Authors: Sophie Kinsella
(He looks sombrely at the floor.) That was Mum’s decision. We’ll never know why she did what she did.
DAD
Frank—
FRANK
No, it’s OK. If you want to put your phone call above my education, then that’s your decision.
DAD
(snaps)
Fine. Look it up. (He gets up.) Mark, we’ll have to do this much later. Sorry.
FRANK
(at the computer)
It should be on histories . . .
He summons up a page entitled ‘Financing Your Alfa Romeo’.
FRANK
Wow, Dad. Are you buying an Alfa Romeo? Does Mum know?
DAD
(snaps)
That is private. That is nothing—
He breaks off as he sees Frank tapping at the keyboard.
DAD
Frank, what are you doing? What’s happened to my screen?
Dad’s bland, seaside wallpaper has been replaced by a leering graphic character from
LOC
.
FRANK
You needed a new wallpaper. Your one was rank. Now we need some new sound settings . . .
He clicks the mouse and ‘Boomshakalaka’ blasts from the computer.
Dad completely loses it.
DAD
Stop that! That is
my
computer . . . (He gets up and stalks to the door.) Anne? Anne?
MY SERENE AND LOVING FAMILY – FILM TRANSCRIPT
INT. 5 ROSEWOOD CLOSE. DAY
From the door of the kitchen we can see Dad and Mum, having a low-pitched fight.
DAD
He needs his own computer. We can’t share any more. I’ll end up murdering him.
MUM
He does not
need
a computer!
DAD
He needs it for his homework. All the kids do.
MUM
Rubbish.
DAD
It’s not! You know they take notes on laptops these days? They don’t even know what pens are for. They think they’re styluses which are somehow leaking a weird substance. I mean, they can’t write any more. Forget writing.
MUM
What are you saying? That children need computers? That it’s physically impossible to learn anything without a computer? What about books? What about libraries?
DAD
When did you last go to a library? They’re full of computers. That’s how people learn these days.
MUM
(outraged)
Are you telling me that in the African scrubland, children can’t learn to read unless they have a computer? Are you telling me that?
DAD
(baffled)
African scrubland? When did the African scrubland come into it?
MUM
Do you need a computer to read great literature?
DAD
Actually, I’m really getting into my Kindle—
He sees Mum’s face.
DAD
I mean, no. Definitely not.
MY SERENE AND LOVING FAMILY – FILM TRANSCRIPT
INT. 5 ROSEWOOD CLOSE. DAY
A hand knocks at Frank’s door.
FRANK
Who is it?
AUDREY (VOICE-OVER)
Me!
FRANK
OK.
The door opens and the camera proceeds jerkily into the room. It is a tip of teenage stuff. Frank is sitting by the window, playing a game on a 1980s’ Atari console. Bleepy, tinny noises fill the room.
AUDREY (V.O.)
You could have looked up Uruguay on your phone.
FRANK
Yeah.
AUDREY (V.O.)
So you’re just messing with Dad.
FRANK
I need a computer.
The camera focuses on the Atari console.
AUDREY (V.O.)
Where did you find that?
FRANK
In the loft.
There’s a knock at the door and, in one seamless motion, Frank throws a tracksuit over the Atari console, swivels his chair round and picks up a book.
Mum comes in and looks around the room.
MUM
Frank, this room is a mess. You need to tidy it up.
Frank shrugs.
MUM
So what are you up to?
FRANK
Just . . . you know.
He glances at the camera.
FRANK
The usual.
I’m doing it. I’m getting better. Not just baby-steps better; massive-great-strides better. It’s three weeks later and I’m feeling more on top of it than ever. I’ve been to Starbucks three times, Costa once and The Ginger Biscuit once for milkshakes. I know! Dr Sarah was, like, ‘Audrey, you are making strides!’ Then she told me not to go too fast too soon, yadda yadda, but you could tell she was impressed.
I’ve even had lunch at a pizza restaurant! I had to leave before pudding because the restaurant suddenly got too clattery and threatening – but still, I lasted a whole Quattro Staggioni. Mum and Dad came too, and Linus and Frank and Felix, and it felt like we were . . . you know. A normal group. Apart from the fact that one of us was sitting there in dark glasses like some sad wannabe celeb. I said that to Mum and she said, ‘You think you’re the abnormal-looking one? Look at Felix!’
Which was a fair point, as Felix was dressed in his beloved new morph suit with a tiger mask on top of it, and had a tantrum when we pointed out that he wouldn’t be able to eat any pizza like that.
So that made me feel better. In fact, a lot is making me feel better at the moment. Seeing Linus is definitely making me feel better. We text all the time and he comes over every day after school, and we’ve started playing table tennis in the garden, like, obsessively. Even Frank joins in sometimes.
And today was amazing, because Linus gave me a present. A T-shirt. It has a picture of rhubarb on it and he got it off the internet. Mum and Dad said, ‘Why rhubarb?’ and he winked at me and said, ‘It’s our thing.’
Our thing
.
I’m not sure what makes me happier – the T-shirt or the
our thing
. I’ve never had an
our thing
with a boy before. Whichever it is, I’m still glowing. Mum and Dad are out and Frank is doing homework and Felix is in bed and I feel fired up. I feel restless. I’m wandering around the house in my T-shirt, feeling like I want to share all this. I want to talk to someone. I want to see someone.
Natalie. I want to see Natalie.
The thought is like a light ray in my brain, so positive, it makes me blink. I want to see her. I want my friend back. Yes. I’m going to do it. Right now.
I’ve nearly phoned Nat a couple of times since I had that talk with Mum. Once I was actually halfway through dialling when I chickened out at the last moment. But today I can face it. I can more than face it.
I get out my phone and key in Natalie’s number before I can change my mind. I know it off by heart, even though I haven’t spoken to her for, like, a zillion years. The last time we saw each other was on that awful last day at school, and she was crying, and I was, like, beyond crying, and it wasn’t the greatest goodbye.
I text:
Hi Nat. How are u? I’m a lot better. Love to c u sometime. Auds. x
About thirty seconds later her reply arrives. It’s like she’s been sitting by her phone all this time, all these weeks, waiting.
Which maybe she has. I blink at the text, which goes like this:
OMG Auds. I have been SO WORRIED ABOUT U. Can I come round? Shall I come round now? Mum says it’s fine. Nat xxxxx
I text back:
OK C u soon.
And what seems like five minutes later, the doorbell rings. It might have been ten minutes. It definitely wasn’t any longer than that. She must have left the house that exact second.
I swing open the front door and step back, a bit unnerved. Not because I’m not pleased to see Natalie, but because of all the stuff she’s holding. She’s got a gift basket of bath oil and a teddy bear holding a banner saying
Get Well Soon
and some books and magazines and bars of chocolate and a massive card.
‘Hi,’ I say faintly. ‘Wow.’
‘We wanted to visit you before,’ says Nat in a rush. ‘But your mum said . . .’ She swallows. ‘Anyway. So we’d already bought all this stuff. It’s just been sitting there in the hall.’ She looks at her laden arms. ‘I know. It looks a bit mad.’
‘Well . . . come in.’
As she edges in, she’s eyeing up my dark glasses until I say, ‘What is it?’
‘People at school told me they’d seen you in those.’ She points at my dark glasses. ‘You know, in the street. Even when it’s raining. No one knows why you wear them all the time.’
‘It’s just . . . you know.’ I shrug awkwardly. ‘Being ill and everything.’
‘Oh.’ She seems a bit freaked out. ‘Right.’
She comes in and dumps the stuff on the kitchen table and looks at me. For a moment there’s a prickly, awkward silence, except for the ticking of the clock, and I think,
Was this a mistake?
I’m tense like a cat. I’m wary. It’s not the way I expected it to be, but seeing Nat is bringing back all kinds of things I’d put away in my mind.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice comes out in a miserable gush. ‘Auds, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—’
‘No.’ I shake my head, not wanting to go there. ‘You don’t have to be sorry.’
‘But I should’ve – I didn’t—’ Tears are trickling down her face. ‘I still can’t believe it happened.’
‘It’s OK. Look, have a drink.’
I pour us both some elderflower. I should have realized she’d be upset. In my head I’ve skipped past all that. Or trudged through it, more like.
Worked through it
, is what Dr Sarah would say.
Processed it
. Like I’m a cheese slice machine.
I don’t think Nat has processed an awful lot. Every time she looks at me, fresh tears pour down her face.
‘And now you’re ill.’
‘I’m fine. I’m a lot better. I’ve got a boyfriend!’
OK, that sounded a bit abrupt, but let’s face it – this
was
the main purpose of inviting her over. To tell her I’ve got a boyfriend. Immediately her tears vanish and she leans forward, avidly.
‘A boyfriend? From the hospital?’
FFS. What does she think, that I’m some mental case hanging out with another mental case because that’s all I’m fit for now?
‘No, not from the hospital,’ I say impatiently. ‘It’s Linus. You know? In Frank’s year at Cardinal Nicholls?’
‘Linus? You mean . . . Atticus Finch?’ Nat seems flabbergasted.
‘Exactly. He gave me this.’ I point at my T-shirt. ‘Today. Isn’t it cool?’
‘Is that a picture of rhubarb?’ She looks confused.
‘Yes. It’s our thing,’ I say casually.
‘Wow.’ Nat seems unable to get over this news. ‘So . . . how long have you been going out?’
‘A few weeks. We go to Starbucks and stuff. I mean, it’s just . . . you know. Kind of fun.’
‘I thought you were, like, properly ill. Like, in bed.’
‘Well, I was.’ I shrug. ‘I suppose I’m recovering or whatever.’ I rip open a bar of chocolate and break it into pieces. ‘So, tell me about school.’
I force myself to ask it, even though the word
school
leaves a nasty sensation in my brain; a kind of poisonous imprint.
‘Oh, everything’s different now,’ says Natalie vaguely. ‘You wouldn’t believe it. Now that Tasha and that lot have left. Katie’s
totally
changed. You wouldn’t even know her. And Chloe isn’t friends with Ruby any more, and you know Miss Moore left? Well, we have a new deputy head now and she’s brilliant—’ Natalie breaks off from her jabbering. ‘So, are you going to come back?’
The question hits me like a punch in the stomach. The idea of going back to that place literally makes me feel ill.
‘I’m going to the Heath Academy,’ I tell her. ‘I’m going to go down a year, because I’ve missed so much school time. I mean, I’m young for the year anyway, so it’ll all work out . . .’
‘You could go down a year at Stokeland,’ suggests Nat, but I wrinkle my nose.
‘That would be weird. To be in the year below you. Anyway . . .’ I pause. ‘They hate us at Stokeland. My parents got really angry with them. They called this whole big governors’ meeting and had a go at them and it all got . . . you know. Acrimonious.’ I know this from Frank,
not
from Mum and Dad. ‘They reckon the staff didn’t handle things well.’
‘Well, they didn’t!’ Nat opens her eyes wide. ‘Everyone says that the whole time. Like, my parents go on about it.’
‘Well. So. Exactly. It’d be weird to come back.’
I break the chocolate into more pieces and offer them to Nat. She takes a piece, then looks up, a tear trickling down her face again. ‘I miss you, Auds.’
‘I miss you too.’
‘It was really horrible when you’d gone.
Really
horrible.’
‘Yeah.’
There’s a moment’s pause – then somehow, with no warning, we’re hugging one other. Natalie smells of Herbal Essences, just like she always does, and she has this little thing of patting you in the small of your back which brings tears to my eyes, just because it’s so familiar.
I’ve missed hugging.
God
, I’ve missed hugging.
As we draw away from each other, we’re both laughing but a bit teary too. Natalie’s phone rings and she grabs it impatiently.
‘Yes, Mum,’ she says shortly. ‘Everything’s
fine
. That’s Mum,’ she explains as she throws her phone down again. ‘She’s waiting outside in the car. I was supposed to text her every five minutes to say everything’s OK.’
‘Why?’
‘Because . . . you know.’
‘What?’
‘You know.’ Natalie wriggles awkwardly, looking past me.
‘I don’t.’
‘Auds.
You
know. Because you’re . . .’
‘What?’
‘Mentally unstable,’ says Natalie, practically in a whisper.
‘What?’ I stare at her, genuinely gobsmacked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re bipolar.’ Natalie’s cringing all over. ‘Bipolar people can become violent. Mum was just worried.’
‘I’m not
bipolar
!’ I say in astonishment. ‘Who told you I was bipolar?’
‘Aren’t you?’ Natalie’s jaw drops open. ‘Well, Mum said you must be bipolar.’
‘So I’m going to attack you? Because I should never have been let out of my institution and should in fact be in a straitjacket? Jesus!’ I try to stay calm. ‘I’ve met bipolar people, Nat, and they were perfectly safe, believe it or not.’
‘Look, I’m sorry!’ Natalie looks unhappy. ‘But we didn’t know, did we?’