very deep inside her seemed to be saying, ‘Yes, do come in, please do come in.’

‘Tea?’ said Mrs Green, trying to lead Nanny McPhee away from the parlour into the kitchen.

‘Perhaps later,’ said Nanny McPhee calmly. ‘Let me just introduce myself to the children.’

Mrs Green panicked.‘Oh no! No, no – I mean – wait – I mean – have you got any references?’

Nanny McPhee turned and fixed Mrs Green with a penetrating stare.

‘I am an army nanny, Mrs Green. I have been deployed. Why don’t you put the kettle on?’

And again, while every conscious thought inside Mrs Green’s head was screaming, ‘Get out of my house you scary thing’ another voice, deep inside her, was saying gently, ‘Yes, let’s put the kettle on. What a good idea.’

So she turned to put the kettle on, and when she turned back the kitchen was empty.

g

g

The Diary 14

Back in the studio now. Hot in there, but I’m surviving. We took three days to shoot the Greens fighting over the lemon drop and now we’re starting on another three-day marathon. Maggie Gyllenhaal, our beautiful, harassed Mrs Green, had to shout so much during the lemon drop bit that she lost her voice! She was heroic. The children coped gamely with the heat and all the smoke they pump into the set to make it look more real. (I know that sounds peculiar but it’s true – the smoke softens everything somehow and makes it look lived in. They call it ‘atmos’, which is short for ‘atmosphere’.)

Simon’s set is genuinely breathtaking.

Maggie G., by the way, has come all the way from America with her husband and her little girl (who is only four) to live on our rainy island for THREE MONTHS. We are all very proud she is here with us, and when Susanna, Lindsay and I sit at the monitor to watch her, we sometimes gasp and hold on to each other because she is so, so beautiful.

We’ve had some seriously bad news – Rhys Ifans, our Phil, has broken his foot showing some six-year-olds a few nifty football moves. It’s always something tiny that causes an accident, but the implications for the shoot are enormous. David Brown’s rushing around trying to sort it out. We can’t shoot on him until August and it’s only June! Yikes.

g

g

Shepperton Studios is its usual collection of huts, stages and car parks but very pleasant even so. And no problems with the weather, of course, because we’re shooting indoors. I am in the full Nanny gear, with the cape and everything. So far it hasn’t been too hot.

Later: I spoke too soon. Nose has peeled off and refuses to be re-stuck. Paula will have to put on a new one. Did I tell you she keeps them in the fridge? Because she does.

I can’t eat or laugh in this get-up. Talking’s hard too. Let’s face it, this costume does inhibit most of life’s major pleasures. It is, however, one of the most effective costumes I’ve ever worn, so hats off to the Costume Department (see Glossary).

g

g

g

The Story 14

In the best parlour, the violence was escalating. Vincent was still bashing at the furniture with his cricket bat but being careful not to dent anything too precious. Megsie now had Celia in a fireman’s lift and was smacking her bottom with the fire-tongs while Norman and Cyril were busy pushing each other’s heads into the wall.

The door opened and in glided Nanny McPhee. No one took much notice. Norman flung her a glance and managed to grunt out a ‘Who are YOU?’ before being slammed on to the sofa.

‘I am Nanny McPhee,’ replied the ghastly-looking stranger. ‘Please listen carefully. You are all to stop what you are doing and go upstairs to bed.’

Now, it was an odd thing, because although Nanny McPhee spoke far too softly to be heard above the din, nonetheless every word dropped into each child’s ear as clear as a silver bell.

But did they do what they were told?

Of course they didn’t! They were far too busy fighting and screaming.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

Again, they heard it, every single word. But Norman just yelled, ‘Ha! A nanny for the namby-pamby townies!’ before proceeding to kick Cyril hard in the shins.

Nanny McPhee gazed at them all and narrowed her eyes. Her long black cloak moved and from underneath it she produced a strange, knobbly stick.

Raising it, she brought it down to the floor with a sharp bang that seemed to