William is daft. He had typed in:
Why cant you bee in the consat? I am in it and I am useless at sining and dansing and stuff. But I am dooing cungring triks.
I blinked.
‘What?’
‘I think the lad means “conjuring”,’ said Mr Speed. ‘I’ve helped him work out a routine with young Samantha.’
I blinked again.
‘Can William do conjuring tricks?’ Wendy asked doubtfully. She hasn’t got to know all the children in Mr Speed’s class – but you can’t miss William.
‘No, of course he can’t. He drops all the cards and fails to pull out the ribbons and he can’t produce the toy white rabbit from his cardboard top hat,’ said Mr Speed, chuckling.
I decided maybe I didn’t like Mr Speed after all.
‘They will laugh at him,’ I said. I can’t put expression into my voice machine, but I tried to look disapproving.
‘Don’t frown at me, madam. They’re supposed to laugh. William is deliberately mucking up his act. He’s playing a totally useless conjuror. Well, he doesn’t need to try hard, does he? And Samantha is going to get all gussied up in her ballet frock, being his beautiful blond assistant, and she will sort him out and do the trick each time.’
I nodded. I looked at another comment on the computer screen.
I wanted to sing a song with Holly but she’s doing a dance with her little sister so I’ve got to sing on my own and my voice goes all wobbly and Mr Speed shouts, ‘You’re out of tune, lad’ and makes it worse so I don’t want to be in the concert.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Speed, reading over my shoulder. ‘I do sound a bully, don’t I? I’m not really that bad, am I, Natasha?’ ‘Yes!’ I said.
Mr Speed laughed. Wendy laughed. Lisa looked up from her painting and laughed. I laughed too.
‘Is everyone taking part in the concert?’ Wendy asked.
‘Not quite everyone. Lisa says she doesn’t feel like performing. She’s come to my rescue with the scenery. And hopefully she might help out with the props too.’ Mr Speed gestured at the remains of his fairy carriage.
I asked Wendy to wheel me over to Lisa so I could have a closer look at her scenery. She parked me beside her and then went to have a little talk with Mr Speed. Probably about me. People are always having little talks about me and my progress – or lack of it. I’m OK at the difficult stuff. Ten out of ten in all lessons. I’m just useless at all the easy-peasy ordinary things everyone else takes for granted. I’m trapped in my baby body, unable to do anything for myself. Nought out of ten for walking, talking, going to the loo, combing my hair, whatever.
I like the way Lisa has her hair, short and spiky. It looks seriously cool. Maybe it’s time I had my hair cut?
I started telling her with my machine that I liked her hair. The mechanical voice made her jump and she blotched a bit of paint so that her princess got a red spot on the end of her nose to match her scarlet smile.
‘Whoops!’
‘Sorry I’ve spoilt your lady.’ I wanted to say I’m sorry my mechanical voice sounds so stupid and I loved the way she’s painted the beautiful fairy-tale princess but it would have taken too long.
‘I think the wizard’s put a curse on her. She’s got spots. So have I, actually,’ said Lisa. ‘My mum says it’s too much chocolate.’
My hand wasn’t behaving itself because I wanted to make friends with Lisa so much. I had to make several stabs at it before I managed to say, ‘I love chocolate.’
‘I’ve got a Galaxy here,’ said Lisa, fishing it out of her pocket with painty fingers. ‘Do you want a bite?’ Then she went pink. ‘I mean . . . can you . . . can you eat, like, normally?’
‘Try me!’ I said.
She had the sense to break off a small square. She held it tentatively to my mouth. I tried sooo hard not to drool on her. I sucked the chocolate in and as I munched I made my voice machine say, ‘I can talk with my mouth full.’
Lisa burst out laughing and gave me another piece of chocolate. She ate a square herself and then started sketching a house in a little wood at the right of her scenery.
‘This is going to be the witch’s gingerbread house, right? It’s made out of sweets and chocolate and cakes and cookies. Maybe I could do it a bit like a collage, eh? Stick real little bits of chocolate on the roof?’
‘Fruit gums for stained-glass windows and marshmallows for window ledges and Toblerone for a gable,’ I spelt out endlessly. It took for ever but Lisa nodded at each word and calmly went on painting.
‘That’s so great, Natasha. If only you could paint too. What if we strapped a brush to your hand?’
‘Too shaky.’
‘How about your mouth?’ Lisa gently put the end of her paintbrush in my mouth and then tried to push me nearer the desk where a piece of paper was set out. I saw Wendy step forward to help with the wheelchair but Mr Speed stopped her.
I tried hard, clenching my teeth. I know lots of people with severe disabilities use their mouths. Some really little kids at my special school can operate anything with a wriggle of their lips. But I find it incredibly difficult. It took me years to learn to drink with a straw, for goodness’ sake. I’m hardly going to paint Mona Lisas with my mouth.
I had several goes but I kept dropping the stupid brush the minute it touched the paper. I thought Lisa would quickly get fed up with this lark but she was incredibly patient. I was the one who spat the brush out deliberately in disgust.
‘Try again, Natasha,’ said Mr Speed.
I knew he’d been watching us.
‘You try,’ I said with my machine. You can get away with being a bit cheeky when you’ve got disabilities.
‘OK, I’ll have a go,’ said Mr Speed.
He sat in front of the piece of paper, stuck a paintbrush in his mouth, dabbled it – with difficulty – in a pot of pink paint and then tried to paint with it. He was too jerky and the paint much too runny. It spattered everywhere. Wendy was standing too near. A spray landed on her nose, like pink freckles. Lisa and I fell about laughing. I almost did it literally, flopping sideways in my chair. Wendy was a good sport, laughing too as she hauled me upright.
“Orry, ‘orry,’ Mr Speed mumbled, his mouth still full of paintbrush. He had another go, frowning ferociously with concentration. He kept blotching, but by his fifth piece of paper he’d managed a lopsided daisy.
He removed the paintbrush and flourished his painting. Lisa and Wendy clapped and I pressed ‘well done’ on my talk machine. Mr Speed presented the painting to Wendy apologizing more coherently for spraying her with paint. Wendy went as pink as her freckles.
I caught Lisa’s eye. She winked. We both giggled. Was there something going on between Wendy and Mr Speed?
Wendy was all too happy to stay behind with me after school. We sometimes popped round other days too.
My mum and dad were thrilled that I’d made a new friend.
‘Ask Lisa if she wants to come to tea,’ said Mum.
So I did, though I was a bit worried about it. Sometimes kids are happy to be your friend at school but they don’t want to be real tell-you-everything-come-to-my-sleepover friends with someone like me. But Lisa looked really pleased. So Wendy drove us both home in the special adapted car and Lisa met my mum and my dad and my big sister Lois. I felt a bit bothered because they all baby me a bit, especially my dad. He always fusses round me, chucking me under the chin, tickling me, treating me like a fairy princess.
‘My dad’s a bit daft,’ I said with my voice machine, when Lisa and I were in my room.
‘Your dad’s lovely,’ said Lisa. She looked strangely sad. But she smiled again as she peered all round my room. ‘Your room’s so fantastic, Natasha!’
My room would be the front room or dining room in most people’s houses, but it’s my bedroom because it’s downstairs so it saves Mum or Dad hauling me up and down every day. I didn’t want it all frilly and little girly. I’ve got deep navy carpet and curtains and a navy and white checke
d duvet and a white table the right height for my wheelchair and a big white bookshelf unit with loads of brightly jacketed books and white bowls containing my cactus collection. There’s a big crystal mobile hanging near the windows so there are rainbow sparkles on the white walls whenever the sun shines.
‘Oh, I had one little crystal hanging up where we used to live,’ Lisa said, touching the mobile very gently with one finger. ‘But someone broke it when we moved.’
‘I know a shop where—’ I started to say with my voice machine, but Lisa was shaking her head.
‘No, I don’t want another. It wouldn’t be the same.’ Her voice went wobbly. ‘Nothing’s the same any more.’
I didn’t say, ‘Tell me.’ The voice machine would bark it out like a robot order. I just looked ‘Tell me’ with my eyes. Lisa came and sat beside me and started telling me all this sad, sad, sad stuff about her dad and how he drinks all the time now and hits her mum. Lisa cried a little. I wished I could reach out properly and give her a cuddle. My arms went flailing wildly all over the place, but Lisa understood. She grabbed one of my hands and we held onto each other tightly.
I tried to think what it must be like to be Lisa. My dad has a can or two of lager when he watches football on the television but I’ve never seen him drunk. He did come back acting a bit silly after his office party. He came into my room to kiss me goodnight – but he was just funny-drunk, singing songs to me and pretending to tie my plaits into tangles.
I can’t ever imagine Dad hitting anyone. He’s never once smacked Lois or me, even if we were really naughty, and he’d never hit Mum. He teases her a little bit if she gets bossy but she just laughs. I don’t think I could bear it if I had Lisa’s dad.
I couldn’t tell her all this on my laborious machine. I just held onto her hand and she squeezed it tight.
‘You won’t tell anyone, will you, Natasha?’ she said without thinking.
‘As if!’ I said with my machine, and we both laughed a little shakily.
‘Did you tell Mr Speed?’
‘No! And I was going to type a bit of it on the Worry Website and then I couldn’t. Hey, I saw you putting something on the website, Natasha. What did you put? Or is it private?’
‘No. It was silly. The concert. I wanted to be in it. Like sing? Dance? Ha ha.’
‘I’m not in it either. I didn’t feel like it so I said I’d paint the scenery.’
‘But you could be in it.’ I couldn’t say it with the right emphasis but she understood.
‘Yes, I suppose I could be the all-singing ever-dancing Lisa and warble and twirl and sing . . .?’
‘Don’t worry, be happy!’
Lisa laughed.
I said it again, hitting the ‘worry’ word on my keyboard several times to make it sound like a funny little chorus.
Lisa looked at me.
‘Do that again.’
I did.
‘And you can keep on doing that? It doesn’t hurt your hand, does it?’
‘No, but it hurts my ears,’ I said. ‘It sounds weird.’
‘It sounds perfect! Natasha, we’ll do a song together at the concert. We can make up the verses, something about Mr Speed’s website – and then we can sing it. I’ll do the verses and each chorus is . . .?’
‘Worry worry worry worry!’
That’s just what we did! The concert was soooo cool. The fairy-tale pantomime was great and everyone admired the spectacular scenery. But it was the star turns that went down really well. Holly and her little sister did a dance together wearing wonderful embroidered new dresses – they looked so cute. Greg sang a song about falling in love. He might have meant it to be serious but he kept rolling his eyes and clutching his heart and everyone got the giggles.
William and Samantha were the real surprise. I was getting nervous because it was nearly our turn and I so badly didn’t want to let Lisa down. But I laughed so much at William mucking up his tricks and Samantha raising her eyebrows and tossing her hair and doing it for him that the tight feeling in my tummy disappeared. Everyone cheered and cheered William and Samantha. William’s dad whistled and clapped like crazy and Samantha’s dad was in tears. Samantha ran off the stage straight into his arms.
‘Thank goodness my dad isn’t here,’ Lisa muttered to me. She had a little wave at her mum as she pushed me on stage.
Everyone went quiet and still. I knew they were all tense because of me. People who squirm around in wheelchairs don’t usually perform on stage.
But once we got started it was OK. This is our Worry Song:
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
Have you got a worry
messing up your head?
Do you feel in a flurry?
Do you wish you were dead?
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
Do you have a secret fear?
Do you hate the way you look?
Do you shed a secret tear?
Seek an answer from a book?
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
Can’t find a solution?
Can’t get to sleep at night?
Do you worry about pollution,
starving people, men that fight?
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
Do your worries make you blush?
Are you scared to spit it out?
Do you blurt it in a rush?
Are you cast down in doubt?
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
Do you wet the bed?
Does your dad hit your mum?
Do you scream inside your head?
Does the pain make you numb?
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
Do you fuss about a spot?
Do you feel you are too fat?
Do you talk a lot of rot?
Do you feel a total prat?
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
Well, you know what to do
when your worries get you down.
The Worry Website’s here for you
It will smooth out that frown.
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
Your friends will show they care
With comments frank but fond
It helps us all to share
And Mr Speed will wave his magic wand
To stop you going . . .
Worry worry worry worry
Worry worry worry worry
WORRY!
I said it was OK. It was more than OK. We were the glitter-girl stars of the show!
Mr Speed really does seem to be able to work magic because nearly everyone’s worries have been sorted out. Even Mr Speed’s. He sat hand in hand with Wendy throughout the entire concert!
About the Author
Jacqueline Wilson is an extremely well-known and hugely popular author who served as Children’s Laureate from 2005-7. She has been awarded a number of prestigious awards, including the British Children’s Book of the Year and the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award (for The Illustrated Mum), the Smarties Prize and the Children’s Book Award (for Double Act, for which she was also highly commended for the Carnegie Medal). In 2002 Jacqueline was given an OBE for services to literacy in schools and in 2008 she was appointed a Dame. She has sold over thirty-five million books and was the author most borrowed from British libraries in the last decade.
Also by Jacqueline Wilson
Published in Corgi Pups, for beginner readers:
THE DINOSAUR’S PACKED LUNCH
THE MONSTER STORY-TELLER
Published in Young Corgi, for newly confident readers:
LIZZIE ZIPMOUTH
SLEEPOVERS
Available from Doubleday/Corgi Yearling Books:
BAD GIRLS
THE BED & BREAKFAST STAR
>
BEST FRIENDS
BURIED ALIVE!
CANDYFLOSS
THE CAT MUMMY
CLEAN BREAK
CLIFFHANGER
THE DARE GAME
THE DIAMOND GIRLS
DOUBLE ACT (PLAY EDITION)
GLUBBSLYME
THE ILLUSTRATED MUM
JACKY DAYDREAM
THE LOTTIE PROJECT
MIDNIGHT
THE MUM-MINDER
MY SISTER JODIE
SECRETS
STARRING TRACY BEAKER
THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER
THE SUITCASE KID
VICKY ANGEL
THE WORRY WEBSITE
Available from Doubleday/Corgi Books, for older readers:
DUSTBIN BABY
GIRLS IN LOVE
GIRLS UNDER PRESSURE
GIRLS OUT LATE
GIRLS IN TEARS
KISS
LOLA ROSE
LOVE LESSONS
Join the official Jacqueline Wilson fan club at
www.jacquelinewilson.co.uk
THE WORRY WEBSITE
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 407 04352 4
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2012
Copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 2002
Lisa’s Worry copyright © Lauren Roberts, 2002
Illustrations copyright © Nick Sharratt, 2002
First Published in Great Britain
Yearling 9780440868903 2008
The right of Jacqueline Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
The Worry Website Page 7
