Worry Magic (10 page)

By half seven, Dad hadn't come home. He was still out somewhere in his silly slippers.

I looked out of my window to see if his Shed light was on, but it was totally pitch black in there. So I sent him a text asking him where he was, but he didn't answer, and when I went down for tea, his mobile was on the side in the kitchen.

Mum had made jacket potatoes and beans. Kyle was out at his computery friend Chris's, so he'd eaten his tea early. Dad's potato was sitting waiting for him by the microwave looking wrinkled up and sad.

After I checked the flour on the loo windowsill for Henners' pawprints – nothing there at all – me and Mum took our dinners on trays into the lounge. We only seemed to have telly dinners these days.

‘Is Dad coming back soon, Mum?' I asked quietly.

‘Oh, don't worry about him,' she said with a sharp face. ‘He's probably at the pub.'

I just nodded, blew on my potato and stared at the telly.

But I KNEW that wasn't true

Number one, Dad hardly ever went to the pub – he said pints were way too expensive. And number two – Dad might not care what he looked like, but even
he
wouldn't go to the pub in his slippers.

No, he must've gone to someone's house  …  Maybe to watch the weather report  …  all evening.

My tummy did a tumble like I'd gone over a bumpy bridge.

But of course I didn't say any of that to Mum. I just kept on shovelling in my beans.

We'd just put down our knives and forks when the phone went. My heart did a little jog, but it was only one of Mum's sanctuary friends. So while she chatted on, I washed up our plates, went to my room, got into bed and worried, scribbling it all down onto my Worry Wig List for Gran. I'd nearly filled the whole page, so I wrote in small writing –

Gran usually chose nice flavours, but I knew there was no way that THOSE worries would taste nice.

Puddy came trotting in. His tail whipped up like a flag when he saw me. He sprang up on the bed with a pleased miaowy hello, and walked all over my letter, doing his extra-loud,
pring-pring
purr.

‘Oh, furry-purry Pudds,' I whispered, stroking him. His fur was cold and damp, and smelt a tiny bit of car oil. ‘You don't ever get worried, do you? Lucky you.'

I sighed. Worrying was actually doing my head in. Especially now, on top of everything, I was getting more and more worried about why the worry magic wasn't working properly any more. It hadn't got Henners back. And there I was half inside-out with worrying about Dad.
WHY
wasn't it helping?

My annoying brain was whispering even worse things too – like, was Kyle actually really
right? Was the magic not
real
? He'd really muddled me, saying all that stuff he'd said  …  My head was getting in a right old tangle, like the Worry Wig's fur.

And if it was true that I didn't have real magic, then I wouldn't be able to fix Mum and Dad, or cure Gran  …  What would
happen
?

Argghhhhhhhh.

I quickly folded the letter away and flicked on my telly. I roamed through loads of channels, trying to find something to take my mind off things. But there was nothing good on, and I had one ear out for Dad the whole time.

He still wasn't back at bedtime.

I heard Mum coming up the stairs to say goodnight. I wanted to ask her where Dad was  …  but then again, I didn't want HER to start thinking about it too much in case she wondered if Dad had a girlfriend too. So I snapped out my light like I'd dropped off already.

But of course there was no way I could sleep.

Ten o'clock.

Half ten.

Oh, Dad  … 
where
ARE you?

I heard Mum go to bed and still I lay looking at my ceiling, just watching car headlights swoop across my room.

I got up and looked outside. It was raining.

Dad's slippers would be pretty soggy by now. They were his new ones Gran had given him.

I shivered. Oh, Gran  … 

But then  … 

Wait a minute!

My brain turned on.

Gran  …  GRAN!

OMG.

Suddenly I knew what I had to do.

I scrambled out of bed and slipped downstairs without putting the landing light on, so I didn't wake Mum.

I took Gran's spare door key with its wooden apple keyring off the hall hooks, yanked my school coat on over my onesie, and stuffed my feet into my too-small Crocs.

Then I stepped outside into the quiet, trying not to be scared. I'd never been out this late by myself before. No one was about, and the air smelt like night-time, bonfires and mud. The rain had stopped and just a silver curl of the moon was peeping from behind a cloud.

I took a breath and ran as fast as I could down our path, and round the corner of the street. Gran only lived through the wall from us, but her front door was right on the other side of her house. It seemed like a long way in the dark.

At her door, I felt something furry scoot around my legs.

‘Oh!' I squeaked.

But it was only Puddy.

‘Hey, you spooked me! Have you come to see your house? Come on, then.'

I turned the key and pushed open the door.

‘Puddy?' I whispered, looking around my feet. But he'd vanished, so I left the front door ajar behind me, and stepped into the hall. Ahh, that nice, washing-powder smell of Gran's house  … 

And it was lovely and warm inside too. I touched the radiator. Someone had put the heating on  …  ?

I turned and squinted into the lounge  … 

And there he was.

Dad.

Right there in front of me, sprawled out on Gran's sofa.

Still in his red slippers.

The curtains weren't drawn and the street light was shining right on him. He was fast asleep under Gran's watching-telly blanket, his mouth open in a quiet snore.

So I
was
right! This WAS where he'd been coming whenever he stayed out late – Gran's empty house. Why hadn't I thought of that before?

And so he
didn't
have a new girlf— Oh, BIG phew.

Dad hadn't woken up when I'd come in, so I padded over to him. He was bare-chested under the cover, with both his big arms thrown above his head. I suddenly wanted to giggle. He looked like a giant, chubby baby wrapped in a white, fluffy blankie.

And next to him was a half-eaten piece of Gran's peanut shortbread, and an open tin of condensed milk with a spoon in it.

Sweet milk and a biccie. What a great big baby!

Oh, Dad  …  why did he have to make out he was such a tough man? Really he was a softie on the quiet.

He grunted and wriggled in his sleep so the blanket flopped off him.

I turned away, not wanting to look at his hairy dad body. But not before I'd seen his tattoo on his chest.

I hadn't seen it for ages.

It was a big heart with
Donna
written across it  …  He'd got it when he married Mum. When he used to love her.

Tears prickled my eyes.

A long-time-ago
when
 … 

I covered him with the blanket again, and sat down on the floor next to the sofa.

He woke up then.

‘It's OK, Dad,' I whispered. ‘It's just me, Courts.' I reached for his hand.

‘Courts?' he murmured. ‘Oh, I thought you were Mum for a minute there  … '

Mum? Oh, he means
his
mum  …  Gran.

‘Gran's not here, Dad,' I said gently, kissing his hand.

‘No, Spud,' he whispered. ‘I guess I was just wishing she was.'

It kind of set me off. My tears came again. Really, all I seemed to do was cry!

‘Oh, Dad,' I gulped, covering my face with my hands. ‘I'm-m scared  … '

‘Scared? What you scared about?' His voice was sleepy and soft.

‘EVERYTHING! I'm-m-m-m scare-d-d that  … ' I tried to calm myself so I could speak. ‘I'm scared that you'll leave. When you didn't come home again tonight, I got so worried that you and Mum w-w-will split up  …  I even thought you had a girlfriend!'

There, I'd said it.

Then I really sobbed.

He stroked my head with a heavy hand as I cried.

‘And I'm so very sorry,' he whispered. ‘I thought you'd be fast asleep. I didn't really think you'd notice I wasn't there.'

What?!
As if  … 

‘And I can promise you there's NO girlfriend!' He puffed air out of his cheeks as if the thought exhausted him. ‘BUT obviously it IS hard between me and your mother right now  … '

He paused and looked down at his wedding ring, twirling it round and round his finger. I could tell he was struggling for words. ‘We really need to try and sort some stuff out, don't we?' he said with a sigh.

I nodded again, but my tummy had tensed into a hard rock.

Try
and sort it out? No! I'd wanted him to say I was being silly and
of course
they weren't going to split up.

I tugged at my bottom lip, twisting it.

‘But what does that actually
mean – “try”
?' I whispered.

He sighed again, and rolled over, looking right at me in the half-dark.

‘Me and your mother have some serious talking to do. But  … ' He sat up and gently stroked my cheek with his finger. ‘Look, whatever happens, you'll always be my Spud – forever – and I'll always be your daddy.'

I jumped on his lap then, and hugged his neck like I used to when I was his very little Spud. He hugged me back super-tight.

I leant heavily against him while he fiddled with my hair.

‘I love you. And that dopey brother of yours,' he said under his breath. ‘Don't forget that.'

I nodded into his prickly neck, tears still blurring my eyes.

‘But what about
Mum
?' I said in the tiniest whisper, turning my head so I could see his face.

His eyebrows flicked up, startled.

He scratched his chest for a while, like he was thinking. Or was he actually touching his heart tattoo?

‘Yes  …  and her,' he sighed. ‘For my sins!'

My heart perked up then. Just a little bit  … 

But now I'd got him listening, I had to tell him about my other worry.

My biggest one.

‘And, Dad  …  I'm-m  …  scared that Gran  … ' I whispered, ‘that she'll d—' I couldn't even say the word.

He hugged me tighter.

He didn't say anything for ages. Then he gave an odd gulp, and rubbed his tummy.

‘Your gran's a toughie, so we just have to keep believing that she'll pull through the operation.' But he mumbled it so quietly I could only just hear him.

‘Operation? What?  …  when?'

‘Not sure yet. She needs to get well enough for it.' He coughed and his voice sort of broke. ‘There's really nothing else we can do but cross our fingers.'

He hung his head. I thought he was going to burst into tears, but instead his face just went heavy and blank. In the light coming in from the street, he looked more wrinkled up and old than I'd ever seen him.

Oh no, poor Dad.

I wished I could still believe that my dreams could magic everything nice for him. Magic Gran better. But now I wasn't so sure about anything.

Still, I was desperate to see Gran. I was fed up with being banned. And I reckoned it might be a good moment to ask  … 

‘Please can I visit Gran, Dad?' I said, squirming up a bit so my cheek was against his. ‘It's too hard not seeing her.'

He hesitated.

‘I know, Spuddley  … ' He grabbed a pack of tissues from the side.

FLOWERY girlie tissues. Aha, so they were
Gran's
!

He blew his nose for ages. ‘It's just that after yesterday, she's got poorlier again, and it's not at all nice seeing her attached to machines and that – just lying there. I think it's better if we wait a bit longer.'

No! I had to go! And if Gran was getting worse, it was even more important  … 

I opened my mouth to argue, but something caught my eye. Something moving by the front door that was still a tiny bit ajar.

Pudds?

No?

It was light-coloured. Small  … 

I dragged my sleeve across my eyes.

OMG, it was Henners!

He scuttled forward and sat on the doormat, shining pure white like some kind of furry little angel in the moonlight.

Glowing.

LIKE IN MY DREAM!

Absolutely, 100%
exactly
like my dream!

It had taken its blinking time, but the magic was back! It truly was. And it had
worked
on Henners.

Which meant it WAS real after all.

Poo to you, Tin Man!

‘Dad, look,' I said, pointing at Henners with a shaky arm.

Dad looked  …  and the most enormous grin spread over his face.

I shuffled off his lap and Dad put a nobble of peanut shortbread on his knee. Then Henners trotted over all casual-like, jumped up, and took it in his paws. He sat back and nibbled it politely, gazing at Dad the whole time.

‘You cheeky little
wotsit
!' said Dad, shaking his head.

For some reason, that was just really, really funny. And, even though we were both still half crying, we laughed and laughed and laughed.

Me and Dad walked home. The moon was out from behind the clouds now, sitting fat and bright in the sky and shimmering silver in all the puddles. It made the world feel a bit magic.

Ha, magic – wahooooo! I grinned to myself, and nearly started skipping.

Dad was holding Henners in one hand, and I held his other one, even though we were only going a few steps. Down Gran's path, round the corner, and up our path.

It was so quiet that our footsteps and even our breathing sounded loud.

‘Did you hear that owl?' whispered Dad, stopping with the key in our lock.

I shook my head. I'd been too busy thinking about something  … 

We put Henners to bed. Then Dad sent me up to bed too, with a kiss on the top of my head, saying he would kip on our sofa so he didn't wake Mum.

I snuggled up in my bed. It was so, so late, but I didn't feel sleepy at all. My brain was spinning. Going over and over my idea.

My new, BIG plan.

Mum and Dad weren't going to take me to the hospital – not any time soon, anyway. And now the magic was BACK and WORKING and REAL, there was only one thing for it – I'd have to go by myself.

To try and cure Gran with a worry-magic dream.

I just HAD to. Before her op. Before she got worse  … 

And I wasn't going to tell anyone. Not anyone. Then no one could stop me.

Secret mission!

But the thought was making my insides do bellyflops. And loads of worries were swirling around in my head. What if I got lost on the way? The hospital was so BIG and had so many buildings. What if Gran was too ill to even see me?

It was scary, but I was going to make myself get brave and do it.

And I was going first thing the next morning.

We had an Inset day, so there was no school  …  so no excuse. And I already knew the name of the ward Gran was in.

Chancton Ward.

Dad had written it on the notepad by the hall phone, next to the ward phone number. Along with lots of blue biro doodle pictures of Henners.

Somehow I slept.

But I woke up early and got up straight away.

It was now or never.

I pulled on any old clothes off my chair, stuffed Gran's letter into my pocket, and crept out onto the landing. No Mum, but I could hear Kyle in the bathroom. Maybe he was up early to go for a run. I'd have to hurry, so he didn't ask any awkward questions.

I skulked downstairs, gritting my teeth at every creak. I'd be in big trouble if Mum and Dad knew my plan  … 

Dad was still on the sofa, lying on his tummy, one leg fallen off onto the floor, his slippers still on. He had such a funny, tumbled-up toddler way of sleeping.

Poor Dad. He was so worried about Gran too. His mummy.

But it was OK because I was going to help  … 

I flew around the kitchen on fast-forward, gulping down some banana milk with one hand and scribbling a note with the other: ‘
Gone swimming
.
Back later
.
Love Cxx
'

I slipped out of the front door, glancing up the stairs one more time. No Kyle yet. Good.

I scurried away in the opposite direction to the pool, looking over my shoulder all the time, my heart jumping in my chest. It felt so naughty to pretend, and not do as I was told. But I had to do it. Gran needed my worry magic.

I just hoped I could find her  … 

It started spitting, and then properly tipping down. So I pulled up my hood and ploughed through the rain. Along the high street  …  down some quiet streets, and past a rush-hour traffic jam on the main road.

I got to the hospital car park. The hospital signs looked like the old-fashioned town signs they have in Dick Whittington pantos. One post with lots of arrows pointing in different directions.

MAIN RECEPTION. That would be a start.

I followed the arrow, and took a path through a maze of buildings until I found some huge, swishing doors.

It was busy inside. Nurses in a hurry, people being pushed in wheelchairs. I walked slowly now, past the cafe and shop, staring up at all the different ward names.

CHANCTON ICU.

Was that right?

Dad's note by the phone had said ‘Chancton Ward', not ICU, but maybe that was it?

Floor 5.

I went up in the lift. I was worried that someone might think I'd escaped from the children's ward and take me back there, but it was so packed that no one seemed to notice I was by myself.

Another glassy, cold corridor, and then double doors, which said Chancton I.C. Unit across the top.

A young nurse with pink lipstick sat behind a desk. She smiled at me.

‘Erm  …  I'm looking for Chancton Ward,' I said. My face was burning up and I was trying not to look guilty.

‘You found us,' she said. ‘Do you know someone in here?'

‘Yes, my gran  …  Pat Ramson.'

‘Oh yes, our lovely Pat. But I'm so sorry – it's not visiting time for a couple of hours, and we have to be strict about it, so our patients can get some rest.' Then she sort of frowned. ‘And I wouldn't want you to go in alone, love. Are you here by yourself?'

I started to nod, and then stopped myself. ‘No  …  my mum  …  she's in the  …  er  …  loo,' I lied, and looked at my feet as even my ears went hot. Such bad lying. I was just rubbish at it.

And what should I do now? She wasn't going to let me in  …  I'd come all this way for nothing.

But I HAD to try and see Gran!

‘Is my gran in there?' I said, pointing to a room on the left with a long window. ‘Can I just peep at her? Just a teensy peep  …  please.'

The nurse hesitated. ‘Well  …  OK  …  but really just for a second.'

She led me to the open door of the ward and pointed in. It was full of people in beds – all with tubes and machines and stuff.

‘There's Pat – she's sleeping –' the nurse began. Then the phone started ringing, so she squeezed my shoulder and went back to her desk.

I couldn't even see Gran at first, and then I did.

She was two beds along, but half behind a curtain. Her eyes were closed and she was flopped out on her bed, wearing a nightie and some funny, stretchy, white hospital tights.

I could see tubes coming out of her arm and chest, attached to machines.

My heart sped up. She looked SO little and thin. Not really like Gran at all.

My tummy started butterflying. I couldn't swallow.

Poor Gran – she really looked worse than I thought. It was horrible. How would she ever get better?

I took some long breaths and put my palm on the window to steady myself. Whoa – wobbly  … 

And then I realised what was happening. The worry magic was on its way.

It actually was!

The world was turning and my legs were like mush.

I let it take me.

I put my back against the cold wall, and slid down it onto the floor.