Phil, we’re not going to take your kidneys off you! For heaven’s sake! Who do you think we are?’

Phil sagged against Miss Turvey’s bosom with relief. She lifted him away and propped him against the tree. Then she leaned in and said, ‘We’ve come up with a much better idea, Phil.’

‘Much better!’ agreed Miss Topsey, clapping her hands with delight.

‘Hold this, Phil,’ said Miss Turvey, opening her vast handbag and handing him a flat thing about the size of a chessboard covered with pretend grass. Phil held it, his heart beating double time and his knees shaking uncontrollably. Next, Miss Turvey took out a little figure in a blue suit – it had Phil’s hair and Phil’s shoes and Phil’s tie, all tiny and very accurately drawn.

‘Look!’ said Miss Topsey. ‘It’s you! Do you see, Phil?’

Phil nodded uncertainly. What on earth were they doing?

‘And look! What’s this?’

She opened her bag and took out a toy tractor.

‘It’s a tractor,’ said Phil, staring at the little figure on the grassy board with increasing dread.

‘And now look – what’s happening? You’re going for a nice walk in the country!’

Miss Topsey walked the little figure along the grass and Miss Turvey moved the tractor towards it, making engine noises and smiling encouragingly at Phil.

‘Choof-choof-choof-choof, see? And see what happens!’

g

Miss Turvey rolled the toy tractor over the little figure as both the ladies made terrible cracking noises and its legs and arms and head came off. Phil watched. The ladies looked at him joyfully.

‘We’re going to squash you with farm machinery!’ they chorused.

Not knowing quite how, Phil staggered away down the lane, shouting, ‘Now there’s no need for that, there’s no need!’ as the ladies called out after him: ‘Better hurry, Phil! Before it’s too late!’

‘How will I know when it’s too late?’ shrieked Phil, from the safety of a ditch.

The two hit-women looked at each other and then back at Phil. ‘We’ll send a sign,’ they shouted, waving cheerily.

Chapter Quobbly. I realise that I’ve been rather lax about the whole chapter thing, so here’s one with an exciting new number to it. One might as well be creative, don’t you think?

Anyway, it’s the next day.

It was a beautiful morning and the children had managed to rub along with each other fairly well except for Cyril, who was still sulking. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was sulking, but no one had given him any real reason to leave off so he just carried on. This is the problem with sulking, I find. The difficulty is never in starting it but in stopping it, because I suddenly feel a bit daft, which makes me feel cross, which starts me off wanting to sulk all over again.

Mrs Green had made a big picnic as promised and had invited Mrs Docherty and Mr Spolding who was still carrying his pamphlette. There were sandwiches (bloater paste and egg-and-cress because bloater paste was cheap and they got eggs free from the chickens) and apples and one large bottle of ginger beer, which Vincent was so excited about that he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

The party set out in glorious sun and found a perfect spot – good slopes for rolling down, a nice flat bit for the blanket and some pasture for the goat, whom they’d brought along to eat any leftovers. Everyone had made an effort. Mrs Docherty had a felt flower in her hat, Mr Spolding had polished his buttons and tucked in his string vest, Mrs Green was wearing her best Sunday dress and Nanny McPhee was sporting a very impressive row of medals on her chest about which the children were very curious. Everyone but Cyril was in a good mood, and Nanny McPhee hadn’t even objected when the children had, rather timidly, asked if they might invite Mr Edelweiss. They were also curious about Mr Edelweiss and Nanny McPhee, but they didn’t speak jackdaw and Nanny McPhee simply wasn’t the sort of person you asked intimate questions. She just wasn’t.

But after everyone (except Cyril) had had a game of cricket and done lots of cartwheels and had a sandwich and an apple, Mr Edelweiss came quite close to Megsie and accepted a crumb out of her hand.

Nanny McPhee tutted and said, ‘Get away with you, Mr Edelweiss, you greedy bird.’

Megsie decided to risk it.

‘Why do you call him Mr Edelweiss, Nanny McPhee?’

Nanny McPhee looked at the children, who were sitting in a sort of circle before her (except Cyril, who was a metre