Worry Magic

by Dawn McNiff

  I even sorted out his spice rack. Mum had put the jars back wonky, and she’d left a few lids half on – and I knew Dad’d grumble like mad next time he was making one of his curries. So I wiped each jar and put them all back in alphabetical order. There … good. All tidy for him now.

  Then I went and sat on the loo next to Henners’ cage. Someone had left the bathroom window open – maybe Dad had done it, hoping Henners might come home by himself. But how would we ever know if he did? He might be a naughty rat and sneak in, eat his raisins and then hip-hop out again.

  Then I remembered something I’d seen on a detective programme on the telly once.

  Yes!

  I got some flour and sprinkled it on the windowsill and on the floor in front of his cage – along with a pile of raisins next to his cosy bed to tempt him in. Now we’d be able to see his little pawprints in the flour if he came in.

  Ha …

  And then we’d know he was still alive …

  Ugh – my tummy turned. Please stay alive, Henners.

  And Gran …

  I shuddered, and hurried away from those nasty thoughts into the kitchen. I grabbed a four-pack of Dad’s diet chocolate mousses, and went to my room to watch any old telly – CBeebies and any baby stuff as long as it was happy and bright. I gulped down three of the mousses and hid the pots at the bottom of my bin.

  Then I actually felt sick – for real.

  Mum came back. She popped up to check on me, but I pretended to be asleep. Then when she’d gone, I whipped out onto the landing again to listen to what she was doing. Just in case she’d brought a monkey or maybe some actual elephants back from the sanctuary, or some other duh-ness that needed worrying about. But I could hear she was just washing up, all innocent.

  I hopped back to bed. It was weird really. Mum thought she was staying home to check on me. But she didn’t realise I was checking up on her too!

  It was a long day.

  The rain pattered at the windows. I flumped out on my bed, messing with the Worry Wig, twisting all its fur and giving it spiky hair-dos, as my mind fretted over stuff.

  Puddy-cat stretched out next to me, upside down and fast asleep.

  I knew how he felt. Just so done in and exhausted.

  Worrying was hard work – there was so much that could go wrong all the time, and I had to think of everything.

  All my fiddling had made the Worry Wig matted. I tried to comb through the knots with my fingers, but the fur was way too tangled up.

  I threw it down on my bed, and went downstairs to get some water and check the flour. No pawprints.

  I let Mum make me more dry toast, and slept in a heap on the sofa in front of the fire.

  After school-time I got a text from Lois.

  Hope ur feeling better, babes? xx

  But I didn’t reply.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The day got even worse later.

  I heard Dad come in the front door. But instead of trudging down the hall to the kitchen as usual, he just pegged it straight upstairs … actually ran … and then clicked their bedroom door shut behind him.

  It was totally un-Dad-ish.

  Was he that upset about Henners?

  Or was it Gran?

  Prickles ran all up me.

  Oh no …

  I crept up the stairs in my socks, and listened outside the door. Of course I knew I shouldn’t, but I did anyway.

  I could hear the bed creaking. And Dad … sniffing.

  Sniffing?

  Was he crying?

  Maybe something really bad had happened …

  I got goosebumps.

  ‘Dad?’ I called, totally forgetting I wasn’t supposed to be there, nosing.

  My heart was beating loud in my ears while I waited.

  Silence.

  Slowly I pushed down the door handle and opened the door just a sliver.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Dad sounded startled – as if he hadn’t heard me before.

  I shut the door quickly, but not before I’d seen him. Lying under the covers, his face all red and crumpled up.

  He WAS crying.

  I caught my breath.

  I leant my forehead against the wall, and knocked softly.

  ‘Dad, what’s wrong? Is Gran all right?’ I called though the door.

  I waited, holding my breath so I could listen inside the room.

  ‘She had a bad day today, but yes, she’s all right,’ he croaked, finally.

  That didn’t sound good. Not good at all.

  ‘So she’s OK?’

  Another long pause. A sob began bulging in my throat, making it ache. I scuffled my feet against the door.

  ‘Yes.’ His voice sounded odd. ‘She’s in the best place – your gran’s going to be just fine.’

  Fine. Except he was crying, and he NEVER cried.

  I went back to my room, but I felt too fidgety. So I huddled in my doorway, hugging my knees, my eyes dribbling tears, just waiting for Dad to come out.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Their bedroom door suddenly scraped open, and Dad came muscle-manning out. He didn’t notice me sitting there. But my mouth dropped open.

  In his hand was a huge bin liner. He’d found the squeezy roast-chicken toys!

  BUT HOW?

  He stood at the top of the stairs, and yelled down.

  ‘Donna! WHAT on earth are these?’

  I heard Mum’s footsteps coming out of the kitchen.

  ‘They’re from a car boot sale,’ said Mum, her voice snappy. ‘Just second-hand dog toys I got cheap. Where did you find them? I’ve been looking for those.’

  I could only see one side of Dad’s face. He still looked creased and red, but an angry red now, and his tears had dried up. Mum would never guess he’d been crying three minutes before.

  He made a furious, gritted-teeth noise.

  ‘So clearly I was talking to myself the other night, then.’ His voice was getting louder. ‘Did you not hear when I said we can’t afford to go shopping?!’

  ‘Andy – they only cost £10! Stop being so unreasonable. I’m saving them as presents for any dogs at the sanctuary over Christmas.’

  ‘So now I’m doggy Santa Claus, am I?’ Dad snarled. And he upended the bin liner and shook it. All the rubbery chickens came bouncing out, and doing-doinged down the stairs. It should have been a bit funny, but actually it felt more like a nightmare cartoon. One chicken fell at Dad’s feet and he kicked it away like it might give him a disease.

  I’d already been upset, but now tears were flooding out of me. But Dad still hadn’t noticed me sitting in my doorway behind him.

  Mum was shrieking from the hall. ‘How DARE you behave like that!’ Then she swore, and I heard her slam the kitchen door.

  ‘You live in cloud cuckoo land,’ yelled Dad, crashing down the stairs. ‘I may as well talk to a wall … I’ve had enough … ENOUGH!’

  Enough?

  But what did that mean?

  I could hear them in the kitchen, bawling. I was trembling and my throat felt strangled. I bit my dressing gown sleeve hard, and pressed my eyeballs with my fingers.

  Oh no, this was worse than ever.

  I held my head in my hands.

  And then Kyle’s legs appeared in front of me. And without saying a single word, he shoved me so hard I sort of roly-polied back into my bedroom and one of my slippers came off. He closed my door and I heard the key turn on the outside.

  He’d LOCKED me in!

  What the … ?! But WHY?

  I leapt up and pummelled the door, my head whirling dizzily.

  ‘Kyle, you idiot! Let me out NOW!’

  I kept yelling, but he didn’t come. And Mum and Dad couldn’t hear me cos they were too busy doing their own shouting in the kitchen.

  I swallowed down my tears, and kept calling and knocking. Still no one came.

  I sank to my knees with a whimper.

  Oh, why did Dad have to find that shopping, just when he was so upset about Gran?r />
  What would happen now? And what did Dad mean by ‘I’ve had enough’? Would he stalk out again, and go wherever he kept going all the time?

  To borrow another girlie tissue?

  My whole body was trembling. My head spun and my brain was fuzzy.

  Then I clicked … Oh, the magic – it was coming back again!

  I lay down on my carpet with my head jammed up against my door.

  And zonked out.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The dream was perfect, as usual. The roast chickens were all tidied up back into a bag. Dad and Mum both had calm, nice faces. And then – random! – a big bag of my favourite toffee popcorn.

  I woke up with a start. The carpet was itching my wet cheek.

  I knelt up and tugged at my door handle, but it was still locked.

  ‘KYLE!’ I yelled again. ‘Let me out … ’

  I listened. No one was coming, but I could hear Mum ranting on downstairs at top volume. And then Dad shouting back.

  My heart skipped.

  What? They were supposed to be calm now. Had the dream magic not WORKED?

  ‘KYLE!’ I hollered even louder.

  And this time I heard soft footsteps and the key turning. I flung the door open, pushed past Kyle and looked over the banister.

  OH NO … ! The hall was still covered with dumb rubber roast chickens. And Mum and Dad were still having a full-on battle in the kitchen …

  The magic definitely HADN’T worked.

  And I thought I knew why.

  Because stupid, STUPID Kyle had locked me away in my room, and the magic couldn’t work by remote control.

  Arggh, Kyle!

  Livid, I whipped round at him, but he’d disappeared.

  ‘Courtney – get in here!’ he called from his room, chilled as anything.

  Well, he wouldn’t be chilled when I’d finished with him! I stamped in there, pushing his door hard so it cracked against the wall.

  I hadn’t been in his room for ages – it smelt like old pizza, and his carpet was covered with dirty clothes.

  He was sitting at his desk with his hands behind his head.

  ‘WHY … ? Why did you DO it?’ I was shaking with crossness. ‘You’re such a TOTAL idiot!’

  ‘I did it on purpose to keep you away from them,’ he said, flatly. He picked up his elastic-band ball, threw it in the air and caught it. ‘To stop you trying to sort them out and stressing.’

  ‘WHAT? How COULD you?’ I was nearly speechless. ‘Why?’

  He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

  ‘Because it’s so pointless … and you’re going mad, Courtney! Like totally round the BEND!’ He threw the elastic-band ball hard at the wall.

  ‘NO I’M NOT!’ I shrieked. ‘At least I’m trying to help. And it’s all right for you – you don’t CARE about anyone, Mr Google Geek. You’re like … you’re like … Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz! No heart!’ I bumped down onto my bum, tears starting again, choking me.

  I expected him to sneer at the mention of The Wizard of Oz … like, you baby! – but he didn’t. He just went bright red.

  ‘Oh yes, that’s right,’ he hissed. ‘I don’t care when they scream at each other. I don’t care that Gran’s ill. I don’t care that Dad NEVER ever comes to watch me play footie any more … ’ His nose wrinkled up. Like I remembered it used to when he was young and trying not to cry. I hadn’t seen his nose do that for a long time.

  It shut me up for a minute – I just stared at him. But then he started being super-annoying again.

  ‘Yeah, so call me Mr Tin Man, because I don’t swoon like a princess,’ he muttered, his face in a huge, screwed-up frown. ‘Hey, maybe I should try throwing some drama-queen hissy fits too!’ He slumped forward in a pretend faint on his chair. ‘Unless you’re pretending to faint, are you?’

  ‘Uh? I CAN’T believe you just said that!’ I pushed over his pile of computer magazines next to me so they skidded all over his floor. ‘Of course I’m not pretending,’ I said, gulping down a big sob.

  ‘Yeah, well … ’ he muttered. ‘I actually believe that. No one’s that good an actor, even you. So it looks like you ARE just going mad, then … ’

  Tears were filling my eyes so I couldn’t even see.

  I wasn’t going mad. Was I?

  ‘Why are you being so mean to me?’ I whimpered.

  He looked away.

  ‘Actually I’m trying to help you. I’m –’

  But he stopped as the front door slammed so hard below that the walls seemed to shake. I leapt up and ran over to his window, pulling back his silly Man U curtain.

  Dad was marching off down the path. When he got under the street light, I could see him clearly. He had no coat on and … I rubbed the misty window to see better … red shoes on? No … his slippers.

  He was leaving in his slippers? But where was he going? I didn’t want to think about it …

  Oh, it was all so messed-up – and I could’ve magicked this better, if it hadn’t been for KYLE!

  I slapped the tears off my face, and flew round, furious.

  ‘Dad’s stropped off! And it’s all YOUR fault for locking me in. I could’ve stopped this … !’

  Kyle just gave this huge sigh, and shook his head, like: Oh dear – poor, little, confused Courtney.

  Then I’d had completely enough of Mr Smug Face.

  My eyes blurred, and I bit my teeth together. I felt like all my blood was pumping through my brain. I’d not been that cross for a long time.

  ‘GRRRRR! You are so annoying!’ I shrieked. I was opening and closing my hands into tight fists. ‘You think you know everything but you don’t!’

  And then I just started blurting – I couldn’t help myself …

  ‘Because by the way, I don’t faint – I fall asleep and dream. And I dream everything better – all the things I’ve worried about! Really, I DO! I magic Mum and Dad nicer – like I put a spell on them and stop their fighting! And when I wake up, it’s come true.’

  Even as everything was spilling out of my mouth, I knew it was stupid. He was going to pooh-pooh it completely. ‘It’s really and truly … magic,’ I finished in a whisper, lamely. ‘It is … ’

  I was breathing hard. And I didn’t dare look right at him, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him wince and tug his hands through his hair.

  ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said in an I’m-talking-to-a-stupid-person voice. ‘You actually think that you have magic dreams that CONTROL Mum and Dad and make them stop fighting?’

  I nodded hard. ‘Yep. But I don’t think I do … I know I do.’

  He picked up a pencil and started drumming it on his desk, chewing his cheek. Like he was trying to find a way to explain stuff to me – dummy me – in simple words.

  ‘Courtney, things change for a short while after your fainting attacks because Mum and Dad put a lid on their fighting to calm you! But only until the next bust-up. That’s all that happens.’

  I stared at him, my lips trembling. WHAT?! Was that true?

  ‘But … but … ’ I stammered. ‘But then why did the dreams work on Lois AND Miss Cave too? They didn’t even know about my attacks!’

  But, as I said it, my stomach suddenly rolled. They didn’t, did they? ‘Yes, they know,’ he said, quietly, looking right at me. ‘Mum told Lois’s mum and the school – I heard her tell Dad. I looked at Kyle like he’d just jumped – boo! – out of my cupboard.

  I felt like the walls were wobbling. What did this mean? Had Lois been fine about the Frube thing because she was trying not to stress me out? And did Cave Woman let me off because she wanted to keep me calm?

  I gulped …

  And if Kyle was right, then had Mum and Dad carried on fighting that last time, because they didn’t KNOW I’d fainted? I’d been out of sight, locked in my room …

  So was the magic really not real?

  It was all too much to get my head around.

  I knew my mouth was open like a big O.


  But then, hang on … hang on …

  ‘No … NO! it has to be magic cos I dream about random details that come true,’ I spluttered. ‘Like I dreamt that Dad watched You’ve Been Framed! with me. And when I woke up, that exact same thing happened.’

  Kyle pressed his lips together and swung back on his chair. ‘Just chance. You’ve Been framed! repeats are on all day long!’

  ‘No, but it happens every time!’ I squeaked, stamping my foot. ‘Like I dreamt we’d have takeaway pizza for tea – sweetcorn and pepperoni – and then we did! I dreamt Zac and Mercy went home with a torch – and then they did. There’s always one little thing that comes true each time that no one could ever … er … predict. It can only be magic!’

  ‘Coincidences,’ he said, brushing the air with his hand. ‘Or you’re just imagining it.’

  ‘But why would I imagine it?’ I cried. Without a word, he swivelled round on his chair and started tapping on his open laptop. I lay back, flat out on his carpet, and glowered at the ceiling.

  I wondered what he’d put into his Google search. Probably What to do with ridiculous fainting sisters who think they’re magic?

  ‘There you go,’ he said, tapping his screen, nodding happily. ‘Dr Kyle diagnoses panic-related hallucinations. It says here that they can happen as the result of an overactive imagination, induced by stress.’

  OMG, sometimes I hated my brother. Him and his show-offy geek talk. Why did he have to sound like he was forty-two instead of nearly fifteen?

  ‘No!’ I cried. ‘YOU just have NO imagination! And you’re not a doctor!’

  He sighed, pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. Like he was SOOO tired of my nonsense, but trying to baby me along.

  I pouted back at him. I knew I probably looked like a stroppy toddler.

  ‘The magic is real,’ I said, under my breath again. ‘You just don’t understand.’ And I knew it was – all those little things that came true after each dream. But I also knew Kyle was never going to believe me. Not ever.

  ‘Courts,’ he said in a weary way. ‘Come on – you know magic doesn’t exist.’ He said it like the word tasted bad.