Nanny Piggins and the Wicked Plan

by R. A. Spratt

  So when Mr Green burst into the corridor and said with a slightly raised voice, ‘What is all this ruckus!?’, they knew he was really mad.

  The children instinctively tried to hide – Derrick behind the umbrella stand, Samantha under a pile of raincoats and Michael in the hall closet. Which left Nanny Piggins momentarily distracted, because Derrick had accidentally jabbed her in the eye with an umbrella. The Mrs Green-want-to-be used this opportunity to give one enormous shove, pushing Nanny Piggins and the front door aside, and making her entrance into the Green home.

  ‘Mr Green?’ said the Mrs Green-want-to-be. ‘My name is Jane Doeadear. I have come about your personal advertisement.’

  Mr Green did not so much respond as slobber, much like a hungry dog looking at a T-bone steak. When he placed the advertisement, Mr Green had simply wanted a free housekeeper/nanny/domestic slave so he could rid himself of the shame of having a pig for a nanny. He had very low standards. He was prepared to marry any woman willing to scrub the baked-on scum off his oven. It never occurred to him (or to be fair, anybody else) that he could find a wife who was also dazzlingly attractive. And Jane Doeadear definitely was that. She was just the type of woman Mr Green liked – small, shiny-haired, and with glasses.

  Even Nanny Piggins had to admit that this stranger was good-looking. She had a sort of jaunty athleticism that Nanny Piggins found oddly familiar. It was almost as if they had met before but Nanny Piggins could not remember where.

  ‘Hello,’ said Mr Green in such a way that he clearly thought he was being dazzlingly attractive himself. He sort of smirked, winked and tried to look thin all at once. Fortunately the children could not see because they were trying to hide. But Nanny Piggins saw and it almost made her violently ill (which would have been a terrible tragedy because she had eaten the most delicious blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Nanny Piggins’ secret for making really good blueberry pancakes was to use chocolate chips instead of blueberries).

  ‘Do come in,’ simpered Mr Green, even more sickeningly.

  And that is how Jane Doeadear invaded the Green family home. Mr Green immediately invited her to stay. He thought it would be cheaper than dating. And it would give him an opportunity to observe Jane’s cleaning abilities up close.

  The next week was a horrible one for Nanny Piggins and the children. Mr Green started coming home from work at a normal time, just so he could watch Jane doing housework and sigh blissfully.

  ‘Do you think Father is suffering from some sort of brain damage?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nanny Piggins, as they watched him watching Jane. ‘But it’s no more severe than usual. Attractive women always have this effect on men.’

  ‘It’s almost as if he’s been hit on the head with a cricket bat,’ observed Samantha.

  ‘It’s worse than that,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘When you hit someone on the head with a cricket bat, the sharp pain and the flowing blood let them know something is wrong. But when a man is dazzled by a beautiful woman, he doesn’t realise he has gone temporarily insane. The opposite happens. He suddenly thinks he is the funniest, cleverest man ever to walk the earth. Really, when single men start dating they should all be locked up in lunatic asylums.’

  ‘How are we going to get rid of her?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘Are you sure you want to?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed all three Green children. ‘Of course we want to get rid of her.’

  ‘But you haven’t got to know her yet. And she has done a lovely job of cleaning the oven, sweeping the patio and disinfecting the tupperware. Wouldn’t you like to have a new mother?’ asked Nanny Piggins

  The Green children had to think about this for a moment.

  ‘I still like our old mother,’ said Michael, sniffing.

  The three Green children thought about their own mother, who actually used to talk to them, bake them cakes and kiss them goodnight when she tucked them in. Their eyes became wet and itchy.

  ‘I know no-one can replace your own mother,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but this woman might grow on you.’

  They watched as she polished the silver teapot so hard the sun glinted off it and blinded them.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Samantha.

  ‘There’s something else …’ Derrick struggled to put his finger on what it was that was wrong with Jane Doeadear.

  ‘Clean!’ said Michael. ‘She’s just too clean.’

  And Nanny Piggins had to admit that Jane had done a thorough job of committing genocide on the bacteria population of the Green house.

  Sadly Mr Green did not share his children’s concerns. He loved being able to see his face in the side of the kettle, the top of his shoes and the bathroom mirror. He was delighted with the hygiene improvements Jane had made in a few short days.

  Jane Doeadear had only been staying in the house for one week when, at breakfast, Mr Green cleared his throat and said, ‘I have an announcement to make.’ He looked about and smiled at his children, which only made them fear the worst. He had not smiled at them since he had announced he would stop giving them pocket money (on the morning after their mother died). Mr Green cleared his throat again for dramatic effect. ‘I have asked Jane to marry me.’

  ‘And what did Jane say?’ asked Nanny Piggins, barely able to conceal her astonishment.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jane, before returning her attention to her sausage and eggs.

  ‘We’re getting married on Saturday,’ said Mr Green. ‘I’m taking the morning off work for the ceremony,’ he added, smiling fondly at his fiancée, who was ignoring him. Just what he wanted in a wife.

  The children were too astonished to speak. Mr Green stood up to leave. ‘So er, Miss Piggins –’ It was always a bad sign when he stopped calling Nanny Piggins, nanny – ‘we won’t be needing your services anymore. I’m giving you two weeks’ notice.’

  Michael lunged at his father. He would have strangled him too, if the serving dish Samantha threw at Mr Green had not hit Michael in the head instead. Derrick had gone for a more pacifistic approach. He had merely barred the door and yelled, ‘Noooo, we won’t let you!’

  But Mr Green did not hear his son, he was too blissfully in love with his own cleverness. Marrying a woman was going to cost practically nothing, whereas paying Nanny Piggins cost slightly more than nothing.

  ‘I have to go to work. Darling –’ Mr Green said, turning to Jane, ‘could you take my car into the garage for me. The engine is making a funny noise.’

  ‘Certainly, darling,’ said Jane. ‘But there’s no need to pay a mechanic. I can take a look at it. I know a thing or two about motor cars.’

  ‘A fiancée who cleans and does automotive repairs!’ gushed Mr Green, as he imagined the fortune he was going to save on getting his car serviced. ‘I am such a clever … I mean, lucky, man.’

  Mr Green handed his fiancée the keys to the car, and left.

  Nanny Piggins and the children turned their attention to Jane. She was still calmly eating her breakfast.

  ‘Do you have a history of mental illness in your family?’ enquired Nanny Piggins.

  ‘You can’t honestly want to marry Father!’ said Derrick.

  ‘I’ll give you my teddy bear if you just go away,’ said Michael.

  Jane finished her mouthful and looked up. ‘Just because I’m marrying your father does not mean I have to speak to any of you. Once the marriage certificate is signed I don’t plan to speak to him either. Now kindly stand aside. I have to see to your father’s car.’ With that, she left.

  ‘There is nothing for it, children, we shall have to get rid of her,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘But how?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘With stealth and intelligence,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Or brute force. Whichever works best.’

  So Nanny Piggins and the children set about trying to discredit their future stepmother. (Fortunately, they had plenty of opportunity because Jane spent all day locked in the garage, like a good future wif
e, working on Mr Green’s car.) They searched her room but found nothing incriminating. All she had was a suitcase full of lovely designer dresses, and a one-hundred-and-eight-piece spanner set, which was odd but not illegal.

  Next, Nanny Piggins tried using brute force. She told Jane there was a five-cent piece under the sofa and when Jane lay down on the floor to look for it, Nanny Piggins rolled her up in the Persian carpet, put the carpet in the wheelbarrow and had Boris wheel her down to the tip. But, sadly, it did not work. Jane always carried a pocketknife, so she was able to cut her way out of the carpet, jump up and bop Boris over the head, then walk back to the house again.

  The children even tried having her locked up. Working on the assumption that anyone who wanted to marry their father must be criminally insane, they went down to the police station and tried to have her institutionalised. But, surprisingly, there were no outstanding arrest warrants for Jane Doeadear. She had not escaped from any local mental institutions. She did not even have a criminal record.

  So the morning of the wedding arrived and the children were very sad indeed. Once the ceremony and the reception (a cup of tea out of a thermos on the courthouse steps) were over, they would have a new mother. And their nanny would be banished forever. It seemed like there was nothing they could do. Their father was whistling happily to himself in his bedroom as he put on his best grey suit. And their future stepmother was happily locked in the garage fixing their father’s car.

  ‘It’s all over,’ said Samantha.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ said Derrick.

  ‘We’re going to have a stepmother,’ said Michael.

  ‘There is one last thing we can try,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘What?’ asked the children.

  ‘I’m going to kick in that garage door, and bite her on the leg,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘What good will that do?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘It will make me feel better,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  So the children followed Nanny Piggins through the house as she marched towards the garage. Nanny Piggins had an eighth dan black belt in Taekwondo, so it only took one spinning reverse sidekick to reduce the door to splinters. But Nanny Piggins never bit Jane on the leg, she was too busy staring in stunned silence. Because, as she and the children burst into the garage, they discovered exactly what Jane had been doing in there all that time. She had completely transformed Mr Green’s poo-brown Rolls Royce. There was now a giant number 23 painted on the side, a roll-cage built into the chassis and support beams welded into the bonnet and boot.

  ‘Leaping Lamingtons!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘You don’t love Mr Green at all! You’re only marrying him for his Rolls Royce.’

  ‘Of course,’ laughed Jane maniacally. ‘A fool like that doesn’t deserve this masterpiece of British engineering. I’ve seen the way he drives it. Always five kilometres per hour below the speed limit. Slowing down for orange lights. Braking for pedestrians. It’s practically a crime!’

  ‘So you’re going to enter it in a motor race?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Motor racing is for wimps,’ said Jane dismissively. ‘I’m entering it in a Demolition Derby.’

  Nanny Piggins gasped.

  ‘What’s a Demolition Derby?’ asked Michael.

  ‘It’s where ten cars drive into an arena and only one car leaves. They ram and smash each other into oblivion,’ explained Nanny Piggins.

  ‘And with this car I will be unstoppable,’ declared Jane.

  Nanny Piggins glared at Jane through squinted eyes as though only seeing her for the first time. ‘I only know of one woman who would marry a man just for his car.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Boris.

  ‘Charlotte Piggins, my twin sister!’ declared Nanny Piggins, whipping the horned rimmed spectacles off Jane Doeadear’s face.

  The children gasped. Boris fainted. They were looking at an exact replica of Nanny Piggins.

  ‘I knew you looked familiar!’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘So this is another one of your identical fourteentuplet sisters?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘It is indeed,’ confirmed Nanny Piggins. ‘This isn’t the first time she’s done this either. How many men have you married for their cars now?’

  ‘This will be my eleventh,’ admitted Jane (Charlotte Piggins). ‘I always make sure they put “to love, honour and give me a copy of their car keys” into the wedding vows.’

  ‘You’re practically an evil genius,’ conceded Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Charlotte Piggins (Jane).

  ‘Father is going to be so upset when he finds out he’s marrying a pig,’ said Samantha.

  ‘He’ll never notice,’ said Charlotte. ‘Men are so unobservant.’

  ‘But there’s no reason to marry him at all,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘There isn’t?’ asked Charlotte Piggins.

  ‘I can give you a key to the car,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I have my own.’ She took a key to the Rolls Royce out of her pocket and showed it to her identical twin sister.

  ‘You mean I cleaned his oven for nothing?!’ exclaimed Charlotte. ‘You had a key the whole time?’

  ‘You only had to ask,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘That’s fantastic!’ exclaimed Charlotte, snatching up the keys, ‘Because there’s a bachelor in the next town with a Morris Minor I’ve had my eye on.’

  So Nanny Piggins allowed her sister to drive off at top speed without biting her on the leg, on the condition that she promised never, ever to try marrying Mr Green again.

  Mr Green was naturally devastated. Partly because he lost his fiancée/nanny/domestic slave. But mainly because he lost his poo-brown Rolls Royce, which was not insured, because Mr Green was too cheap to pay for insurance.

  Nanny Piggins eventually took pity on him because she got tired of listening to him sobbing in his room. She found another Rolls Royce going for a bargain price (the same colourblind employee who accidentally painted Mr Green’s first Rolls Royce poo-brown also painted another Rolls Royce vomit-yellow). So Mr Green was happy again. As happy as a miser who has just been forced to buy a new car could be. But more importantly, the children were happy, because they got to keep their beloved nanny and stay motherless, at least for the time being.

  Nanny Piggins and Michael sat in the doctor’s waiting room. Michael was not sick. He simply had a bucket stuck on his head. It was a red plastic bucket. The type you take to the beach and use to build sandcastles. It came to be stuck on Michael’s head partly because it was so red and tempting, and partly because Nanny Piggins had bet him he could not fit it on there. And being an enthusiastic boy who liked a challenge, Michael won the bet. Which is how he came to be in need of medical attention.

  ‘Can you breathe all right, Michael?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Yes, so long as I don’t eat anything because I can only breathe through my mouth,’ said Michael. Both his nostrils were entirely sealed because his nose was pressed hard against the inside of the plastic bucket.

  ‘What about angel cake? It’s very light and airy,’ suggested Nanny Piggins.

  ‘That would probably be all right,’ conceded Michael.

  Nanny Piggins rummaged around in her handbag before finding a slice. ‘Just take a deep breath before you put it in your mouth, then chew quickly,’ she advised.

  Michael did as he was told and on the whole he decided angel cake was worth the risk. He would take oxygen starvation over actual starvation any day.

  Nanny Piggins looked about the waiting room. She did not like being made to wait. To have an actual room purely for waiting struck her as a very bad sign. She never had to wait at the ice-cream shop or the bakery. And in her opinion ice-cream makers and bakers were far more important, busy professionals than doctors.

  When they had first arrived at the surgery, the receptionist had assured Nanny Piggins that they would not have to wait long. But the receptionist’s idea of what ‘long’ meant seemed to bear no reference t
o any commonly understood concept of time. Nanny Piggins wondered if the receptionist’s brain was existing in a parallel universe where an hour was really five seconds. Because they had already been waiting for twenty minutes and in that time no-one had come in or gone out of the doctor’s room. And as there were six people waiting ahead of Nanny Piggins and Michael, it was clearly going to take forever.

  Michael could tell from the tapping of her trotter that his nanny was getting impatient. ‘Why don’t you read a magazine?’ he suggested.

  Nanny Piggins looked at the dog-eared pile of magazines slumped on the coffee table.

  ‘They are all at least five years old,’ said Nanny Piggins dismissively.

  ‘So?’ questioned Michael.

  ‘The crosswords have been done, all the good recipes have been torn out and the celebrities in the celebrity gossip articles aren’t famous anymore,’ explained Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Oh,’ said Michael.

  ‘Plus they’ve been sitting in a doctor’s waiting room for five years. Which means every page has five years’ worth of germs wiped on them from sick people’s hands,’ declared Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Gross,’ said Michael.

  The patients currently reading magazines began to look uncomfortable.

  ‘I know,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘And just think, some people lick their fingers before they turn the pages.’

  The other patients now put their magazines down.

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Michael. Under the bucket he was turning a nasty shade of green.

  Nanny Piggins looked about the waiting room at the other sick people. Her curiosity was starting to bubble. She turned to a haggard-looking woman sitting next to her. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I’ve got chronic fatigue syndrome,’ said the haggard-looking woman.

  ‘You’ve got chronic whatsiewhat?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘I’m tired all the time,’ explained the woman.

  ‘You know what you need – a big slice of chocolate mudcake every hour on the hour,’ advised Nanny Piggins.