Hugh Allen, thought Juliet.
“Imagine that worry sitting in the palm of your hand, like this.” Nana held out her hand as though she were cupping something. “Imagine an invisible string tied around its middle with a loop on top, like a Christmas tree decoration. Then take hold of the loop between your thumb and forefinger and hang it on one of the branches of the Worry Tree, like this,” she said and reached up and touched the end of a branch, pretending to hang her worry on it. “The Worry Tree animals will look after your worries till morning comes. In other words, they do the worrying for you while you sleep.”
“Wow!” said Juliet. “What else?”
“The wombat,” replied Nana, pointing at the hairy-nosed creature, “is named … Wolfgang. That’s right, Wolfgang. And when I was worried about any of my friends, I’d ask him to help me out. It was his job, you see?”
“How come?”
“All the animals in the Worry Tree have special jobs. The dog—his name’s Dimitri—he worries about family, and the pig, over here, worries about school.”
“What’s her name?”
Nana paused to think. “Petronella,” she said at last. “Petronella, the pig. Then there’s Gwyneth, the goat, for when you’re feeling sick. She’s good with tummy bugs and chicken pox and broken bones. And then there’s the peacock, who’s in charge of minding worries about things you’ve lost. That could mean a necklace or some money or even a pet.”
“And what’s he called?” asked Juliet, gazing at the pale blue feathers fanning out behind him.
“Piers,” said Nana. “And last of all, there’s that little white duck sitting on the bottom branch.” Nana tapped the wall. It looked as though the duck was ruffling its feathers. “Her name’s Delia. She knows it’s hard to get used to change, so she looks after that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
“Changing schools, changing houses, even changing bedrooms. All those things take a bit of getting used to.”
Juliet felt stirred up. There was something terribly mysterious about having an ancient painting hidden away in your bedroom. She wondered if a bit of the mystery would rub off on her.
“Oh!” said Nana. “I almost forgot. See that black hole painted on the tree trunk?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where you put the worries you can’t describe. You know, those times when you feel bad and you don’t know why. That black hole is there to catch all the extra problems the animals don’t look after. You just put those worries in the hole as if you’re posting a letter.”
“Wow!” said Juliet. She was amazed that such a tree had existed in her house all these years, a tree so secret she’d never, ever known about it. Until now.
“So how did it get here?” she asked.
“No one knows for sure,” said Nana, “but the story I heard was that your great-great-grandmother—my mother’s mother—painted it when she was a girl. That was over one hundred years ago. She was the eldest child in the family and famous for being a worrywart.”
“So it runs in the family!” said Juliet, relieved she wasn’t the only one. “But, Nana, why’s it all covered up?”
Nana sighed, her eyes tearing up. “It’s a bit of a sad story,” she said. “Would you like to hear it?”
“My father did it,” said Nana. “My father papered over the Worry Tree.”
“But why?” said Juliet. She couldn’t understand how any father could be so mean.
“My mother took me to Melbourne to visit my grandmother, and while we were away, my father had all my toys removed and my room redecorated. He thought I was getting too old for childish games. He said he did it for my own good.”
“That must’ve been really bad,” said Juliet. “To lose your Worry Tree friends like that.”
“It was,” said Nana. “For a while there, I felt quite lost.”
“But now they’re back,” said Juliet.
“Yes,” said Nana. “They’re back to help the latest generation.”
Over the next few days, Juliet thought a lot about the Worry Tree. She was thinking about it when her best friend, Lindsay, nudged her in the ribs and waved a hand in front of her face.
“Juliet,” she said, “Juliet, are you listening? I was just asking if you’ve got a question for us today?”
Juliet reached into her bag and pulled out her lunch box. Written on the lid in thick gray marker were her initials: JJJ, just like three monkey tails in a row. Whenever Dad made lunch, he popped in a scientific question for the girls to talk about. They were usually questions like Why does cold chicken taste different from hot chicken? or Why is yawning contagious?
Juliet read out today’s question. “Fish have their eyes stuck on either side of their heads. What would happen if humans did?”
“Good question,” said Lindsay, and she pushed her hair out of her eyes and put on her thinking face. She was one of those people born with mad-scientist hair. She didn’t mind, though, as she had every intention of becoming a scientist when she grew up, though hopefully not a mad one. “If I had fish eyes,” she said, “I wouldn’t have to turn my head to the left or right when I crossed the street. I could see the cars coming both ways at the same time!”
“A referee could watch both ends of the field during a soccer game,” added Juliet.
“And people could cheat on their exams by looking at their neighbors’ answers.”
“Yes!” said Juliet and shook her head at the idea of all that cheating. As she put the thought out of her mind, she noticed the new girl sitting by herself.
Gemma had a pretty face, plump and creamy white like a scoop of ice cream. Freckles tumbled off the bridge of her nose like spilled sesame seeds, and her hair was the color of nutmeg. Her teeth were square and straight and looked like a row of sugar cubes. Juliet knew at once what people meant when they said someone looked good enough to eat. The new girl was positively delicious.
“See that girl over there?” said Juliet, knowing it was a risk to interrupt Lindsay when she was Deep in Thought.
“Mm?” said Lindsay. “Oh. Her.”
“Do you think we should ask her to sit with us?”
“I don’t know,” said Lindsay. “We might not like her. And anyway, we’ve got other things to worry about.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that Hugh Allen is coming our way.”
Hugh was famous for being the biggest bully at Wattle Street School. He was also famous for having the biggest nostrils in the school. People said they’d gotten that big from all the marbles he’d stuck up there. All Juliet knew was that the sight of him made her skin prickle.
“Hi, Jooly-Wooly,” said the boy. “Ooh, what’s that?” He reached out and snatched Juliet’s lunch box from her hands. “Urgh,” he said. “Health food.” He unwrapped her sandwich and tossed it on the ground. Lettuce, tomato, and beets scattered on the concrete.
Juliet looked at Lindsay for backup, but Lindsay was staring at her apple as if it were the most interesting apple in the whole world.
“Oh, look,” said Hugh. “Snotberry yogurt!” He ripped off the lid and tipped Juliet’s yogurt straight down his throat in one noisy gulp. “Got anything else?”
Juliet’s rash bloomed all over her body like itchy flowers. “Get lost,” she whispered, wishing she could think of something better to say.
“What’s that?”
“Go away.”
“But we’re best friends,” said Hugh. “Don’t you want to talk to your best friend?”
“You’re not my best friend,” said Juliet. “Lindsay is.” She looked over at her friend, but Lindsay was still staring at her apple. Juliet felt a small pain in her chest, as if she were being jabbed with a thumbtack. She pulled off one of her Band-Aids and started chewing her nail.
“Looks like I am your best friend,” said Hugh, picking up her bag and tipping it upside down. “Your only friend.”
As he kicked her things across the asphalt, Juliet’s heart sa
nk. What was she going to do now?
“Hey!” called a voice. “Hey!”
Juliet, Lindsay, and Hugh looked up.
“I want to talk to you!”
The voice belonged to Gemma. She strode toward them, her nutmeg hair shimmering in the sun, her creamy ice cream skin stained an angry raspberry red. It looked as if she was holding something behind her back.
“Yeah?” said Hugh, dropping Juliet’s bag. “What do you want?”
Gemma stared at him steadily, eyeball to eyeball, then she leaned in close—very, very close.
“I want to show you something,” she said. “But first, I have to warn you, it’s pretty scary. You might not be able to handle it.”
“Huh!” said Hugh. “I can handle anything.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Gemma. “There have been people before you—tougher people—who haven’t been able to cope. Some even had to have counseling.”
“I’m not scared,” said Hugh. “Just show it to me, will you?”
Very slowly, Gemma brought her hand around from behind her back. Juliet watched hopefully, wondering what this menacing thing could be. When Gemma held out the object, Juliet’s hopes were dashed. Oh, no, she thought. We’re all doomed.
“A doll!” Hugh laughed. “Is that it? Oooh, I’m so scared. I can’t believe you still play with dolls.”
“Oh, this isn’t just any doll,” said Gemma calmly. “This is Xtreme Sportz Bettina. And I don’t carry her around to play with. I use her as a weapon. On boys just like you.”
“Whatever you say,” said Hugh. “It’s still just a doll.”
Gemma smiled patiently. “Did I mention Xtreme Sportz Bettina comes with a range of rather nasty accessories?”
“Accessories?” said Hugh, his voice wavering slightly. “What kind of accessories?”
“You don’t want to know,” said Gemma. “Let’s just say they cause quite a bit of discomfort.” And she thrust the doll into the air as if brandishing a sword.
Juliet looked at Lindsay with wide eyes. This was more exciting than a nature documentary!
“By the way,” said Gemma, “did I mention three kids from my old school have restraining orders out against me? That means I’m not allowed to come within five hundred yards of them if I’m ‘in possession of my Bettina doll.’ That’s how scared they are.”
Hugh looked as though he couldn’t decide whether Gemma was serious or not. Then Gemma shoved the doll in his face and removed all doubt.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got stuff to do,” he said, stepping backward. “Haven’t got time to stand around playing with dolls.” And he walked very quickly across the playground.
“Thanks,” said Juliet, laughing with relief. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem,” said Gemma, flashing her sugar-cube smile. “Actually, I kind of enjoyed it.”
Lindsay sniffed and looked the other way, but Juliet was too happy to notice.
All in all, thought Juliet, it had been an unusual day. Hugh had been defeated, and now she was about to spend her first night in her new bedroom. She looked down at her To Do list to see what tasks she had to do before bedtime.
Make sure all doors and windows are locked
Straighten pictures in bedroom
Recheck all doors and windows
Check Piranha for aphids and other parasites
Sharpen pencils for tomorrow
Brush teeth and tongue, floss
Change into pajamas
The idea of changing in front of the Worry Tree animals seemed embarrassing to Juliet, so she climbed under the blanket and changed out of sight. Just as she finished, there was a tapping at the door.
“It’s only us,” said Mom, “come to say good night.”
Dad’s boxes were still stacked up in the hallway, so Mom, Dad, and Oaf had to struggle over them to get inside the room. Then Dad lifted Nana up and over the boxes before she could object.
“You will clear that stuff away soon, won’t you, Martin?” said Mom.
“Of course!” said Dad, and they all piled onto Juliet’s new bed in a kind of affectionate tangle.
“We’ve got presents,” said Dad. “To celebrate your new room.”
“Really?” Juliet said and watched as Dad pulled a package out from under his sweater.
“It’s a label maker,” said Mom. “So you can print out all the labels your heart desires.”
“Thanks, Mom! Thanks, Dad!” said Juliet, hugging her parents. “It’s the best.”
“Me next!” said Oaf, and handed over a parcel wrapped in newspaper.
Juliet unwrapped it slowly and pulled out an old gray sock with “O. Jones” written on the heel.
“His name is Pong,” said Oaf. “I’m giving him to you so you won’t miss me.”
“Thanks,” said Juliet uncertainly. “That’s very … thoughtful.” She got up quickly and sealed it in a Ziploc bag.
“The last gift’s from me,” said Nana. “I came across it in one of your dad’s boxes.”
Juliet reached out and took it. It was a small frame containing an old black-and-white photograph of a girl.
“Recognize her?” said Nana.
Juliet looked more closely. The girl was sitting in a bedroom, looking at a painting of a tree on the wall.
“It looks like me,” said Juliet, “except it can’t be. The photo’s too old.”
“That’s because it’s not you,” said Nana. “It’s—”
“You!”
“As a little girl,” said Nana.
“It looks like you’re talking to the tree on the wall.”
“Yes,” said Nana. “It does.”
Once everyone had kissed Juliet good night and left the room, she was surprised to find she felt rather lonely. There was no mess covering the floor, no irritating songs were being sung, and it felt strange without Oaf on the bottom bunk, kicking her from under the mattress. How would she ever get to sleep?
Juliet climbed out of bed and sat cross-legged on the floor. The yellowy green carpet spread out across the room like a windblown wheatfield, leading to the foot of the Worry Tree. Six strong branches spread out along the wall, just as if they’d grown there. Juliet liked the idea of nature creeping quietly indoors and taking root. Not many people had a garden growing in their bedroom.
The Worry Tree animals seemed to be stirring from their daytime sleep, ready to hear her troubles.
“Delia,” she said, talking to the little white duck, “Nana says you look after changes in people’s lives. I’ve just changed rooms, and it doesn’t feel right. I feel kind of … uprooted.”
Delia listened silently, her white feathers shimmering in the lamplight. Juliet got the feeling Delia was used to hearing about changes in people’s lives, big and little. She imagined her loneliness sitting in her hand with a piece of string tied around it. Taking the imaginary loop between thumb and forefinger, she hung it on the end of Delia’s branch and felt a little lighter.
“Petronella,” she said, scratching the pig’s upturned nose. “Why does Hugh keep picking on me? And why can’t I stand up for myself? I make up heaps of things to say when he’s not around, but the moment he shows up, I can’t remember any of them. If it hadn’t been for Gemma today, I would’ve been in big trouble.”
Being in charge of school worries, Petronella knew all about bullies. By the look in her eyes, Juliet could tell she had a very low opinion of them. She hung her worries on Petronella’s branch and turned to Wolfgang, the wombat.
“I’m not sure if you can help or not,” she said, “but since you look after friendship worries, I wanted to talk about Lindsay.” Then she explained how her oldest friend, her best friend, had let her down by not defending her.
Juliet reached up and touched the wall. Wolfgang’s eyes shone like two black billiard balls. When she’d finished talking, she hung her worries on the end of his branch and felt much better—not happy exactly, but lighter, like driftwood on the surface of the sea. She climbe
d into bed, closed her eyes, and floated off on the tide, off into a restful sleep.
Juliet was tidying her bus ticket collection on the weekend when Oaf burst into her bedroom. “Coming through!” she cried and made straight for the Useful Box.
“What are you doing in my room?” said Juliet.
“No time to explain,” said Oaf, rummaging around in the box. “Where on earth’s the—found it!” She held up a large roll of tape, then dropped to the floor and commando-crawled under Juliet’s new bed. Moments later, Mom appeared in the doorway holding a pair of scissors.
“Oaf,” said Mom, “I know you’re under there. Please come out and have your hair cut.”
“It’s not necessary,” came the muffled reply.
“School photos are coming up,” replied Mom, “and I can’t have you looking like a ragamuffin.”
“You can’t make me!” said Oaf and wriggled farther under the bed.
A little anxious V appeared between Juliet’s eyebrows. Surely not another family fight? And why did it have to be in her nice, new bedroom? She wondered what the Worry Tree animals were making of all this.
“Ophelia,” said Mom, “I know that you are unhappy. Why don’t you come out and tell me how you feel about it?”
There was a pause followed by “You’re not going to psychologic me. I’m not tricked by your psychologicness.”
Both Juliet and Oaf were familiar with Mom’s Psychological Techniques for Managing Children. Oaf stayed put for a reason.
“Ophelia Octavia Jones,” said Mom, trying another tack, “I’ll come under there and drag you out myself if I have to!”
“I’m taping my hair to my head!”
There was the sound of tape being unwound, followed by loud bumping noises as Oaf wrapped it all the way around her head. Mom looked at Juliet tiredly. “Would you mind awfully going first, honey?”
Juliet could tell the last thing Mom needed was a Scene. “All right, Mom,” she said, proud of being the good daughter.
“Hey!” called Oaf, as Juliet headed out the door. “Could you pass me the glue?”
The Worry Tree Page 2