by R. A. Spratt
‘Ahem.’ A man behind them pretended to cough to get their attention. ‘I’m afraid Ms Dunkhurst could not be here today.’
Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children turned to see a very pompous but smartly dressed man, with slicked-back hair and a self-important air about him.
‘Who are you?’ asked Nanny Piggins rudely. She did not care for men who put more oil on their hair than their salad dressing.
‘My name is Montgomery St John,’ explained Montgomery St John. ‘Ms Dunkhurst is touring Central Africa with her little dancing show at the moment. Apparently she has a large fan base in Botswana, but she left strict instructions about what to do if you should call and need legal help.’
‘She did?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘But how did she think that sending a pompous man with greasy hair would help me?’
‘I am the firm’s leading barrister,’ said Montgomery. ‘I have not lost a case in nine years. Rest assured I won’t have any trouble getting you out of this little difficulty.’
‘Why did you lose nine years ago?’ asked Nanny Piggins shrewdly.
‘What?’ asked Montgomery. He clearly had not been expecting this question.
‘Why did you lose the last case you lost?’ asked Nanny Piggins again.
‘Oh, there wasn’t anything wrong with my arguments,’ said Montgomery.
‘Then what happened?’ pushed Nanny Piggins.
Montgomery was starting to look a little embarrassed. ‘I had a cold and I kept sneezing when I should have been saying “Objection!”’
‘Hmm,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Then I suppose you’ll do, as long as we keep plenty of antihistamines handy.’
‘The People vs Piggins,’ called the bailiff.
‘That’s us,’ said Montgomery. ‘We’d better go in.’
They all filed into the courtroom.
‘What defence are you going to use?’ Derrick asked Montgomery.
‘Temporary insanity,’ said Montgomery. ‘I’ll tell the judge that she is a pig and that the smell of cake makes her insane.’
‘What?!’ exploded Nanny Piggins. ‘You’ll say no such thing! The smell of cake does not make anybody insane. On the contrary, it makes you more sane. It puts everything in perspective and makes sense of the world. One whiff of that buttery cocoa-laden bliss and instantly you know there is nothing more important in the entire universe than putting that in your mouth.’
‘Yes yes, you can say that when they put you on the stand,’ encouraged Montgomery. ‘It will support my argument nicely.’
‘Hold my handbag,’ Nanny Piggins said to Samantha. ‘I’m going to bite him.’
Fortunately for the trouser legs of Montgomery St John’s Armani suit, Nanny Piggins never got the opportunity to bite him because at that very moment the bailiff called out, ‘All rise for the Honourable Judge Birchmore.’
Everyone stood up, except Montgomery. He went very pale and started to shake. ‘That bailiff didn’t say Judge Birchmore, did he? Perhaps he said Judge Darmon or Judge Hsu?’
‘No, he definitely said Birchmore,’ Michael assured him.
‘Oh no!’ said Montgomery, beginning to tremble.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Michael.
‘She’s awful,’ whispered Montgomery. ‘She’s so mean to everyone. The only reason I got to be senior defence counsel at our firm is because she made the last two senior defence counsels cry and quit the law forever.’
‘What did she do to them?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘Make rude comments about their weight?’ guessed Boris. (That always reduced him to tears.)
‘Or force them to do extra maths homework,’ guessed Michael. (That would certainly break his spirit.)
‘No, she was just plain mean,’ shuddered Montgomery. ‘The way she can yell and scream at a lawyer is horrifying. I don’t know how she does it. I think it involves circular breathing and excellent voice projection.’
Just then there was a shuffle of movement behind the magistrate’s desk.
‘She’s coming,’ said Michael.
‘You’ll have to excuse me a moment,’ said Montgomery. ‘I left my chapstick in the car.’
‘What?’ protested Nanny Piggins.
But Montgomery St John had already sprinted out of the courtroom.
‘He is coming back, isn’t he?’ worried Samantha.
‘Of course,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘He’s a professional lawyer. He can’t just run away from the courtroom.’
Unfortunately Nanny Piggins’ words were immediately contradicted by what they all saw out the courtroom window. They saw Montgomery run to his expensive Italian sports car, jump in and speed away.
‘He said he left the chapstick in his car, not his house, didn’t he?’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Silence in the court,’ called the bailiff.
They turned and looked at Judge Birchmore. She seemed harmless enough to the children. She was a small wizened old lady of at least 75, perhaps even 80 years old. But Nanny Piggins was not so confident. ‘I don’t like this,’ she whispered.
‘You’re worried because your defence lawyer just ran away,’ guessed Michael.
‘No, I’m worried that the judge is so thin,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘She clearly hasn’t had a slice of cake in decades. And if she doesn’t eat cake, how can I bribe her?’
Judge Birchmore looked up from her papers and peered out at the courtroom, her gaze resting on Boris. ‘Why is that bear crying?’ she demanded.
Nanny Piggins stood up. ‘Because he is worried that I may be sent to jail, your Justiceness.’
Judge Birchmore peered over her glasses at Nanny Piggins. ‘Well he’ll be sent to jail himself if he doesn’t stop blubbering in my courtroom.’
‘Michael, perhaps you’d better take Boris outside,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Being Russian, I don’t think he is capable of going through a whole court case without crying. And I don’t think prison food would agree with him. I doubt they would supply bear-sized portions.’
Michael led the weeping Boris away.
‘Where’s your lawyer?’ demanded Judge Birchmore.
‘He ran away,’ said Nanny Piggins truthfully.
‘Hmm,’ said Judge Birchmore reading over her papers. ‘Given the litany of charges against you, that seems only sensible.’
‘Don’t worry, your Honourableness, I am fully prepared to defend myself,’ said Nanny Piggins confidently.
Judge Birchmore peered over her glasses again. ‘Really?’ she asked, smiling the way a crocodile might smile just before it bites off your leg. ‘You are aware of the saying that anyone who defends themself has a fool for a client?’
‘Well that wouldn’t be true in my case, would it?’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘because clearly I’m not a fool, I’m a pig.’
‘Yes, well I’ve reviewed your case. It seems like a fairly simple matter of recklessly endangering the public, needlessly causing panic and violently trying to bite the shins of three separate policemen,’ said Judge Birchmore.
‘In my defence,’ interrupted Nanny Piggins, ‘my mouth was so full of cake, even if I had been able to get hold of their legs, I don’t think I could have fit their shins in my mouth.’
‘Do not interrupt me when I am telling you off!’ snapped Judge Birchmore.
‘I thought as defence attorney I was meant to defend myself,’ protested Nanny Piggins.
‘Only when I say so,’ yelled Judge Birchmore so loudly that everyone in the courtroom flinched. (It was really extraordinary that such a small and wizened woman could generate such a loud and unpleasant noise.)
‘Then that isn’t much of a defence, is it?’ argued Nanny Piggins. ‘In boxing, if someone hits you you’re allowed to hit them straight back. You don’t have to wait until they finish and
tell you it’s your turn.’
‘This is not a boxing match!’ hollered Judge Birchmore.
‘I wish it was,’ muttered Nanny Piggins. ‘I know who would win.’
‘I’ve never heard such insolence!’ exclaimed Judge Birchmore.
‘Then you obviously haven’t been listening properly,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘I was going to let you off with a warning,’ screamed Judge Birchmore, ‘but now I’m going to give you one hundred hours community service!’
‘But you haven’t let Nanny Piggins present her defence yet!’ protested Derrick.
‘Haven’t I?’ Judge Birchmore looked at the bailiff.
The bailiff looked intimidated, but he was a brave man, having been in the marines for twenty years, so he found the courage to shake his head ever so slightly.
‘Very well,’ said Judge Birchmore. ‘What’s your defence?’
‘My defence against the charge of public endangerment is that it is all a load of piffle,’ stated Nanny Piggins.
‘That is not a proper legal argument!’ berated Judge Birchmore.
‘But it’s the truth,’ Nanny Piggins assured her. ‘I am an international circus megastar. There’s no way I’d ever fall off a tightrope onto the heads of the crowd beneath and crush them to death, no matter how windy it was. Especially not when there was a delicious chocolate cream cake to be eaten.’
‘The deliciousness of the cake is immaterial to this court case,’ yelled Judge Birchmore.
‘You only say that because you didn’t get a slice,’ argued Nanny Piggins. ‘If you let me whip up a replica cake I’m sure I can convince you otherwise.’
‘Just get on with your argument!’ screamed Judge Birchmore.
‘Do you think the judge is so cranky because she is worried she’ll miss The Young and the Irritable too?’ wondered Derrick.
‘My defence against the charge of resisting arrest,’ continued Nanny Piggins, ‘is that the police really should be thanking me for the opportunity I gave them. Arresting an elite athlete like me actually proved to be an invaluable training exercise for the officers involved, and a much better use of their time than hanging out in the doughnut shop chatting up the cashier, which I happen to know was all they were doing at the time, because I saw them when I was up on the tightrope.’
The police officers, who were sitting in court waiting to give evidence, all blushed. They had indeed been in the doughnut shop, but it was not their fault. There is something universal about wearing a blue uniform that makes a person crave deep fried, jam-filled cake.
‘All right, I’ve heard enough!’ shrieked Judge Birchmore. ‘I sentence you to 200 hours community service.’
‘I know maths isn’t my strong suit,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but didn’t that figure just go up?’
The children nodded.
‘But that’s unfair!’ protested Nanny Piggins. ‘All I did was walk across a hose pipe and eat a slice of cake. Since when is that a crime?’
‘Since I said it is!’ yelled Judge Birchmore, ‘and I’m adding contempt of court to your list of misdemeanours! So that’s 300 hours community service.’
‘I don’t have contempt for the court!’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘I only have contempt for you!’
Everyone in the room gasped.
‘You obviously have no idea how to bake a cake yourself,’ continued Nanny Piggins, ‘or you wouldn’t be so short and skinny.’
Judge Birchmore was now shaking with rage. ‘That’s it!’ she declared. ‘I am giving you five thousand hours community service!’
Now everyone in the courtroom gasped. Even the blushing police officers. They had actually quite enjoyed arresting Nanny Piggins. It was much more exciting than telling off shoplifters or giving out speeding tickets. They did not want to see her get in that much trouble.
But the Judge’s decision was final. She slammed her gavel onto her desk.
Fortunately for Nanny Piggins, Judge Birchmore immediately got up and turned to leave the room so she did not see Nanny Piggins lunge across the court in a last minute attempt to bite her scrawny shins, or that it took all three children, Boris and the bailiff to drag her out of the courtroom.
‘At least she didn’t send you to jail,’ said Samantha later that afternoon, as they all sat around their kitchen table feeling gloomy.
‘Hah!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘A jail sentence is nothing! You’re forgetting I escaped from the circus. So it would take much more than a twelve-foot-high electrified cyclone fence and guards with machine guns to hold me.’
‘But what about the community service?’ said Michael. ‘Five thousand hours is a lot. Even if you worked ten hours a day it would still take you a year and a half. How will you find time to look after us?’
‘You don’t suppose there’s any chance the judge might just forget about it all?’ asked Nanny Piggins, looking a little worried.
They all shook their heads sadly. Nanny Piggins looked depressed. But then she put a very large slice of cake in her mouth, and you could almost see the chemical transformation it had on her body. She sat up straight, colour returned to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eye. She licked the icing off her trotters. ‘Piffle!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m sure it will all work out. These things always do. Terrible things are never as bad as you think they are going to be. Except for carrot cake. That is always atrocious. As long as they don’t expect me to eat carrot cake, I’m sure this community service will fly by.’
The children were not so confident. They loved their nanny very much. But seeing sense was not her strong suit. So they suspected that the following months would not be easy at all.
Now this is the incredibly dangerous stage!’ whispered Nanny Piggins. ‘Is everyone wearing their protective gear?’
The children nodded. They were all wearing cricket gloves and swimming goggles as they peered over Nanny Piggins’ shoulder and watched the brown liquid she was stirring start to bubble.
‘It doesn’t look very dangerous,’ said Michael dubiously.
‘That is exactly why it is so hazardous,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You think, because fudge is so wonderfully delicious, what harm could such a scrumptious treat do, don’t you?’
The children nodded.
‘
‘That is exactly how fudge lures you into a false sense of security!’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘While set fudge is wonderful, yummy happiness in a lump, cooking fudge is seriously unsafe! Molten sugar is both super boiling hot and super sticky on your skin. So it doesn’t just burn you, it keeps burning you while you run around the kitchen howling, “Get it off, get it off, get it off!”’
‘The army could use hot fudge as a weapon,’ suggested Michael.
‘They did!’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but they had to stop because it caused such terrible burns.’
‘But surely that’s what they wanted?’ said Derrick.
‘The fudge didn’t burn the enemy,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘It burnt the soldiers using it because they couldn’t resist licking the delicious fudge and they got terrible burns on their tongues.’
‘Really?’ said Derrick.
‘Yes, the dangers of fudge would be more widely known except, like so many military secrets, the truth remains classified,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘So how can we tell when it’s ready?’ asked Samantha.
‘By the ploppiness of the bubbles,’ said Nanny Piggins.
The children all peered into the pot again. The bubbling fudge looked like any bubbling liquid to them. But they didn’t like to say so in case this led to a three-hour lecture on comparative ploppiness. (Derrick had made the mistake of questioning Nanny Piggins’ opinion on the runniness of honey once, and he could now write a book on the viscosity of bee-regurgitated nectar as a result of all the
information his nanny had forced him to learn to cure his lamentable ignorance.)
‘As the fudge gets hotter and more moisture evaporates,’ explained Nanny Piggins, ‘it becomes thicker and the bubbles don’t pop open like water bubbles, they plop and flop like fudge bubbles. Then you know it’s ready and it is time to start testing the fudge.’
‘By eating some?’ asked Michael hopefully.
‘Of course not!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘Do you want to get horrible fourth-degree burns to your tongue like those poor soldiers?’
Michael did not.
‘No, you get a saucer of cold tap water,’ continued Nanny Piggins, ‘then drop one drop of the boiling fudge into the water. If it immediately sets and becomes hard to the touch, the fudge is ready.’
‘Then can you taste it?’ asked Derrick.
Nanny Piggins sighed. ‘Samantha, fetch your brother a chocolate bar. He is clearly becoming delirious with fudge longing.’
But Samantha did not hear her nanny. She was too busy staring at the boiling fudge. (Samantha had a flashlight strapped to her head for maximum analysis of the liquid.) ‘Nanny Piggins!’ she exclaimed. ‘The fudge! It’s starting to plop!’
‘It’s time!’ yelled Nanny Piggins. ‘Quick, fetch me a saucer of water. We mustn’t dillydally; the window of fudge perfection is a short one.’
Michael rushed over with a saucer of cold water. He was getting good at running with containers of liquid, so he only spilled half of it on the floor.
Nanny Piggins put the saucer on the countertop and carefully, using a teaspoon, scooped the smallest portion out of the pot.
‘Couldn’t you just use a cooking thermometer?’ asked Derrick. ‘Samson Wallace says that’s what Nanny Anne uses.’
Nanny Piggins paused and glared at Derrick out of the corner of her eye. (Nanny Anne was Nanny Piggins’ arch nemesis. To be strictly accurate, one of her arch-nemeses. She had quite a few, but Nanny Anne was definitely in the top three. She was a woman so puritanically obsessed with hygiene that she often gave poor Samson Wallace soap sandwiches in his lunch box, just in case he was thinking of saying something naughty.)
