The Worry Tree

by Marianne Musgrove

  Juliet grinned. She felt like singing. “What do you think, Lindsay?”

  Lindsay didn’t look overjoyed, but she nodded yes, and Juliet knew she would try her best to be nice.

  Well, thought Juliet, that’s one problem down. Bring on the next one!

  The walk home from school was Juliet’s happiest in a long while. Lindsay and Gemma were making an effort, and she hadn’t heard a peep out of Hugh in ages.

  Unfortunately, Juliet’s good mood dried up the moment she got home and stepped into her bedroom. The Worry Tree animals seemed to be looking at her with great sadness in their eyes. It was as though they knew she’d promised to give them up.

  “I’m sorry,” said Juliet, touching each of them in turn. “But it was the only way I could think of to save my family.”

  Needing a chocolate milk to cheer herself up, she left her room and headed for the kitchen. She was almost there when she heard muttering coming from inside. As she opened the door, Mom and Dad sprang apart.

  “Oh, hello, love,” said Mom. “We were just discussing …”

  “Weedkiller!” said Dad.

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Mom. “Weedkiller. We, um …”

  “Don’t like them,” said Dad. “Weeds, that is.”

  “No, no, can’t stand them,” said Mom. “Dreadful things. Dreadful.”

  “Dreadful,” added Dad.

  Juliet looked from Dad to Mom and back again. They were certainly acting very strangely.

  It was with a heavy heart that Juliet went to her bedroom that night. Not only was she losing her Worry Tree, her parents seemed to be cracking up.

  “I guess I’ll start packing tomorrow,” she said to the animals. “That means this will be my last night with you. Dimitri, Wolfgang, Delia, Petronella, Gwyneth, Piers—you’ve all been such great friends to me these past few weeks. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. Thanks so much.”

  Juliet kissed the tips of her fingers, then pressed them on the nose or beak of each animal.

  “Good night,” she said sadly, and switched off the light.

  It was three o’clock in the morning and Juliet needed to go to the bathroom. She felt around in the dark for her flashlight. Written on the handle in thick gold marker were her initials: JJJ, just like three saxophones in a row.

  She got up and padded down the hallway. Before she got to the bathroom, she noticed a strange orange glow coming through the window, flickering like firelight. Juliet pulled back the curtain to have a better look. It was firelight! Down by the barbecue area. Someone was out there too. Someone in a frilly nightie. Someone who looked like Nana.

  Juliet opened the back door slowly and crept out onto the veranda. The concrete felt cool under her feet. Smoke curled upward into the night sky as Nana poked the fire with a large pair of tongs. Juliet came closer. In among the flames was a heap of cork animals and paper doilies, gradually turning black. On the ground was a pile of Nana’s craft projects: Popsicle-stick photo frames, pipe cleaners with googly eyes, egg cartons, macramé pot holders—all waiting to be burned. Nana picked up a handful and tossed them into the fire.

  “Hello, Nana,” said Juliet slowly. “What are you doing?”

  “Juliet,” said Nana, “I’ve had enough! There comes a point in a woman’s life when you have to say no. No more doilies! No more dried macaroni! No more making things that clutter up the living room! Basically, what I’m saying is No!”

  She plunged her tongs into the fire, and sparks flew up into the air like confetti. Juliet nodded. Nana obviously needed someone to talk to, and, since there was no one else around, it would have to be her.

  “Nana,” she said, “I’ve noticed you’ve been kind of—”

  “Cranky?” said Nana. “Ill-tempered? Cross? Tetchy?”

  “Yeah,” said Juliet. “Why?”

  Nana sighed and the collar of her nightie fluttered up, making her look like a frill-necked lizard.

  “It’s a lot of things, Juliet,” said Nana, tossing another load of pipe cleaners onto the fire. “A lot of things. This, for one,” she said, holding up her safety alarm. “I’d love to throw this in the fire.”

  “Nana! No!”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to. It’s just that I absolutely hate wearing it.”

  “Why?” said Juliet. “It could save your life.”

  “That’s true, but the moment I put this on, I’m admitting I’m old, O–L–D, old. There’s no turning back then. I’m basically saying I can’t manage on my own, and that makes me feel useless. Look at me. I used to be head of the university’s chemistry department and now all I seem to do is sit around and make knickknacks out of clothespins and corks.”

  “So that’s why you’re burning them,” said Juliet.

  “That’s why I’m burning them,” said Nana. “I’ve turned a corner, Juliet. It’s time for a change. I’m just not sure what that change will be.”

  Juliet looked thoughtful. It sounded as though Nana had a lot on her mind. No wonder she’d been so cranky. “Maybe I could tell Delia about your worries,” said Juliet. At least for tonight, she added silently. “She could look after them for you.”

  “Delia, the duck?” said Nana. “Of course! Getting used to change is her job. Thank you, Juliet. I would very much appreciate that.”

  Juliet looked into the flames and smiled. To be useful, she thought, is the best feeling in the world.

  Juliet awoke to the sound of scraping noises coming from Oaf’s room. She groaned loudly and turned over to look at the Worry Tree animals. They looked pretty tired, and no wonder: she’d given them a lot of work to do lately.

  There was a light tapping at the door and then a creak. Mom and Dad, still in their pajamas, stood in the doorway smiling.

  “Can we come in for a sec, kiddo?” said Dad.

  Juliet nodded, propping herself up on her elbows. No doubt they wanted to make arrangements for the big move back into Oaf’s room.

  “Your father and I have been talking,” said Mom.

  “What about?” said Juliet. “Not weedkiller again.”

  “No, no, not weedkiller,” said Mom. “We weren’t actually talking about that yesterday. The truth is, we were talking about you. We were quite shocked when you offered to give up your room on Sunday night.”

  “Very shocked,” said Dad.

  “I didn’t know how else to fix things,” said Juliet.

  “That’s just it,” said Mom. “The fact that you thought it was up to you to fix everything.”

  “Your mother and I are quite ashamed,” said Dad. “Ashamed that you would blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. The fact is, our fights have nothing to do with you.”

  “But how can it not be my fault?” said Juliet. “Those boxes wouldn’t be in the hall if it weren’t for me.”

  “We always planned for you and Oaf to have your own rooms one day,” said Mom. “The real issue is how we went about it.”

  “So what does that mean?” said Juliet.

  “It means,” said Dad, “that some things are your problem, and some things are our problem, and this thing happens to be our problem. And what that means is that we have to sort it out, not you.”

  “Dad and I have come to a decision,” said Mom. “We’re going to build a shed in the backyard to store your dad’s ‘research.’”

  “A big shed!” said Dad.

  “A small shed,” said Mom.

  “At any rate,” said Dad, “you don’t have to move back in with your sister.”

  Juliet laughed. “That’s great!”

  A loud bang came from Oaf’s room.

  “What was that?” said Mom.

  “Oaf,” said Juliet. “I think she’s barricading herself into her bedroom.”

  “Then we’d better go give her the good news,” said Dad. “Quickly.”

  Mom and Dad kissed Juliet on the forehead and left. She flopped back down on her pillow and smiled with relief. She’d never thought
of things not being her problem. She generally thought everything was her problem, even if she hadn’t caused it. The Worry Tree animals looked at her as if they’d known all along and were glad she’d finally figured it out. Like warm water running into a cold bath, a sense of understanding spread throughout her body. Her arms relaxed, her legs relaxed, her mind relaxed, her heart felt free.

  Not everything is my problem, she thought. And even better, I get to keep my room!

  “Oaf!” called Juliet. “Have you seen my Band-Aids? I can’t find them.”

  “There’s none left,” said Oaf. “I had to plug the leaks in our life raft.”

  “We don’t have a life raft,” said Juliet cautiously.

  “We do now,” said Oaf. “I made one out of plastic bags and a cooler.”

  Juliet gritted her teeth and pushed down a scream. Putting on her Band-Aids was part of her routine. What would happen if she changed it? She looked at the friendly faces of the Worry Tree animals. They seemed to be cheering her on, reminding her that she was “a capable person who could handle any crisis,” just like the plaque on her wall said.

  “I can do this,” she said to herself and waggled her fingers in the air. She threw on her backpack and went into the hallway. “Come on, Oaf! It’s time for school!”

  Things couldn’t have been better. Juliet’s parents had stopped fighting, she didn’t have to give up her Worry Tree animals, and, she was pleased to note, Gemma and Lindsay were actually sharing a bag of chips. Juliet stood up and stretched her legs, enjoying the sun on her face. Today was a Good Day, she thought.

  At that moment, a small, wet object stung her on the arm.

  “Hey!” she said and looked around to see where it had come from.

  Gemma and Lindsay looked too.

  “Over there,” said Lindsay. “See?”

  Peeping around the corner was Hugh, a pen tube held between his lips. He fired another spitball and ducked around the corner. Juliet’s happy mood faded away to nothing. “Why now?” she said. “Why?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Gemma, “I’ll sort him out.” She reached into her pocket for her Xtreme Sportz Bettina.

  “You know what?” said Lindsay, getting to her feet. “I got Martial Artz Bettina and Hired Assazzin Bettina for my birthday. They’re in my bag. With the two of us working together, Gemma, Hugh won’t dare bother Juliet.”

  “Go, Lindsay!” said Gemma.

  “Actually,” said Juliet, looking at her friends, “three people working together would be even better. Pass me that Bettina, Lindsay. I’m coming too.”

  So there they stood, shoulder to shoulder, feet apart, eyes flashing, and the next time Hugh poked his head around the corner, there were three girls charging toward him, brandishing dolls in their hands.

  Juliet and Dad stood outside a shop painted with large Japanese characters.

  “Are you sure this is what you want to get?” asked Dad.

  “Yep,” said Juliet. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and I reckon it’s just what she needs.”

  “Okay,” said Dad. “It’s unusual, but you know your Nana better than anyone.”

  Juliet nodded. Once you’ve stood around a bonfire in the middle of the night burning paper doilies and talking about Life, you get to know someone pretty well.

  When they got back to 23 Gregson Street, Nana’s birthday party began.

  “Open mine! Open mine!” said Oaf.

  Nana took Oaf’s present with an air of great respect and lifted the lid. “Goodness!” she said. “How … extraordinary.” She held the box out so everyone could see. Inside was a lumpy purple blob the size of a mandarin orange.

  “It’s chewed-up bubblegum,” said Oaf. “I made the Wattle Street record: nineteen pieces and a Mars Bar. Don’t worry about it going bad, though. I varnished it with lacquer!”

  “Innovative,” said Dad.

  “Interesting,” said Mom.

  “Typical,” said Juliet.

  “But heartfelt,” said Nana. “Thank you, Oaf. I’ll keep it by my bedside.”

  “Now me,” said Juliet and she went over to the cupboard to get her present.

  “While Juliet’s doing that,” said Nana, “I’ve got an announcement to make: I’ve officially given up craft class.”

  “Have you?” said Mom.

  “I have. I realized if I went to one more session, I’d end up doing something very unpleasant with all that dried macaroni. I’ve decided to take up computing instead.”

  “You’re going to learn computing!” said Dad. “That’s fantastic!”

  “No, Martin,” said Nana patiently. “I’m not going to learn computing; I’m going to teach computing.”

  “Really?” said Dad.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” said Nana. “I’ve arranged it with University of the Third Age.”

  “Good for you!” said Mom.

  “That’s great!” said Juliet and Oaf.

  “I had no idea,” said Dad, “but it’s brilliant news.”

  It was time for Juliet’s present, so she handed it over and Nana opened the card. Written at the bottom in thick black marker were Juliet’s initials: JJJ, just like three umbrella handles in a row. Nana unwrapped the present and balanced it on her lap. It was a small black pot containing a tiny tree with tiny branches and leaves.

  “It’s a Japanese bonsai tree,” said Juliet.

  “I’ve heard of them.”

  “Mr. Castelli says Japanese people spend ages and ages imagining what their tree’s going to look like. Then they trim the branches with tiny hedge clippers until it looks exactly like the tree in their imagination.”

  “It’s absolutely beautiful,” said Nana, turning it around so she could see it from every angle. “Magical.”

  “There’s something else,” said Juliet, leaning in close so only Nana could hear. “It’s actually a Worry Tree. I know you haven’t had a tree in your bedroom for a very long time, so I bought you one.”

  Nana’s eyes shone with tears. “What a wonderful idea!” she said. “This is exactly what I need.”

  “Is it time for the cake?” said Oaf, leaping to her feet.

  “Yes,” said Mom, “and I think we’re in for a treat. Your dad’s made us a beauty.”

  While everyone bustled about getting candles and cake, Juliet caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror: no Band-Aids taped to her nails, no rash spreading across her face, and no anxious V hovering between her eyebrows. There was just a medium-sized girl with medium brown hair, regular-sized feet, and a very big smile. “I am a capable person,” she said to herself. “I am a capable person who can handle any crisis.”

  And she was right.

  Let the Worry Tree animals help you with your worries too!

  On the following pages there is room for you to write down things that may be worrying you.

  If this book does not belong to you, you can do these activities on a separate sheet of paper.

  Wolfgang the Wombat

  Here’s Wolfgang the wombat. He’s looking after these friend worries for me.

  Petronella the Pig

  Petronella the pig worries about school. These are some of the worries she takes care of for me.

  Remember! If this book does not belong to you, you can do these activities on a separate sheet of paper.

  Gwyneth the Goat

  Gwyneth the goat makes me feel better when I’m sick.

  Dimitri the Dog

  When I’m worried about my family, Dimitri the dog looks after them for me.

  Remember! If this book does not belong to you, you can do these activities on a separate sheet of paper.

  Piers the Peacock

  Piers the peacock is in charge of minding worries about things I’ve lost.

  Delia the Duck

  Delia the duck knows that it’s hard to get used to change—changing houses, changing schools, even changing bedrooms.

  Remember! If this book does not belong to you, you can
do these activities on a separate sheet of paper.

  The Hole in the Trunk

  Sometimes I have worries that I can’t describe. The Worry Tree has a special place for these too.

  Draw your favorite Worry Tree animal here—or make up a new one!

  Remember! If this book does not belong to you, you can do these activities on a separate sheet of paper.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my family and friends for all their encouragement and support over the many years it has taken to bring this book to life. In particular, thanks go to my parents and sister, who listened to me speak of Juliet and Oaf so often, these characters became like members of our family; all those who read various drafts and provided me with invaluable feedback, in particular, Russell Talbot, Dave Rees, Kate Thorne, Sue Oliver, assorted members of the Harwood family, and Sean Hegarty; my young reviewers, Jamie-Lee Vandenberg, Ramon Garcia, and Frizzy Trebilcock, for their honesty and encouragement; my manuscript assessors, Ruth Starke for teaching me “show don’t tell,” Jennifer Dabbs for helping me polish up my book, and Virginia Lowe for her eagle editing eye and for putting me in touch with my agent; Maeve Judge for setting me on the right path; Barbara Weisner and the South Australian Writers’ Centre for all the advice and support; Rebecca Purling and Mark Polkinghorne for providing a peaceful environment in which many plot breakthroughs occurred; Polly, their dog, for her unorthodox editorial contribution; and, finally, my agent, Sheila Drummond, my publisher, Zoe Walton, and the rest of the team at Random House Australia for their hard work, faith, and enthusiasm.