Nanny Piggins and the Origin Story

Chapter 1

The Beginning

When I say Nanny Piggins grew up in a sty, that probably doesn’t sound very good to you. Sties have an image problem.

Parents are forever saying, ‘Tidy your room! It’s as messy as a pig sty!’ But that isn’t fair to pigs or sties.

Unlike human teenagers, pigs don’t wear clothes, so they never leave clothes lying around on the floor. And unlike human teenagers, pigs don’t sweat so it doesn’t matter when they’re too lazy to use deodorant. True, pigs do go to the bathroom on the floor, but only because no farmer has had the initiative to install indoor plumbing in a sty.

The sty where Nanny Piggins grew up was two metres wide by two metres long. Which doesn’t sound like much. But to be fair to Farmer Bob, who was not a cruel man, this is the standard size for a pig sty. Adult pigs spend a great deal of time napping, so they don’t need any more space.

Nanny Piggins, or Sarah Piggins as she was known at the time, lived in this sty with her thirteen identical fourteenuplet sisters. Again, I know this sounds over-crowded. But this was also standard procedure on a farm. Normally, a litter of piglets is kept in a sty with their mother so they can all nap and eat, then eat and nap together. But that was not the case in the Piggins’ sty. Because all of Sarah’s identical sisters were evil. Each in their own unique way. Anthea was a brilliant apricot danish thief, Katerina was obsessed with vegetables, Ursula was a computer hacker, Sue cheated at chess . . . (See the Glossary of Siblings at the back of the book for further details.)

At this stage, no- one knew who Sarah was, not even Sarah herself. She had done nothing to distinguish herself. Not yet. Her whole life had been defined by enduring her family. It is hard to find time for hobbies when you have thirteen evil siblings to avoid. At this stage of her life, Sarah was adrift with the chaos of her domestic life. She felt lost. Which was odd because she knew exactly where she was, because she never left her sty.

Our story begins just as things were about to get very complicated for these young piglets, because their mother was about to leave. Mother Piggins was, herself, extraordinarily talented. She didn’t always stay in her sty like a regular pig. She liked to bake. In her youth she had been a dessert chef at a Michelin Star restaurant in Paris, but shift work didn’t agree with her so she had taken up farm life. She wanted to focus more on napping.

Farmer Bob did not let Mother Piggins cook in his kitchen. She’d accidentally set fire to his microwave while making caramel baskets for her gelato, so Mother Piggins went into town every night, broke into the local bakery and cooked there.

The baker who owned the shop was at first a little upset about the smashed lock and the used ingredients, but then he tried one of the cakes she’d left on the counter (as an apology gift). It was so good he couldn’t be angry. He got Mother Piggins to teach him the recipe and his customers loved it. Word soon spread of her great baking artistry. So, inevitably, it was only a matter of time before Mother Piggins was offered a job by a billionaire to work as his personal chef on his luxury super- yacht.

Naturally, Mother Piggins had not wanted to go. She didn’t want to leave her sty. The floor was so comfortable. She always had the best naps there. But her daughters were getting older, and more expensive to keep. They were all staggeringly beautiful and, like all staggeringly beautiful women, they wanted large amounts of make-up that they didn’t need. And, being evil, they were forever being arrested and requiring bail. Or stealing industrial quantities of apricot danishes or cabbages that Mother Piggins then had to pay for. So, when the billionaire offered her a job, she reluctantly accepted. He sent a helicopter to pick her up and fly her out to his yacht in the Mediterranean right away.

When the helicopter landed in the farmyard, the Piggins sisters were most put out.

‘You aren’t really going to leave, are you?’ said Sarah.

She was bewildered at the prospect. She was the only one of the Piggins sisters who had a moral compass (NB. A moral compass is not like an actual compass, that you hold in your hand so you can tell where you’re going when you’re out hiking. A moral compass is a thing in your brain. It tells you the difference between right and wrong. And the moral compass in Sarah’s brain was pointed straight at WRONG).

‘What will we do without you?’ asked Anthea.

‘Who will pay our bail when we get arrested?’ asked Gretel.

‘Who will hide Farmer Bob’s car keys when he tries to send us to market?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Who will look after Bramwell?’ asked Katerina.

They all turned and looked at Bramwell. I have not mentioned him earlier because, like anyone else who has ever met Bramwell, I prefer to pretend that he doesn’t exist. Bramwell was the Piggins sisters’ younger brother. He was a very small, although already very round, piglet. And he was already thoroughly no- good. He was as bad at everything as his sisters were good at everything. And he was annoying, so the sisters did not want to be stuck looking after him.

‘Oh, I forgot about him,’ said Mother Piggins.

Which sounds terrible. How can a mother forget her son exists? But trust me, if you had a son like Bramwell, you’d try to forget his existence too.

‘Is he still here?’ she asked.

‘He’s asleep in the corner under all the straw,’ said Deidre.

‘Oh, that explains the noise,’ said Mother Piggins. ‘He must be snoring. I thought it was a ghost. Or some haunted horse manure.’

‘If you leave us, how will we support ourselves?’ asked Sarah.

She had never had a panic attack before, but if her mother got in that helicopter she was seriously considering having one.

‘You’ve got a nice sty, and Farmer Bob does give you food,’ Mother Piggins pointed out.

The sisters turned and looked at the swill bucket in the corner. Then they burst out laughing.

‘No, seriously, Mummy,’ said Sue. ‘We know Farmer Bob means well, but he’s a terrible cook and he’s under the misapprehension that farm animals like being naked. Which will not do.’

The sisters refused to be naked. They read all the latest fashion magazines from Paris and Milan. The local librarian was short-sighted and had given them all library cards, not realising they were pigs. Every month they were always the first to borrow the Italian Vogue, Marie Claire and Vanity Fair magazines. They then sewed their own clothes out of feed sacks and tarpaulins they found about the farm. They were all gifted seamstresses who could copy any outfit having seen it once in a magazine (except for Ursula, who was a huge nerd and didn’t care about her physical appearance). Only their versions were always better than the designer’s originals, because tarpaulin is waterproof, and they always added pockets.

‘I know, dear,’ said Mother Piggins. ‘That’s why I’m taking this job. The billionaire has promised to pay me squillions. As soon as I get my first pay cheque, I’ll send it all (well, almost all) home to you so you can live the life of luxury you deserve.’

‘Hurray!’ cried thirteen of the sisters.

The only one who didn’t cheer was Sarah. She glowered. She had a much more realistic idea of how economics worked.

‘But when will you receive your first pay?’ asked Sarah. ‘Will you be paid weekly, fortnightly or monthly? And how long will the money take to get to us in the post? You’re going to be on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea and there are no postboxes in the middle of the sea.’

‘Don’t be a worry wart,’ chided Mother Piggins. ‘I’m sure it will all be fine. I’ll make the nice billionaire my chocolate flambé soufflé. He’ll soon be so sugar- addled that he’ll immediately start shovelling cash into my handbag. You remember the time I let that other billionaire have a bite of my chocolate chip biscuit. He promised me the deed to his house in Switzerland. If he hadn’t already given the deed to his wife of forty-seven years, we would all be living there now. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll have loads of money to send to you by the end of the week.’

And so, Mother Piggins kissed each one of her daughters (she did try to kiss Bramwell but he rolled over so she couldn’t get at his face). Then she was whisked away in the waiting helicopter.