Finding Audrey (10 page)

And OK, I know there’s, like, two layers of trainer rubber between us, I know this could not be less erotic or romantic or whatever – and by the way, my entire body is still twisted firmly away from his as if I can’t stand the sight of him. But still, it feels kind of—

Well.

See how I stopped mid-sentence? I can do it too. When I don’t necessarily want to reveal the
exact
thought I’m having.

I feel breathless, is all I will admit to.

‘There.’ He sounds satisfied. ‘See?’

Linus doesn’t sound breathless. He just sounds interested, like I proved a point which now he’ll tell his friends about or write up in his blog or whatever. He leaps to his feet and says, ‘So, I’ll see you,’ and the spell is broken.

‘Yeah. See you.’

‘Your mum will chase me out of the house in a minute. I’d better go.’

‘Huh. Yeah.’

I hunch towards the sofa corner, determined not to give away how I kind of wish he’d stay.

‘Oh. Um,’ I say as he reaches the door. ‘Maybe I could interview you for my documentary.’

‘Oh yeah?’ He pauses. ‘What’s that?’

‘I have to make this documentary, and I’m supposed to interview people who come to the house, so . . .’

‘OK. Cool. Whenever. I’ll be back after . . . you know. When Frank can play games again.’

‘Cool.’

He disappears and I stay motionless for a while, wondering if he’ll come back or send me any more notes, or a message via Frank or whatever.

Which of course he doesn’t.

MY SERENE AND LOVING FAMILY – FILM TRANSCRIPT

INT. 5 ROSEWOOD CLOSE. DAY

The camera approaches the door of the study. It edges inside. Dad is sitting at his desk. His eyes are closed. On his screen is a different Alfa Romeo car.

AUDREY (VOICE-OVER)

Dad? Are you asleep?

Dad jumps and opens his eyes.

DAD

Of course I’m not asleep. Just working here. Getting some work done.

He moves his mouse and clicks off the Alfa Romeo car.

AUDREY (V.O.)

I’m supposed to interview you.

DAD

Great! Fire away.

He swivels his chair round to face the camera and gives a cheesy smile.

DAD

The life and times of Chris Turner, accountant to the stars.

AUDREY (V.O.)

No you’re not.

Dad looks defensive.

DAD

OK, accountant to several medium-sized firms, one in media. I do get tickets to concerts.

AUDREY (V.O.)

I know.

DAD

And you all met those TOWIE people, remember? At the Children in Need event?

AUDREY (V.O.)

It’s OK, Dad, I think your job is cool.

DAD

You could ask me about my rowing at college.

He casually flexes a bicep.

DAD

Still got it. Or you could ask me about my band.

AUDREY (V.O.)

Right. Yes. The . . . Turtles?

DAD

The Moonlit Turtles. Moonlit. I gave you the CD, remember?

AUDREY (V.O.)

Yes! It’s great, Dad.

Dad has an idea. He points at the camera, almost speechless with excitement.

DAD

I have it! You want a soundtrack for your film? I can give you one, free of charge. Original music, performed by the Moonlit Turtles, one of the most exciting student acts of the 1990s!

AUDREY (V.O.)

Right.

(pause)

Or I could choose my own music . . .

DAD

No! Sweetheart, I want to HELP. This way we work together. It’ll be a family project. It’ll be fun! I’ll buy the software, we’ll edit it together, you can choose your favourite songs . . .

He has called up a playlist on his computer.

DAD

Let’s have a listen now. Tell me your favourite song – we’ll put it on, play around.

AUDREY (V.O.)

My favourite song of all time?

DAD

No! Your favourite song by the Moonlit Turtles. Your favourite song that your old dad performs in. You must have one? A favourite?

Long pause. Dad looks at the camera expectantly.

DAD

You told me you listened to the CD over and over on your iPod.

AUDREY (V.O.)

(quickly)

I did! All the time. So. Um. Favourite song. There are so many.

(pause)

I think it would have to be . . . the loud one.

DAD

Loud one?

AUDREY (V.O.)

The one with the . . . um. Drums. It’s really good.

The camera starts to back away as a heavy rock track powers through the room. Dad is nodding his head along.

DAD

This one?

AUDREY (V.O.)

Yes! Exactly! It’s great. So good. Dad, I have to go . . .

The camera retreats out of the room.

AUDREY (V.O.)

Oh God.

As I go to bed that night I’m thinking about Linus. I’m trying to picture myself greeting him at the front door when he comes round next. Like other people do. Normal people. I mean, I know how the script should go:

‘Hey, Linus.’

‘Hey, Audrey.’

‘How’s it been going?’

‘Yeah, good.’

Maybe a high five. Maybe a hug. Definitely a pair of smiles.

I can think of about sixty-five reasons why this is not going to happen any time soon. But it might, mightn’t it? It
might
?

Dr Sarah says positive visualization is an incredibly effective weapon in our armoury and I should create in my mind scenarios of success that are realistic and encouraging.

The trouble is, I don’t know how realistic my ideal scenario is.

OK, yes I do: not at all.

In the ideal scenario, I don’t have a lizard brain. Everything is easy. I can communicate like normal people. My hair is longer and my clothes are cooler and in my last fantasy, Linus wasn’t even at the front door, he was taking me on a picnic in a wood. I have no idea where
that
came from.

Anyway. The ban is over tomorrow. Linus will be round again. And we’ll see.

Except I hadn’t reckoned on the apocalypse, which hit our house at 3.43 a.m. this morning. I know, because that was the time I blinked awake and stared blearily at my clock, wondering if there was a fire. There was a distant high-pitched screaming noise, which could have been an alarm, or could have been a siren, and I grabbed my dressing gown off the floor and shoved my feet into my furry slippers and thought in a panic,
What do I take?

I grabbed my ancient pink teddy and my picture of me with Granny before she died, and I was halfway down the stairs when I realized that the noise wasn’t a siren. Or an alarm. It was Mum. I could hear her in the playroom, and she was screaming, ‘What are you DOING?’

I skittered to the entrance and felt my whole body sag in astonishment. Frank was sitting at his computer playing
LOC
. At 3.43 a.m.

I mean, obviously he wasn’t playing
LOC
right that second. He’d paused. But the graphics were there on the screen, and his headset was on and he was looking up at Mum like a cornered fox.

‘What are you DOING?’ Mum yelled again, then turned to Dad, who had just arrived at the doorway too. ‘What is he DOING? Frank, what are you DOING?’

Parents have this way of asking really dumb, obvious questions.

Are you going out in that skirt?

No, I’m planning to take it off as soon as I get out of the front door.

Do you think that’s a good idea?

No, I think it’s a terrible idea, that’s why I’m doing it.

Are you listening to me?

Your voice is 100 decibels, I can hardly avoid it.

‘What are you DOING?’ Mum was still shrieking, and Dad put a hand on her arm.

‘Anne,’ he said. ‘Anne, I have an eight o’clock.’

Big mistake. Mum turned on him like
he
was the baddie.

‘I don’t care about your eight o’clock! This is your
son
, Chris! Lying to us! Playing computer games at night! What else has he been doing?’

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ said Frank. ‘OK? That’s all. I couldn’t sleep and I thought “I’ll read a book”, but I couldn’t find a book, so I thought I’d just . . . you know. Wind down.’

‘How long have you been up?’ snapped Mum.

‘Since about two?’ Frank looked plaintively at her. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I think I’m getting insomnia.’

Dad yawned and Mum glared at him.

‘Anne,’ he said. ‘Can we do this in the morning? It’s not going to help Frank’s insomnia if we all argue now. Please? Bed?’ He yawned again, his hair all tufty like a teddy bear’s. ‘Please?’

So that was last night. And things have not been Happy Families today. Mum gave Frank the third degree over breakfast, about: How many times has he got up in the night to play
LOC
? and How long has he had insomnia? and Did he realize that computer games
give
people insomnia?

Frank barely answered. He looked pretty gaunt and pale and out of it. The more Mum went on about circadian rhythms and light pollution and Why didn’t he drink Ovaltine before bed? the more he retreated into his Frank shell.

I don’t even know what Ovaltine is. Mum always brings it up when she talks about sleep. She refers to it like it’s some magic potion and says, ‘Why don’t we drink it?’ but she’s never bought any, so how can we?

So then Frank went off to school and I read
Game of Thrones
all morning and then fell asleep. This afternoon I’ve been filming some birds in the garden, which I sense is not what Dr Sarah wants, but it’s peaceful. They’re very cute. They come and eat crumbs off the bird table and fight with each other. Maybe I’ll become a wildlife photographer or film-maker or whatever. The only downer is your knees start to ache from crouching. Also, I’m not sure who’s going to watch an hour’s footage of birds eating crumbs.

So I’m pretty zoned out, and I jump in surprise when I hear a car coming into the drive. It’s too early for Dad, so who is it? Maybe someone gave Frank a lift home from school. That happens sometimes.

Maybe Linus.

I cautiously creep round the edge of the house and peek into the drive. To my surprise, it is Dad. He’s getting out of his car in his business suit, looking a bit hassled. The next minute the front door has opened and Mum is coming down the path like she expected him.

‘Chris! At last.’

‘I came as soon as I could get away. But you know, I have a lot on right now . . . Is this really essential?’

‘Yes it is! This is a crisis, Chris. A crisis with our son. And I need your support!’

OMG. What happened?

I duck back into the garden and head silently into the kitchen, where I can hear them talking. I edge forward and see them coming into the hall.

‘I took Frank’s computer to my Pilates class,’ Mum is saying grimly.

‘You did
what
?’ Dad seems flummoxed. ‘Anne, I know you want to keep it away from Frank, but isn’t that a bit extreme?’

I have visions of Mum staggering into the church hall, holding Frank’s computer, and I have to clamp my mouth tightly closed to stop laughing. Is she going to take Frank’s computer everywhere now? Like a pet?

‘You don’t understand!’ spits Mum. ‘I took it for Arjun to have a look at.’

‘Arjun?’ Dad looks more baffled than ever.

‘Arjun is in my Pilates class. He’s a computer software developer and he works from home. I said, “Arjun, can you tell from this computer how often my son has been playing games during the last week?”’

‘Right.’ Dad eyes her warily. ‘And could Arjun tell?’

‘Oh, he could tell,’ says Mum in ominous tones. ‘He could tell all right.’

There’s silence. I can see Dad instinctively backing away, but he can’t escape before the tidal wave of sound hits him.

‘Every night! EVERY NIGHT! He starts at two a.m. and he logs off at six. Can you believe it?’

‘You’re joking.’ Dad seems genuinely shocked. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Ask Arjun.’ Mum proffers her phone. ‘Ask him! He does freelance work for Google. He knows what he’s talking about.’

‘Right. No, it’s fine. I don’t need to talk to Arjun.’ Dad sinks onto the stairs. ‘Jesus. Every night?’

‘He creeps around. Lies to us. He’s addicted! I knew it. I
knew
it.’

‘OK. Well, that’s it, he’s banned for life.’

‘Life.’ Mum nods.

‘Till he’s an adult.’

‘At least,’ Mum says. ‘At least. You know, Alison at my book group doesn’t even have TV in the house. She says screens are the cigarettes of our age. They’re toxic, and we’re only going to realize the damage they’re doing when it’s too late.’

‘Right.’ Dad looks uneasy. ‘I’m not sure we need to go that far, do we?’

‘Well, maybe we should!’ Mum cries, sounding stressed. ‘You know, Chris, maybe we’ve got this all wrong! Maybe we should go back to basics. Card games. Family walks. Discussions.’

‘Er . . . OK.’

‘I mean, books! What happened to books? That’s what we should be doing! Reading the Booker shortlist! Not watching all this toxic, mindless television and playing brain-sapping video games. I mean, what are we doing, Chris? What are we
doing
?’

‘Absolutely.’ Dad is nodding fervently. ‘No, I totally agree. Totally agree.’ There’s a slight pause before he says, ‘What about
Downton
?’