Worry Magic

FOR TUFTA, PLUD AND PIGOTHY xx

There was a pig in our lounge.

It was kind of the last straw, really. What with poor Gran so bad in hospital, and Dad in his worst mood ever.

What
was
Mum thinking?

I knelt down on the carpet and watched the pig oink around the room like a loon. OK, he was only small – so small he could sit in my hands. And he
was
very cute. But he was still a blinking pig.

INSIDE OUR HOUSE.

Of course it wasn't exactly a surprise. Mum had always brought back animals from the sanctuary. She'd volunteered there for my whole, entire life, so for as long as I could remember, we'd had bald hamsters, ducks with broken wings, rabbits with poorly tummies, mumless kittens – basically any ones that needed extra-special love. Some got new homes and some stayed, but Mum could never resist a sad, furry face. We'd even had a lame pony on the back lawn once.

But she was pushing her luck with this pig  … 

Because Dad was going to FLIP out. Like,
totally
shout his head off.

Had she forgotten that argument the other night? Dad'd yelled that we couldn't afford any new pets, not even a caterpillar. Then he'd stormed off, but not to sulk in his precious Shed in the garden like usual. He went out to town or somewhere, and didn't get in until past midnight – and Dad
never
stayed out late.

I sighed. I just knew we were heading for the biggest load of pig-shaped trouble EVER.

I wanted to try and talk Mum out of it, but I couldn't even get a word in edgeways – she was yacking on at me at a million miles an hour. So I just sat there staring at the pig, chewing my lip and waiting for a gap.

‘Of course he won't get much bigger when he grows up, because he's one of those micro-pigs. You know  …  the girl off that breakfast show's got one – Kelly What's-her-face with the nice hair  … ' she was gabbling.

I'd seen micro-pigs on the telly too. Some scientist had invented them for dumb-head celebrities to keep as handbag pets – poor little things.

‘And can you BELIEVE someone abandoned him?' she rattled on. ‘No one at the sanctuary can understand it because micro-pigs can be expensive to buy. And he's so schweeeeet too, aren't yooooou  … ' She picked the piglet up and kissed him right on his weeny snout while he squirmed.

She searched me for a smile. ‘Oh come on, don't you think he is a tiny bit gorgeous, Courtney?'

‘Well, yeah, 'course, Mum,' I said. ‘But what about  … '

‘Shall we call him Widget?' she said, talking right over me. ‘I think that suits him, don't you?' She gazed at the piglet, her eyes shining like she was loved up, and my heart sank even more. Now she'd named him too. I could tell she had a sly, secret plan to keep him forever.

I glanced at the clock  …  4.35 p.m. already. I hugged my knees as more and more worry snaked around in my tummy. Dad was working all hours at the mo, trying to get his new gardening business off the ground – but even he couldn't work in the dark. I reckoned he wouldn't be long – maybe an hour, tops.

I did an extra-big sigh and rubbed my face hard with my palms  …  and then Mum
finally
caught my look. She stopped nattering for half a second.

‘I'm only fostering him, of course,' she said, glancing away shiftily. ‘Really, Courts, he won't stay long – just while he needs bottle-feeding. Even Dad can understand that  …  and anyway, it's not just up to
him
!'

I shook my head. Nope, Dad definitely wouldn't understand! He'd say Mum was supposed to be finding a new job rather than messing about with dopey pigs. I knew she HAD applied for some jobs, but she never seemed to get them – probably cos the sanctuary had to come first.

‘No, really, Mum, Dad won't  …  !' I began.

‘Oh, look, he wants a nice cuddle from his big sis,' she said. She handed me the tiny piglet like he was her newborn baba. He lay wriggling in my arms with his little trotters in the air, looking up at me with his funny, babyish snouty face. It was true – he really was the sweetest thing, but  …  BIG but!

‘Aww – see? Adorable, isn't he?' Mum said, taking the piglet off me. ‘It's really
impossible
not to like him.' She turned and called to my big brother, who was still in his school uniform and superglued to his laptop in the corner. ‘YOU like him, don't you, Kylsie?'

‘Er  …  yeah, whatever, Mum,' said Kyle, without even looking over.

Great. Utterly useless as usual. Kyle only cared about stuff like football, computers and being brainy. He was never any help at all.

And Widget wasn't exactly helping either. He snuffled around, and then did a very un-cute poo right next to where I was sitting on the carpet.

Ewww! I jumped to my feet.

‘Whoopsie, babycake!' cooed Mum, scooping him up. ‘I'll clean that up in a minute, but now it's time for your tea.' And she bustled out with the tiny pig cradled in her arms, totally missing my OMG-this-can't-be-happening face.

I stepped over the poo, and crashed down onto the sofa. And then leapt straight up with a big OWWW. I chucked a dirty plate, fork and a pair of football boots on the floor and sat down again. This place was rotting without Gran around. It was literally turning to poo. Pig poo.

Gran lived next door, just the other side of the wall, but she was always round ours, tidying and just being nice. Or used to be. Until she had to go to hospital the other week. Me and Kyle hadn't even got to visit her yet, because Dad said she was just too ill, with loads of horrid tubes in her and stuff – shudder.

It was so horrible. Poor Gran  … 

‘Of course, Dad's going to hit the roof,' Kyle said, still not looking away from his screen. ‘You know  …  about the pig.'

Duh, of course he was!

My brother was a great one for saying obvious things like that. He always said them in a voice like they were just interesting facts. Kyle liked facts a lot.

‘So  …  I'd go out in a minute if I were you,' he said quietly, with his eyes still on his screen. ‘I am.'

‘Out? No! We gotta do something about this before Dad gets back.' I tutted.

Kyle just rolled his eyes under his glasses, and shook his head.

I made a face at him. It was just like Kyle. He always disappeared – poof! – whenever Mum and Dad kicked off. But I knew if I went out I'd just worry myself half sick about what was happening at home. No, I had to at least TRY and stop this fight  … 

All I needed was a Brilliant Plan  … 

I pulled up my hood, my brain on full speed  …  So should I steal Widget and hide him? But where? And Mum'd never let her darling babykins out of her sight, would she, so  …  er  …  what else?

I started gnawing at my nails. I had that disgusting ‘stop-biting' stuff painted on them, but it never worked when I got really worried. I didn't even notice the yucky bitter taste.

Gran's cat, Pudding, came stalking into the room just then. He was living round ours at the moment, while Gran wasn't at home.

Puddy was the best cat ever. Mum had got him from the sanctuary, and Gran'd adopted him. He was black with a white tummy, face and paws like he'd fallen in some melted marshmallow, and he was always super-purry and cuddly. The only problem was keeping him away from Henners' cage. Henners – short for Henry the Eighth – was Dad's fat, white rat. He came from the sanctuary too, and Mum'd tried to make him like her best, but Henners only loved Dad. And Dad loved-loved-
loved
Henners back – more than his own children, more than Brighton FC, more than basically his own life. If Puddy got Henners, the world would explode with a big kaboom.

Puddy sniffed the piglet poo, and backed away, hissing around the room, and then leapt on my lap. He curled up, padding and needling my knees with his claws and purring loudly. I buried my face in his fur, tickling him under his chubby little chin. Pudds was on my side, at least. And he smelt lovely too – a bit like Gran's house  …  washing powder and fairy cakes.

‘Oh Puddy-cat, we miss Gran too much, don't we?' I whispered to him. ‘If Gran was here, she'd know what to do about all this piglet trouble.'

I sighed.

Well, I supposed I could start by tidying up  …  like Gran always did. Dad hated mess – he even kept his veg patch super-neat – so it wouldn't help if the house looked so grotty.

But I wasn't doing the pig poo – Mum could do THAT!

Pudds was kipping on me, twitching in his sleep and purring like he was dreaming happy, kittenish dreams. I slid him off my lap onto a cushion, got up and began bundling things behind the sofa. I could sort it all out later.

But I was just finishing straightening the cushions how Dad liked them, when the front door banged.

A loud, grumpy bang.

A Dad-ish kind of bang.

I froze.

‘Dad's back,' said Obvious Fact Man in the corner. ‘He's early.'

‘Yes, I've got ears too!' I mouthed, glaring round at him.

My breathing sped up and I started gulping. I wanted to run for Widget and stuff him up my jumper – anything to stop Dad seeing him. But I could already hear the porch door sliding open  … 

In the distance I was sure I could hear oinking.

‘No, Widget  …  shhhh!' I said under my breath, my tummy rolling over and over with panic.

Dad was going to take one look at Widget and do his nut. Then he might huff off and stay out late again.

Or maybe he might actually leave forever – like Maisie Gable's dad did in the summer.

Then I wouldn't have Gran.

Or Dad  … 

Oh, everything was going so wrong  … 

Suddenly I felt so spinny I had to hold onto the sofa arm.

I caught my breath, and my face went hot.

Whoa  …  weird  …  what was
happening
to me?