The Adventures of Nanny Piggins (9 page)

Next she got him to sand back the wall in the bathroom and repaint the whole room entirely. She had been meaning to do this herself for weeks, ever since she accidentally set fire to the paintwork when she was having a candlelit bath. It had been a pain persuading Mr Green to go to work every morning without going to the toilet.

The hoodlum had never done any painting before and it seemed he was not very gifted at it. He kept bumping things, tripping over things and flicking specks of paint into his own eyes at crucial moments. By the time he was done, the walls were not the only thing covered in periwinkle blue paint – he was as well.

'Can I stop now please?' he begged. 'My arms hurt, I've banged my shin and I've got a headache from the paint fumes.'

'Of course you can stop painting,' said Nanny Piggins. 'As soon as you've finished the second coat.'

The hoodlum looked as if he was going to cry as he trudged back into the bathroom. The punishment did not stop there. Nanny Piggins came up with all sort of interesting chores for him. She made him chop wood. And not just from big logs into smaller logs. She made him climb over into Mrs McGill's garden (Mrs McGill was a nasty old lady who never gave a ball back if you accidentally hit it into her yard) and cut down her tree. She also made him re-tile the roof, catch every cockroach in the basement, prune Mr Green's rose bushes, re-wire all the lights, learn to dance the tango, mow the lawn, unblock the kitchen sink, hand sew five thousand sequins onto an evening dress and vacuum the house.

Then Nanny Piggins made the hoodlum do the most awful job of all. She made him do all the children's French homework. He begged to be allowed to go back to handwashing Mr Green's smelly socks but Nanny Piggins was very strict with him. He was not going anywhere until he conjugated all the verbs.

And so, as the sun started to peek above the horizon in the early hours of the morning, the house was beautifully clean and painted, the children's homework was done and they all sat around the kitchen table eating chocolate mud-cake. Everyone, especially the hoodlum, agreed that he had been thoroughly punished.

'You certainly know how to put a young man off a life of crime, Nanny Piggins. I'm going to have dishpan hands for a month,' said the hoodlum sadly as he looked at his chafed and blistered fingers.

'I hope you've learned your lesson. You should never ever break into a house and steal things. Because you never know when you might be attacked by a flying pig,' said Nanny Piggins.

'You've got that right. I've learned my lesson,' the hoodlum assured her. 'I'm going straight now.'

'Straight where?' asked Michael.

'I mean, I've gone off a life of crime and I'm going to get a proper job,' explained the hoodlum.

'Doing what?' asked Samantha, not believing that anyone in their right mind would actually pay the hoodlum to come into an office wearing a suit and tie and do paperwork like her father.

'Well, look at all the things I've learned how to do tonight,' said the hoodlum. 'I've learned how to chop wood, paint a wall, catch cockroaches, unblock drains, re-wire electrics, sew a dress and bake a chocolate cake. I reckon I'm fully trained up to be an odd-jobs man.'

'What a good idea!' exclaimed Nanny Piggins. Perhaps she had misjudged the hoodlum and he was not as stupid as he looked. 'And you already knew how to pick locks. So you will be able to let people into their homes when they've locked themselves out as well.'

'Yeah, I'll need a van, of course, but I can always nick one and . . .' the hoodlum began.

'A-a-ah,' remonstrated Nanny Piggins, glaring at him.

'I could always borrow one and return it to its owner when I have saved the money to buy my own.'

'That's better,' said Nanny Piggins.

'I'd best be off, or me mum will be wondering where I've got to,' said the hoodlum.

'But who says your punishment is over?' asked Nanny Piggins imperiously.

'Oh come on, it is, isn't it?' begged the hoodlum. 'I don't reckon I could do anymore. I think I've strained my innards.'

'I guess if your innards are strained then you've probably learned your lesson,' conceded Nanny Piggins.

So Nanny Piggins and the children said goodbye to their hoodlum. Then they all went to bed fully content with their wonderful night of murder and punishment.

Nanny Piggins
and the Fugitive

Nanny Piggins and the children were sitting in the living room playing poker when they were interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. At first, Nanny Piggins pretended she had not heard it. She had two aces and did not want to lose her opportunity to win the jellybeans they were playing for. But then the knock sounded again and this time it was even louder.

'I think there's someone at the door,' said Derrick. He did not look up from his cards either, and he certainly did not volunteer to answer it. He had three jacks and he knew his nanny well enough to know she would alter his cards while he was out of the room, to teach him a lesson about not leaving your cards in the middle of a game.

The knock came again. Whoever was there was clearly not going away.

Nanny Piggins sighed. 'Someone has to answer the door,' she said. 'Is anybody going to volunteer?'

'Father told us to never open the door to strangers,' said Samantha. Which was, in fact, true. But she knew she was using the truth conveniently because she had a full house (a three of a kind and a pair), which was a very good hand and she particularly liked eating jellybeans.

'Let's decide this democratically,' suggested Nanny Piggins. 'Hands up who thinks Michael should answer the door?'

Samantha and Derrick's hands shot up immediately. Michael gasped at how cleverly he had been outwitted.

'Run along, Michael, you've been democratically elected to open the front door so you better get on with it,' said Nanny Piggins.

Michael left the room grumbling about 'unfairness' and 'mean older people'. He was just reaching for the front door when the knock came again. 'I'm coming, I'm coming, keep your hair on,' said Michael discourteously. But as he swung open the door all thoughts of etiquette flew out of his head. He stood agape for one split second before slamming the door shut and running, screaming, back to Nanny Piggins.

'Aaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!!!!' said Michael, bur sting into the kitchen just as Nanny Piggins scraped all the jellybeans into her pocket because she had just won the hand.

'What is it? What's wrong?' Nanny Piggins asked.

The running and the screaming had, however, left Michael temporarily unable to answer. Instead he gasped for breath and pointed meaningfully at the front door.

'He's probably just been stung by a bee,' said Derrick. His mind was still on the jellybeans.

'If he has been stung by a bee, that is very serious indeed,' said Nanny Piggins. She did not approve of older brothers being callous when their younger brothers were in pain. 'Bees are very silly creatures. They always overreact terribly. Ladybirds get along just fine without stinging people. I don't see why bees have to be so violent.' This was an issue Nanny Piggins felt quite strongly about, having once been stung by several dozen bees while trying to suck the honey out of a beehive. The honey was delicious but, on the whole, not worth the pain and swelling.

'It wasn't a bee,' gasped Michael. 'It was a bear!'

'I didn't know bears could sting,' said Samantha. She was not concentrating either. She was still not entirely sure that Nanny Piggins' pair should have beaten her full house.

'It didn't sting me. I slammed the door on it as quick as I could before it could attack,' protested Michael.

'A bear, you say?' said Nanny Piggins. Michael now had her full attention.

'It'll just be one of Michael's crazy stories again. He's probably been staying up all night reading picture books with a torch. It always sends him loopy,' said Derrick, as he inspected his brother for dark rings under the eyes or other telltale signs of excessive night-time reading.

'There is nothing wrong with reading picture books all night. A young man should stay informed,' said Nanny Piggins, defending Michael. 'But tell me about this bear. What did he look like?'

'He was a big one,' said Michael, pleased at last that someone was taking him seriously.

'Was his fur brown?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'Yes,' said Michael.

'Were his teeth yellow?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'Yes,' said Michael

'And were his eyes the same colour blue as a Swiss lake on a hot summer's day?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'Why yes, they were,' said Michael, suddenly remembering that the vicious bear did have remarkably pretty eyes.

Nanny Piggins abruptly stood up. 'I thought as much,' she declared. Then abandoning the card game on the floor, she bravely marched to the front door herself.

'Shouldn't you call the police?' called Derrick.

'Or the Royal Society of Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,' suggested Samantha.

'Or the Royal Society of Plenty of Cruelty to Animals,' suggested Michael, thinking that if it was a vicious bear, cruelty might be more appropriate. None of the Green children wanted to see Nanny Piggins torn limb from limb by a wild animal in front of their very eyes. She was by far the best nanny they had ever had. She let them keep ferrets in their bedroom, drive their father's ride-on lawnmower to the shop and eat nothing but sweets for dinner all the time.

Nevertheless, without hesitating or even turning around to say goodbye, Nanny Piggins threw open the front door and confronted the giant hulking bear still standing on the doorstep. But instead of screaming and being torn into tiny pieces, Nanny Piggins opened her arms wide and cried out, 'Boris!'

'Sarah!' replied the bear.

And they fell into each others arms, sharing an enormous bear hug, which is the only type of hug bears do.

'Crikey,' said Michael. 'I think they know each other.'

And indeed they did. Nanny Piggins soon brought Boris into the house and explained all about him. 'Children,' she announced, 'this is my brother, Boris the dancing bear.'

Boris did a pirouette to demonstrate how he came by the title. Then they all sat down to eat jellybeans and become firm friends.

'How can a pig have a bear as a brother?' asked Derrick. He did not want to appear rude but he was burning with curiosity. And Nanny Piggins always had enthralling explanations for all the most peculiar things.

'Boris is my adopted brother,' she explained.

'But I didn't know you had parents?' quizzed Samantha.

'You don't have to have parents to have a brother. In fact, it is a lot easier if you don't,' explained Nanny Piggins. 'Boris has been my brother ever since he arrived at the circus in a crate sent from Russia.'

'Why Russia?' asked Derrick.

'What do these children learn in school?' asked Boris, horrified by their ignorance.

'Not much,' Nanny Piggins admitted. 'I have to teach them all the important things myself.' And turning to the children she explained this too. 'All the best ballet dancers come from Russia. So when the circus decided they wanted a dancing bear, they wrote to the Russian Ballet. And it just so happened that Boris was their star. They don't usually let bears join, of course. But he was so good at dancing on his tippy toes, they didn't even realise he
was
a bear until he'd been there three weeks, by which time they'd all been enchanted by his flying leaps.'

'It's true,' said Boris, with a complete lack of modesty.

'When Boris arrived at the circus I was just a piglet and he was only 8 feet tall. Of course we hit it off immediately when we discovered we had a shared love of honey in all its forms: honeycomb, honey mustard dressing, honey straight out of the jar . . . So we adopted each other as brother and sister,' explained Nanny Piggins.

'Being a lonely orphan is fun, but it is even more fun when you can share it with a sister,' said Boris.

'Obviously it was difficult when Boris first arrived because he didn't speak a word of English and I didn't speak Russian. So for the first six months we communicated solely through dance.'

'How did that work?' asked Michael.

'Well, if I wanted a cup of tea, I would do this.' Nanny Piggins got up and gracefully threw herself into a perfect little dance depicting a thirsty pig gasping for refreshment until her thoughtful brother brought her a warm drink. The children clapped. She really was very good.

'And if I wanted to borrow Sarah's handcream, I would do this.' Boris got up and elegantly began his own miniature ballet depicting a hard working bear whose paws became sadly chafed by his daily chores until an angelic pig thoughtfully bestowed a tube of cream upon him and all was right with the world again. The children applauded again. He was seriously good too.

'So what are you doing here?' Nanny Piggins asked Boris. 'Surely you're the star of the circus now that I've left and they don't have a flying pig anymore.'

'Oh, Sarah, you can't imagine how things have changed since you went away. The crowds don't want to see the ballet anymore. They want to see . . .' Boris paused as he struggled to control his emotions. He could not bring himself to say the words. But eventually, after several deep breaths, he spat it out. 'They want to see . . . modern dance.'

Nanny Piggins gasped. 'But you are the finest ballet-dancing bear in all the world,' she protested.

'I know, I know, but the Ringmaster, he says that ballet is for . . . fuddy duddies.' At this point Boris broke down completely and cried loudly into his handkerchief.

'You poor, poor bear,' comforted Nanny Piggins. 'You must never go back there. They are obviously barbarians who have no appreciation of a great artist.'

'Da,' sobbed Boris. ('Da' is Russian for 'yes'. Boris always regressed to speaking Russian when he was truly upset.) 'But what am I to do? Where am I to go?'

'You can stay here, of course,' said Nanny Piggins. 'I'm sure the children won't mind.'

The children were delighted at the prospect of having an actual giant dancing bear living in their home. Samson Wallace, an acquaintance from school, had been driving them up the wall all week. He had been boasting about his new pet guinea pig. So getting a giant Russian dancing bear would certainly shut him up.

Plus their time with Nanny Piggins had taught them that circus people are much more likely to have interesting things happen to them than regular people. They were sure to have twice as many adventures with two circus stars living in their house. But the children were not stupid, so it soon occurred to them that their father would not be quite so open-minded about taking in a 10-foot dancing bear.

Derrick cleared his throat and bravely broached the subject. 'The only thing is, Nanny Piggins, I think Father might be a bit difficult about it.'

'Of course we can't tell your father,' declared Nanny Piggins, surprised that the thought had even crossed Derrick's mind. She firmly believed in informing Mr Green about as little as possible. 'We'll just have to hide him in the house.' Both Boris and Nanny Piggins seemed perfectly content with this plan. But the children saw a potential flaw.

'The only thing is, Nanny Piggins,' said Samantha tentatively, because she did not want to appear stupid. 'Boris is rather large. Although I'm sure he's very petite for a bear,' she quickly added, not wanting to hurt Boris' feelings. 'Don't you think it would be quite hard to hide a 10-foot bear from Father?'

Nanny Piggins and Boris just laughed. 'Oh my dear, you have so much to learn,' said Nanny Piggins. 'There are no limits to what a man will fail to notice. Human men are the most unobservant, inattentive creatures in the entire world.'

'They're even worse than rhinoceroses,' added Boris. 'And everyone knows rhinoceroses are very silly.'

'How many times have you seen your father looking for his glasses when he was actually wearing them?' asked Nanny Piggins. Samantha had to admit that the answer was quite a few. 'And how many times has he searched for his keys when he was holding them in his hand?' added Nanny Piggins. And again Samantha could remember this happening on many occasions.

'Besides, your father leaves for work so early in the morning and returns so late at night,' said Nanny Piggins, 'that I'm sure it will be no trouble at all hiding Boris for a year or two until he finds a place of his own.'

Unfortunately, they never got to find out if this was true. Because the very next day when Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children were in the middle of playing a rowdy game of bulldog across the living room, they were interrupted by Mr Green himself walking in through the front door. Boris, with his quick thinking Russian intelligence, hastily stuffed a lampshade on his head and stood very still in the corner, pretending to be a lamp. And Mr Green was so consumed with his own drama that he did not notice him.

Obviously, Nanny Piggins did not like it when Mr Green walked into his own house unexpectedly. Under close questioning she soon discovered that he had been sent home from work after collapsing from a stress attack. Apparently he had flown into an apoplectic rage when someone had put sweetener instead of sugar in his coffee, then passed out when he yelled so much that there was not enough oxygen flowing into his brain. A doctor had been called, ordered him to get bed rest and to take up a relaxing hobby.

For Nanny Piggins and the children this was their worst nightmare come true. Mr Green was not a pleasant invalid. He just lay on the couch all day complaining about every noise and demanding things to be fetched for him. Poor Boris had to go on pretending to be a lamp for six long hours before Mr Green dozed off and he was able to sneak out of the room.

'What are we going to do? We need to find somewhere to hide Boris before your father finds him and has him shipped back to Russia,' said Nanny Piggins.

'I don't want to go back to Russia,' sobbed Boris. 'It is so cold and they don't have salt and vinegar chips there.'

The children agreed they could not let Boris go back to such a horrible place. They needed a better hiding spot.

'How about the attic?' suggested Samantha.

'Or the cellar?' suggested Derrick.

'The attic and the cellar are the two places people always hide in storybooks,' added Michael.

'I can't go in the cellar, I'm afraid of the dark,' confessed Boris.

'The attic it is then,' decided Nanny Piggins.