Worry Magic

by Dawn McNiff

I worried until tears were dripping off my cheeks.

  But still no dizzy feeling came.

  Still no magic …

  I sighed, and rubbed my face hard with my towel.

  It was hopeless. I couldn’t MAKE myself conk out or have a dream. It was like trying to sneeze – just impossible.

  The magic didn’t seem to work long-distance. But I was sure that if I saw poor, ill Gran – up close, with my own eyes – I’d get so, so, SO worried that the magic would come straight away.

  I pulled my dressing gown off the back of the door, and dragged it on.

  Dad had promised to take me to the hospital on Saturday, if Gran was well enough.

  That was the day after tomorrow.

  Yes …

  Please come then, worry magic!

  Chapter Seven

  At breakfast, Mum told me she’d got me a doctor’s appointment at ten to four that afternoon, She um-ed and ahh-ed, but eventually she said I could go to school and meet her at the doc’s after home-time – but if I felt faint in the day, even a bit, I should tell a teacher straight away.

  Yeah, yeah, Mum – like I was going to tell a teacher … All I could think about was getting to school and telling LOIS about the magic. I felt like if I didn’t tell her soon, I’d go pop.

  But when I got there, school was really annoying.

  I hardly saw Lois all day, and never by herself. Now we were at secondary we had lots of different lessons and only English, Art and registration together. And I knew I couldn’t wait for her after school cos I had to rush off to meet Mum at the doc’s.

  But then when I pushed through the corridor to the lockers after last lesson, I was amazed to find Lois already there, out on time for once. She bear-hugged me, her long plait swinging in my face.

  ‘Hey, it’s not raining – shall we go up the park for a bit?’ she said. ‘We could buy some Flumps to scoff on the way.’ Lois loved Flumps. I was sure if I ate as many as she did, I’d look like an actual giant Flump, but she was all skinny-bummed and lanky.

  ‘Aw, I really want to, but can’t today, soz,’ I said, stuffing my PE kit in my locker. ‘I gotta meet my mum in town.’ I didn’t say anything about the doctor – I didn’t really want to explain …

  ‘Oh no, that’s boring!’ she groaned, sticking out her bottom lip, and making her eyes go all puppy-sad. She has these amazing eyes – huge and Smurf-blue. ‘Can’t you just tell your mum you’ve got something more important to do?’ she teased.

  ‘I wish! But maybe you can walk some of the way with me … ’ I began. I was thinking I could tell her about the magic as we went.

  But right then her phone flashed silently in her hand.

  ‘It’s Bex,’ she said, poking her screen. ‘She wants to meet me … and, oh, here she comes now!’

  Bex pushed through the double doors. She was only in Year Seven like us, but she was really tall, and had this layered, teenagery haircut and, when she could get away with it, loads of eyeliner – sometimes she looked like she was in about Year Nine. But she was really annoying – loud and showy-offy, and basically just trying to copy her big sister.

  She wasn’t friends with me at all, but she LOVED Lois. Their surnames started with the same letter, so they’d been sat next to each other in registration since the first day back in September.

  But just in the last week or so, Bex had been hanging around Lois all the time. I was actually starting to worry that she was trying to take Lois away from me.

  ‘Hey, Lo,’ cried Bex, hugging her, and completely ignoring me. ‘Wanna come over to mine now?’

  ‘Um, OK,’ said Lois. ‘Yeah, yeah, cool.’

  I looked at her, trying to work out if she meant it. Lois was always nice to everyone.

  But she seemed to be smiling – like she really was pleased to go.

  Ugh, well, I would never want to hang out with Bex … but maybe Lois actually liked her.

  A little worry wriggled into my mind. Was Lois starting to get into more teenagery stuff like Bex these days, leaving me behind?

  Lois was tugging her things out of her locker while Bex sat on the radiator, waiting, cracking gum and checking her face in a small mirror. She pulled out a pot of lipgloss from her pocket and smeared some on, and offered Lois the pot. Lois stuck her finger in and slicked some on her lips. It stank like cheap, party-bag sweets – proper sickly.

  ‘Aw you’re so pretty, babes,’ cooed Bex. ‘Hey, I know – why don’t I give you a makeover at mine!’

  Lois nodded. And smiled again – like she meant it.

  I couldn’t believe it. Lois had never bothered with make-up before. It wasn’t her thing.

  Or maybe it was now?

  I realised I hadn’t moved. I was just standing by my locker, shuffling about. I had to run now or Mum would be waiting.

  I slammed my locker hard.

  ‘Bye, Lois – I gotta rush,’ I said, swinging my bag over my shoulder. I grinned at her, trying to be normal so she didn’t see I was fed up. I didn’t want her to think I was being silly or babyish.

  ‘Oh, see you tomorrow, Courts,’ she said, running to give me another hug.

  I pushed through the doors and down the stairs, leaving Lois with Bex.

  Grrrr … why didn’t Bex just bog off?

  I’d been just about to tell Lois all about the magic, but suddenly I wasn’t sure if I wanted to any more. What if she thought it was kids’ stuff, now she was trying to act all grown up like Bex?

  I felt a lump in my throat coming. So as soon as I was outside the school gates, I started running. I ran as fast as I could all the way to the doctor’s.

  Chapter Eight

  Mum was waiting outside for me. We rushed in the door just as the receptionist called my name.

  It was the old-man doctor I didn’t like very much – Dr Prop. He was a bit unfriendly and muttery, and used confusing, long words to tell you what was wrong with you. Me and Kyle had called him Dr Plop since we were little.

  Mum did all the talking, but of course she missed out the most important bit – like, about the magic. Not that I wanted to tell the doctor anyway – obviously, no way. I could just tell that magic and Dr Plop didn’t go together.

  The doc let Mum finish, and then he scooted his wheely chair over to me. He listened to my heart with his doctor thingy and then he looked in my ears, down my throat and inside my eyes. Then he scooted his chair back to his desk really fast. I so wanted to have a go on that chair – it looked too fun.

  Next he got me to lie down on his doctor bed, and he pressed my tummy about. All the time he was talking to Mum using his long, ploppy words. Then he looked at me.

  ‘So can you tell me what happened just before you fainted, Courtney?’ he said.

  ‘I was feeling a bit funny, and my head was going round,’ I said, shrugging. ‘And then I just fell asleep … I mean, fainted.’

  Mum took over. ‘She’s very stressed out at the moment, Doctor. Her grandmother’s in hospital.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Quite bad … ’

  ‘So you were feeling anxious, Courtney?’ the doctor asked.

  I nodded. I thought about saying that it was also because Mum and Dad were yelling. But then I worried that he’d think they were rubbish parents or something and make me go and live in a children’s home, so I didn’t.

  ‘Yes, about my gran,’ I said firmly, not looking at Mum.

  I got off the bed, and the doctor turned back to Mum again, and said loads of other stuff I didn’t really get.

  ‘ … well, no signs of infections. We could take bloods for anaemia but there are no indications of that … blah, blah … ’

  Annie what?

  ‘Really, these sound like classic panic attacks,’ Dr Plop said, tapping his biro in his hand. ‘So I think the best thing is to keep an eye on her for now. And try and keep her stress levels down.’

  Panic attacks? Er, don’t you mean amazing, fantabulous magic dreams, Dr Plop? Pah, he didn’t know what he was talking about. And
I actually reckoned my worry magic would be better than his clever-doctor medicines at curing people.

  Like Gran …

  I crossed all my fingers in my lap.

  On Saturday …

  We thanked the doc and left his room. As we went out the surgery doors, Mum put her arm around me.

  ‘Well, there you go. Nothing too much wrong with you – we’ve just got to keep you calm,’ she sighed. ‘And we know what a worrywart you can be, so I really think … ’ She stopped –

  ‘Oh hi, Ju!’ she called out, waving at someone across the street. She stood on the kerb, mouthing stuff over the traffic and laughing. Mum always knew everyone in town.

  Ugh, and there was that old worrywart thing again. People sometimes called me that, as if worrying was bad – like warts are bad. Well, I knew worrying did churn you up sometimes, but really it was dead useful – it helped you think of the bad stuff that might happen, so you were more ready …

  Mum waved at her mate again and we walked on.

  ‘So, where were we? Yes … er … but I hope you understand, darling, that this means you can’t come and visit Gran,’ Mum said, glancing down at me. ‘It’s bound to upset you too much seeing her so poorly.’

  WHAAAAT?!!!!

  ‘But, Mum, I have to!’ I cried. She couldn’t stop me seeing Gran … she couldn’t do that!

  Especially not now that I had my worry magic, which might actually help Gran get better.

  ‘No, sorry, Courts – we have to be sensible. You heard what the doctor said.’

  I started to moan, but as we turned a street corner, there was someone ELSE that Mum knew – Maddie, one of her friends from the sanctuary.

  I groaned to myself.

  ‘Oh hi, Donna,’ said Maddie. ‘Ah, this is lucky – I wanted to ask you about that new dog – you know, the lurcher … ’ They immediately started chatting on and on, so I was left just waiting again, with my hands in my pockets like a right twerp.

  I scowled, and kicked an old squashed conker around on the leafy pavement.

  How could Mum even say that I wasn’t allowed to visit Gran?

  The doc had gone and ruined everything, ploppy old him …

  And I just hadn’t seen this coming at all. I hadn’t even worried about it.

  I kicked the conker down a drain and it hit the water below. With a big plop.

  Grrrr – it was all too unfair.

  Chapter Nine

  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 –

  Dear Gran,

  Mum and Dad say I can’t visit you in case I get too upset, but I really want to … and it’s not FAIR.

  So please get better and come home soon, Gran.

  I have so much to tell you.

  Me and Puddy miss you like mad, mad, MAD.

  Love from Courts xxxxxxxxxxxx

  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?

  Chapter Ten

  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 kin
d, 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.