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘is if there was a work Christmas party why didn’t you take your own children?’

‘Um well, um …’ stuttered Mr Green. ‘It never occurred to me. I forgot I had children, I suppose.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Derrick. ‘At least we didn’t hurt the real Santa.’

‘And we can leave it to the real Santa to deliver presents to all the boys and girls of the world,’ added Samantha.

‘I suppose,’ conceded Nanny Piggins, ‘but can we still go back across the road so I can blast myself out of Mrs Roncoli’s chimney again. That was a lot of fun.’

‘I don’t think Mrs Roncoli would appreciate it if we did further structural damage to her home,’ worried Samantha.

‘Pish!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m sure she won’t even notice.’

And so Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children had a wonderful Christmas Day. It started well when Mr Green went into the office to do some paperwork (he needed to rack up brownie points because
he was going to have a tricky time explaining to the Senior Partner how the sack full of toys had come to be a small pile of melted debris).

Then because Nanny Piggins had never made a Christmas dinner before, the children were in charge of all the cooking. And knowing their nanny well, they served Christmas pudding, Christmas pudding, Christmas pudding and Christmas pudding for entree, main course, dessert and second dessert.

Admittedly Nanny Piggins did ruin the first Christmas pudding. When the children turned off the lights and brought the pudding into the dining room topped with flickering brandy sauce, Nanny Piggins was so horrified to see a dessert on fire she threw herself on the flames (risking her dress and her personal safety).

But once the children had explained that flaming brandy sauce was traditional and in no way damaged the pudding, Nanny Piggins was able to relax and enjoy the meal. She enjoyed sucking the pudding off her dress. And then they all enjoyed eating the other three puddings off plates. After they had eaten as much as was physically possible, they went into the living room and had a wonderful time watching Boris perform
The Nutcracker
. (He did break two
vases and the light fitting but only because he put on such a spectacular performance.)

‘So, Nanny Piggins,’ said Michael, ‘what do you think of Christmas?’

‘I think it’s wonderful,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Does that mean you’re not going to put chicken wire over the chimney next year then?’ asked Derrick.

‘No, of course not,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Good,’ said Samantha with relief.

‘Next year,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘I’ll put a trip wire down by the stockings. Santa will never see that coming.’

‘It’s just not good enough!’ bellowed Nanny Piggins.

‘I’m asking you to leave!’ countered the librarian.

‘Hah!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘This is a public library. I am a member of the public. You can’t throw me out!’

‘You are disturbing everyone,’ admonished the librarian.

Nanny Piggins turned and addressed the handful of sad souls with nowhere better to go than a public library on a Friday afternoon. ‘Do you mind me disturbing you?’

They all shook their heads. They were enjoying Nanny Piggins’ argument with the librarian immensely. It is true that the librarian was a good woman, a lover of literature and very conscientious. But it is a sad fact of human nature that if you hand out enough twenty-cent fines for overdue books, you develop enemies. So watching Nanny Piggins berate the librarian was a pleasure for the library regulars – it was something that they had secretly been wishing they could do for years.

‘We cannot have the entire library devoted solely to romance novels and cookbooks,’ protested the librarian.

‘Why not?!’ demanded Nanny Piggins. ‘You’d get a lot more customers. Or is that the problem? If you actually had customers there would be less time for you to sneak off to the break room and secretly scoff biscuits while reading the latest romance novels before you put them out on the shelves.’

The librarian blushed. (She did like biscuits and she did secretly read all the romance novels before she put them out. It was hard work finding time in the day to then go home and read all the literature books as well. She really could not be expected to stamp books and speak to members of the public when she had so much to do.)

‘Maybe we should go, Nanny Piggins,’ suggested Samantha. She had just borrowed the latest Tracey McWeldon book and while she would enjoy seeing her nanny wrestle with the librarian, she was anxious to get the book home without it being taken from her in a fit of retribution by the librarian.

‘All right,’ said Nanny Piggins, still glaring at the librarian. ‘Although I still maintain it should be a crime to have all these books and yet provide no snacks. How can you enjoy reading without eating cake?’

‘That’s another thing!’ accused the librarian, getting up a head of steam. She was starting to enjoy the argument now. (The one-metre-wide library counter was giving her a false sense of confidence. She did not realise how athletic Nanny Piggins was, or how quickly her adversary could vault it.) ‘Every time you return books they are covered in cake crumbs, chocolate and icing!’

‘For which you should thank me!’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘The next reader is welcome to lick it off. I believe in sharing.’

‘Right, that’s it!’ said the librarian, snatching up Nanny Piggins’ library card. ‘I am banning you from the library!’ She cut the library card in two.

The children gasped.

Nanny Piggins’ eyes bulged. She did not know what to do first. Bite the librarian or rush back into the library and lick all the books she had ever borrowed herself.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ sighed Derrick.

Fortunately for the librarian, at that very moment the Police Sergeant entered.

‘Ah, Police Sergeant,’ said the librarian, ‘I’m so glad you have arrived. Please see this pig off the premises.’

‘Oh, okay,’ said the Police Sergeant.

He was not there because of the disturbance. No-one had called the police because even the other library staff were enjoying the scene too much to want it to end. The Police Sergeant had come to the library to secretly borrow detective novels (he picked up quite a lot of pointers that way). But on seeing the murderous glare Nanny Piggins was giving the
librarian, he realised he would not be borrowing any books that day.

Unlike the librarian, the Police Sergeant had plenty of experience dealing with Nanny Piggins so he knew just how to speak to her. ‘Nanny Piggins, it is so good to see you. You look lovely today,’ said the Police Sergeant politely. ‘Would you be so kind as to step out to the patrol car with me?’

Nanny Piggins glowered at him.

‘I have a packet of chocolate biscuits in the glove box,’ continued the Police Sergeant.

No-one actually saw Nanny Piggins leave the building because she flew out of the library so fast. By the time the children joined her she was sitting in the passenger seat chatting with the young Police Constable, eating chocolate biscuits and trying to persuade him to let her turn on the police siren.

The Police Sergeant was then kind enough to drive them all home. He even let Nanny Piggins wear his police hat and turn on the siren while he drove through a few red lights (he did not need much persuading, he enjoyed doing that himself). So when they arrived back at the Green house, Nanny Piggins was not as grumpy as she might have been about being banned from the local library. Although she had borrowed the Police Constable’s pen and
notebook to write a little note reminding herself to get revenge on the librarian next time there was a rainy day or she had some spare time to fill.

So Nanny Piggins and the children waved goodbye to the police officers, then let themselves in, which was when the second unpleasant event of the day occurred. They opened the door and found Mr Green waiting for them with a strained smile on his face and a large chocolate cake in his hands.

‘Hello, Nanny Piggins,’ said Mr Green through clenched teeth (he was not very good at smiling, he had so little practice).

‘What’s this?’ asked Nanny Piggins suspiciously, sniffing first the cake, then Mr Green, to try to determine what was going on.

‘Nothing,’ said Mr Green. ‘I just thought I’d buy a nice cake for my favourite nanny. You’d like a cake, wouldn’t you?’ asked Mr Green, offering it to her.

Nanny Piggins backed away. ‘This isn’t right. What’s going on?’ demanded Nanny Piggins. ‘Is the cake poisoned? Have I been poisoned?! Are you giving me a cake because you know I only have thirty minutes to live?!’

‘Not at all,’ said Mr Green, with the false smile still plastered across his face. ‘I’m giving you a cake because I like you.’

‘Quick! Run, children!’ ordered Nanny Piggins. ‘Your father has obviously lost his mind.’

‘Just take the darn cake,’ snapped Mr Green, unable to keep up the pretence of being nice any longer. ‘Can’t you see I’m trying to bribe you?’

‘Oooooh,’ said Nanny Piggins, suddenly catching on. ‘Well that does make a refreshing change. My not having to tell you to bribe me. I’m glad to see you taking the initiative for once.’

‘Well done, Father,’ congratulated Derrick.

‘So what is it you want?’ asked Nanny Piggins, taking the cake, biting off a big mouthful and sharing the rest with the children.

‘It’s the Father of the Year Competition,’ said Mr Green.

Nanny Piggins and the children groaned.

‘Not that again?’ complained Nanny Piggins. ‘What do you want me to do this time? Teach the children to dance about, singing in five-part harmony?’

‘There are only three of us,’ pointed out Michael.

‘Yes, that would make it particularly difficult,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘Still, I suppose we could adopt Samson and Margaret. It would only be fair – someone really should liberate them from Nanny Anne.’

‘No, no, no,’ interrupted Mr Green. ‘It’s nothing like that. It was announced today that there are three finalists in the company’s Father of the Year Competition …’

‘Oh, never mind,’ comforted Nanny Piggins kindly. ‘At least you tried.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Mr Green. ‘I am one of the finalists.’

Nanny Piggins and the children were shocked. (Nanny Piggins would have spat out her mouthful of cake in surprise, but it was a particularly delicious one, so she did not.)

‘But how is that possible?!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘The Senior Partner has seen you inter acting with the children.’

‘Well, apparently, if you take a whole law firm full of lawyers, it is very hard to find three of them who are good fathers,’ said Mr Green. ‘Smythe from Accounting actually knew all his children’s birthdays and most of their names, so obviously he went straight through. And Harris from Maritime Law was seen taking his four-year-old to the park on his own without a woman there to help him, so he automatically got picked as well. Luckily Peterson still hasn’t been released by the tribe in Papua New Guinea. Apparently they think he is a
god just because he’s been giving them good stock-market tips.’

‘But why on earth did they choose you?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

Mr Green looked shifty and did not answer.

‘You’d better tell her, Father,’ encouraged Derrick. ‘You know she’ll find out anyway, and you won’t like the way she does it.’

‘All right,’ snapped Mr Green grumpily. ‘The Senior Partner said that while I was terrible in all other respects, I had made one stroke of genius.’

‘Which was?’ asked Samantha.

‘Hrrring nnn pggg,’ mumbled Mr Green, trying not to make eye contact.

‘I’m sorry, we didn’t quite catch that?’ said Michael.

‘The Senior Partner said I made a stroke of genius when I hired Nanny Piggins,’ confessed Mr Green.

Nanny Piggins smiled. ‘I always thought your new Senior Partner was a lovely, insightful man.’

‘So why are you giving Nanny Piggins a cake?’ asked Samantha. ‘To thank her?’

‘Of course not,’ said Mr Green as though this was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. ‘No, you see, there is a final stage in the competition to find out who the ultimate winner is.’

‘You mean who the best father is,’ said Derrick.

‘Yes, yes, same difference,’ said Mr Green. ‘Anyway, the Senior Partner has set us a task. We have to team up with our children and raise money for charity. Whoever raises the most money wins.’

‘Right,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘So could you do all that for me?’ said Mr Green, picking up his briefcase and straightening his tie. ‘I want to get back to the office.’

‘Wait just a minute!’ said Nanny Piggins, blocking his path. ‘It is called the “Father of the Year Competition”, not the “Nanny of the Year Competition”.’

‘They’d never have a competition like that,’ said Michael. ‘You’d win hands down every year.’

‘True,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘But my point is, if you want to win, then you should jolly well do some fathering yourself.’

‘But, but, but …’ whined Mr Green, ‘I don’t want to.’

‘Tough,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I do everything else for you. I can’t be you for you as well.’

‘But I don’t know how to arrange a charity event,’ complained Mr Green.

‘Then you’d better learn,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Here, take back your cake. I refuse to accept your
bribe.’ (The strength of this gesture was somewhat diminished by the fact that it was already three-quarters eaten.)

‘Fine,’ snapped Mr Green. ‘I order you three children to meet me at 7 am tomorrow morning for a breakfast meeting to discuss what we are going to do.’ With that, Mr Green got in his Rolls Royce and returned to his office.

‘Nanny Piggins, what have you done?’ asked Michael. ‘We have to go to a meeting!’

‘And at 7 am on a Saturday!’ exclaimed Derrick.

‘And with Father!’ exclaimed Samantha (which was the most horrific kind of 7 am Saturday breakfast meeting she could imagine).

‘You are going to get us out of it, aren’t you?’ asked Michael.

Nanny Piggins looked at the three children. It broke her heart to see their crestfallen little faces. But she had principles.

‘I’m not,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I am sorry that you are going to have to suffer this, when you have suffered so much already: the loss of your mother, the cruelties of compulsory education and, on occasion, having to eat vegetables. But there are some points on which a pig should stand firm. Your father should spend some time with you. And while that may be
deeply unpleasant for you, sometimes you have to suffer unpleasantness to do what is right.’

‘We do?’ asked Michael.

‘Oh yes,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Look at Superman. He is the strongest, most powerful man in the universe. And yet he still has to wear his underpants on the outside of his leotard. We all have our crosses to bear. You will just have to be strong and see it through. And if your father is too unbearable, let me know and I will come and bite his leg for you.’

The following two weeks were not pleasant for the Green children. Admittedly, they did not have to spend too much time with their father. He soon discovered he could organise the event simply by ringing up and barking orders at them on the phone. But the children were surprised when Nanny Piggins actually stayed true to her word and left them to it. They thought she would not be able to resist sweeping in and transforming the drab event Mr Green was organising into something fabulous.

When the big night arrived the children trooped into the living room to say goodbye to her. Nanny Piggins was curled up in an armchair, eating a box
of chocolates and reading a very silly novel (about how the truth about the Loch Ness monster was hidden in coded messages painted into Salvador Dali paintings).

‘So you’re really not coming with us?’ asked Derrick.

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I do hope it is not too awful for you. But if it is, always remember – what’s my first rule about awkward social situations?’