Worry Magic (4 page)

And even MORE annoying  …  when we got in, Dad
agreed
with Mum that I was banned from seeing Gran. It was just my luck  …  they never agreed on
anything
– but they were bezzie mates on this.
Doctor's orders
, they kept saying,
doctor's orders
.

Huh, well,
actually
the doctor's orders were to keep me calm. But they kept on shouting at each other and stressing me, didn't they – they forgot
that
part. They were only HALF listening to the doctor.

But there was no point in arguing. I could tell their minds were made up, so I didn't say anything. I just went to my room and cried.

After a bit, I wiped my face, sat up against my pillows and got out my felt tips, paper and my big horse book to lean on. I drew some angry, cartoony pictures of Mum and Dad, and then scribbled them out, before starting a letter to Gran. If I couldn't visit her, then I could at least write to her  … 

I did a border all round the edge of my paper and drew lots of Puddy cats, flowers and hearts. I wasn't much good at art so, to be honest, it was a bit rubbish and Year One-ish – and all the Puddys looked more like hippos than cats. But still, I knew Gran would like it.

Of course Puddy needed to sign it too. He was snoozing on my school uniform on my chair, so I crept over to him with my old blunt scissors and really carefully snipped a tiny bit of fur from his fluffy tummy. He rolled right over, stretching and purring. He didn't mind giving his fur to his granny-mum.

I Sellotaped the little wodge of fur onto the corner of Gran's letter, and labelled it ‘Puddy-love'.

Then I wrote –

A tear dripped off my nose and landed on the word ‘SO'. I wiped it but the smudge made it look like the word was highlighted.

Well, it was true. I did have SO much to tell her  … 

I was definitely going to tell her about the magic. I had to tell someone, and I was sure that Gran would believe me, because she always GOT stuff.

Always.

Like, when other people said I was a worrywart, Gran never blamed me – she knew I couldn't help it. When I was at primary, she'd even invented this kind of game about worrying called ‘Worry Wig'.

The whole thing started when I got this weird pyjama case from Auntie Jacq one Christmas. It was like a round, rainbow-striped cushion cover, made from extra-fluffy fun fur, and meant for keeping your night stuff in – but really, it was much better for wearing as a mad, dressing-up wig. For some reason, Gran began calling it the ‘Worry Wig', and turned it into a game. Basically she said if I got worried about stuff, instead of fretting all day long, I had to zooooom my worries on pretend rockets all the way home, and into my Worry Wig on my bed for safekeeping.

Then in the evening I got a special Worry Wig Half-Hour when I could take my worries out, put on the wig if I wanted to, and worry as much as I liked – but only for those wiggy minutes.

Gran'd sit on my bed and say –

‘Right, come on – give me them one by one.' So I'd tell her each worry, and she'd help me think of things I could do about it. Then after, she'd pretend to eat the worries all up: ‘Yum, yum, that one was orange flavour. And another one? Oooh, chocolate mint. And that big one? Roast potato.' Often she'd make me laugh so much, I couldn't remember all the worries in the Wig.

I sighed.

But I hadn't played that since Gran had gone into hospital. I'd basically just worried 24/7 since then  … 

I kicked up my duvet and hooked my Worry Wig out from the bottom of my bed. It looked a bit tousled, like it was having a Bad Hair Day, so I shook it and smoothed out its fluff.

Anyway, maybe the Wig only worked on smaller stuff – like when I was worried about moving up into the junior playground or forgetting my Year Five play lines or something. But now I had BIG, fat worries – like Gran being ill and Mum and Dad splitting up  … 

I flopped back on my pillows. Puddy uncurled himself on the chair, arched his back, yawned, and came purring over to me, clawing my arms and nudging my hand, asking me to stroke him. I rolled over and snuffled him, and he flopped down on top of the Worry Wig.

I probably didn't even
need
a Worry Wig any more. Not now I had my stuuuuupendous Worry MAGIC.

Except I couldn't use it to help Gran if I was stupidly banned, could I?

I spent a while tidying my room – it always made me feel better doing that. I made a cosy nest on my bed out of my dressing gown for Puddy to sleep in, but he still liked the Worry Wig better.

Then I crept out to the loo. The house was silent. Which meant no one was fighting. Good  … 

But Kyle had made a huge mess in the bathroom when he'd had his bath after footie practice. All the towels were on the floor, and the tub was brown and gritty. Dad would blow his top if he saw the bathroom all mucky like that – Kyle was SO loser-ish.

Of course, there was no point in moaning at him – he wouldn't listen to me. So I just scrubbed the bath myself, and arranged the towels and shampoo how Dad liked them.

The airing cupboard door was half open, but when I pushed it, it wouldn't close. A massive bin liner had been stuffed onto the bottom shelf.

I unknotted it  …  it was bursting full of chewy dog toys – that squeezy, squeaking kind, and all shaped like roast chickens.

The bag had a handwritten price sticker on it – ‘£10 the lot'. Mum'd obviously bought them for the sanctuary from a charity shop or somewhere.

Argghhh. Ten quid was not much – but still enough to set Dad off like a firework. And what a dumb hiding place. He'd easily find them there.

I tugged at the bag and all the chickens squeaked inside as it came squashing out.

Where could I put them that Dad would NEVER look? My room was too small – no hiding places at all. And the garage was no good cos Dad was always fiddling about in there. Hmmm  …  Then I thought of the attic space in Mum and Dad's room. Dad probably never opened it – it was jam-packed with Mum's old jumbled-up stuff from years ago.

I sneaked out of the bathroom, holding the chicken bag behind my back.

I stopped for a second on the landing and listened. No one about  … 

But right then Kyle came stumbling out of his room.

‘What's THAT?' he said, pointing. He still had mud on his face from footie practice even though he'd had a bath.

‘Nothing,' I said. ‘Just stupid stuff Mum's bought. I'm hiding it from Dad.'

He rolled his eyes. He was ALWAYS doing that these days. He couldn't look at me and keep his eyeballs still.

‘You just don't learn, do you?' he hissed in a whisper. ‘What's the point? They'll just argue about something else anyway. You seriously need to chill out  … '

‘Oh, shut up!' I snapped back. ‘Just mind your own business!'

‘Yeah, well, I'd say the same to you, Princess Perfect.'

I gave him an evil look, and barged past him into Mum and Dad's room. I tugged open the little door to the attic space, and stuffed in the squeaky bag. I could see why Mum hadn't hidden it in there – it was crammed full already. But I jammed the door shut with a chair, and hopped back out onto the landing. Big phew! Hopefully that had stopped THAT fight, at least. And this time without any worry magic!

Someone had put the telly on in the kitchen – probably Mum – and everything still seemed nice and calm. So I just whizzed back into my room and closed my door so Kyle couldn't come and get on my nerves again.

I got on with decorating Gran's envelope. I'd have to ask Dad to take it to her, I supposed.

But then there was a soft knock at the door, and Kyle stuck his head in.

‘What?' I said, giving him a dirty look. ‘Go away!'

‘I can assure you that I don't want to talk to you either,' he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘But Mum said it's tea now.' He hesitated. ‘And Dad's  …  er  …  gone out.'

My heart seemed to balloon in my chest. I caught my breath sharply and sat bolt upright. Dad never went out. Not unless there'd been trouble.

‘Oh no  …  but when?'

‘Don't get your knickers in a twist – he'll be back. I'm just warning you that he's not here for tea, that's all.'

‘They had another fight, didn't they?' I said, pushing all my pens off my lap and scrambling up. ‘What about?'

‘I dunno, do I? I didn't even hear cos they were out in the garage. Probably just another pathetic shouting match about a pointless load of nothing.'

‘Dad's probably just in his Shed,' I said, hoping.

‘Nah, he flounced off, out the front  … ' Kyle curled his lip.

Ugh. Where had he
gone
?

My eyes started to prickle. And what was I doing, drawing in my room? I should've been downstairs ready to have a worry dream to make things better  … 

‘Why didn't you come and TELL me they were fighting?' I said. ‘I didn't even KNOW.'

Kyle gave me a scoffing look. ‘Why would I do that? There's nothing YOU can do – duh!' And he just closed my door again.

Well, Kyle – yes, there is
actually
.

I went down for tea.

Kyle was in the lounge, watching telly, and Mum was serving up. They both had grim faces, and no one mentioned Dad.

And even worse, tea was that old ham quiche from the day before. Yum.

While I waited, I nipped to the downstairs loo to see Henners. He lived in this huge, posh cage in there – Dad said it was 5-star deluxe.

I knelt down and fed him some raisins through the wire. He took them out of my fingers, and nibbled them with his whiskers twitching. Raisins were his complete favourite – they were like his sweeties – so I kept this secret store of them for him. Every time I had muesli for breakfast, I picked the raisins out and hid them behind a flowerpot in the kitchen. He never seemed to mind that they were a bit dusty.

‘Courts!' Mum called. ‘Tea's on the trays.' No one was in a chatty mood so we ate on our knees in front of the telly. We were halfway through when Dad clattered back through the front door.

I was on the chair nearest the lounge door, so I waved. He had a misery face on, but he smiled hello to me as he took off his coat.

He slung it over the bottom of the banister, but as he did it, something fluttered out of his pocket onto the carpet. He didn't pick it up – he just stomped straight upstairs to his room.

I finished my tea quickly and told Mum I was going to bed to read. And on my way up, I stopped to pick up what Dad had dropped.

Oh, it was only a tissue  … 

But a pink flowery tissue  …  like, really, proper girlie. One of those posh ones out of a little packet that some ladies keep in their handbag. Mrs Eadie who played the piano for our primary school assemblies always had them.

Strange  … 

We didn't have any of that kind in our house. And Dad would never have bought tissues like that for himself. So where had he got it from?

My mind started speeding then.

I whipped up to my room and lay on my bed, chewing hard at my thumbnail.

Had Dad been to someone's
house
? But whose? Dad didn't have any friends nearby, and certainly not any ladies. Only Mum did.

My tummy flipped over suddenly.

Oh no – he didn't have a GIRLFRIEND, did he?

Maybe he'd found someone who didn't yell at him. Someone who looked like that weather girl on the telly he always whistled and giggled at.

Of course it took me ages to go to sleep with that thought in my head, and I was still worrying about it in the morning.

The next day was Saturday. The day I was
supposed
to visit Gran. Before Dr Plop got me left out.

I knew Dad was going to the hospital later after he'd finished his garden work – or, huh, was he actually visiting his girlfriend?

I stomped downstairs, feeling really sulky. Dad had already gone and Mum was getting ready to go to her shift at the sanctuary. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about sorting out their silly fights for a few hours.

So I sat spooning in my cornflakes and texting Lois to check if she was still up for swimming. She sent me back a big YES and lots of smiley faces. Me and Lois were swimming-mad. We went together any time we could, but always every Saturday morning. We hardly ever missed it – it was like a regular thing, just us two.

The pool was only at the end of my road. Lois's house was in the wrong direction, but I usually went to call for her, otherwise I stood outside the pool waiting cos she was always late – she was so scatty.

It was cold, but there was a pretty, blue-and-white, stripy sky, and the sun was out. I was super-early so I took a long way round through the park and stopped for a quick swing, chucking my swimming bag down on the bench. Me and Lois had the same ones – bright yellow, thick plastic, see-through bags that looked like they were made out of lemon jelly. We loved them.

When I got to Lois's house, I knocked and her big brother Max flung open the door, wearing just jeans and holding a bowl of cereal. He cheesy-grinned at me under his floppy fringe.

‘Aha, it's Naughty-Courty,' he said, through a mouthful.

‘Hey, Max!' I stepped into the hall, giggling. Max was always a bit of a joker, and such a cool brother. Not like geeky Kyle, who was really quiet, and wore embarrassing, too-short joggers and computer-shop T-shirts.

Max turned and bellowed up the stairs –

‘LO-O-O! Get down here.' He winked at me, and scuffed barefooted back into the kitchen.

Lois came hopping down, rubbing on some lip balm. I recognised that sickly, fruity smell straight away – she'd bought herself the same one as Bex! I felt myself tense up a bit, but Lois seemed so happy to see me, I managed not to frown.

She hooked her lemon-jelly bag off the hall pegs and we bowled out into the sunshine, and down the street, arm in arm, singing and larking about.

Oh, I loved Saturdays with Lois. Everything seemed easier when I was with her. I even forgot to worry  … 

But even as I thought that, my tummy tightened – oh dear, but maybe I
should
be worrying. It was weird – NOT
worrying always worried me. In case things were going wrong without me realising  … 

I shook all that out of my mind. It was OK for a few hours. Mum and Dad weren't anywhere near each other. And Lois kept pushing me in puddles, so I had to think about THAT, or I was going to be soaking wet before we even got in the water.

It was quite busy at the pool, but we found a quieter corner, so we could play about. Swimming under each other's legs; throwing a coin for each other to collect from the bottom.

Then we played our favourite game – SHARKS! – which we'd invented that summer. The idea was to choose the most serious-looking swimmer and pretend they were a shark. It was always hilarious.

We picked this man with goggles and a funny moustache that made him look like he was doing that charity thing, Movember. He was swimming loads of lengths, and every time he came near us, we did these silent screams and swam away from him in a panic. Sometimes when we played it, people smiled. But this man just gave us the stink-eye, which made us laugh even more.

And all the time, I kept thinking how Lois seemed to have forgotten about being more grown up and boring like Bex. I was dead glad she wasn't  …  but I still wasn't ready to tell her about the magic. Not yet.

The sun started shining through the window, making bright patches on the water. So we floated on our backs in the sunshiney bits, watching the ripply reflection on the ceiling, and listening to the muffled noise of the pool. I always liked being in my own little world with my ears under the water. Everything felt softer and a long way away – sort of safe.

When we got cold, we climbed out and had our usual long, hot showers, using loads of Lois's strawberry shampoo. Then we blasted our heads under the big driers and plaited each other's hair. It was our routine and it always felt kind of comforting. And because we both had long, brown hair, people sometimes thought we were twins – even though we looked nothing alike – which always made us giggle.

‘I'm
starving
,' said Lois, after. She said that every week.

So we queued up at the machine to get some crisps. Only salt and vinegar would do after swimming.

In the queue me and Lois messed around, doing our Dementor faces, practising for Halloween.

‘Mwahahahaha!' Lois pulled down her bottom eyelids, screwed up her face and leered at me.

She was really pretty, but she could pull the
worst
mean
faces.

‘Argh, you actually look like Voldemort,' I squealed. ‘Look – you're even scaring the children!'

A toddler with chocolate around his face was peeping up at her from behind his mum's legs while his mum nattered to her friend. His lip was wobbling and he looked proper terrified.

‘Oh no!' said Lois. She couldn't bear upsetting anyone. She bent down and flashed the boy her biggest, friendliest smile. ‘It's OK – it was only a game,' she said gently. He grinned back at her then, all chocolatey teeth.

‘Come on, get your ugly mug out of here before you make anyone else cry,' I said, pushing her towards the doors and out into the cold. We were still laughing, stuffing down our crisps, and dawdling along the road when –

‘LOISSSSSS!' cried a voice from behind us. ‘I'm, like, soooooo made up to see you.'

We turned and it was Bex.

I sighed quietly to myself.

Oh, not YOU  … 

She was wearing skinny jeans and a teenagery top that showed her tummy, and was carrying two huge bags of shopping.

‘My mum
made
me go to the shop for her, but I'm so staying out with you now,' she said, dropping the bags so they crashed onto the pavement and bouncing up to Lois.

Oh right  …  invite yourself along then.

And she still hadn't even looked at me.

‘You been swimming? You shoulda told me cos I got this new bikini!' She did this model pose with her hand behind her head. ‘I'll come with you next time.'

WHAT?!! Swimming was mine and Lois's special thing we did, just us. No way did I want
her
coming.

But Lois smiled and nodded.

‘Yeah  …  um  …  OK,' she said.

I widened my eyes at Lois – like,
Uh?
– and gave a tiny shake of my head. But she sort of made an awkward face and shrugged.

She literally couldn't say no to anyone – even if she wanted to.

Unless she really DID want Bex to come – secretly.

My worries started worming back.

Maybe Lois was getting bored of Saturdays with just me. Tired of our old kiddy games  … 

I chewed my lip and followed behind them.

And then Bex managed to say something which got on my wick EVEN more.

‘Oh, and I love your yellow bag, Lois – it's lush! Where'd you get it? I want one too!'

OMG.

Why didn't she just GO AWAY!