Nanny Piggins and the Daring Rescue 7 (5 page)

‘What do you mean?' sniffed Samantha.

‘A photograph is just a chemical capturing of light rays as they enter a tiny hole at the front of a camera,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘Altering reality is very difficult, but altering light rays as they appear at a tiny given point shouldn't be too hard at all.'

‘How?' asked Derrick. ‘Are you going to strap a mirror to Samantha's head?'

‘That would certainly solve the problem,' said Nanny Piggins, ‘but I think we can come up with a less crude plan. Just give me a night to think on it. We'll have crème brûlée for dinner. Caramelised cream always gives me tremendous ideas in my dreams.'

The next morning the children sat at the dining table eagerly waiting for Nanny Piggins to appear and tell them what her plan was. Samantha was particularly anxious (she was always anxious about something, but having a haircut that made her look like she'd been attacked by a very angry hedge trimmer had made her even more anxious than usual). The children did not have to wait long. Nanny Piggins soon burst out of the kitchen carrying plates full of waffles covered with chocolate, ice-cream and strawberries.

‘Good morning,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘Isn't it a beautiful day? Anyone for a chocolate-covered waffle?'

‘So,' said Samantha. ‘What's the plan?'

Nanny Piggins looked puzzled. ‘To eat until we're almost but not quite sick? Isn't that the plan every breakfast time?'

‘No, about my hair!' wailed Samantha. ‘You were going to come up with a plan for the school photograph today so that my hair wouldn't be permanently recorded for all posterity for my children and my children's children to laugh at for generations to come!'

‘Oh dear,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘I entirely forgot.'

‘But you said the crème brûlée would make you come up with an idea in your sleep!' yelled Samantha, starting to get hysterical.

‘It did,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘It gave me the idea to serve waffles with chocolate ice-cream as well as chocolate sauce with strawberries dipped in chocolate, and an extra silver spittoon to put on the table that you can spit the strawberries into once the chocolate has been sucked off.'

The children looked at the spittoon.

‘That is a brilliant idea,' said Derrick.

‘But what about my hair?' sobbed Samantha.

‘Eat some waffles,' suggested Nanny Piggins. ‘It won't seem nearly so bad after you've eaten a few million calories. And don't worry, I said I would see to it and I will. It must be hours until you have your photo taken.'

‘Two hours and 18 minutes,' sniffed Samantha.

‘You see, that's buckets of time for me to come up with a brilliant plan and save the day,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘Have a waffle. They are particularly good if you put on so much chocolate sauce that you can't see the waffle anymore.'

And so when they left for school, Samantha was in a chocolate-addled state.

‘What are you going to do?' Derrick asked his nanny as they walked to the bus stop.

‘I could always stop the photographer from getting to the school,' mused Nanny Piggins. ‘I'm sure I still have my kidnapping sack somewhere.'

‘You can't kidnap him!' said Michael. ‘The Police Sergeant has let you off with a warning for kidnapping five times in the last six months. If you do it again he'll get so cross.'

‘Hmm, I suppose,' agreed Nanny Piggins reluctantly. ‘But don't worry, I'm sure I will think of something.'

And so the children rode to school. Samantha spent the whole journey with a paper bag over her head, partly so that no-one would look at her haircut and partly to stop herself from hyperventilating.

The photograph was to be taken immediately before recess. The morning dragged for poor Samantha. She seriously considered taking matters into her own hands by leaping out the window and running away, but her classroom was on the second floor and much as she did not want to get her photograph taken, she wanted to break her legs even less.

When the teacher instructed all the students to make their way to the school oval, Samantha's feet felt like they were made of lead. If only they were, then she could get lead poisoning, which would be an excellent excuse to call an ambulance and be whisked to hospital.

As the students were all being arranged in rows on raised bleachers, Samantha had a brief opportunity to speak to Derrick.

‘Where's Nanny Piggins?' Samantha asked.

‘I haven't seen her,' said Derrick.

‘You don't think she's forgotten, do you?' asked Samantha.

‘No, of course not,' said Derrick. ‘Although
The Young and the Irritable
is on right now, and watching that can give her sympathetic short-term memory loss, like the time Bridge was in a car accident and got amnesia from banging his head on the cup holder, and Nanny Piggins forgot to make fudgsicles for dinner.'

‘I'm doomed,' said Samantha. She would have wept but she did not want to make herself look even worse.

The children were arranged according to height, prettiness and who could be trusted to sit properly in the front row. Being of medium height and looks, Samantha was tucked in the middle but her head was still visible. And every time Samantha tried to stand behind the girl next to her, one of the teachers would angrily snap, ‘Samantha Green, stand still!'

Just as the last few students found their places, a panicked buzz spread through the crowd. ‘He's coming! The photographer's coming!'

Samantha's heart turned to ice. There was no escaping now.

‘Zis is not good enough!' called the photographer. ‘No no no. It will not do!'

Samantha perked up. That fake Italian accent sounded familiar.

‘All the blonde children must take their jumpers and wrap them on top of their heads!' ordered the photographer. ‘There is too much glare off their hair.'

Samantha looked up. The photographer was wearing a beret and he had a pointy little moustache. But underneath this cunning disguise he was clearly Boris.

‘Hurray!' cheered Samantha, making everyone turn and stare at her for reasons other than her ridiculous hair.

‘But we can't let the children put jumpers on their heads. The parents will complain,' complained Headmaster Pimplestock.

Boris sucked in a deep breath, puffed out his chest and loomed over the headmaster. ‘Who is zee photographer here, you or me?'

Headmaster Pimplestock was unaccustomed to being questioned, let alone menacingly confronted, and being a big cowardy custard he immediately backed down. ‘I'm going to my office. If no parents want to pay for their photos it's not my problem.'

‘Excellent,' said Boris. ‘I am an arteest. I do not need such a silly man criticising my artistic vision. All right children, I will be handing around permanent markers and I want you to draw fake moustaches on yourselves. It will make the boys look older and more sophisticated, and the girls look mysterious.'

The young students gleefully followed all Boris' instructions. No child likes the way they look in a traditional school photograph. Really, it is very cruel to force children to have a formal photograph taken in their ugliest outfit – their school uniform.

Fortunately Boris brought enough feather boas and pirate hats for everyone, so the horrible green tartan and grey shirts were soon well hidden.

‘Now children,' said Boris. ‘In the past you have taken photographs where you stand and smile. This is true – yes?'

The children all nodded.

‘Well, I will have none of that!' declared Boris. ‘Do you hear?!'

The children again nodded.

‘When I take my photograph I want it to be an action photograph,' said Boris. ‘So think what you will do. How do you want to be remembered? Will you stick out your tongue? Will you poke your finger in your neighbour's ear? Will you put your hand in front of your face because you have a particularly unpleasant pimple? The choice is yours. Is everybody ready?'

‘Yes!' cheered the children, now genuinely excited to have their school picture taken.

‘Let's do this ' said Boris. ‘But before we take the photo I have to make one minor adjustment. You! The very nice-looking girl there.'

Samantha was embarrassed because Boris was pointing at her.

‘Yes?' said Samantha in a small voice.

‘I need you to stand behind this,' said Boris.

Boris climbed up into the bleachers carrying a great big board which he stood up in front of Samantha. When he uncovered it everyone could see it was one of those wooden outlines that you poke your face through to have your photograph taken.

Boris had apparently ‘borrowed' this one from the local zoo, because when Samantha stuck her face through it appeared in a kangaroo's pouch, making her look like a cute little joey. But best of all her hair was entirely obscured by the board.

‘Perfect!' called Boris. ‘All right, on the count of three . . . Remember, don't be boring. One two three – ACTION!'

At that moment every child in the school launched into action. Some wet-willied, some threw their ties in the air, some pretended to be action heroes abseiling out of helicopters. Out of the whole school only one child smiled beautifully at the camera. And that one child was Samantha.

‘What a beautiful photograph,' said Nanny Piggins, as they all sat around the kitchen table later that day. ‘You look really lovely.' Nanny Piggins gave Samantha a big hug.

‘You're a brilliant photographer, Boris,' said Derrick.

‘Thank you,' said Boris, dabbing away a tear of pride.

‘But what I want to know is,' said Michael, ‘where did the real photographer go?'

‘Ah,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘I will admit I did bump into him on his way to your school.'

‘You didn't kidnap him, did you?' asked Derrick sternly. ‘He isn't locked up in the basement right now, is he?'

‘Oh no, of course not,' said Nanny Piggins.

‘Really?' asked Derrick, suspecting from the growing look of mischievousness on his nanny's face that she had somehow found a loophole.

‘I'll admit there was a little bit of kidnapping,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘But I didn't do it. I got him to kidnap me!'

‘What?' exclaimed the children.

‘But how?' asked Michael.

‘When I was rifling through his photography van trying to come up with a brilliant plan,' said Nanny Piggins, ‘I discovered that he had been short-changing schools for years. And he was clearly some sort of evil sociopath because he had systematically been throwing away all the good photographs and only sending out the bad photographs – the ones where the children had their eyes closed, or something stuck in their teeth, or their hair sticking out at weird angles.'

‘That explains so much,' said Samantha.

‘So when I confronted him and launched into my long list of denouncements,' said Nanny Piggins, ‘he kidnapped me. Can you believe it?! It was really very rude. He didn't even put a packet of biscuits in the sack before he shoved me into it. No manners at all.'