BYSOPHIEKINSELLA

THESHOPAHOLICSERIES

ShopaholictotheStars

ConfessionsofaShopaholic

ShopaholicTakesManhattan

ShopaholicTiestheKnot

Shopaholic&Sister

Shopaholic&Baby

MiniShopaholic

OTHERNOVELS

I’veGotYourNumber

CanYouKeepaSecret?

TheUndomesticGoddess

RememberMe?

TwentiesGirl

WeddingNight

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,living

ordead,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Textcopyright©2015byMadhenMediaLtd.Coverartcopyright©2015byWillStaehle

Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyDelacortePress,animprintofRandomHouseChildren’sBooks,adivisionofPenguinRandomHouseLLC,NewYork.

DelacortePressisaregisteredtrademarkandthecolophonisatrademarkofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.

VisitusontheWeb!randomhouseteens.com

Educatorsandlibrarians,foravarietyofteachingtools,visitusatRHTeachersLibrarians.com

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataKinsella,Sophie.

FindingAudrey/SophieKinsella.pagescm

Summary:Fourteen-year-oldAudreyismakingslowbutsteadyprogressdealingwithheranxietydisorderwhenLinuscomesintothepictureandherrecoverygainsmomentum.ISBN978-0-553-53651-5(tradehardcover)—ISBN978-0-553-53652-2(ebook)

ISBN978-1-101-93125-7(intl.tr.pbk.)[1.Anxietydisorders—Fiction.]I.Title.

PZ7.1.K6Fi2015[Fic]—dc232014048476

eBookISBN 9780553536522

CoverdesignbyWillStaehleeBookdesignadaptedfromprintedbookdesignbyHeatherKelly

RandomHouseChildren’sBookssupportstheFirstAmendmentandcelebratestherighttoread.

v4.1a

CONTENTS

CoverBySophieKinsellaTitlePageCopyrightDedication

Chapter1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter5

Chapter6

Chapter7

Chapter8

Chapter9

Chapter10

Chapter11

Chapter12

Chapter13

Chapter14

Chapter15

Chapter16

Chapter17

Chapter18

Chapter19

Chapter20

Chapter21

Chapter22

Chapter23

Chapter24

Chapter25

Chapter26

Chapter27

Chapter28

Chapter29

Chapter30

Chapter31

Chapter32

Chapter33

Chapter34

Chapter35

Chapter36

Chapter37

Chapter38

Chapter39

Chapter40

Chapter41

Chapter42

AbouttheAuthor

Toallmychildren,whointheirdifferentways

havehelpedinspirethisbook

OceanofPDF.com

OMG,Mum’sgoneinsane.NotnormalMum-insane.Seriousinsane.NormalMum-insane:Mumsays,“Let’salldothisgreatgluten-freedietI

readabout in theDailyMail!”Mumbuys three loavesofgluten-freebread.It’s so disgusting ourmouths curl up. The family goes on strike andMumhides her sandwich in the flower bed and nextweekwe’re not gluten freeanymore.That’snormalMum-insane.Butthisisseriousinsane.She’sstandingatherbedroomwindow,whichoverlooksRosewoodClose,

wherewelive.No,standingsoundstoonormal.Mumdoesnotlooknormal.She’s teetering, leaning over the edge, a wild look in her eye. And she’sholding my brother Frank’s computer. It’s balanced precariously on thewindow ledge. Any minute, it’ll crash down to the ground. That’s sevenhundredpounds’worthofcomputer.Does she realize this?Sevenhundredpounds.She’s always tellinguswe

don’tknowthevalueofmoney.She’salwayssayingstufflike“Doyouhaveany ideahowhard it is to earn tenpounds?”and“Youwouldn’twaste thatelectricityifyouhadtopayforit.”Well, how about earning seven hundred pounds and then deliberately

smashingitontheground?Belowus, on the front lawn,Frank is scampering about in hisBig Bang

TheoryT-shirt,clutchinghisheadandgibberingwithpanic.“Mum.”Hisvoicehasgoneallhigh-pitchedwithterror.“Mum,that’smy

computer!”“I know it’s your computer!”Mumcries hysterically. “Don’t you think I

knowthat?”“Mum,please,canwetalkaboutthis?”“I’ve tried talking!” Mum lashes back. “I’ve tried cajoling, arguing,

pleading,reasoning,bribing…I’vetriedeverything!EVERYTHING,Frank!”“ButIneedmycomputer!”“Youdonotneedyourcomputer!”Mumyells,sofuriouslythatIflinch.“Mummy is going to throw the computer!” says Felix, running onto the

grassandlookingupindisbelievingjoy.Felixisourlittlebrother.He’sfour.He greets most life events with disbelieving joy. A lorry in the street!Ketchup!Anextra-longchip!Mumthrowingacomputeroutofthewindowisjustanotheroneonthelistofdailymiracles.“Yes, and then the computer will break,” says Frank fiercely. “And you

won’tbeabletoplayStarWarseveragain,ever.”Felix’sfacecrumplesindismayandMumflincheswithfreshanger.“Frank!”sheyells.“Donotupsetyourbrother!”Nowourneighbours across the close, theMcDuggans, have comeout to

watch. Their twelve-year-old son, Ollie, actually yells, “Noooo!” when heseeswhatMum’sabouttodo.“Mrs. Turner!” He hurries across the street to our lawn and gazes up

pleadingly,alongwithFrank.OlliesometimesplaysLandofConquerorsonlinewithFrankifFrank’sin

akindmoodanddoesn’thaveanyoneelsetoplaywith.NowOllielooksevenmorefreakedoutthanFrank.“Pleasedon’tbreakthecomputer,Mrs.Turner,”hesays,trembling.“Ithas

allFrank’sbacked-upgamecommentariesonit.They’resofunny.”HeturnstoFrank.“They’rereallyfunny.”“Thanks,”muttersFrank.“Your mum’s really like…” He blinks nervously. “She’s like Goddess

WarriorEnhancedLevelSeven.”“I’mwhat?”demandsMum.“It’sacompliment,”snapsFrank, rollinghiseyes.“Whichyou’dknowif

youplayed.LevelEight,”hecorrectsOllie.”“Right,”Olliehastilyagrees.“Eight.”“Youcan’tevencommunicate inEnglish!”Mumflips.“Real life isnota

seriesoflevels!”“Mum, please,” Frank chimes in. “I’ll do anything. I’ll stack the

dishwasher. I’ll phoneGrandma every night. I’ll…”He castswildly about.“I’llreadtodeafpeople.”Readtodeafpeople?Canheactuallyhearwhathe’ssaying?“Deafpeople?”Mumexplodes.“Deafpeople?Idon’tneedyoutoreadto

deaf people! You’re the bloody deaf one around here! You never hearanythingIsay!Youalwayshavethosewretchedearphonesin—”“Anne!”IturntoseeDadjoiningthefray,andacoupleofneighboursarestepping

outoftheirfrontdoors.ThisisofficiallyaNeighbourhoodIncident.“Anne!”Dadcallsagain.“Letmedothis,Chris,”saysMumwarningly,andIcanseeDadgulp.My

dadistallandhandsomeinacaradvertway,andhelooksliketheboss,butinside,heisn’treallyanalphamale.No,thatsoundsbad.He’salphainalotofways,Isuppose.OnlyMumis

evenmorealpha.She’sstrongandbossyandprettyandbossy.Isaidbossytwice,didn’tI?Well.Drawyourownconclusionsfromthat.“Iknowyou’reangry,sweetheart,”Dad’ssayingsoothingly.“Butisn’tthis

alittleextreme?”“Extreme?He’sextreme!He’saddicted,Chris!”“I’mnotaddicted!”Frankyells.“I’mjustsaying—”“What?”Mum finally turns her head to look atDadproperly. “What are

yousaying?”“Ifyoudropitthere,you’lldamagethecar.”Dadwinces.“Maybeshiftto

theleftalittle?”“Idon’tcareaboutthecar!Thisistoughlove!”Shetiltsthecomputermore

precariously on thewindow ledge andwe all gasp, including thewatchingneighbours.“Love?” Frank is shouting up atMum. “If you loved me you wouldn’t

breakmycomputer!”“Well,ifyoulovedme,Frank,youwouldn’tgetupattwoa.m.behindmy

backtoplayonlinewithpeopleinKorea!”“Yougotupattwoa.m.?”saysOllietoFrank,wide-eyed.“Practicing.” Frank shrugs. “I was practicing,” he repeats toMum with

emphasis.“Ihaveatournamentcomingup!You’vealwayssaidIshouldhaveagoalinlife!Well,Ihave!”“PlayingLandofConquerorsisnotagoal!OhGod,ohGod…”Shebangs

herheadonthecomputer.“WheredidIgowrong?”“Oh,Audrey,”saysOlliesuddenly,spottingme.“Hi,howareyou?”I shrink back from my position at my bedroom window in fright. My

window is tucked away on a corner, and no-one was meant to notice me.LeastofallOllie,whoI’mprettysurehasa tinycrushonme,even thoughhe’stwoyearsyoungerthanmeandbarelyreachesuptomychest.“Look,it’sthecelebrity!”quipsOllie’sdad,Rob.He’sbeencallingme“the

celebrity”forthelastfourweeks,eventhoughMumandDadhaveseparatelybeenovertoaskhimtostop.Hethinksit’sfunnyandthatmyparentshavenosense of humour. (I’ve often noticed that people equate “having a sense ofhumour”with“beinganinsensitivemoron.”)Thistime,though,Idon’tthinkMumorDadhasevenheardRob’soh-so-

witty joke.Mum is stillmoaning “Where did I gowroooong?” andDad ispeeringatheranxiously.“You didn’t go wrong!” he calls up. “Nothing’s wrong! Darling, come

downandhaveadrink.Putthecomputerdown…fornow,”headdshastilyatherexpression.“Youcanthrowitoutofthewindowlater.”Mum doesn’t move an inch. The computer is rocking still more

precariously on the windowsill, and Dad flinches. “Sweetheart, I’m justthinkingaboutthecar…We’veonlyjustpaiditoff…”Hemovestowardsthecarandholdsouthishands,asthoughtoshielditfromplummetinghardware.“Getablanket!”saysOllie,springingtolife.“Savethecomputer!Weneed

ablanket.We’llformacircle…”Mumdoesn’tevenseemtohearhim.“Ibreast-fedyou!”sheshrieksatFrank.“IreadyouWinnie-the-Pooh!AllI

wantedwasawell-roundedsonwhowouldbeinterestedinbooksandartandtheoutdoorsandmuseumsandmaybeacompetitivesport…”“LOCisacompetitivesport!”yellsFrank.“Youdon’tknowanythingabout

it! It’s a serious thing! You know, the prize pot in the international LOCcompetitioninTorontothisyearissixmilliondollars!”“Soyoukeeptellingus!”Mumerupts.“So,what,you’regoingtowinthat,

areyou?Makeyourfortune?”“Maybe.”Hegivesheradarklook.“IfIgetenoughpractice.”“Frank, get real!” Her voice echoes around the close, shrill and almost

scary. “You’re not entering the international LOC competition, you’re notgoingtowinthebloodysix-million-dollarprizepot,andyou’renotgoingtomakeyourlivingfromgaming!IT’SNOTGOINGTOHAPPEN!”

AMONTHEARLIER

ItallbeginswiththeDailyMail.QuitealotofthingsinourhousebeginwiththeDailyMail.Mumstartstwitchinginthatwayshedoes.We’vehadsupperandcleared

awayandshe’sbeenreadingthepaperwithaglassofwine—“Metime,”shecalls it—and she’s paused at an article. I can see the headline over hershoulder:

THEEIGHTSIGNSYOURCHILDISADDICTEDTOCOMPUTERGAMES

“OhmyGod,” I hear hermurmur. “OhmyGod.”Her finger ismovingdownthelistandshe’sbreathingfast.AsIsquintover,Icatchasubheading:

7.IRRITABILITYANDMOODINESS.

Ha.Haha.That’smyhollowlaugh,incaseyoudidn’tgetthat.Imean,seriously,moodiness?Like,JamesDeanwasamoodyteenagerin

RebelWithoutaCause (Ihave theposter,best filmposter ever,bestmovieever,sexiestmoviestarever,why,why,whydidhehavetodie?).SoJamesDeanmustthereforehavebeenaddictedtovideogames?Oh,wait.Exactly.Butthere’snopointsayinganyofthistomymum,becauseit’slogicaland

mymumdoesn’tbelieve in logic,shebelieves inhoroscopesandgreen tea.Oh,andofcoursetheDailyMail.

THEEIGHTSIGNSMYMUMISADDICTEDTOTHEDAILYMAIL:

1. Shereadsiteveryday.

2. Shebelieveseverythingitsays.

3. Ifyoutrytotakeitoutofhergrasp,shepullsitbacksharplyandsays

“Leaveit!”likeyou’retryingtokidnapherpreciousyoung.

4. WhenitrunsascarestoryaboutVitaminD,shemakesusalltakeourshirtsoffand“sunbathe.”(Freeze-bathe,morelike.)

5. Whenitrunsascarestoryaboutmelanoma,shemakesusallputonsunscreen.

6. Whenitrunsastoryabout“thefacecreamthatreallyDOESwork,”sheordersitthatmoment.Like,shegetsoutheriPadthenandthere.

7. Ifshecan’tgetitonholiday,shegetsmajorwithdrawalsymptoms.Imean,talkaboutirritabilityandmoodiness.

8. SheoncetriedtogiveitupforLent.Shelastedhalfamorning.

Anyway. There’s nothing I can do about my mum’s tragic dependencyexcepthopethatshedoesn’tdo toomuchdamagetoherlife.(She’salreadydone major damage to our living room, after reading an “Interiors” pieceabout“Whynothandpaintallyourfurniture?”)SothenFrankamblesintothekitchen,wearinghisblackIMOD,THEREFOREI

AMT-shirt,hisearphonesinandhisphoneinhishand.MumlowerstheDailyMailandstaresathimasthoughthescaleshavefallenfromhereyes.(I’veneverunderstoodthat.Scales?Anyway.Whatever.)“Frank,” she says, “howmany hours have you played on your computer

gamesthisweek?”“Definecomputergames,”Franksays,withoutlookingupfromhisphone.“What?”Mumlooksatmeuncertainly,andIshrug.“Youknow.Computer

games. How many hours? FRANK!” she yells, as he makes no move torespond.“Howmanyhours?Takethosethingsoutofyourears!”“What?”saysFrank,takinghisearphonesout.Heblinksatherasthough

hedidn’thearthequestion.“Isthisimportant?”“Yesthisisimportant!”Mumspits.“Iwantyoutotellmehowmanyhours

you’respendingperweekplayingcomputergames.Rightnow.Additup.”“Ican’t,”saysFrankcalmly.“Youcan’t?Whatdoyoumean,youcan’t?”“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” says Frank, with elaborate

patience.“Doyoumeanliterallycomputergames?Ordoyoumeanallscreengames, including Xbox and PlayStation? Do you include games on myphone?Defineyourterms.”

Frank is such amoron.Couldn’t he seeMumwas inoneofherpre-rantbuild-ups?“Imeananythingthatwarpsyourmind!”saysMum,brandishingtheDaily

Mail.“Doyourealizethedangersofthesegames?Doyourealizeyourbrainisn’tdevelopingproperly?YourBRAIN,Frank!Yourmostpreciousorgan.”Frankgivesadirtysnigger,whichIcan’thelpgigglingat.Frankisactually

prettyfunny.“I’ll ignore that,” saysMum stonily. “It only goes to prove what I was

saying.”“Noitdoesn’t,”saysFrank,andopensthefridge.Hetakesoutacartonof

chocolatemilkanddrainsit,straightfromthecarton,whichisgross.“Don’tdothat!”Isayfuriously.“There’sanothercarton.Relax.”“I’m putting a limit on your playing, youngman.”Mum bats theDaily

Mailforemphasis.“I’vejustabouthadenoughofthis.”Youngman.Thatmeansshe’sgoingtodragDadintoit.Anytimeshestarts

using youngman or youngwoman, sure enough the next day there’s someghastly familymeeting, whereDad tries to back up everythingMum says,eventhoughhecan’tfollowhalfofit.Anyway,notmyproblem.

UntilMumarrivesinmybedroomthateveninganddemands,“Audrey,whatisLandofConquerors?”IlookupfromGraziaandsurveyher.Shelookstense.Hercheeksarepink

andherrighthandisallclenched,asifit’sjustcomeoffacomputermouse.She’sbeenGoogling“computergameaddiction,”Ijustknowshehas.“Agame.”“Iknowit’sagame!”Mumsoundsexasperated.“ButwhydoesFrankplay

itallthetime?Youdon’tplayitallthetime,doyou?”“No.” I’veplayedLOC, and I reallydon’t get theobsession. Imean, it’s

OKforanhourortwo.“Sowhat’stheappeal?”“Well, youknow.” I think for amoment. “It’s exciting.Youget rewards.

Andtheheroesareprettygood.Like,thegraphicsareamazing,andtheyjustreleasedthisnewwarriorteamwithnewcapabilities,so…”Ishrug.

Mum looksmore bewildered than ever. The trouble is, she doesn’t playgames. So it’s kind of impossible to convey to her the difference betweenLOC3and,say,Pac-Manfrom1985.“They show it on YouTube,” I say in sudden inspiration. “People do

commentaries.Hangon.”As I’m finding a clip onmy iPad,Mum sits down and looks around the

room.She’stryingtoactcasual,butIcansenseherbeadyblueeyesscanningmy piles of stuff, looking for…what? Anything. Everything. The truth is,MumandIhaven’tdonecasualforawhile.Everythingisloaded.Witheverythingthat’shappened,that’soneofthesaddestthingsofall.We

can’tbenormalwitheachotheranymore.The tiniest thingIsay,Mum’salloverit,evenifshedoesn’trealizeit.Herbraingoesintooverdrive.Whatdoesitmean?IsAudreyallright?What’sAudreyreallysaying?Icanseeherlookingcloselyatapairofoldrippedjeansonmychair,as

though they hold some dark significance. Whereas in fact the onlysignificance they hold is: I’ve grown out of them. I’ve shot up about threeinches in the last year,whichmakesme five eight.Quite tall for fourteen.PeoplesayIlooklikeMum,butI’mnotasprettyasher.Hereyesaresoblue.Like blue diamonds. Mine are wishy-washy—not that they’re particularlyvisiblerightnow.Justsoyoucanvisualizeme,I’mfairlyskinny,fairlynondescript,wearing

ablackvest-topandskinnyjeans.AndIweardarkglassesallthetime,eveninthehouse.It’s…Well.Athing.Mything,Isuppose.Hencethe“celebrity”quipsfromRobourneighbour.Hesawmeinmydarkglasses,gettingoutofthecarintherain,andhewasall like,“Whytheshades?AreyouAngelinaJolie?”I’mnottryingtobecool.There’sareason.Which,ofcourse,nowyouwanttoknow.Iassume.OK,it’sactuallyquiteprivate.I’mnotsureI’mreadytotellyouyet.You

canthinkI’mweirdifyoulike.Enoughpeopledo.“Here we are.” I find a clip of some LOC battle with “Archy”

commentating.“Archy”isaYouTuberfromSwedenwhomakesvideosthatFrank loves. They consist of “Archy” playing LOC and making funnycommentariesonthegame,andasIexpected,ittakesmeforevertoexplainthisconcepttoMum.“But why would you watch someone else playing?” she keeps saying,

baffled.“Why?Isn’tthatacompletewasteoftime?”

“Well.Anyway.”Ishrug.“That’sLOC.”There’s silence for a moment. Mum is peering at the screen like some

professor trying to decipher an ancient Egyptian code. There’s an almightyexplosionandshewinces.“Whydoesitalwayshavetobeaboutkilling?IfIdesignedagameitwould

centreonideas.Politics.Issues.Yes!Imean,whynot?”Icantellherbrain’sfiringupwithanewidea.“WhataboutacomputergamecalledDiscuss?Youcouldkeepthecompetitiveelement,butscorepointsbydebating!”“Andthatiswhywe’renotsquillionaires,”Isay,asthoughtoathirdparty.I’mabouttofindanotherclip,whenFelixcomesrunningintotheroom.“CandyCrush!”hesaysindelightassoonashespiesmyiPad,andMum

gaspsinhorror.“Howdoesheknowaboutthat?”shedemands.“Turnitoff.I’mnothaving

anotheraddictinthefamily!”Oops.ItmaypossiblyhavebeenmewhointroducedFelixtoCandyCrush.

Notthathehasanyideahowtoplayitproperly.IclosedowntheiPadandFelixstaresatit,crestfallen.“CandyCrush!”he

wails.“IwanttoplayCandyCruuuuush!”“It’sbroken,Felix.”IpretendtopresstheiPad.“See?Broken.”“Broken,”affirmsMum.FelixlooksfromustotheiPad.Youcansensehismindisworkingashard

ashisfour-year-oldbraincellswilllethim.“Wemustbuyaplug,”hesuggests,withsuddenanimation,andgrabsthe

iPad.“Wecanbuyaplugandfixit.”“The plug shop’s closed,” says Mum, without missing a beat. “What a

shame.We’lldoittomorrow.Butguesswhat?We’regoingtohavetoastandNutellanow!”“ToastandNutella!”Felix’sfaceburstsintojoyousbeams.Ashethrowsup

hisarms,MumgrabstheiPadfromhimandgivesittome.FivesecondslaterI’vehiddenitbehindacushiononthebed.“WheredidtheCandyCrushgo?”Felixsuddenlynoticesitsdisappearance

andscrewsuphisfacetohowl.“We’retakingittotheplugshop,remember?”saysMumatonce.“Plugshop.”Inod.“Buthey,you’regoingtohavetoastandNutella!How

manypiecesareyougoingtohave?”Poor old Felix. He lets Mum lead him out of the room, still looking

confused.Totallyoutmaneuvered.That’swhathappenswhenyou’refour.Bet

MumwishesshecouldpullthattrickonFrank.

So nowMumknowswhatLOC is. And knowledge is power, according toKofiAnnan.Although,asLeonardodaVincisaid:“Wherethereisshouting,thereisnotrueknowledge,”whichmightapplybettertoourfamily.(Pleasedon’t think I’m super-well-read or anything. Mum bought me a book ofquotationslastmonthandIflickthroughitwhenI’mwatchingtelly.)Anyway,“knowledgeispower”isn’treallyhappeninghere,becauseMum

hasnopoweroverFrankatall.It’sSaturdayevening,andhe’sbeenplayingLOC ever since lunchtime.He disappeared into the playroom straight afterpudding.ThentherewasaringatthedoorbellandIscuttledoutofthewayintotheden,whichismyownprivateplace.Nowit’snearlysixandI’vecreptintothekitchenforsomeOreos,tofind

Mumstridingaround,alltwitchy.She’sexhalingandlookingattheclockandexhalingagain.“They’re all computer addicts!” she says in a sudden burst. “I’ve asked

themtoturnoffabouttwenty-fivetimes!Whycan’ttheydoit?It’sasimpleswitch!On,off.”“Maybethey’reonalevel—”Ibegin.“Levels!”Mumcutsme off savagely. “I’m tired of hearing about levels!

I’mgivingthemonemoreminute.That’sit.”ItakeoutanOreoandpriseitopen.“So,who’swithFrank?”“A friend from school. I haven’t met him before. Linus, I think he’s

called…”Linus. I remember Linus. He was in that school play, To Kill a

Mockingbird,andheplayedAtticusFinch.FrankwasCrowd.FrankgoestoCardinalNichollsSchool,whichisjustuptheroadfrommy

school,StokelandGirls’School,andsometimesthetwoschoolsjointogetherforplaysandconcertsandstuff.Althoughtobetruthful,Stokelandisn’t“myschool”anymore.Ihaven’tbeentoschoolsinceFebruary,becausesomestuffhappenedthere.Notgreatstuff.Whatever.Anyway.Movingon.Afterthat,Igotill.NowI’mgoingtochangeschools

andgodownayearsoIwon’tfallbehind.ThenewschooliscalledtheHeath

AcademyandtheysaiditwouldbesensibletostartinSeptember,ratherthanthesummertermwhenit’smainlyexams.So,tillthen,I’mathome.Imean,Idon’tdonothing.They’vesentmelotsofreadingsuggestionsand

maths books and French vocab lists. Everyone’s agreed it’s vital I keep upwithmyschoolworkand“Itwillmakeyoufeelsomuchbetter,Audrey!”(Itso doesn’t.) So sometimes I send in a history essay or something and theysenditbackwithsomeredcomments.It’sallabitrandom.Anyway. The point is, Linus was in the play and he was a really good

AtticusFinch.Hewasnobleandheroicandeveryonebelievedhim.Like,hehas to shoot a rabiddog inone sceneand thepropgundidn’tworkonournight, but no-one in the audience laughed or even murmured. That’s howgoodhewas.Hecame round toourhouseonce,before a rehearsal. Just for about five

minutes,butIstillrememberit.Actually,that’skindofirrelevant.I’mabouttoremindMumthatLinusplayedAtticusFinch,whenIrealize

she’sleftthekitchen.AmomentlaterIhearhervoice:“You’veplayedenough,youngman!”Youngman.Idartovertothedoorandlookthroughthecrack.AsFrankstridesintothe

hallafterMum,hisfaceisquiveringwithfury.“We hadn’t reached the end of the level! You can’t just switch off the

game!Doyouunderstandwhatyoudid,justthen,Mum?DoyouevenknowhowLandofConquerorsworks?”He sounds properly irate.He’s stopped right underneathwhere I am, his

blackhairfallingoverhispaleforehead,hisskinnyarmsflailing,andhisbig,bonyhandsgesticulatingfuriously.IhopeFrankgrowsintohishandsandfeetoneday.Theycan’tstaysocomicallyhuge,canthey?Therestofhimhastocatchup,surely?He’sfifteen,sohecouldstillgrowafoot.Dad’ssixfoot,buthealwayssaysFrankwillenduptallerthanhim.“It’sfine,”saysavoiceIrecognize.It’sLinus,butIcan’tseehimthrough

thecrack.“I’llgohome.Thanksforhavingme.”“Don’t gohome!” exclaimsMum, inher best charming-to-visitors voice.

“Pleasedon’tgohome,Linus.That’snotwhatImeantatall.”“Butifwecan’tplaygames…”Linussoundsflummoxed.“Are you saying the only form of socialising you boys understand is

playingcomputergames?Doyouknowhowsadthatis?”

“Well,whatdoyousuggestwedo?”saysFranksulkily.“I think you should play badminton. It’s a nice summer’s evening, the

garden’s beautiful, and look what I found!” She holds out the ropy oldbadmintonsettoFrank.ThenetisalltwistedandIcanseethatsomeanimalhasnibbledatoneoftheshuttlecocks.IwanttolaughatFrank’sexpression.“Mum…”Heappearsalmostspeechlesswithhorror.“Wheredidyoueven

findthat?”“Orcroquet!”addsMumbrightly.“That’safungame.”Frankdoesn’tevenanswer.Helookssostrickenbytheideaofcroquet, I

actuallyfeelquitesorryforhim.“Orhide-and-seek?”Igiveasnortoflaughterandclapmyhandovermymouth.Ican’thelpit.

Hide-and-seek.“OrRummikub!”saysMum,soundingdesperate.“Youalwaysusedtolove

Rummikub.”“I likeRummikub,”volunteersLinus,and I feela tweakofapproval.He

couldhavelegitimatelylaidintoFrankatthispoint;walkedstraightoutofthehouseandputonFacebookthatFrank’shousesucks.Buthesounds likehewants topleaseMum.Hesounds likeoneof thosepeoplewho lookaroundandthink,well,whynotmakelifeeasierforeveryone?(I’mgettingthisfromthreewords,youunderstand.)“YouwanttoplayRummikub?”Franksoundsincredulous.“Whynot?”saysLinuseasily,andamomentlaterthetwoofthemheadoff

towardstheplayroom.(MumandDadrepainteditandcalledit theTeenageStudywhenIturnedthirteen,butit’sstilltheplayroom.)Nextmoment,Mumisbackinthekitchen,pouringherselfaglassofwine.“There!” she says. “They just need a little guidance. A little parental

control. I simply opened their minds. They’re not addicted to computers.Theyjustneedtoberemindedwhatelseisoutthere.”She’snot talkingtome.She’s talking to theImaginaryDailyMail Judge,

whoconstantlywatchesherlifeandgivesitmarksoutoften.“Idon’tthinkRummikubisaverygoodgamefortwo,”Isay.“Imean,it

wouldtakeagestogetridofallyourtiles.”I can see Mum’s thoughts snagging on this. I’m sure she has the same

image I do: Frank and Linus sitting grimly across from each other at theRummikubtable,hatingitanddecidingthatallboardgamesarerubbishand

totalpants.“You’reright,”shesaysatlast.“MaybeI’llgoandplaywiththem.Makeit

morefun.”Shedoesn’taskmeifIwanttoplaytoo,forwhichI’mgrateful.“Well, have a good time,” I say, and take out the Oreo packet. I scoot

throughthekitchenintotheden,andit’sonlyasI’mzappingonthetellythatIhearMum’svoiceresoundingthroughthehousefromtheplayroom.“IDIDN’TMEANONLINERUMMIKUB!”Our house is like a weather system. It ebbs and flows, flares up and

subsides. It has times of radiant blue bliss, days of grey dismalness andthunderstormsthatflareupoutofnowhere.Rightnowthestorm’scomingmyway.Thunder-lightning-thunder-lightning,Frank-Mum-Frank-Mum.“Whatdifferencedoesitmake?”“It makes every difference! I told you not to go on those computers

anymore!”“Mum,it’sthesamebloodygame!”“It’snot!Iwantyouoffthatscreen!Iwantyouplayingagamewithyour

friend!INREALLIFE!”“It’snofunwithtwoplayers.Wemightaswellplay,Idon’tknow,bloody

Snap.”“Iknow!”Mumisalmostshrieking.“That’swhyIwascomingtoplaywith

you!”“Well,Ididn’tbloodyKNOWTHAT,DIDI?”“Stopswearing!Ifyouswearatme,youngman…”Youngman.IhearFrankmakehisAngryFranknoise.It’sakindofrhinocerosbellow

slashscreamoffrustration.“Bloodyisnotswearing,”hesays,breathinghard,asthoughtoreininhis

impatience.“Itis!”“It’sintheHarryPotterfilms,OK?HarryPotter.Howcanitbeswearing?”“What?”Mumsoundswrong-footed.“HarryPotter.Irestmycase.”“Don’tyouwalkawayfromme,youngman!”Youngman.Thatmakesthree.PoorDad.Hewillsogetanearfulwhenhe

arriveshome—

“Hi.”Linus’svoicetakesmebysurprise,andIjumproundinshock.Like,Iliterallyjump.Ihaveprettysharpenedreflexes.Oversensitive.Liketherestofme.He’s at the doorway. Atticus Finch shoots through my brain. A lanky,

brown-hairedteenagerwithwidecheekbonesandfloppyhairandoneofthosesmiles likeanorangesegment.Not thathis teethareorange.Buthismouthmakes that segment shapewhenhesmiles.Whichhe’sdoingnow.NoneofFrank’sotherfriendseversmile.Hecomes into thedenand instinctivelymy fists clench in fear.Hemust

havewanderedoffwhileMumandFrankwerefighting.Butno-onecomesinthisroom.Thisismyspace.Didn’tFranktellhim?Didn’tFranksay?Mychestisstartingtoriseinpanic.Tearshavealreadystartedtomyeyes.

Mythroatfeelsfrozen.Ineedtoescape.Ineed—Ican’t—No-onecomesinhere.No-oneisallowedtocomeinhere.I can hear Dr. Sarah’s voice in my head. Random snippets from our

sessions.Breatheinforfourcounts,outforseven.Yourbodybelievesthethreatisreal,Audrey.Butthethreatisn’treal.“Hi,”hetriesagain.“I’mLinus.You’reAudrey,right?”The threat isn’t real. I try to press the words into mymind, but they’re

drownedoutbythepanic.It’sengulfing.It’slikeanuclearcloud.“Doyoualwayswearthose?”Henodsatmydarkglasses.Mychestispumpingwithterror.SomehowImanagetoedgepasthim.“Sorry,” I gasp, and tear through the kitchen like a hunted fox. Up the

stairs.Intomybedroom.Intothefurthestcorner.Croucheddownbehindthecurtain.Mybreathiscominglikeapistonengineandtearsarecoursingdownmyface.IneedaClonazepam,butrightnowIcan’tevenleavethecurtaintogetit.I’mclingingtothefabriclikeit’stheonlythingthatwillsaveme.“Audrey?” Mum’s at the bedroom door, her voice high with alarm.

“Sweetheart?Whathappened?”“It’sjust…youknow.”Iswallow.“ThatboycameinandIwasn’texpecting

it…”“It’sfine,”soothesMum,comingoverandstrokingmyhead.“It’sOK.It’s

totallyunderstandable.Doyouwanttotakea…”Mumneversaysthewordsofmedicationoutloud.“Yes.”

“I’llgetit.”SheheadsouttothebathroomandIhearthesoundofwaterrunning.And

allIfeelisstupid.Stupid.

Sonowyouknow.Well,Isupposeyoudon’tknow—you’reguessing.Toputyououtofyour

misery, here’s the full diagnosis: SocialAnxietyDisorder,GeneralAnxietyDisorder,andDepressiveEpisodes.Episodes.Likedepressionisasitcomwithafunpunchlineeachtime.Ora

TVboxsetloadedwithcliffhangers.Theonlycliffhangerinmylifeis“WillIevergetridofthisshit?”andbelieveme,itgetsprettymonotonous.

At my next session with Dr. Sarah I tell her about Linus and the wholeanxietyattack thing,andshe listens thoughtfully.Dr.Sarahdoeseverythingthoughtfully.She listens thoughtfully, shewrites thoughtfullywithbeautifulloopywriting,andsheeventapsathercomputerthoughtfully.Her surname is McVeigh but we call her Dr. Sarah because they

brainstormed about it in a big meeting and decided first names wereapproachablebutDr.gaveauthorityandreassurance,soDr.FirstNamewastheperfectmonikerforthechildren’sunit.(When she said “moniker” I thought they were all going to be renamed

Monica.Seriously,forabouttenminutes,tillsheexplained.)Thechildren’sunitisatabigprivatehospitalcalledSt.John’s,whichMum

andDadgottheinsuranceforthroughDad’sjob.(Thefirstquestiontheyaskwhenyouarriveisnot“Howdoyoufeel?”It’s“Doyouhaveinsurance?”)Ilived here for six weeks, after Mum and Dad worked out that there wassomething really wrong with me. The trouble is, depression doesn’t comewith handy symptoms like spots and a temperature, so you don’t realize atfirst.Youkeepsaying“I’mfine” topeoplewhenyou’renotfine.Youthinkyoushouldbefine.Youkeepsayingtoyourself:“Whyaren’tIfine?”Anyway.At lastMumandDad tookme toseeourGPandIgot referred

andIcamehere.Iwasinabitofastate.Idon’treallyrememberthosefirstfew days verywell, to be honest. Now I visit twice aweek. I could comemore often if Iwanted—they keep tellingme that. I couldmake cupcakes.But I’ve made them, like, fifty-five zillion times and it’s always the samerecipe.After I’ve finished telling Dr. Sarah about the whole hiding-behind-the-

curtain thing, she looks for awhile at the tick box questionnaire I filled inwhenIarrived.Alltheusualquestions.Doyoufeellikeafailure?Verymuch.Doyoueverwishyoudidn’texist?Verymuch.Dr.Sarahcallsthissheetmy“symptoms.”SometimesIthink,Shall I just

lieandsayeverything’srosy?Buttheweirdthingis,Idon’t.Ican’tdothattoDr.Sarah.We’reinthistogether.“And how do you feel about what happened?” she says in that kind,

unruffledvoiceshehas.“Ifeelstuck.”ThewordstuckcomesoutbeforeI’veeventhoughtit.Ididn’tknowIfelt

stuck.“Stuck?”“I’vebeenillforever.”“Notforever,”shesaysincalmtones.“Ifirstmetyou…”Sheconsultsher

computer screen. “March sixth.You’d probably been ill for awhile beforethatwithout realizing.But thegoodnews is,you’vecomesucha longway,Audrey.You’reimprovingeveryday.”“Improving?” I break off, trying to speak calmly. “I’m supposed to be

starting a new school in September. I can’t even talk to people. One newpersoncomestothehouseandIfreakout.HowcanIgotoschool?HowcanIdoanything?WhatifI’mlikethisforever?”Atearisrunningdownmycheek.Wherethehelldidthatcomefrom?Dr.

SarahhandsmeatissuewithoutcommentandIscrubatmyeyes,liftingupmydarkglassesbrieflytodoso.“First of all, you will not be like this forever,” says Dr. Sarah. “Your

conditionisfullytreatable.Fullytreatable.”She’ssaidthistomeaboutathousandtimes.“You’vemademarkedprogresssincetreatmentbegan,”shecontinues.“It’s

still only May. I have every confidence you will be ready for school inSeptember.Butitwillrequire—”“I know.” I hunch my arms round my body. “Persistence, practice, and

patience.”“Haveyoutakenoffyourdarkglassesthisweek?”asksDr.Sarah.“Notmuch.”BywhichImeannotatall.Sheknowsthis.“Haveyoumadeeyecontactwithanybody?”Idon’tanswer.Iwassupposedtobetrying.Withafamilymember.Justa

fewsecondseveryday.Ididn’teventellMum.Shewouldhavemadeitintothishugepalaver.“Audrey?“No,”Imutter,myheaddown.Eyecontactisabigdeal.It’sthebiggestdeal.Justthethoughtmakesme

feelsick,rightdowntomycore.

Iknowinmyrationalheadthateyesarenotfrightening.They’retinylittleharmlessblobsofjelly.They’re,like,aminusculefractionofourwholebodyarea.Weallhavethem.Sowhyshouldtheybotherme?ButI’vehadalotoftimetothinkaboutthis,andifyouaskme,mostpeopleunderestimateeyes.For a start, they’re powerful. They have range. You focus on someone ahundredfeetaway, throughawholebunchofpeople,and theyknowyou’relooking at them. What other bit of human anatomy can do that? It’spracticallybeingpsychic,iswhatitis.But they’relikevortexestoo.They’reinfinite.Youlooksomeonestraight

in the eye and yourwhole soul can be sucked out in a nanosecond. That’swhatitfeelslike.Otherpeople’seyesarelimitlessandthat’swhatscaresme.There’squietintheroomforawhile.Dr.Sarahdoesn’tsayanything.She’s

thinking.IlikeitwhenDr.Sarahthinks.IfIcouldcurlupinanyone’sbrain,Ithinkitwouldbehers.“I’vehadanideaforyou.”Shelooksup.“Howdoyoufeelaboutmakinga

film?”“What?”Ilookatherblankly.Iwasnotexpectingthis.Iwasexpectinga

sheetwithanexerciseonit.“Adocumentary film.Allyouneed isacheap littledigitalvideocamera.

Perhapsyourparentswillgetyouone,orwecouldfindoneheretolendyou.”“AndwhatwillIdowithit?”I’m sounding deliberately stupid and uninterested because inside, I feel

flustered. A film. No-one ever mentioned making a film before. Is that athing?Isitthenewversionofcupcakes?“Ithinkthismaybeagoodwayforyoutotransitionfromwhereyouare

nowto…”Dr.Sarahpauses.“Towherewewantyoutobe.Atfirst,youcanfilmastheoutsider.Fly-on-the-wall.Doyouknowwhatthatmeans,‘fly-on-the-wall’?”Inod,tryingtohidemyrisingpanic.Thisishappeningtoofast.“Then,afterawhile, I’d likeyou tostart interviewingpeople.Couldyou

makeeyecontactwithsomeonethroughacamera,doyouthink?”Ifeelablindingshaftofterror,whichItellmyselftoignore,asmybrain

willoftentrytosendmemessagesthatareuntrueandIdonothavetolistentothem.ThisislessononeatSt.John’s:yourbrainisanidiot.“Idon’tknow.”Iswallow,feelingmyfistsclenchup.“Maybe.”“Great.”Dr.Sarahgivesmeherangelicsmile.“Iknowthisfeelshardand

scary,Audrey.ButIthinkitwillbeagreatprojectforyou.”“OK,look,Idon’tunderstand…”Ipause,gainingcontrolofmyself;trying

nottolettearsoffrightwellup.Idon’tevenknowwhatI’mfrightenedof.Acamera?Anewidea?AdemandonmewhichIwasn’texpecting?“Whatdon’tyouunderstand?”“WhatdoIfilm?”“Anything. Anything you come across. Just point the camera and shoot.

Yourhouse.Thepeopleinyourhouse.Paintaportraitofyourfamily.”“Right.”Ican’thelpsnorting.“I’llcallitMySereneandLovingFamily.”“Ifyoulike.”Shelaughs.“Ilookforwardtoseeingit.”

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Thecamerapansaroundaclutteredfamilykitchen.

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

So,welcometomydocumentary.Thisisthe

kitchen.Thisisthekitchentable.Frank

hasn’tclearedawayhisbreakfast,he’s

revolting.

ANGLEON:ascrubbedpinetable,bearingaused

cerealbowl,aplatecoveredwithcrumbs,andapot

ofNutellawithaspoonstickingout.

AUDREY(V.O)

Thesearethekitchencupboards.

ANGLEON:arangeofShakerkitchencupboards

paintedgrey.Thecamerapansslowlyacross.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Thisisstupid.Idon’tknowwhatI’m

supposedtobefilming.Thisisthewindow.

ANGLEON:awindowtothegarden,wherewecansee

anoldswingsetandabrand-newfirepit,still

withtagson.Camerazoomsinonthefirepit.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Thatwasmydad’sbirthdaypresent.He

shoulduseit,really.

Cameraswingsshakilytodoor.

AUDREY(V.O.)

OK,soIshouldintroducemyself.I’m

AudreyTurnerandI’mfilmingthisbecause—

(pause)

Anyway.Mymumanddadboughtmethis

camera.Theywerealllike,“Maybeyou’ll

becomeadocumentarymaker!”Imean,they

gotsuper-excitedandtheyspentfartoo

muchonthiscamera.Iwaslike,justget

methecheapestthing,buttheywantedto,

so…

Thecameramovesjerkilythroughtothehalland

focusesonthestairs.

AUDREY(V.O.)

That’sthestairs.Youcanseethat,right?

You’renotamoron.

(pause)

Idon’tevenknowwhoyouare.Who’s

watchingthis?Dr.Sarah,Isuppose.Hi,

Dr.Sarah.

Thecameramovesunsteadilyupthestairs.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Sowe’regoingupstairsnow.Wholivesin

THIShouse?

Camerafocusesonablacklacybradrapedoverthe

bannisters.

AUDREY(V.O.)

That’sMum’s.

(beat)

Actually,shemaynotwantyoutoseethat.

Cameraturnsacornerandfocusesonanajardoor.

AUDREY(V.O.)

That’sFrank’sroom,butIcan’tevengo

nearitbecauseofthestench.I’llzoom

in.

Camerazoomsinonanareaoffloorspacecovered

withtrainers,dirtysocks,awettowel,threeScott

Pilgrimbooks,ahalf-emptybagofHaribo,all

thrownontopofeachother.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Theentireroom’slikethat.Justsoyou

know.

Cameramovesaway,alonganupstairslanding.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Andthisismymumanddad’sroom…

Camerafocusesonahalf-opendoor.Frominsidethe

room,wehearavoice.ThisisMUM,Audrey’smum.

Sheistalkinginalow,urgentvoicewhich,

nevertheless,wecanhear.

MUM(V.O)

Iwastalkingaboutitatbookgroupand

Carolinesaid,“Doeshehaveagirlfriend?”

Well,hedoesn’t!IsTHATtheproblem?If

hehadagirlfriend,maybehe’dbeout

more,insteadofhunchedoverthatscreen.

Imean,whyDOESN’Thehaveagirlfriend?

DAD(V.O.)

Idon’tknow.Don’tlookatmelikethat!

It’snotmyfault!

AUDREY(V.O.)

(sottovoce)

Thisismymumanddad.Ithinkthey’re

talkingaboutFrank.

MUM(V.O.)

Well,I’vehadanidea.Weneedtothrowa

partyforhim.Sethimupwithsomepretty

girls.

DAD(V.O.)

APARTY?Areyouserious?

MUM(V.O.)

Whynot?Itwouldbefun.Weusedtothrow

himsomelovelyparties.

DAD(V.O.)

WhenhewasEIGHT.Anne,doyouknowwhat

teenagepartiesarelike?Whatifthey

knifeeachotherandhavesexonthe

trampoline?

MUM(V.O.)

Theywon’t!Willthey?

OhGod…

Thedoorclosesslightly.Thecameramovescloserto

pickupthesound.

MUM(V.O.)

Chris,haveyougivenFrankafather-to-son

talk?

DAD(V.O.)

No.Haveyougivenhimamother-to-son

talk?

MUM(V.O.)

Iboughthimabook.Ithadpicturesof…you

know.

DAD(V.O.)

(soundsinterested)

Didit?Whatkindofpictures?

MUM(V.O.)

Youknow.

DAD(V.O.)

Idon’t.

MUM(V.O.)

(impatiently)

Yesyoudo.Youcanimagine.

DAD(V.O.)

Idon’twanttoimagine.Iwantyouto

describethemtome,veryslowly,ina

Frenchaccent.

MUM(V.O.)

(halfgiggling,halfcross)

Chris,stopit!

DAD(V.O.)

WhyshouldFrankhaveallthefun?

ThedooropensandDADcomesout.Heisahandsome

maninhisearlyforties,wearingasuitandholding

ascuba-divingmask.Hejumpsasheseesthecamera.

DAD

Audrey!Whatareyoudoinghere?

AUDREY(V.O.)

I’mfilming.Youknow,formyproject.

DAD

Right.Right,ofcourse.

(callswarningly)

Sweetheart,Audrey’sfilming…

Mumappearsatthedoor,dressedinaskirtandbra.

Sheclapsherhandsoverhertophalfandshrieks

whensheseesthecamera.

DAD

That’swhatImeantwhenIsaid“Audrey’s

filming.”

MUM

(flustered)

Oh,Isee.

Shegrabsadressinggownfromthedoorhookand

wrapsitaroundhertophalf.

MUM

Well,bravo,darling.Here’stoagreat

film.Maybewarnusnexttimeyou’re

filming?

(glancesatDadandclearsherthroat)

Wewerejustdiscussingthe…er…crisisin…

theMiddleEast.

DAD

(nods)

TheMiddleEast.

Bothparentslookuncertainlyatthecamera.

OK, so the backstory. You’ll want to know that, I suppose. Previously, inAudreyTurner’slife…Except, Jeez. I can’t go into it all again. Sorry, I just can’t. I’ve sat in

enoughroomswithteachers,doctors,regurgitatingthesamestory,usingthesamewords,tillitstartstofeellikesomethingthathappenedtosomeoneelse.Everyone involved has started to feel unreal. All the girls at Stokeland

Girls’School;MissAmerson,ourheadteacher,whosaidIwasdeludedandseekingattention.(Attention.IronyGod,areyoulistening?)No-oneeverquitefoundoutwhy.Imean,wesortoffoundoutwhy,butnot

why.Therewasabigscandal,yaddayadda.Threegirlswereexcluded,whichis

a record.My parents tookme out of Stokeland instantly, and I’ve been athomeeversince.Well,andhospital,whichItoldyouaboutalready.TheideaisthatI“startagain”attheHeathAcademy.Onlyto“startagain”youneedtobeableto“getoutofthehouse,”whichiswhereIhaveateenyproblem.It’snottheoutsideperse.It’snottreesorairorsky.It’sthepeople.Imean,

notallpeople.Probablynotyou;you’dbefine.Ihavemycomfortpeople—peopleIcantalktoandlaughwithandfeelrelaxedwith.It’sjust,theymakeupquiteasmallgroup.Tiny,youmightcallit,comparedto,say,theworld’spopulation.Oreventhenumberofpeopleonanaveragebus.Icaneatsupperwithmyfamily.IcangotoseeDr.Sarahinmysafelittle

bubbleofcar-waiting-room-Dr.-Sarah’s-room-car-home.AllthepeopleinmytherapygroupsatSt.John’s—they’recomfortpeopletoo.Becausethey’renota threat. (OK,OK, I know people aren’t really a threat. But try tellingmystupidbrainthat.)It’severyoneelsewho is theproblem.Peopleon the street,peopleat the

frontdoor,peopleonthephone.Youhavenoideahowmanypeoplethereareintheworlduntilyoustartgettingfreakedoutbythem.Dr.SarahsaysImayneverbecomfortable inmassivecrowds,and that’sOK,but Ihave to“dialdown”thethoughtsthataretellingmetopanic.Whenshe’stellingmethis,itseems totally reasonable,and I think“Yes! Icando that!Easy.”But thenapostmancomestothedoorandIrunbeforeIcanevenstopmyself.Thingis,Iwasneverexactlyoutthere,evenwhenIwasOK.Inabunchof

girls, I was the one standing alone, hiding behind her hair. I was the onetryingtojoininchataboutbraseventhough,hello,abra?Thatwouldsurelyrequireafemaleshape.Iwastheoneparanoidthateveryonemustbelookingatme,thinkinghowuncoolIwas.Atthesametime,Iwastheonewhogotshownofftoallthevisitors:“Our

straight-Astudent,Audrey.”“Ournetballstar,Audrey.”Top tip toall teachers reading this (i.e.,none,probably): trynot showing

offthegirlwhocringeswhenanyoneevenlooksather.Becauseit’snotthathelpful.Also,it’snotthathelpfultosayinthewholeclass’searshot:“She’sthegreathopeofthisyeargroup,sotalented.”Whowants to be the great hope?Whowants to be “so talented”?Who

wantstheentirerestofyeartoslidetheireyesroundlikedaggers?Imean,Idon’tblamethoseteachers.I’mjustsaying.Sothen.Allthebadstuffhappened.AndIkindofslidoffacliff.Andhere

Iam.Stuckinmyownstupidbrain.Dad says it’s totally understandable and I’ve been through a trauma and

nowI’m likeasmallbabywhopanicsassoonas it’shanded tosomeone itdoesn’tknow.I’veseenthosebabies,andtheygofromhappyandgurglingtohowlinginaheartbeat.Well,Idon’thowl.Notquite.ButIfeellikehowling.

Youstillwanttoknow,don’tyou?You’restillcurious.Imean,Idon’tblameyou.Here’sthething:doesitmatterexactlywhathappenedandwhythosegirls

wereexcluded?It’sirrelevant.Ithappened.Done.Over.I’drathernotgointoit.Wedon’thavetorevealeverythingtoeachother.That’sanotherthingI’ve

learned in therapy: it’sOK tobeprivate. It’sOK to sayno. It’sOK to say,“I’mnotgoingtosharethat.”So,ifyoudon’tmind,let’sjustleaveitthere.Imean, Iappreciateyour interestandconcern, I reallydo.Butyoudon’t

needtopolluteyourbrainwiththatstuff.Goand,like, listentoanicesonginstead.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Thecamerapansaroundthehallandfocusesonthe

halltiles.

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

So,theseareoldVictoriantilesor

whatever.Mymumfoundtheminaskipand

madeuslugthemallhome.IttookFOREVER.

Wehadaperfectlygoodfloor,butshewas

alllike,“Thesearehistory!”Imean,

someonethrewthemout.Doesshenot

realizethat?

MUM

Frank!

Mumcomesstridingintothehall.

MUM

FRANK!

(toAudrey)

Whereisyourbrother?

Oh.You’refilming.

Sheflicksbackherhairandpullsinherstomach.

MUM

Welldone,darling!

FRANKamblesintothehall.

MUM

Frank!IfoundtheseonFelix’splayhouse.

Shebrandishesabunchofsweetwrappersathim.

MUM

Firstofall,Idon’twantyousittingon

topoftheplayhouse,theroofisunstable

andit’sabadexampletoFelix.Secondof

all,doyourealizehowtoxicthissugaris

toyourbody?Doyou?

Frankdoesn’treply,justglowersather.

MUM

Howmuchexercisedoyoutakeperweek?

FRANK

Plenty.

MUM

Well,it’snotenough.We’regoingonarun

tomorrow.

FRANK

(outraged)

Arun?Areyouserious?ARUN?

MUM

Youneedtogetoutmore.WhenIwasyour

age,Ilivedoutside!Iwasalwaysplaying

sport,enjoyingnature,walkingthroughthe

woods,appreciatingtheoutsideworld…

FRANK

Lastweekyousaidwhenyouwereourage

youwere“alwaysreadingbooks.”

MUM

Well,Iwas.Ididboth.

AUDREY

(frombehindcamera)

Lastyearyousaidwhenyouwereourage

youwere“alwaysgoingtomuseumsand

culturalevents.”

Mumlookscaughtout.

MUM

(snaps)

Iwasdoingallofit.Anyway,we’regoing

foraruntomorrow.Thisisnon-negotiable.

(asFrankdrawsbreath)

Non-negotiable.NON-NEGOTIABLE,FRANK.

FRANK

Fine.Fine.

MUM

(over-casually)

Oh,andFrank.Iwasjustwondering.There

weresomenicegirlsinyourschoolplay,

weren’tthere?Anyoneonthe…youknow?

Horizon?Youshouldaskthemround!

Frankgivesherawitheringlook.Thedoorbellrings

andFranklookswarninglyatthecamera.

FRANK

Hey,Aud,thisisLinus,ifyouwantto…you

know.Getoutoftheway.

AUDREY(V.O)

Thanks.

Mumdisappearsintothekitchen.Frankheadstowards

thefrontdoor.Thecamerabacksawaybuthasaview

ofthefrontdoor.

FrankopensthefrontdoortorevealLINUS.

FRANK

Hey.

LINUS

Hey.

Linusglancesatthecameraanditquicklyswoops

awayandretreats.

Then,slowly,fromafurtherdistance,itcomesback

torestonLinus’sface.Itzoomsin.

I mean, I was just filming him because he’s Frank’s friend. It’s just, youknow.Familycontextorwhatever.OK.Andhehasaniceface.WhichIhavewatchedonplaybackafewtimes.

ThenextdayafterbreakfastMumcomesdowninleggings,apinkcroptop,and trainers. She has a heart rate monitor strapped round her chest and isholdingawaterbottle.“Ready?”shecallsupthestairs.“Frank!We’regoing!Frank!FRANK!”Afteranage,Frankappears.He’swearingblackjeans,ablackT-shirt,his

usualtrainers,andascowl.“Youcan’trunlikethat,”saysMumatonce.“YesIcan.”“Noyoucan’t.Don’tyouhaveanyathleticshorts?”“Athleticshorts?”Frank’slookofdisdainissoterrible,Igiveasnort.“What’s wrongwith athletic shorts?” saysMum defensively. “That’s the

troublewithyouyoungpeople.You’reclosed-minded.You’reprejudiced.”Youyoungpeople.ThreewordswhichsignalthataMumrantiscoming. I

lookather from thesitting roomdoorwayandsureenough, theother signsarebuilding.Her eyes are full of thoughts…sheclearlyhas things to say…she’sbreathingfast…Andbingo.“Youknow,Frank,youonlygetonebody!”Sheturnsonhim.“Youhaveto

treasureit!Youhavetotakecareofit!Andwhatworriesmeisyouseemtohave no idea about health, no idea about fitness—all you want to eat isjunk…”“We’llhave roboticbody-part replacementsby the timewe’reyourage,”

saysFrank,unmoved.“So.”“Doyouknowhowmanypeopleyouragehavediabetes?”Mumcontinues.

“Doyouknowhowmanyteensthesedaysareobese?Anddon’tevengetmestartedonheartproblems.”“OK,Iwon’tgetyoustartedonheartproblems,”saysFrankmildly,which

seemstoenrageher.“And you knowwhat it is? It’s all the fault of these evil screens. Some

childrenyouragecan’tevengetupoffthecouch!”

“Howmany?”retortsFrank.“What?”Mumlooksathim,puzzled.“Howmanychildrenmyagecan’tevengetupoffthecouch?Becausethat

soundslikeBStome.DidyoureaditintheDailyMail?”Mumglaresathim.“Asignificantnumber.”“Like,three.Becausetheybroketheirleg.”Ican’thelpgiggling,andMumshootsmeaglaretoo.“You can mock me all you like,” she says to Frank. “But I take my

responsibilityasaparentseriously.Iwillnotletyoubecomeacouchpotato.Iwillnotletyourarteriesharden.Iwillnotletyoubecomeastatistic.Socomeon.We’rerunning.We’llstartwithawarm-up.Followme.”She startsmarching, pumpingher armsat the same time. I recognize the

moves from her Davina exercise DVD. After a moment Frank joins in,wavinghis armsaroundand rollinghis eyescomically. Ihave toball a fistintomymouthtostoplaughing.“Engageyourcore,”MumsaystoFrank.“YoushoulddoPilates.Haveyou

heardofanexercisecalled‘theplank’?”“Givemeabreak,”muttersFrank.“Now,stretch…”Asthey’rebendingovertostretchtheirhamstrings,Felixcomesbouncing

intothehall.“Yoga!”heshoutsinhisjoyousway.“Icandoyoga.IcandoyogaVERY

FAST.”Heliesonhisbackandkickshislegsintheair.“Brilliantyoga,”Itellhim.“That’sveryfastyoga.”“And STRONG yoga.” Felix looks at me seriously. “I am the strongest

yoga.”“Youarethestrongestyoga,”Iagree.“Allright.”Mumliftsherhead.“So,Frank,we’lltakeiteasytoday,justa

nicelittlerun…”“What about press-ups?”Frank interrupts. “Shouldn’twedo somepress-

upsbeforeweleave?”“Press-ups?”Mum’sfacefallsforaninstant.I’veseenMumdoingpress-upsalongwithDavina’sDVD.It’snotapretty

sight.Shecursesandsweatsandgivesupafteraboutfive.“Well…yes.”Sheregains her composure. “Good idea,Frank.Wecoulddo a couple of press-ups.”

“Howaboutthirty?”“Thirty?”Mumlooksashen.“I’ll start,” says Frank, and drops to the floor. Before I know it, he’s

pumping his arms, lowering his face to the ground, and rising uprhythmically.He’sreallygood.Imean,reallygood.Mumisstaringathimasthoughhe’sturnedintoanelephant.“Aren’tyougoingtojoinin?”saysFrank,barelypausing.“Right,”saysMum,gettingontoherhandsandknees.Shedoesacoupleof

press-ups,thenstops.“Can’tyoukeepup?”saysFrank,panting.“Twenty-three…twenty-four…”Mum does a few more press-ups, then stops, puffing. She’s really not

enjoyingthis.“Frank,wheredidyoulearntodothose?”shesaysasFrankfinishes.She

soundsalmostcross,likehe’sfooledher.“School,”hesayssuccinctly.“PE.”Hesitsbackonhiskneesandgivesher

amaliciouslittlesmile.“Icanruntoo.I’minthecross-countryteam.”“What?”Mumlooksfaint.“Youdidn’ttellme.”“Shallwego?”Frankgets tohis feet. “Only Idon’twant to turn intoan

obese teenage heart attack victim.” As they head for the door, I hear himsaying,“Didyouknowthatmostmiddle-agedwomendon’tdoenoughpress-ups?ItwasintheDailyMail.”

Fortyminutes later they pant back into the hall. I say pant. Frank’s barelybrokenasweat,whereasMumlookslikeshe’sgoingtocollapse.Herfaceisredandherhairisdripping.Sheclutchesontothebannisterforsupport,andbreathesinandoutlikeatractionengine.“Howwas the running?” beginsDad, coming into the hall, and stops in

alarmasheseesMum.“Anne,areyouOK?”“I’mfine,”managesMum.“Fine.Frankdidverywell,infact.”“NevermindFrank,whataboutyou?”Dadisstillstaringather.“Anne,did

youoverdoit?Ithoughtyouwerefit!”“Iamfit!”shepracticallyyells.“Hetrickedme!”Frankisshakinghisheadsadly.“Mum’scardiocouldreallydowithsome

work,”hesays.“Mum,youonlygetonebody.Youneedtotreasureit.”And,winkingatme,heamblesofftotheplayroom.

Imean,Frankhasapoint.ButMumhasapointtoo.Everyonehasapoint.After he went for that run with Mum, Frank spent the next ten hours

playing computer games.Ten hours solid. Mum and Dad were out all daywithFelix,takinghimtoaseriesofbirthdayparties,andtheytoldFranktodohishomeworkwhiletheywereoutandFranksaidyesandthenheloggedonandthatwasit.Now it’s Sunday morning and Mum is at tennis and Dad is doing

something in the garden and I’m watching telly in the den when Frankappearsatthedoor.“Hey.”“Hey.”MydarkglassesarealreadyonandIdon’tturnmyhead.“Listen,Audrey,Linusisgoingtobespendingalotoftimeatourhouse.I

thinkyoushouldgettoknowhim.He’sonmyLOCteam.”I’vealreadystiffenedalittleatthewordsLinusandgettoknowhim.“WhydoIneedtogettoknowhim?”Icounter.“Hefeelsweirdcomingtoourhouse.Like,whathappenedtheotherday?

Whenyouranaway?Itfreakedhimoutabit.”IscowlatFrank.Idon’twanttobereminded.“Hedoesn’tneedtofeelweird,”Isay,wrappingmyarmsroundmyknees.“Well,hedoes.Hethinksheupsetyou.”“Well,tellhim.Youknow.About…”“Ihave.”“Wellthen.”There’ssilence.Frankstilldoesn’tlookhappy.“IfLinusdoesn’twant tocome toourhouse,hemight joinanotherLOC

team,”hesays.“Andhe’sreallygood.”“Whoelseisontheteam?”IswivelroundtofaceFrank.“These two guys from school.Nick andRameen. They play online. But

LinusandIarelikethestrategists.We’regoingtoentertheLOCInternationalTournament, and the qualifiers are on July eighteenth, sowe need a ton of

practice.Theprizepotissixmilliondollars.”“What?”Istareupathim.“Seriously.”“Youwinsixmilliondollars?JustforplayingLOC?”“Not ‘just’ for playing LOC,” says Frank impatiently. “It’s the new

spectator sport.” He looks more animated than I’ve seen him for ages.“They’reholdingitinTorontoandthey’rebuildinglikethismassivestadium,and everyone’s flying in. It’s bigmoney.This iswhatMumandDaddon’tget.Thesedays,beingagamerisacareerchoice.”“Right,”Isaydubiously.Iwenttoacareersfairatschool.Ididn’tseeanyonesittingatastallunderasign,BECOMEAGAMER!“SoyouneedtomakeLinusfeelcomfortablehere,”Frankfinishes.“Ican’t

losehimoffmyteam.”“Can’tyougotohishouse?”Frank shakes his head. “We tried. His granny’s there. She’s got some

dementia thing. She won’t leave us alone. She shouts and she cries andsometimesshedoesn’tknowwhoLinus is,andshekeeps takingeverythingoutofthefreezer.They,like,havetowatchherallthetime.Linushastodoallhishomeworkatschool.”“Right.”Idigestthis.“PoorLinus.Well…youknow.Tellhimit’sallfine.”“Heaskedforyournumber,but…”Frankshrugs.“Right.”Idon’thaveaphonenumberatthemoment.Justtoaddtotheparty,I’ve

becomephone-averse.Notphobic,justaverse.WhichFrankwillneverunderstandinamillionyears.HeheadsoffandIswitchovertoYou’veBeenFramed.Felixcomesinto

watch it with me and we snuggle up on the sofa together. Felix is like awalking,talkingteddybear.He’ssoftandsnugglyandifyoupresshiminthetummy he laughs, every time. His head is a curly mass of blond like adandelion clock and his face is constantly open and hopeful. You feel likenothingmustevergowrongforhim,ever.Whichis,Iguess,howMumandDadfeltaboutme.“So,how’sschool,Felix?”Isay.“AreyoustillfriendswithAidan?”“Aidanhaschickenpops,”hetellsme.“Chickenpox?”“Chickenpops,”hecorrectsme,asthoughI’manidiot.“Chickenpops.”

“Oh,right.”Inod.“Ihopeyoudon’tgetthem.”“Iwillfightthechickenpopswithmysword,”hesaysimportantly.“I’ma

verystrongfighter.”Itakeoffmydarkglassesandlookintohisround,openlittleface.Felixis

theonlyoneIcancopewithlookingat,eyetoeye.Myparents’eyes—forgetit.They’refullofworryandfearandtoomuchknowledge.Andkindoftoomuch love, if that makes sense? If I look at them, it’s like it all comesfloodingbackovermeinagush—mingledinwiththeiranger,whichisprettyrighteous.Imean,it’snotdirectedatme,obviously,butstill.Itfeelstoxic.Frank’seyesarejustalittlefreakedouteverytimehelooksatme.It’slike,

Help,mysisterwentnuts,whatshouldIdo?Hedoesn’twant tobefreakedout, but he is.Well, of course he is.His sister hides inside andwears darkglasses—whatelsecouldhebe?ButFelix’sblueeyesareastransparentandclearandsoothingasadrinkof

water.Heknowsprettymuchnothingexceptthefactthathe’sFelix.“Hello,you,”Isay,andpressmyfacecloseagainsthis.“Hello, you.” He squashes up even closer. “Do you want to build a

snowman?”FelixhasabitofaFrozenobsession, forwhichIdon’tblamehim. Ican

relatetoQueenElsamyself.OnlyI’mnotsureI’mgoingtomelttheiceawaybysomerandomactoflove.Chipitawaywithanicepick,morelike.“Audrey.”IhearFrank’svoice.“Linusishere.Hesentyouthis.”My dark glasses are back on as I raise my head from Felix. Frank is

holdingoutafoldedsheetofpaper.“Oh,”Isay,nonplussed,andtakeitfromhim.“OK.”As Frank heads away, I unfold the sheet and read the unfamiliar

handwriting.

Hi.Sorryabouttheotherday.Ididn’tmeantofreakyouout.Linus

OhGod.I mean, oh God on so many levels. First, he thinks he freaked me out.

(Which he did, but not because he’s freaky.) Second, he feels the need toapologise,whichmakesmefeelbad.Third,whatdoIdonow?Ithinkforaninstant,thenwriteunderneath:

No,I’msorry.Ihavethisweirdthing.It’snotyou.

Audrey

“Felix,”Isay.“GoandgivethistoLinus.Linus,”Irepeatashestaresatmewithblankeyes.“Frank’sfriend.Linus?Thebigboy?”Felixtakesthepaperandlooksatitcarefullyforamoment.Thenhefolds

itup,putsitinhispocket,andstartsplayingwithatrain.“Felix,goon,”Iprodhim.“GiveittoLinus.”“Butitfitsinmypocket,”heobjects.“It’smypocketpaper.”“It’snotyours.It’sanote.”“Iwantapocketpaper!”Hescrewsuphisfacetohowl.ForGod’ssake.Inmovies,theyfixthenotetoadog’scollarandittrotsoff

obediently,nononsense.“OK,Felix,youcanhaveapocketpaper,”Isayinexasperation.“Whatever

thatis.Hereyouare.”Iripapageoutofamagazine,folditupandstuffitinhispocketinstead.“NowgivethisonetoLinus.Intheplayroom.”WhenFelixfinallyleaves,Ihavenoconfidencethatthenotewillreachits

destination. It’sa thousand timesmore likely thatFelixwill feed it into thewaste disposal or theDVD player or just forget it exists. I turn upYou’veBeenFramedandtrytoforgetaboutit.Butabouttwominuteslaterthere’sFelixholdingthenote,sayingexcitedly,

“Readit!Readthepocketpaper!”I unfold it—and Linus has added a new line. This is like a game of

Consequences.

Frankexplained.Mustbetoughforyou.

Ismooththepaperoutonmykneeandwrite:

It’sfine.Well,youknow,notfine.Itiswhatitis.Hopeyou’rewinning.BTW,youwereagreatAtticusFinch.

I send the paper off with Felix theWonder Dog and stare ahead at thescreen—butI’mnotwatchingYou’veBeenFramedatall.I’mjustwaiting.Ihaven’t done anything like this in forever. I haven’t interactedwith anyoneexceptmysafepeoplefor…Idon’tknow.Weeks.Months.BeforeIknowit,Felixisback,andIgrabthepaperfromhim.

Hey,thanks.Actuallywe’retanking.FrankisshoutingatmebecauseI’mwritingthis.Youareabadinfluence,Audrey.

I look at theway hewrotemy name. It feels intimate. It feels like he’stakenholdofapieceofme.Itrytohearhisvoicesayingtheword.Audrey.“Drawthewords,”Felixisinstructingme.He’stotallygotintohisroleas

go-between.“Drawthewords.”Hejabsthepaper.“Words!”Idon’twant togive thispaper toFelixanymore. Iwant tofold itupand

keepitsomewherewhereIcanlookatitinprivate.Studyhiswriting.Thinkabouthimformingmynamewithhispen.Audrey.I grab a fresh piece of paper from the side table where all my school

suppliesarestackedandscribbleonit.

Well,it’sbeennicechattingorwhatever.Seeyou.

Isenditoffandhalfaminutelaterthereplycomes:

Seeyou.

I’mstillholdingthefirstpaper;theonewithmynameonit.Ipressittomyfaceandinhale.IthinkIcansmellhissoaporshampooorwhatever.Felixispressinghisnosetotheotherpaperandhelooksatmeoverthetop

withhugeeyes.“Yourpocketpapersmellslikepoo,”hesays,andburstsintolaughter.Trustafour-year-oldtoruinthemood.“Thanks,Felix.”Irufflehishair.“You’reagreatmessenger.”“Drawmorewords,”hesays,pattingthepaper.“Morewords.”“We’vefinishedourchat,”Isay,butFelixpicksupacrayonandhandsitto

me.“Makeredwords,”hecommandsme.“Make‘Felix.’ ”Iwrite“Felix”andhegazesatitlovinglyasIdrawhimcloseforanother

restoringcuddle.Ifeelkindofexhilarated.Andkindofemptiedout.Whichmayseemlike

anoverreaction,butthen,incaseyouhadn’tpickeditup,IamtheQueenofOverreaction.Thetruthis,ifyoudon’tcommunicatewithanyonenew,ever,atall,then

you lose the knack. Andwhen you go back to it, it’s sort of draining. Dr.Sarah haswarnedme about that. She says I should expect even the tiniesttasksornewstepstobeabitexhausting.Andbelieveitornot,thatsillylittleexchangeofnoteswas.Nice,though.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Camerapanstowardsacloseddoor.

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

Sothisismydad’sstudy.

Thisiswhereheworkswhenhe’snotatthe

office.

Thedoorispushedopenbyahand.WeseeDad,

slumpedathisdesk,gentlysnoring.Onthescreen

isanAlfaRomeosportscar.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Dad?Areyouasleep?

Dadjumpsupandhastilyclosesdownhismonitor.

DAD

Iwasn’tASLEEP.Iwasthinking.So,have

youwrappedyourpresentforMum?

AUDREY(V.O.)

That’swhyI’mhere.Doyouhaveany

wrappingpaper?

DAD

Ido.

Hereachesforarollofwrappingpaperandhandsit

toAudrey.

DAD

Andlookwhatelse!

Heproducesawhitepâtisserieboxandopensitto

revealalargebirthdaycake.Itisicedwithabig

“39.”

Thereissilenceforamoment.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Dad,whyhaveyouput“thirty-nine”on

Mum’scake?

DAD

No-one’stoooldforapersonalized

birthdaycake.

(Hetwinklesatthecamera.)

IknowI’mnot.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Butshe’snotthirty-nine.

DAD

(puzzled)

Yessheis.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Noshe’snot.

DAD

Yesshe—

Hebreaksoffandgasps.Aghast.Helooksatthe

cakeandbackatthecamera.

DAD

OhGod.Willshemind?No.Ofcourseshe

won’tmind.Imean,it’soneyear,what’s

thebigdeal—

AUDREY(V.O.)

Dad,shewillSOmind.

Dadlookspanic-stricken.

DAD

Weneedanewcake.Howlongdowehave?

Wehearthesoundofadoorbangdownstairs.

MUM(OFF-SCREEN)

I’mhome!

Dadlooksfreakedout.

DAD

Audrey,whatshallIdo?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Wecanfixit.Wecanchangeitto“thirty-

eight.”

DAD

Withwhat?

HepicksupaTipp-Expot.

AUDREY(V.O.)

No!

There’saknockingatthedoorandFrankcomesin.

FRANK

Mum’shome.Whenarewedoingherbirthday

tea?

DadisuncappingaSharpie.

DAD

I’llusethis.

AUDREY(V.O.)

No!Frank,gotothekitchen.Weneedsome

writingicingorsomething.Anythingedible

youcanwritewith.Butdon’tletMumknow

whatyou’redoing.

FRANK

(baffled)

Anythingedibleyoucanwritewith?

DAD

Quick!

Frankdisappears.Thecamerafocusesonthecake.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Howdidyougetheragewrong?

Imean,howdidyoumanagethat?

DAD

(clutcheshead)

Idon’tknow.I’vespentallmonthwriting

financialreportsaboutnextyear.Mywhole

mind-setisnextyear.IguessIlosta

yearsomewhere.

Frankburstsintotheroomholdingasqueezybottle

ofHeinzketchup.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Ketchup?Seriously?

FRANK

(defensive)

Well,Ididn’tknow!

Dadgrabsthebottle.

DAD

Canweturna“nine”intoan“eight”with

ketchup?

FRANK

Youwon’tfoolher.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Gooverthewholenumberwithketchup.Make

thewholethingaketchupcake.

FRANK

Whywouldyouiceacakewithketchup?

DAD

(hurriedlyicing)

Mumlovesketchup.It’sfine.It’sall

good.

OK, so here’s a life lesson.Don’t try fixing a birthday cakewith ketchup.Tipp-Exwouldhavebeenbetter.AsDadbroughtoutthecake,Mum’sjawdropped.Andnotinagoodway.

Imean, if you take awhite iced cake and pipe it all overwith ketchup, itbasically looks like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. We all launched into“HappyBirthday”extra loudly,andassoonaswe’d finishedandMumhadblownouther(one)candle,Dadsaid,“Great!Soletmetakethatawayandcutitup—”“Wait.”Mumputahandonhis.“WhatISthat?That’snotketchup?”“It’s a Heston Blumenthal recipe,” said Dad without blinking.

“Experimental.”“Right.”Mumstilllookedpuzzled.“Butisn’tthat…”Beforeanyonecould

stop her, she was scraping the ketchup off with a napkin. “I thought so!There’samessageunderneath.”“It’snothing,”saidDadquickly.“Butit’spipedinicing!”Shewipedawaythelastblobsofketchupandwe

allstaredinsilenceatthesmearedred-and-whitecake.“Chris,”saidMumatlastinanoddvoice.“Whydoesitsaythirty-nine?”“Itdoesn’t!Itsaysthirty-eight.Look.”Dad’shandtracedoverthevestiges

oftheketchup.“That’saneight.”“Nine.”Felixpointedconfidentlyatthecake.“Numbernine.”“It’saneight,Felix!”saidDadsharply.“Eight!”I could see Felix staring at the cake in puzzlement and felt a twinge of

sympathy for him.How’she supposed to learn anythingwithnutsoparentslikeours?“It’sanine,Felix,”Iwhisperedinhisear.“Daddy’sjoking.”“DoyouthinkI’mthirty-nine?”MumlookedupatDad.“DoIlookthirty-

nine?Isthatwhatyouthink?”Shesquashedherfacebetweenherhandsandglaredathim.“Isthisathirty-nine-year-oldface?Isthatwhatyou’retellingme?”IthinkDadshouldhavejustjunkedthecake.

Sothiseveningmydadistakingmymumonadateforherbirthday,whichyou can tell from the clouds of perfume that suddenly descend onto thelanding.Mumisn’texactlysubtlewhenshegoesout.Asshealwaystellsus,hersociallifeispracticallynonexistentsincehavingthreekids,sowhenshegoesout,shemakesupforitwithperfume,eyeliner,hairsprayandheels.Asshetottersdownthestairs,Icanseealittlefake-tanblotchonthebackofherarm,butIwon’ttellher.Notonherbirthday.“Willyoubeall right,darling?”Sheputsherhandsonmyshouldersand

looks anxiously at me. “You’ve got our numbers. Any problems, you tellFranktocall,straightaway.”MumknowsI’mnotbrilliantwithphones.WhichiswhyFrankisofficially

onbabysittingduty,notme.“I’llbefine,Mum.”“Of course you will,” she says, but doesn’t let go of my shoulders.

“Sweetheart,takeiteasy.Haveanearlynight.”“Iwill,”Ipromise.“And,Frank.”She looksupashe lopes into thehall.“Youwillbedoing

homeworkonly.BecauseIamtakingthiswithme.”Shebrandishesapowercabletriumphantly,andFrankgapes.“Didyou—”“Unplugyourcomputer?Yes,youngman,Idid.Idon’twantthatcomputer

goingonforananosecond.IfyoufinishyourhomeworkyoucanwatchTVorreadabook.ReadsomeDickens!”“Dickens,”echoesFrankindisparagingtones.“Yes,Dickens!Whynot?WhenIwasyourage—”“I know.” Frank cuts her off. “You went to see Dickens live. And he

rocked.”Mumrollshereyes.“Veryfunny.”“So! Where’s the birthday girl?” Dad comes hurrying down the stairs,

bringingwithhimacloudofaftershave.Whatisitwithparentsandtoomuchperfume? “Now, are you guys OK?”He looks at me and Frank. “Becausewe’llonlyberoundthecorner.”Myparentscannotleavethehouse.MumhastodoafinalcheckonFelix,

and Dad remembers he left the sprinkler on in the garden and then MumwantstomakesurethatherSkyPlusisrecordingEastEnders.Eventuallywechivvythemoutandlookateachother.“They’ll be back in, like, an hour,” predicts Frank, and heads off to the

playroom. I followhimbecause I don’t havemuch else to do, and Imightread his new Scott Pilgrim. He goes to his computer station, rummagesaroundinhisschoolbag,andproducesapowercable.Thenheplugs inhiscomputerandlogsin,anduppopsagameofLOC.“DidyouknowMumwasgoingtotakeyourcable?”Iask,impressed.“She’sdoneitbefore.I’vegotlikefiveofthem.”Hiseyesglazeoverashe

startsplayingandIknowthere’snopointtalkingtohim.IlookaroundfortheScottPilgrim,finditunderanemptyjumboHulaHoopspacket,andcurluptoreaditonthesofa.It seems about amoment later that I glance up to seeMum at the door,

standingthereinherheels.Howdidthathappen?“Mum.”Iblink,disoriented.“Aren’tyouout?”“Icamebackformyphone.”Hertoneissweetandominous.“Frank?What

areyoudoing?”OhGod.Frank.Frank!Myheadwhipsroundinapprehension.Frankisstill

movinghismousearoundthemat,hisearphoneson.“Frank!”Mumbarks,andhelooksup.“Yes?”“Whatareyoudoing?”saysMum,inthesamesweet,ominoustone.“Languagelab,”saysFrank,withoutmissingabeat.“Language…what?”Mumseemswrong-footed.“French homework. It’s a vocab-testing program. I had to find an old

powercabletodoit.Ithoughtyouwouldn’tmind.”Hepointsat themonitor,andIseearmoire floatingroundthescreenina

bigredfont,followedbywardrobeinblue.Wow.Hemusthavemovedquicklytogetthatupon-screen.Actually,playingLOCdoes improveyour reaction times. Imean, that’sa

realthing.“You’vebeendoinglanguagelaball thistime?”Mumglancesatmewith

narrowedeyes,andIlookaway.Iamnotgettingintothis.“I’vebeenreadingScottPilgrim,”Isaytruthfully.Mum’sfocusreturnstoFrank.“Frank,areyoulyingtome?”“Lying?”Franklookshurt.“Don’tgivemethat!Areyoutellingme,handonheart, thatyou’vebeen

doingyourhomeworkandnothingelse?”Frankjuststaresatherforamoment.Thenheshakeshishead,hisfacesad.

“Youadults.Youthinkteenagerslie.Youassumeteenagerslie.That’sthestartingpoint.It’sinfinitelydepressing.”“Idon’tassumeanything—”beginsMum,buthecutsheroff.“You do! All of you make these easy, obvious, lazy assumptions that

anyoneundertheageofeighteenisapathological,dishonest,sub-humanwithnointegrity.Butwe’repeople,justlikeyou,andyoudon’tseemtogetthat!”His face is suddenlypassionate. “Mum,can’tyou just foroncebelieve thatyoursonmightbedoingtherightthing?Can’tyoujustforoncegivemeanounceofcredit?But,look,ifyouwantmetodisconnectthecomputerandnotdomyFrenchhomework,that’sfine.I’lltelltheteachertomorrow.”Mum looks thrown by Frank’s little speech. In fact, she looks quite

chastened.“I didn’t say you were lying! I just…Look, if you’re doing French

homework,that’sfine.Carryon.I’llseeyoulater.”Shetip-tapsdownthehall,andafewmomentslaterwehearthefrontdoor

close.“You’re sick,” I say, without looking up from my book. Frank doesn’t

reply.He’s alreadyengrossed inhisgameagain. I turn apageand listen toFrank’s mutterings, and wonder whether to go and make a hot chocolate,when suddenly there’s the most almighty banging on the window, fromoutside.“FRAAAAAAANK!!!”I jump a mile, and feel myself start to hyperventilate. Mum is at the

window,staringin,herfacelikesomemonstrousdemon.Imean,I’veneverseen her look so furious. “Chris!” she’s yelling now. “COMEHERE! I’VECAUGHTHIMRED-HANDED!”Howissheevenupthere?Thewindowsoftheplayroomarelike,eightfeet

offthegroundoutside.I glance at Frank, and he looks genuinely a bit freaked out.He’s closed

downLOC,butshesawit.Imean,there’snowayshedidn’tseeit.“You’reforit,”Isay.“Shit.”Frankscowls.“Ican’tbelieveshewouldspyonme.”“Chris!”Mumisyelling.“Help!I…Arrrgh!”Herfacedisappearsfromthewindowandthere’saloudcrunch.OhmyGod.What just happened? I leap tomy feet and run to the back

door.Thewindowoftheplayroombacksontothegarden,andasIheadout,Ican’tseeMumanywhere.AllIcanseeisFelix’splayhouse,pulleduptothe

playroomwindow.Buttheroofseemstohavebroken,and—No.Noway.Mum’sfeetarepokingoutofit,stillinherhighheels.Frankarriveson theback step, and seeswhat I’m lookingat.Heclapsa

handoverhismouthandInudgehim.“Shutup!Shemightbehurt!Mum,areyouOK?”Icall,hurryingoverto

theplayhouse.“Anne!”Dadhasarrivedon thescene.“Whathappened?Whatwereyou

doing?”“Iwaslookinginthewindow,”comesMum’sstifledvoice.“Getmeoutof

here.I’mtotallywedgedin.”“IthoughtstandingontheplayhousewasabadexampletoFelix,Mum,”

saysFrankblandly,andIhearafuriousgasp.“You little…” It’s probably a good thingMum’s voice ismuffled at that

point.Ittakesme,Dad,andFranktogethertohaulMumoutoftheplayhouse,and

Ican’tsayitimproveshermood.Asshebrushesherhairdown,she’sshakingwithfury.“Right,youngman,”shesaystoFrank,whoisstaringsullenlyatthefloor.

“Well,youhavecookedyourgoose.Youareherebybannedfromplayinganycomputergamesfor…whatdoyouthink,Chris?”“Oneday,”saysDadfirmly,justasMumsays,“Twomonths.”“Chris!”saysMum.“Oneday?”“Well,Idon’tknow!”saysDaddefensively.“Don’tputmeonthespot.”MumandDadgooff inahuddleandstartwhispering,whileFrankandI

wait awkwardly. I could go inside, I suppose, but I want to see how it allworksout.Thisisprettylame,though,havingtostandherewhiletheywhisperthings

like“Reallygetthemessageacross”and“Makeitcount.”WhenI’maparentI’msogoingtoworkoutthepunishmentfirst.“OK.”Dadeventuallyemergesfromthehuddle.“Tendays.Nocomputer,

nophone,nothing.”“Tendays?”FrankgivesDadoneofhisdeath-ray,please-die-nowstares.

“Thatissooutofproportion.”“Itisnot.”Mumholdsoutherhand.“Phone,please.”

“Butwhataboutmyteammates?Ican’tjustletthemdown.Allthatbullshityougivemeaboutteamspiritand‘allpulltogether’?AndnowIjustletthesidedown?”“Whatteammates?”Mumlooksconfused.“Isthisthecross-countryteam?”“MyLOC teammates!”saysFrank.“We’repracticingfor the tournament,

likeI’vetoldyouabilliontimes.”“Acomputergametournament?”saysMum,insupremedisdain.“The internationalLOC tournament!The prize pot is sixmillion dollars!

That’swhyLinuscomesroundthewholetime!WhatdoIsaytohim?”“Tellhimyou’rebusy,”saysMumcrisply.“Infact,I’dratherLinusdidn’t

come round anymore. I think you should find some friends with widerinterests.AndheupsetAudrey.”“Linusismyfriend!”Franklookslikehewantstoexplode.“Youcan’tban

myfriggingfriends!”OK, “frigging”was amistake. I can seeMumdrawing herself up like a

cobrareadytostrike.“Please don’t swear, Frank,” she says icily. “And yes I can. This is my

house.Icontrolwhocomesinandoutofit.YouknowAudreyhadanattackwhenhewashere?”“Shewon’thaveanymoreattacks,”saysFrankatonce.“Audrey’sgetting

usedtoLinus,aren’tyou,Audrey?”“He’sOK,”Isayweakly.“We’lldiscussit,”saysMum,givingFrankanothericystare.“Fornow,can

Itrustyoutocarryonwithyourhomeworktonight,andnotproduceanotherpower cable, or do I have to cancelmybirthdaydinner, theoneDad and Ihave been looking forward to all month and which has already been half-ruined?”Shelooksatherlegs.“Mytightsaretotallyruined.”When she puts it like that, you do feel guilty. I mean, I feel bad, and I

didn’tevendoanything,soIexpectFrankfeelsworse.Althoughyouneverknow,withFrank.“Sorry,”hemutters at last, andwewatch silently asMumandDadhead

backroundthehousetothedrive.Wehearthecardoorsbangandthey’reoffagain.“Tendays,”saysFrankatlast,closinghiseyes.“Itcouldhavebeentwomonths,”Isay,tryingtomakehimfeelbetter,and

immediately realizing this is a really lame and annoying thing to say. “Imean…sorry.Thatsucks.”

“Yeah.”WegoinsideandIheadtowardsthekitchen.I’mputtingthekettleonfor

hotchocolatewhenIhearFrankatthedoor:“Listen,Audrey,youhavetogetusedtoLinus.”“Oh.”I feelaweird little flip inside. It’s thatname.Linus. Itdoes that to

me.“Heneedstocomeroundhere.Heneedsaspacetopractice.”“ButMumwon’tletyouplay.”“Onlyfortendays.”Hewaveshishandimpatiently.“Thenweneedtoget

someserioushoursin.It’sthequalifierscomingup.”“Right.”Ispoonhotchocolatepowderintomymug.“So you can’t freak outwhen you see him. Imean, not ‘freak out,’ ” he

amends at my expression. “Have an attack. Whatever. I know it’s reallyserious.Iknowit’sanillness,blahblah,Iknowallthat.”Frankwasdraggedalongtoafamilytherapygroupthingacoupleoftimes.

Actually,hewasreallysweetatit.Hesaidsomenicethingstome.Andaboutme,andwhathappened,and—Anyway.“The point is, Linus needs to come here, without Mum getting on my

case,”Frank is saying. “Soyouhave tobe able to lookathimandnot runawayorwhatever.OK?”There’sapause. Ipourboilingwater intomymugandwatch thepowder

swirling round, turning from a dusty nothing into sublime hot chocolate inseconds.All it takes is one extra element to transform it. I think about thateverytimeImakehotchocolate.Whichisnotagoodthing,bytheway.Ithinktoomuch.Waaaaytoomuch.

Everyone’sagreedonthat.“Try,atanyrate,”Franksays.“Please?”“OK.”Ishrug,andtakeasipofhotchocolate.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Mum,DadandFrankaresittingroundthebreakfast

table.MumisreadingtheMail.Dadisonhis

BlackBerry.

ThecamerazoomsinonFrank.Helooksthunderous

andsulky.

MUM

So,Frank,whatareyoudoingtodayafter

school?

Frankdoesn’treply.

MUM

Frank?

Frankissilent.

MUM

FRANK?

ShenudgesDadwithherfoot.Dadlooksup,

bewildered.

MUM

CHRIS!

ShenodsmeaningfullyatFrank.Dadcottonson.

DAD

Frank,don’tbesorude.Weliveina

familyhere.Wecommunicate.Answeryour

mother.

FRANK

(rollseyes)

Idon’tknowwhatI’mdoingafterschool.

Notplayingcomputergames,clearly.

MUM

Well,Iwantyoutogothroughyourshirts.

Idon’tknowwhathappenstothem.Chris,

wecangothroughyourstoo.

DadisworkingonhisBlackBerry.

MUM

CHRIS?CHRIS?

Dadistooabsorbedtohear.

FRANK

Dad?Family?Communicate?Family?

HewavesahandinfrontofDad’sfaceandDad

finallylooksup.HeblinksatFrank.

DAD

No,youCANNOTgoouttonight.Youare

grounded,youngman.

Helooksattheblankfaces.Realizeshe’sgotit

wrong.

DAD

Imean…stackthedishwasher.

(Hetriesagain.)

Imean,putyourlaundryintheright

basket.

(givesup)

Whateveryourmothersays.

It’sthenextnightthatFrankappearsatthedoorofthedenandsays,withnopreamble,“I’mgoingtobringLinusintosayhello.”“Right,”Isay,tryingtosoundrelaxedandcasual.“OK.”Relaxed and casual? What a joke. Already my whole body is tense.

Alreadymybreath is coming faster.Panic is rocketing roundmybody. I’mlosing control. I hear Dr. Sarah’s voice, and try to recall her soothingpresence.Allowthefeelingstobethere.Acknowledgeyourlizardbrain.Reassureyourlizardbrain.Mydamnlizardbrain.Thethingaboutbrains,whichyoumightnotknow,isthey’renotjustone

ballofjelly.They’realldividedupintobits,andsomebitsaregreatandsomearejustawasteofspace.Inmyhumbleopinion.SotheoneIcouldreallydowithoutisthelizardbrain.Orthe“amygdala,”

asit’scalledinthebooks.Everytimeyoufreezeinfright,that’syourlizardbraintakingover.It’scalledthelizardbrainbecauseweallhadoneoftheseevenwhenwewere lizards,apparently. It’s, like,prehistoric.And it’s reallyhardtocontrol.Imean,OK,allbitsofyourbrainarehardtocontrol,butthelizard brain is the worst. It basically tells your body what to do throughchemicals and electrical signals. It doesn’twait for evidence and it doesn’tthink, it just has instincts. Your lizard brain is totally not rational orreasonable:allitwantstodoisprotectyou.Fight,flight,freeze.SoIcantellmyselfrationally that talkingtoLinus in thesameroomand

everything will be fine. No worries. What’s the problem? A conversation.Whatcouldbedangerousaboutaconversation?But my stupid lizard brain is all, like, “Red alert! Danger! Run away!

Panic! Panic!”And it’s pretty loud and convincing.Andmy body tends tolistentoit,nottome.Sothat’sthebummer.Everymuscle inmybody is taut.Myeyes are flicking around in fear. If

yousawmenowyou’dthinktherewasadragonintheroom.Mylizardbrainisinoverdrive.AndeventhoughI’mtellingmyselffranticallyto ignorethe

stupid lizard brain, it’s kind of hard when you have a prehistoric reptilebangingawayinsideyourhead,yelling“Run!”“ThisisLinus.”Frank’svoicebreaksintomythoughts.“I’llleaveyoutwo

together.”Andbefore Icanescape, therehe is,at thedoor.Samebrownhair, same

easysmile.Ifeelkindofunreal.AllIcanhearismyownbrainsayingDon’trun,don’trun,don’trun.“Hi,”hesays.“Hi,”Imanagetoreply.Thethoughtoffacinghimorlookingathimisimpossible,soIturnaway.

Rightaway.Staringintothecorner.“AreyouOK?”Linustakesafewstepsintotheroomandpauses.“I’mfine.”“Youdon’tlookthatfine,”heventures.“Right.Well.”I pause, trying to think of an explanation that doesn’t involve thewords

weirdornutty.“SometimesIget toomuchadrenaline inmybody,” Isayatlast.“It’sjust,like,athing.Ibreathetoofast,stufflikethat.”“Oh,OK.”Isensethathenods,althoughobviously,Ican’tlookathim,soI

can’tbesure.Simply sitting here and not running away feels like riding a rodeo. It’s

takingamajoreffort.Myhandsaretwistingthemselvesupinknots.Ihaveanaching desire to grabmy T-shirt and start shredding it to bits, only I havevowedtoDr.SarahthatIwillstopshreddingmyclothes.SoIwillnotshredmy top. Even though itwouldmakeme feel a ton better; even thoughmyfingersaredyingtofindaplaceofsafety.“Theyshould teachus this stuff inbiology lessons,” saysLinus. “This is

waymoreinterestingthanthelifecycleoftheamoeba.CanIsitdown?”headdsawkwardly.“Sure.”Heperchesontheedgeofthesofaand,Ican’thelpit,Iedgeaway.“Isthistodowitheverythingthat…happened?”“Abit.”Inod.“Soyouknowaboutthat.”“Ijustheardstuff.Youknow.Everyonewastalkingaboutit.”Asick feeling risesup insideme.Howmany timeshasDr.Sarahsaid to

me,“Audrey,everyoneisnottalkingaboutyou”?Well,she’swrong.“Freya Hill’s gone to my cousin’s school,” he continues. “I don’t know

whathappenedtoIzzyLawtonorTashaCollins.”Irecoilatthenames.“Idon’treallywanttotalkaboutit.”“Oh.OK.Fairenough.”Hehesitates,thensays,“So,youweardarkglasses

alot.”“Yeah.”There’sasilencewhichIcansensehe’swaitingformetofill.Andactually,whynottellhim?IfIdon’t,Frankprobablywill.“Ifindeyecontacthard,”Iadmit.“Evenwithmyfamily.It’stoo…Idunno.

Toomuch.”“OK.”He digests this for amoment. “Can you do anything contact?Do

youemail?”“No.”Iswallowdownawince.“Idon’tdoemailatthemoment.”“Butyouwritenotes.”“Yes.Iwritenotes.”There’squietforamoment;thenapieceofpaperarrivesbymyside,onthe

sofa.Onitiswrittenoneword:

Hi.

Ismileatit,andreachforapen.

Hi.

Ipassitbackalongthesofa.Thenextminuteitappearsagain,andwe’reintoabackwardsandforwardsconversation,allonpaper.

Isthiseasierthantalking?

Abit.

SorryImentionedyourdarkglasses.Sorepoint.

That’sOK.

Irememberyoureyesfrombefore.

Before?

IcameroundoncetoseeFrank.Inoticedyoureyesthen.They’reblue,right?

Ican’tbelieveheregisteredthecolourofmyeyes.

Yes.Wellremembered.

I’msorryyouhavetogothroughallthis.

Metoo.

Itwon’tbeforever.You’llbeinthedarkforaslongasittakesandthenyou’llcomeout.

Istareatwhathe’swritten,abittakenaback.Hesoundssoconfident.

Youthink?

Myauntgrowsspecialrhubarbindarksheds.Theykeepitdarkandwarmallwinterandharvestitbycandlelightandit’sthebeststuff.Shesellsitforafortune,btw.

Sowhat,I’mrhubarb?

Whynot?Ifrhubarbneedstimeinthedarkmaybeyoudotoo.

I’mRHUBARB?!

There’s a long pause. Then the paper arrives back under my nose. He’sdoneadrawingofarhubarbstalkwithdarkglasseson.Ican’thelpasnortoflaughter.“So,I’dbettergo.”Hegetstohisfeet.“OK.Niceto…youknow.Chat.”“Same.Well,bye,then.Seeyousoon.”Iliftahand,myfacetwistedresolutelyaway,desperatelywishingIcould

turntowardshim,tellingmyselftoturn—butnotturning.They talk about “body language,” as if we all speak it the same. But

everyonehastheirowndialect.Formerightnow,forexample,swivelingmybodyrightawayandstaringrigidlyatthecornermeans,“Ilikeyou.”BecauseIdidn’trunawayandshutmyselfinthebathroom.Ijusthopeherealizesthat.

AtmynextappointmentwithDr.Sarah,shewatchesmydocumentarysofar,whilemaking notes.Mumhas come to the appointment, as she does everynowandthen,andshekeepsuparunningcommentary:“I don’t knowWHAT I was wearing that day…Dr. Sarah, please don’t

think our kitchen is usually that untidy…Audrey, why did you film thecompostheap,forgoodness’sake”—untilDr.Sarahpolitelytellshertoshutup.Attheendshesitsbackinherchairandsmilesatme.“Ienjoyedthat.You’vebeenagoodflyonthewall,Audrey.NowIwant

that fly tobuzz around the roomabit. Interviewyour family.Maybe someoutsiderstoo.Pushyourselfalittle.”AtthewordoutsidersIclenchup.“Whatkindofoutsiders?”“Anyone.Themilkman.Oroneofyouroldschoolfriends?”Shesaysthis

casually,asthoughshedoesn’tknowthatmy“oldschoolfriends”areasorepoint. For a start, what “old school friends”? There weren’t that many tobeginwith,andIhaven’tseenanyofthemsinceleavingStokeland.Nataliewasmybestfriend.ShewrotemealetterafterIleftschoolandher

mumsentflowersandIknowtheycallMumeverysooften.Ijustcan’treply.Ican’tseeher.Ican’tfaceher.Anditdoesn’thelpthatMumkindofblamesNatalieforwhathappened.Oratleast,shethinksNataliewas“culpable”for“notactingsooner.”Whichissounfair.NoneofitwasNatalie’sfault.Imean,yes,Nataliecouldhavesaid something.The teachersmighthave

believed me sooner then. But you know what? Natalie was paralysed bystress.AndIgetthatnow.Ireallydo.“Soyou’lldothat,Audrey?”Dr.Sarahhasthiswayofpressingyouuntil

youagree todo something, and shewrites it down likehomeworkandyoucan’tpretenditdoesn’texist.“I’lltry.”“Good! You need to start widening your horizons. When we suffer

prolongedanxiety,wehaveatendencytobecomeself-obsessed.Idon’tmeanthatinapejorativeway,”sheadds.“It’ssimplyafact.Youbelievethewholeworldisthinkingaboutyouconstantly.Youbelievetheworldisjudgingyou

andtalkingaboutyou.”“Theyarealltalkingaboutme.”Iseizetheopportunitytoproveherwrong.

“Linustoldmetheywere.So.”Dr.Sarahlooksupfromhernotesandgivesmethatpleasant,levellookof

hers.“Who’sLinus?”“Aboy.Afriendofmybrother.”Dr.Sarahislookingbackathernotes.“ItwasLinuswhovisitedbefore?Whenyoufoundthingsdifficult?”“Yes.Imean,he’sOK,actually.We’vetalked.”Apinktingeiscreepingovermyface.IfDr.Sarahnoticesit,shedoesn’t

sayanything.“He’s a computer game addict, likeFrank,” saysMum. “Dr.Sarah,what

am I going to do about my son? I mean, should I bring him to see you?What’snormal?”“IsuggestweconcentrateonAudreytoday,”saysDr.Sarah.“Feelfreeto

consultme at a different time about Frank if you feel it would be helpful.Let’s return to your concern, Audrey.” She smiles at me, effectivelydismissingMum.IcanseeMumbristle,andIknowshe’llslagoffDr.Sarahalittleinthecar

onthewayhome.MumandDr.Sarahhaveaweirdrelationship.MumadoresDr.Sarah,likewealldo,butIthinksheresentshertoo.Ithinkshe’ssecretlypoisedforthemomentwhenDr.Sarahsays,Well,Audrey,ofcourseit’sallthefaultofyourparents.WhichofcourseDr.Sarahneverhassaid.Andneverwill.“Thetruthis,Audrey,”Dr.Sarahissaying,“thatyes,peoplewillprobably

talkaboutyouforafractionofthetime.I’msuremypatientstalkaboutme,andI’msureit’snotalwayscomplimentary.Butthey’llgetboredandmoveon.Canyoubelievethat?”“No,”Isayhonestly,andDr.Sarahnods.“Themoreyouengagewith theoutsideworld, themoreyou’llbeable to

turn down the volume on thoseworries.You’ll see that they’re unfounded.You’ll see that theworld is a very busy and varied place andmost peoplehavetheattentionspanofagnat.They’vealreadyforgottenwhathappened.They don’t think about it. Therewill have been fivemore sensations sinceyourincident.Won’tthere?”Ishrugreluctantly.

“Butit’shardforyoutobelievethat,trappedinyourownlittleworld.Andforthatreason,I’dlikeyoutostartmakingvisitsoutofthehouse.”“What?”Mychinjerksupinhorror.“Where?”“Toyourlocalhighstreet?”“No.Ican’t.”Mychesthasstartedtoriseandfallattheveryidea,butDr.Sarahignores

it.“We’ve talked about exposure therapy.You can startwith a tiny visit.A

minute or two. But you need to gradually expose yourself to the world,Audrey.Orthedangeris,youreallywillbecometrapped.”“But…”Iswallow,unabletotalkproperly.“But…”Thereareblackdots in frontofmyeyes.Dr.Sarah’s roomwasalwaysa

safespace,butnowIfeelasthoughshe’sthrustingmeintoapitoffire.“Those girls might be anywhere,” says Mum, protectively grabbing my

hand.“Whatifshebumpsintooneofthem?Twoofthemarestillatschoolinthearea,youknow.Imean,it’soutrageous.Theyshouldhavebeensentaway.AndwhenIsayaway,Imeanaway.”“I know it’s difficult.” Dr. Sarah is focused solely on me. “I’m not

suggestingyougooutalone.ButIthinkit’stime,Audrey.Ithinkyoucandoit.CallitProjectStarbucks.”Starbucks?Isshekidding?Tearshavestartedtomyeyes.Mybloodispulsinginpanic.Ican’tgoto

Starbucks.Ican’t.“You’reabrave,stronggirl,Audrey,”saysDr.Sarah,asthoughreadingmy

mind, and she passesme a tissue. “Youneed to start pushingyourself.Yesyoucan.”

NoIcan’t.The next day I spend twelve solid hours in bed. Just the thought of

Starbucks has sent me slithering down a tunnel of fear, to the black, darkplace.Eventheairseemsabrasive.Everynoisemakesmeflinch.Ican’topenmyeyes.Mumbringsmesoupandsitsonmybedandstrokesmyhand.“It’stoosoon,”shesays.“Toosoon.Thesedoctorsgetcarriedaway.You’ll

getthereinyourowntime.”

Myowntime, I thinkaftershe’sgone.What’s that?What’sAudrey time?Right now it feels like a slow-motionpendulum. It’s lurching forwards andback, forwards and back, but the clock’s not ticking round. I’mnot gettinganywhere.

Andthen threedayshavepassedand thedarknesshas liftedandI’moutofbed,havinganargumentwithFrank.“ThoseweremyShreddies.IalwayseatShreddies.Youknowthat.”“Noyoudon’t,”Isay,tobeannoying.“Sometimesyoueatpancakes.”Franklookslikehemightspontaneouslycombust.“I eat pancakes when Mum makes pancakes. When she doesn’t, I eat

Shreddies.Everymorningforthelastfiveyears.Tenyears.Andyoujustgoandfinishthepacket.”“Havemuesli.”“Muesli?”He looks soaghastat the idea, Iwant togiggle. “Like raisins

andshit?”“It’shealthy.”“Youdon’t even likeShreddies,”he saysaccusingly. “Doyou?Youonly

tookthemtowindmeup.”“They’reOK.”Ishrug.“Notasgoodasmuesli.”“Igiveup.”Frankrestshisheadonhishands.“You’re just tryingtoruin

mylife.”Heshootsmeadarklook.“Ipreferredyoulyinginbed.”“Well,Ipreferredyoupluggedintoacomputer,”Ishootback.“Youwere

muchlessofapainwhenweneversawyou.”“Frank!”AsMum bursts into the kitchen, holding Felix on one hip, she

looks shocked at the sight of him, collapsed on the table. “Sweetheart.AreyouOK?”“Shreddies!”Felix yells as soon as he seesmybowl. “IwantShreddies!

Please,”headdssweetlyasheslithersdownfromMum.“PleasemayI.”“Here you are.” I pass the bowl toFelix. “You just had to ask nicely,” I

informFrank.“Trylearningfromyourbrother.”Frankdoesn’tmoveamuscle.Mumcomesoverandprodshim.“Frank?Darling?Canyouhearme?”“I’mfine.”Atlastheliftshishead,lookingwanandpale.“Tired.”Now that I look at him, he does have black shadows under his eyes. “I

thinkI’vebeenoverdoingit,”hesaysweakly.“Homeworkandeverything.”

“Are you sleeping well?” Mum peers at him anxiously. “You teenagersneedsleep.Youshouldbesleepingfourteenhoursanight.”“Fourteenhours?”Webothstareather.“Mum, even comatose people don’t sleep fourteen hours a night,” says

Frank.“Tenhours,then,”sheamends.“Something.I’lllookitup.Areyoutaking

vitamins?”Mumstartsrandomlypullingvitaminbottlesoutofthecupboard.TeenVit,

KidVit,WellWoman,Osteocare…Imean, it’sa joke.Noneofusever takesthem.“Here.”SheplonksabouttencapsulesinfrontofFrankandanotherloadin

frontofme.“Felix,sweetheart,comeandhavesomemagnesium.”“Don’t want nesium!” he yells, and hides under the kitchen table. “No

nesium!”Heclampshishandsoverhismouth.“Oh, for God’s sake.” Mum swallows the magnesium pill herself, and

spraysherselfwithsomethingcalledSkinEnhancer,whichhasbeensittinginthekitchencupboardforthreeyears,Iknowforafact.“Youneedsomeiron,”sheaddstoFrank.“Andanearlynight.I’vegota

DVDplannedforthisevening,whichwecanallwatch,andthenstraight tobed.”“That sounds super-fun,” says Frank, staring blankly into the middle

distance.“It’saclassic,”addsMum.“Dickens.”“Dickens.Right.”Frankshrugslike,Whocares?“Atleastwe’vegotyouoffthosewretchedcomputergames!”saysMum,

soundingabittoobright.“Itjustshows,youdon’tneedtoplaythem,doyou?Imean,you’vebarelynoticed,haveyou?”“Barelynoticed?”Frankfinallyliftshisgazetomeethers.“Barelynoticed?

Areyoujoking?Barelynoticed?”“Well,it’snotlikeyou’recountingdownthedaysuntil—”Mum stops abruptly as Frank lifts his sleeve to reveal a digital watch

strappedtohisarm.“Sixty-onehours,thirty-fourminutes,twenty-sevensecondstill thebanis

lifted,” he says tonelessly. “I’m not just counting down, allmy friends arecountingdown.Soyes,Mum,Ihave‘noticed.’ ”Frank can be pretty sarcastic when he wants to, and I see two little red

spotsappearonMum’scheeks.

“Well, I don’t care!” she snaps. “Tonightwe’re all going towatchGreatExpectations,asafamily,andbelieveitornot,Frank,you’llbeamazed.Youchildrenthinkyouknowitall,butDickenswasoneofthegreateststorytellersever,andyouwillbeblownawaybythisfilm.”Asshestridesoffagain,Frankslumpsdownfurtheronthekitchentable.“Youaresolucky,”hesaysindistinctly.“No-one’sonyourcase.Youcan

dowhatthehellyoulike.”“I can’t do what the hell I like!” I say defensively. “I have to do this

documentarythewholetime.AndnowI’msupposedtogotoStarbucks.”“WhyStarbucks?”“Dunno.Starbuckstherapy.Whatever.”“Right.”Franksoundssupremelyuninterested.Butthen,allofasudden,he

sits up. “Hey.Canyou tell your therapist you’ll be cured if you attend thisyear’s European Gaming Expo in Munich and you have to take yourbrother?”“No.”“Phhhmph.”Franksubsidesontothetableagain.Mum’sright,hedoeslook

rough.“You can have these.” I give him the last remaining dregs of Shreddies,

whichFelixhasabandoned.“Yeah,right.Soggy,third-handShreddiescoveredinFelixdribble.Thanks,

Audrey.”Franksgivesmeadeathstare.Then,amomentlater,hereachesforaspoonandstartsshovelingthemin.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Camerapansaroundthelivingroom.Itisin

semidarkness.MumisgazingraptlyattheTV.Dadis

surreptitiouslyonhisBlackBerry.Frankisstaring

attheceiling.

MusiccrashesfromtheTV.ThecamerapanstotheTV

screen.Black-and-whitewritingreads“TheEnd.”

MUM

There!Wasn’tthatamazing?Wasn’titjust

themostgrippingstory?

FRANK

Itwasallright.

MUM

“Allright”?Darling,itwasDICKENS.

FRANK

(patiently)

Yeah.ItwasDickensanditwasallright.

MUM

Well,itwasbetterthanoneofyourinane

computergames,youhavetoadmitthat.

FRANK

Noitwasn’t.

MUM

Ofcourseitwas.

FRANK

Itwasn’t.

MUM

(erupts)

Areyoutellingmethatyourridiculous

gamescancompetewithaclassicDickens

story?Imean,takethecharacters!Take

Magwitch!Magwitchisunique!

FRANK

(unimpressed)

Yeah,there’saMagwitchcharacterinLOC

too.Onlyhehas,like,abetterbackstory

thantheDickensone.He’saconvict,the

same,buthecanhelpanycompetitor.

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

Hetransferspowers.

FRANK

Exceptthecompetitorhastotakeononeof

hiscrimesandpaythepenalty—

AUDREY(V.O.)

Exactly.Soyouhavetochoosewhichpower

structuretogoinat.And—

FRANK

Shutup,Aud!I’mexplaining.Exceptyou

don’tknowwhichpenaltyyou’vegottill

theymakethechoice.Soit’slikea

gamble,onlythemoreyouplay,themore

youcanworkitout.It’sawesome.

MumislookingfromFranktoAudreyandbackagain,

intotalbafflement.

MUM

OK,thismakesnosensetome.None.What

powerstructures?Whatisthat?

FRANK

Ifyouplayed,you’dfindout.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Magwitchisaprettyamazingcharacter.

MUM

Exactly!Thankyou.

Aslightpause.

MUM

TheDickensMagwitchortheLOCMagwitch?

AUDREY(V.O.)

TheLOCMagwitch,ofcourse.

FRANK

TheDickensoneisjustabit…

MUM

(sharply)

What?What’swrongwiththeDickens

Magwitch?Whatcouldbewrongwithoneof

thegreatliterarycharactersofourtime?

FRANK

He’slessinteresting.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Exactly.

FRANK

Two-dimensional.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Imean,hedoesn’tDOanything.

FRANK

(kindly)

Nooffense.I’msureDickenswasagreat

guy.

MUM

(toDAD)

Areyouhearingthis?

Mum’sbeenpissedoffwithuseversinceDickensgate.Shemadeustidyourrooms today, which hardly ever happens, and she found a cheeseburger inFrank’sroomanditallkickedoff.Idon’tmeanacheeseburgercarton, Imeananactual cheeseburger.He’d

takenabouttwobitesandputitbackintotheboxandleftitonthefloor,likeweeksago.Itwasburiedunderapileofranksportskit.Theweirdthingis,thecheeseburgerdidn’tmoulder.Itkindoffossilized.Itwasprettygross.Mumstartedonthehugestlectureaboutratsandverminandhygiene,but

Frankwavedherawayandsaid,“Ihavetogo,Mum,Linusislikeaminuteaway. You always saywe have to be polite to guests and greet them.”HestompeddownstairsandIfeltabitswoopyinmystomach.Linusagain. Ididn’t thinkwe’dbeseeingsomuchofLinuswhileFrank

wasbannedfromcomputers.Mumobviously thought the same thing,because she lookedabit thrown

andcalleddownthestairs,“Hedoesknowaboutyourcomputerban,doesn’the?” andFrank said impatiently, “Of course.”Thenhe added, as he swunground into the hall, “But Linus can playLOC onmy computer while he’shere,can’the?”Mum looked a bit flummoxed.Sheopenedhermouth, but nothing came

out. A moment later she was heading off to her bedroom, saying, “Chris?Chris,whatdoyouthinkofthis?”Thatwasallabouttenminutesago.IknowLinusisherebecauseIheard

himarrive,afewminutesago.HewentstraightintotheplayroomwithFrankand Iguess they firedupLOC straightaway.Meanwhile, IcouldhearMumandDadindiscussionintheirbedroom.“It’stheprinciple!”Mumkeptsaying.“He’sgottolearn!”IthinkDadwasonthe“They’reonlykids,it’sallfairlyharmless”tackand

Mumwas on the “Screens are evil and corruptingmy son” tack, and theycouldn’tagree,soafterawhileIgotboredlistening.IheadeddowntothedenandhereIamnow,waiting.No,notwaiting.Well,kindofwaiting.

IputonanoldepisodeofHowIMetYourMotherandtrynottocalculatehow long a gameofLOC is, andwhetherLinusmight come and sayhellowhen he’s done. Just the thought of him is givingme little twinges. Goodtwinges.Ithink.Imean,notthatheneedstosayhello.It’sprobablythelastthinghewants

todo.Whywouldhe?Only,hedidsay“Seeyousoon.”Whywouldhesay“Seeyousoon”ifhe

wasplanningtoignoremefortherestofmylife?Myhandsaretwistedup,andItrytounclenchthem.Hewon’tcome.He’s

heretoseeFrank,notme.Ineedtostopthinkingaboutthis.IturnupHowIMet YourMother and am flicking through a copy ofCloser too, for goodmeasure,whenFelixcomeschargingtowardsthesofa.“Thispocketpaperisforyou!”heannounces,andthrustsapieceofA4at

me.

Hi,Rhubarb.

He’s drawn the picture of rhubarb in dark glasses again, and I feel mymouthtwitchintoasmile.

Hi,OrangeSlice.

I’mterribleatdrawing,butsomehowImanageapictureofafacewithhairandanorangesegmentforamouth.IsendFelixtrottingoffwithit,andwait.A fewmoments later I hearMum andDad coming down the stairs, and

somesortofkerfufflecomingfromtheplayroom.“YouareSOUNREASONABLE!”Frank’svoicesuddenlyechoesthough

thehouse.“PLEASEDONOTSHOUTATMEINFRONTOFYOURFRIENDS!”

Mumshrieksback.Iinstinctivelyhavemyhandsovermyearsandamwonderingwhetherto

escapeupstairstomyroom,whenthere’sanoiseatthedoor.Ilookup—andit’shim.It’sLinus.BeforeIknowit,I’veboltedintothefurthestcornerofthesofa.Stupid,dumblizardbrain.Istarefixedlyatthewallandmutter,“Hi.”“Hi,Rhubarb.Sowhat’sthis‘orangeslice’thing?”“Oh.”Ican’thelpatinysmile,andmyfistsunclenchateenysmidgen.“I

thinkyoursmilelookslikeanorangesegment.”“Mymumsaysit’slikeacrescentmoon.”“Thereyougo,then.”Hemovesalittleintotheroom.I’mnotlookingthatway,butmyradaris

onfulltwitchalert.Ifyouspendmostofyourtimeturnedawayfrompeople,yougettoknowwhatthey’redoingwithouthavingtoseeit.“So—aren’tyouplaying?”Myvoicecomesoutalittlehusky.“Yourmum’sbannedme.Shegotabitmad.Frankwashelpingmeplay,

and she started on this thing about how he was banned, and that includedsittingwithhisfriends,tellingthemwhattodo.”“Right.” I nod. “I can imagine. Do your parents get so stressed about

computergames?”“Not really,” says Linus. “They’re more stressed about my granny. She

liveswithusandshe’spropercrazy.Imean—”He stops abruptly and there’s a prickly silence. It takes me about three

secondstorealizewhy.That’swhathe thinks Iam,hitsmewithahorrible thud, followedby,Of

coursehedoes.Thesilenceisgettingworse.Icansensethewordcrazyfloatingaroundin

theair,likethewordsonFrank’sFrenchvocabprogram.Crazy.Fou.IlearnedthatinFrench,beforeIquitschool.Folie.Thatmeanscrazytoo,

doesn’tit?Onlyitsoundslikeachicformofcrazy.Crazyin,like,aBreton-stripedtopwithredlipstick.“I’msorry,”saysLinus.“Don’tbesorry,”Isay,almostaggressively.“Youdidn’tsayanything.”Whichistrue.Hedidn’tsayanything.Hestoppedmidsentence.Exceptthatstoppingmidsentenceistheworstthingpeoplecando.It’slike,

totallypassive-aggressive,becauseyoucan’ttakeissuewithanythingthey’vesaid.Youhavetotakeissuewithwhatyouthinktheyweregoingtosay.Whichthentheydeny.TheQueenof theMidsentenceStop ismymum.Imean,she’sanexpert.

Somerecentexamplesinnoparticularorder:

1.MUM:Well, I really think your so-called friend Natalie could

have—

MidsentenceStop.

ME:What?Preventedeverythingfromhappening?Soit’sherfault?WecanlayeverythingatthedoorofNatalieDexter?

MUM:Don’toverreact,Audrey.Iwasn’tgoingtosaythat.

2.MUM: I’ve bought you some facialwash.Look, it’s especiallyformulatedforteenageskin.

ME(readinglabel):“Forproblemskinbreakouts.”YouthinkIhaveproblemskin?

MUM:Ofcoursenot,darling.Butyouhavetoadmitthatsometimesit’salittle—

MidsentenceStop.

ME:What?Rank?Gross?Like,Ishouldwalkaroundwithabagovermyhead?

MUM:Don’toverreact,Audrey.Iwasn’tgoingtosaythat.

Anyway, so I’m quite attuned to the Midsentence Stop. And Linus juststopped, totallymidsentence,andIknowwhathewasgoingtosay.Hewasgoingtosay:she’scrazylikeyou’recrazy.He’s repulsedbyme. Iknewit.He’sonlycomebyherebecause it’s like

entertainment,likeafreakshow.Thegirlinthedarkglasses,rollup,rollup,seehercowerinthecorner.The silence is going on and on, and someone has to break it, so I say

tightly,“It’sfine.I’mcrazy.Whatever.”“No!” Linus sounds really shocked. Shocked, embarrassed, discomfited.

Kindofmortified.Likehecan’tbelieveIwouldsaythat.(I’mgettingallthisfromonesyllable,youunderstand.)“You’re nothing likemy granny,” he adds, and he gives this little laugh,

likehe’senjoyingaprivatejoke.“Ifyoumetheryou’dunderstand.”

Linus’svoiceiskindofeasy.NotlikeFrank’s,whichsoundslikeaharshbatteringrammostofthetime.HelaughsagainandIfeellikethisswooshingofrelief.Ifhecanlaugh,thenhe’snotrepulsed,right?“SoIguessIwon’tberoundagaintillFrank’sbanislifted.”“Right.”“YourmumthinksI’mabadinfluence.”“My mum thinks everything is a bad influence.” I roll my eyes, even

thoughhecan’tsee.“Sodoyouevergooutoranything?”Hehasn’tstoppedmidsentence,butstill theairfeelsprickly.At least, the

airaroundmefeelsprickly.Gooutoranything.Ifeelanurgetocurlupandshutmyeyes.“No.Notreally.”“Right.”“Imean,I’msupposedtogotoStarbucks.”“Awesome.Whenareyougoingtogo?”“I’mnot.”Isayitroughly,withoutevenmeaningto.“It’s…Ican’t.”There’s another silence. I’m hunched away even further. I can sense his

questionscirculatingaround the silence likemorevocabwords:Why?Howcome?What’sgoingon?“I’m supposed to do, like, exposure therapy,” I say in amiserable rush.

“Like,youdoalittlebitatatime.ButStarbucksisn’talittlebit.It’shuge.Ijustcan’t.So.”Witheveryrevelation,I’mexpectinghimtoleave.Buthe’sstillhere.“Like allergies,” he says, sounding fascinated. “Like, you’re allergic to

Starbucks.”“I guess.” This conversation is starting to wear away at my brain. I’m

clutchingacushionforcomfort;thetendonsarestandinguponmyhands.“Soyou’reallergictoeyecontact.”“I’mallergictoeverythingcontact.”“Noyou’renot,”he saysatonce. “You’renot allergic tobraincontact. I

mean you write notes. You talk. You still want to talk to people, you justcan’t.Soyourbodyneedstocatchupwithyourbrain.”I’msilentforawhile.No-one’sputitlikethatbefore.“Isuppose,”Isayatlast.“Whataboutshoecontact?”

“What?”“Shoecontact!”“What’sshoecontact?”I’dlaugh,onlymystupidlizardbrainhasdisabled

thelaughbuttonfornow.I’mtoofrozenupwithtension.Iamowedsomuchlaughter.SometimesIhopeI’mbuildingupastockpile

ofmissinglaughs,andwhenI’verecovered,they’llallcomeexplodingoutinonegiganticfitthatlaststwenty-fourhours.Meanwhile,Linushassatdownonthesofa,at theotherendfromme.In

myperipheralvisionIseehimextendingagrubbytrainer.“Goon,”hesays.“Shoecontact.Let’sdoit.”Ican’tmove.I’mahedgehogrolledintoaball.Idon’twanttoknow.“Youcanmoveyourfoot,”saysLinus.“Youdon’thavetolookatit.Just

moveit.”Hesoundspersistent. Ican’tbelieve this ishappening.Mylizardbrain is

really not liking this. It’s tellingme to dive under the blanket. Hide. Run.Anything.MaybeifIdon’treact,Itellmyself,he’lljustgiveupandwecanforgetall

aboutit.Butthesecondstickon,andhedoesn’tgoanywhere.“Goon,”hesaysencouragingly.“Ibetyoucandoit.”AndnowIhaveDr.Sarah’svoice inmyhead:Youneed tostartpushing

yourself.Gradually, I shift my foot across the carpet, until the rubber rim of my

trainer is touching therubber rimofhis.Therestofmybody isstill turnedaway.I’mstaringfixedlyatthefabricofthesofa,myentirebrainfocusedontheinchoffootthatisincontactwithhis.And OK, I know there’s like two layers of trainer rubber between us, I

knowthiscouldnotbe lesseroticorromanticorwhatever,andby theway,my entire body is still twisted firmly away from his as if I can’t stand thesightofhim.Butstill,itfeelskindof—Well.SeehowIstoppedmidsentence?Icandoittoo.WhenIdon’tnecessarily

wanttorevealtheexactthoughtI’mhaving.Ifeelbreathless,isallIwilladmitto.“There.”Hesoundssatisfied.“See?”Linusdoesn’t soundbreathless.He just sounds interested, likeIproveda

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 isbroken.“Yeah.Seeyou.”“Yourmumwillchasemeoutofthehouseinaminute.I’dbettergo.”“Huh.Yeah.”Ihunchtowardsthesofacorner,determinednottogiveawayhowIkindof

wishhe’dstay.“Oh.Um,”Isayashereachesthedoor.“MaybeIcouldinterviewyoufor

mydocumentary.”“Ohyeah?”Hepauses.“What’sthat?”“Ihave tomake thisdocumentary, and I’msupposed to interviewpeople

whocometothehouse,so…”“OK.Cool.Whenever.I’llbebackafter…youknow.WhenFrankcanplay

gamesagain.”“Cool.”HedisappearsandI staymotionless forawhile,wondering ifhe’llcome

backorsendmeanymorenotes,oramessageviaFrankorwhatever.Whichofcoursehedoesn’t.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Thecameraapproachesthedoorofthestudy.It

edgesinside.Dadissittingathisdesk.Hiseyes

areclosed.OnhisscreenisadifferentAlfaRomeo

car.

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

Dad?Areyouasleep?

Dadjumpsandopenshiseyes.

DAD

OfcourseI’mnotasleep.Justworking

here.Gettingsomeworkdone.

HemoveshismouseandclicksofftheAlfaRomeo

car.

AUDREY(V.O.)

I’msupposedtointerviewyou.

DAD

Great!Fireaway.

Heswivelshischairroundtofacethecameraand

givesacheesysmile.

DAD

ThelifeandtimesofChrisTurner,

accountanttothestars.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Noyou’renot.

Dadlooksdefensive.

DAD

OK,accountanttoseveralmedium-sized

firms,oneinmedia.Idogetticketsto

concerts.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Iknow.

DAD

AndyouallmetthoseTOWIEpeople,

remember?AttheChildreninNeedevent?

AUDREY(V.O.)

It’sOK,Dad,Ithinkyourjobiscool.

DAD

Youcouldaskmeaboutmyrowingat

college.

Hecasuallyflexesabicep.

DAD

Stillgotit.Oryoucouldaskmeaboutmy

band.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Right.Yes.The…Turtles?

DAD

TheMoonlitTurtles.Moonlit.Igaveyou

theCD,remember?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Yes!It’sgreat,Dad.

Dadhasanidea.Hepointsatthecamera,almost

speechlesswithexcitement.

DAD

Ihaveit!Youwantasoundtrackforyour

film?Icangiveyouone,freeofcharge.

Originalmusic,performedbytheMoonlit

Turtles,oneofthemostexcitingstudent

actsofthe1990s!

AUDREY(V.O.)

Right.

(pause)

OrIcouldchoosemyownmusic…

DAD

No!Sweetheart,IwanttoHELP.Thiswaywe

worktogether.It’llbeafamilyproject.

It’llbefun!I’llbuythesoftware,we’ll

editittogether,youcanchooseyour

favouritesongs…

Hehascalledupaplaylistonhiscomputer.

DAD

Let’shavealistennow.Tellmeyour

favouritesong,we’llputiton,play

around.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Myfavouritesongofalltime?

DAD

No!YourfavouritesongbytheMoonlit

Turtles.Yourfavouritesongthatyourold

Dadperformsin.Youmusthaveone?A

favourite?

Longpause.Dadlooksatthecameraexpectantly.

DAD

YoutoldmeyoulistenedtotheCDoverand

overonyouriPod.

AUDREY(V.O.)

(quickly)

Idid!Allthetime.So.Um.Favourite

song.Therearesomany.

(pause)

Ithinkitwouldhavetobe…theloudone.

DAD

Loudone?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Theonewiththe…um.Drums.It’sreally

good.

Thecamerastartstobackawayasaheavyrocktrack

powersthroughtheroom.Dadisnoddinghishead

along.

DAD

Thisone?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Yes!Exactly!It’sgreat.Sogood.Dad,I

havetogo…

Thecameraretreatsoutoftheroom.

AUDREY(V.O.)

OhGod.

As I go to bed that night I’m thinking about Linus, I’m trying to picturemyselfgreetinghimatthefrontdoorwhenhecomesroundnext.Likeotherpeopledo.Normalpeople.Imean,Iknowhowthescriptshouldgo:“Hey,Linus.”“Hey,Audrey.”“How’sitbeengoing?”“Yeah,good.”Maybeahighfive.Maybeahug.Definitelyapairofsmiles.Icanthinkofaboutsixty-fivereasonswhythisisnotgoingtohappenany

timesoon.Butitmight,mightn’tit?Itmight?Dr. Sarah says positive visualization is an incredibly effectiveweapon in

our armory and I should create in my mind scenarios of success that arerealisticandencouraging.Thetroubleis,Idon’tknowhowrealisticmyidealscenariois.OK,yesIdo:notatall.Intheidealscenario,Idon’thavealizardbrain.Everythingiseasy.Ican

communicatelikenormalpeople.Myhairislongerandmyclothesarecooler,andinmylastfantasy,Linuswasn’tevenatthefrontdoor,hewastakingmeonapicnicinawood.Ihavenoideawherethatcamefrom.Anyway.Thebanisovertomorrow.Linuswillberoundagain.Andwe’ll

see.

ExceptIhadn’treckonedontheapocalypse,whichhitourhouseat3:43thismorning. I know, because that was the time I blinked awake and staredblearilyatmyclock,wonderingiftherewasafire.Therewasadistanthigh-pitchedscreamingnoise,whichcouldhavebeenanalarm,orcouldhavebeenasiren,andIgrabbedmyrobeoffthefloorandshovedmyfeetintomyfurryslippersandthoughtinapanicWhatdoItake?IgrabbedmyancientpinkteddyandmypictureofmewithGrannybefore

she died, and Iwas halfway down the stairswhen I realized that the noisewasn’tasiren.Oranalarm. ItwasMum. Icouldhearher in theplayroom,andshewasscreaming,“WhatareyouDOING?”I skittered to the entrance and felt my whole body sag in astonishment.

FrankwassittingathiscomputerplayingLOC.At3:43a.m.Imean,obviouslyhewasn’tplayingLOCrightthatsecond.He’dpaused.

Butthegraphicswerethereonthescreen,andhisheadsetwason,andhewaslookingupatMumlikeacorneredfox.“WhatareyouDOING?”Mumyelledagain,thenturnedtoDad,whohad

just arrived at the doorway too. “What is heDOING?Frank,what are youDOING?”Parentshavethiswayofaskingreallydumb,obviousquestions.Areyougoingoutinthatskirt?No,I’mplanningtotakeitoffassoonasIgetoutofthefrontdoor.Doyouthinkthat’sagoodidea?No,Ithinkit’saterribleidea,that’swhyI’mdoingit.Areyoulisteningtome?Yourvoiceisahundreddecibels,Icanhardlyavoidit.“WhatareyouDOING?”Mumwasstillshrieking,andDadputahandon

herarm.“Anne,”hesaid.“Anne,Ihaveaneighto’clock.”Bigmistake.Mumturnedonhimlikehewasthebaddie.“Idon’tcareaboutyoureighto’clock!Thisisyourson,Chris!Lyingtous!

Playingcomputergamesatnight!Whatelsehashebeendoing?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Frank. “OK? That’s all. I couldn’t sleep and Ithought,I’ll readabook,but Icouldn’t findabook,soI thought I’d just…youknow.Winddown.”“Howlonghaveyoubeenup?”snappedMum.“Since about two?” Frank looked plaintively at her. “I couldn’t sleep. I

thinkI’mgettinginsomnia.”DadyawnedandMumglaredathim.“Anne,” he said. “Canwe do this in themorning? It’s not going to help

Frank’s insomnia ifweall arguenow.Please?Bed?”Heyawnedagain, hishairalltuftylikeateddybear’s.“Please?”

Sothatwaslastnight.AndthingshavenotbeenHappyFamiliestoday.MumgaveFrankthethirddegreeoverbreakfast,about:HowmanytimeshashegotupinthenighttoplayLOC?andHowlonghashehadinsomnia?andDidherealizethatcomputergamesgivepeopleinsomnia?Frankbarelyanswered.Helookedprettygauntandpaleandoutofit.The

moreMum went on about circadian rhythms and light pollution andWhydidn’t he drink Ovaltine before bed? the more he retreated into his Frankshell.I don’t even knowwhatOvaltine is.Mumalways brings it upwhen she

talksaboutsleep.Shereferstoitlikeit’ssomemagicpotionandsays“Whydon’twedrinkit?”butshe’sneverboughtany,sohowcanwe?SothenFrankwentofftoschoolandIreadGameofThronesallmorning

and then fell asleep. This afternoon I’ve been filming some birds in thegarden,whichIsenseisnotwhatDr.Sarahwants,butit’speaceful.They’reverycute.Theycomeandeatcrumbsoff thebird tableand fightwitheachother.MaybeI’llbecomeawildlifephotographerorfilmmakerorwhatever.Theonlydowner is yourknees start to ache fromcrouching.Also, I’mnotsurewho’sgoingtowatchanhour’sfootageofbirdseatingcrumbs.SoI’mprettyzonedout,andIjumpinsurprisewhenIhearacarcoming

intothedrive.It’stooearlyforDad,sowhoisit?MaybesomeonegaveFrankalifthomefromschool.Thathappenssometimes.MaybeLinus.Icautiouslycreeproundtheedgeofthehouseandpeekintothedrive.To

mysurprise,itisDad.He’sgettingoutofhiscarinhisbusinesssuit,lookingabithassled.ThenextminutethefrontdoorhasopenedandMumiscoming

downthepathlikesheexpectedhim.“Chris!Atlast.”“IcameassoonasIcouldgetaway.Butyouknow,Ihavea lotonright

now…Isthisreallyessential?”“Yes it is!This is a crisis,Chris.Acrisiswithour son.And Ineedyour

support!”OMG.Whathappened?Iduckbackintothegardenandheadsilentlyintothekitchen,whereIcan

hearthemtalking.Iedgeforwardandseethemcomingintothehall.“ItookFrank’scomputertomyPilatesclass,”Mumissayinggrimly.“Youdidwhat?”Dadseemsflummoxed.“Anne,Iknowyouwanttokeep

itawayfromFrank,butisn’tthatabitextreme?”I have visions ofMum, staggering into the church hall, holding Frank’s

computer,andIhave toclampmymouth tightlyclosed tostop laughing. IsshegoingtotakeFrank’scomputereverywherenow?Likeapet?“Youdon’tunderstand!”spitsMum.“ItookitforArjuntohavealookat.”“Arjun?”Dadlooksmorebaffledthanever.“Arjunis inmyPilatesclass.He’sacomputersoftwaredeveloperandhe

worksfromhome.Isaid,‘Arjun,canyoutellfromthiscomputerhowoftenmysonhasbeenplayinggamesduringthelastweek?’ ”“Right.”Dadeyesherwarily.“AndcouldArjuntell?”“Oh,hecouldtell,”saysMuminominoustones.“Hecouldtell,allright.”There’s silence. I can see Dad instinctively backing away, but he can’t

escapebeforethetidalwaveofsoundhitshim.“Everynight!EVERYNIGHT!Hestartsattwoa.m.andhelogsoffatsix.

Canyoubelieveit?”“You’rejoking.”Dadseemsgenuinelyshocked.“Areyousure?”“AskArjun.”Mumproffersherphone.“Askhim!Hedoesfreelancework

forGoogle.Heknowswhathe’stalkingabout.”“Right. No, it’s fine. I don’t need to talk to Arjun.” Dad sinks onto the

stairs.“Jesus.Everynight?”“Hecreepsaround.Liestous.He’saddicted!Iknewit.Iknewit.”“OK.Well,that’sit,he’sbannedforlife.”“Life.”Mumnods.“Tillhe’sanadult.”“At least,” Mum says. “At least. You know, Alison at my book group

doesn’tevenhaveTVinthehouse.Shesaysscreensarethecigarettesofourage.They’retoxic,andwe’reonlygoingtorealizethedamagethey’redoingwhenit’stoolate.”“Right.”Dadlooksuneasy.“I’mnotsureweneedtogothatfar,dowe?”“Well, maybe we should!” Mum cries, sounding stressed. “You know,

Chris,maybewe’vegotthisallwrong!Maybeweshouldgobacktobasics.Cardgames.Familywalks.Discussions.”“Er…OK.”“Imean,books!Whathappenedtobooks?That’swhatweshouldbedoing!

ReadingtheBookershortlist!Notwatchingallthistoxic,mindlesstelevisionandplayingbrain-sappingvideogames. Imean,what arewedoing,Chris?Whatarewedoing?”“Absolutely.”Dadisnoddingfervently.“No,Itotallyagree.Totallyagree.”

There’saslightpausebeforehesays,“WhataboutDownton?”“Oh, well, Downton.” Mum looks wrong-footed. “That’s different.

That’s…youknow.History.”“AndTheKilling?”MyparentsareaddictedtoTheKilling.Theygorgethemselvesonlikefour

episodesatatime,andthensay,“Onemore?Justonemore?”“I’mtalkingaboutthechildren,”saysMumatlast.“I’mtalkingaboutthe

futuregeneration.Theyshouldbereadingbooks.”“Oh,good.”Dadexhalesinrelief.“BecausewhateverelseIdoinmylife,

I’mfinishingTheKilling.”“Areyoukidding?WehavetofinishTheKilling,”Mumagrees.“Wecould

watchonetonight.”“Wecouldwatchtwo.”“Afterwe’vespokentoFrank.”“OhGod.”Dadrubshishead.“Ineedadrink.”

Thehouseisquietforawhileafterthat.It’sthecalmbeforethekickoff.Felixcomes home from a playdatewhere theymade pizza and unveils themostrevoltingtomatoey-cheesymessandmakesMumheatitupintheoven.Thenherefusestoeatit.Thenherefusestoeatanythingelse,becausehewantstoeatthepizzahe

made, even though hewon’t eat it. I know. The logic of a four-year-old is

beyondweird.“IwanttoeatMYpizza!”hekeepswailing,whereuponMumsays,“Well,

eatit,then!Hereitis.”“Nooo!”Hegazesatittearfully.“Nooo!Notthatone!NotTHATone!”Eventuallyheswipesitoffthetablealtogether,andseeingitcollapsedon

theflooristoomuchforhim.HedescendsintohystericalsobbingandMumsaysdarkly,“TheyprobablygavehimFruitShoots,”andhaulshimoffforabath. (Half an hour later he’s all fluffy and clean and smiling and eatingsandwiches.BathsarelikeValiumforfour-year-olds.)Then I’mputonmake-sure-Felix-eats-his-crustsduty, so I’mstuckat the

kitchentable.IkindofthoughtImightgettoFrankfirstandwarnhim.Butitprobably wouldn’t have worked anyway, because Mum’s like a sentry onspeed.Shegoesintothehalleveryfiveminutesandopensthefrontdoor,andoncesheactuallygoes into thestreet, scanning thehorizonallaround,as ifFrankmight foolherbycoming fromsomedifferentdirection.She’sprettyrevvedupforseeinghim.Shekeepsaddressingthehallmirrorwithphraseslike“It’sthedeceitasmuchasanythingelse”and“Yes,thisistoughlove.Itistoughlove,youngman.”Youngman.MeanwhileI’vekeptmyheadwelldown,althoughI’mdyingtoaskFrank

whether he’s really been getting up at two a.m., and whether Linus wasplayingwithhim.I’mjustsecretlyeatingacoupleofFelix’scrustsforhim,tospeed thingsup,when Ihearayell fromMum.She’sout in the frontdrivesquintingalongtheroad.“Chris!Chris!He’scoming!”Shecomesstridingintothehouse,herhead

swivelingaroundonfullalert.“Where’syourfather?Where’shegone?”“Dunno.Haven’tseenhim.”OK, Mum’s totally wired. I wonder whether I should tell her about

breathinginforfourcountsandoutforseven,butIthinkshe’dbitemyheadoff.“Chris!”Shestalksoutofthekitchen.IcreepforwardsoIhaveaviewofthehall.Ishouldreallygetmyvideo

camera,only it’supstairs,and Idon’twant toventureacross thebattlefield.Dadappearsathisstudydoor,holdinghisBlackBerry tohisear,pullinganagonisedfaceatMum.“Yes, thefigureswereunexpected,”he’ssaying.“But ifyou lookatpage

six…”Sorry,hemouthsatMum.Twominutes.“Great!”shesnapsasDaddisappearsagain.“Somuchforaunitedfront.”

Shepeersoutofthehallwindow.“OK.Herehecomes.Herewego.”Shepositionsherselfinthehall,herhandplacedonherhipandglaryeyes

focusedrightonthedoor.AfteratensetensecondsthedooropensandIcatchmy breath. Frank saunters in, just the same as usual, and looks at Mumwithoutmuchinterest.Icanseeherdrawherselfupandtakeadeepbreath.“Hello, Frank,” she says in steely tones, which make me shiver, even

though I’m not the one in trouble. But Frank has his earphones in, so I’mguessinghedidn’tpickuponthesteelytones.“Hi,”hesays,andmakestogopast,butMumpokeshimontheshoulder.“Frank!”shesays,andgesturestohisears.“Out!”Rollinghiseyes,Franktakesouthisearphonesandlooksather.“What?”“So,”saysMum,inyetmoresteelytones.“What?“So.”Icanseeheraimistomakehimquakeinfearwithjustthatonesyllable,

butithasn’treallyworked.Hejustlooksimpatient.“So?Whatdoyoumean?Sowhat?”“We’vebeenexpectingyou,Frank.DadandI.”Shetakesastepforward,

hereyeslikelasers.“We’vebeenwaitingforyouforquiteawhile.”OMG.She’s totallychannellingaBondvillain,Irealize.Ibetshewishes

shehadawhitecattostroke.“What’smycomputerdoingthere?”Franksuddenlynoticesit,perchedon

thehalltablewithitsflexcoiledaroundtheplug.“Goodquestion,” saysMumpleasantly. “Would you like to tell us about

yourcomputeractivityoverthelastweekorso?”Frank’sshoulderssag,likeNotthisagain.“IwasplayingLOC,”hesaysinamonotone.“Youcaughtme.”“Justtheonce?”Frankletshisschoolbagslithertotheground.“Idunno.I’vegotaheadache.Ineedsomeparacetamol.”“Andwhywouldthatbe?”Mumsuddenlylosesit.“Wouldthatbebecause

youhaven’thadanysleepthisweek?”“What?” Frank gives her his special, blank, I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-

talking-aboutlook,which,actually,isreallyannoying.“Don’t play ignorant with me! Don’t you dare play ignorant!” Mum is

breathing really hard by now. “My friend Arjun looked at your machine

today.Andwhataninterestingstory.”“Who’sArjun?”Frankscowls.“Acomputerexpert,”saysMumtriumphantly.“Hetoldmeallaboutyou.

You’veleftquitethetrail,youngman.Weknoweverything.”IseeaflickerofalarmpassacrossFrank’sface.“Didhereadmyemails?”“No. He didn’t read your emails.” Mum looks momentarily distracted.

“What’sinyouremails?”“Nothing,” saysFrank hastily, and glowers at her. “Jesus. I can’t believe

youhackedintomycomputer.”“Well,Ican’tbelieveyou’vebeenlyingtous!You’vebeenupattwoa.m.

everynightthisweek!Doyoudenyit?”Frankshrugswithasullenexpression.“Frank?”“IfArjunsaysit,itmustbetrue.”“Soitistrue!Frank,doyouunderstandhowseriousthisis?Doyou?DO

YOU?”shesuddenlyyells.“Well,doyouunderstandhowseriouslyItakeLOC?”heyellsback.“What

ifIbecomeaprofessionalgamer?Whatwillyousaythen?”“Not thisagain.”Mumcloseshereyesandmassagesherforehead.“Who

wereyouplayingwith?DoIknowthem?DoIneedtocalltheirparents?”“Idoubtit,”saysFranksarcastically,“sincetheyliveinKorea.”“Korea?”ThisseemsthelaststrawforMum.“Right.That’sit,Frank.You

arebanned.Banned,banned,banned.Forever.Nocomputers.Noscreens.Nonothing.”“OK,”saysFranklimply.“Doyouunderstand?”Shestaresathim,hard.“You’rebanned.”“Igetit.I’mbanned.”There’s a silence. Mum seems dissatisfied. She’s peering at Frank as

thoughshewantedtohearsomethingelse.“You’rebanned,”shetriesagain.“Forgood.”“Iknow,”saysFrankwithelaboratepatience.“Youtoldme.”“You’renotreacting.Whyaren’tyoureacting?”“Iamreacting,Mum.I’mbanned.Whatever.”“I’mlockingthiscomputerrightaway.”“Igetit.”There’s another weird, tense silence.Mum is studying Frank closely, as

thoughsearchingfortheanswer.Thensuddenlyherwholefaceseemstoping,andshedrawsbreath.“OhmyGod.Youdon’t take thisseriously,doyou?You thinkyou’llget

roundit.What,you’realreadyplanninghowyou’llcreeparoundthehouseatnightandfindyourcomputer?”“No.”Franksoundssulky,whichmeansYes.“You’realreadyplanninghowyou’llpickthelock?”“No.”“Youthinkyoucanbeatus!”She’squiveringnow.“Youthinkyoucanbeat

us,don’tyou?Well,beatthis!”She grabs the computer, which is pretty bulky, and heads up the stairs,

trailingthecord.“This is going. It’s going! I want it out of our house! I want it in

smithereens.”“Smithereens?”Frankspringstolife.“You’rebannedanyway,sowhatdoes itmatter?”Mumshootsbackover

hershoulder.“Mum,no,”saysFrankinapanic.“Mum,whatareyoudoing?”“You stay there, young man!” Mum’s voice is suddenly on a whole

different level. She sounds properly scary, like she didwhenwewere littlekids, and Frank pauses, his foot on the step. I’ve never seen him look sofreaked.“What’sshegoingtodo?”hesaysinalowvoice.“Idunno.ButIwouldn’tgoupstairs.”“Butwhat’sshedoing?”AtthatmomentFelixcomesboundingintothehallfromthegarden,inhis

dressinggown.“Guesswhat?”hesaysintonesofjoy.“Mummyisthrowingthecomputer

outofthewindow!”

I can’t believe she did it. I can’t believe she actually chucked Frank’scomputeroutofthewindow.Itwasn’tquiteasdramaticasitmighthavebeen,becauseshesuddenlygot

allhealthandsafetyandshoutedtotheneighbourstogetoutoftheway,andthensaidtoDadthatheshouldmovethecarifhewasthatworried.MeanwhileFrankwaslurchingbetweentotalgibberingpanicandtryingto

beoneofthoseguysinthemovieswhotalktheterroristoutofsettingoffthebomb.“Mum,listen,”hekeptsaying.“Putthecomputerdown.Youdon’twantto

dothis,Mum.”Whichdidn’twork.Mostlybecauseshedidwanttodoit.Thecomputerdidn’tactuallysmashintosmithereenswhenshethrewit.It

kindofbouncedtwiceandlandedonitsside.Infact,itbarelylookedbrokenatall,onceitwassittingonthelawn.Therewasjustabitofshatteredglassfromthescreen,whichDadimmediatelyclearedupbecauseofFelixplayingoutsideinbarefeetorwhatever.ButIguessit’smessedupenoughinsidethatFrankcan’tuseitanymore.It

looked a bit sad, sitting on the grasswith his ancientMinecraft stickers alloverit.Everyonestaredatitforawhile,andacoupleofpeopletookphotos,and

then they all drifted home. I mean, hand on heart, it was a bit of ananticlimax.Butnot forFrank.He’sdevastated. I tried tosay“I’msorry”aswewentinside,andhecouldn’tevenanswer.Ithinkhe’sinshock.Hehasn’treallyspokenallevening.Mumisgrimly

triumphantandIthinkDadisjustrelievedthatthecardidn’tgettrashed.Andalthough I reallydon’twant toget into it, I’mwonderingone thing.

DoesthismeanLinuswon’tcomeroundanymore?

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Mumissittinginthekitchenwithacoffeecup,

lookingstraighttocamera.

MUM

Ididtherightthing.OK,itwasabit

extreme.Butsometimesyouhavetotake

extrememeasures,andeveryone’sshocked,

butafterwardstheysay,“Wow.Thatwas

reallyadventurousandfarsightedofyou.”

Silence.

MUM

Imean,IKNOWIdidtherightthing.And

yes,thingsaretenseatthemoment,but

they’llgetbetter.OfcourseFrankdidn’t

reactwell,ofcoursehe’sangry—whatdidI

expect?

Silence.

MUM

Well,Ididn’texpectitwouldbeasbadas

this.Tobehonest.Butwe’llgetthrough

it.

Mumliftshercoffeecup,thenputsitdownwithout

drinking.

MUM

Thethingaboutbeingaparent,Audrey,is

thatit’snopicnic.Youhavetomake

difficultchoicesandyouhavetoseethem

through.Soyes,I’mfindingFrankalittle

challengingrightatthemoment.Butyou

knowwhat?He’llthankmeoneday.

Silence.

MUM

Well,hemightthankme.

Silence.

MUM

OK,sothethankingisunlikely.Butthe

pointis,I’mamother.Mothersdon’trun

awaywhenthingsgettough.

CamerapanstoMum’sBlackBerryandfocusesinona

Googlesearch:

Spabreaksforsinglewomen,nochildren

allowed

Mumhastilycoversitwithherhand.

MUM

That’snothing.

SoFrank’sbasicallynotspeakinganymore.Toanyone.Actually,IquitelikeasilentFrank.It’speacefularoundtheplace.Butit’s

stressing Mum out. She even spoke to his teacher at school, who was,accordingtoher,“Useless!Worsethanuseless!HesaidFrankseemed‘fine’tohimandweshould‘lethimalone.’‘Lethimalone,’canyoubelieveit?”(IknowthisbecauseIwasoutsideMum’sroomwhileshewassoundingofftoDad.)Tonight he’s sitting at supper, eating his enchiladas without looking at

anyone, staringahead likeazombie.WhenMumorDadaskhimanything,like“Haveyougotmuchhomework?”or“Whathappenedtodayatschool?”hejustanswerswitha“Phrrrmph”noise,orrollshiseyesorignoresthem.I’m not feelingMs. Chatty either tonight, so it’s not the liveliest dinner

table.Infact,wealllookupinreliefwhenFelixcomesinfromtheplayroominhistractorpyjamas.“I didn’t do my homework,” he says, looking worried. “My homework,

Mummy.”He’sholdingoutsomekindoftransparentfolderwithasheetinit.“Oh,forGod’ssake,”saysMum.“Homework?”saysDad.“Forafour-year-old?”“I know.”Mum sighs. “It’s nuts.” She pulls out the sheet and it’s a big

photocopiedpageentitledWhyweloveeachother.Undertheheading,Felixhasdrawnwhat I assume is apictureofus.At least, there are five figures.MumlookspregnantandDadlookslikeagnome.Ihaveaheadthesizeofapinandtwentyverylargecircularfingers.But,youknow,apartfromthatit’sprettyaccurate.“ ‘Fill in the box with help from your family,’ ” Mum reads. “ ‘For

example,“We loveeachotherbecausewegiveeachothercuddles.” ’ ”Shereachesforapen.“OK.WhatshallIput?Felix,whatdoyouloveaboutourfamily?”“Pizza,”saysFelixpromptly.“Wecan’tputpizza.”“Pizza!”wailsFelix.“Ilovepizza!”

“Ican’tput,‘Weloveeachotherbecauseofpizza.’ ”“Ithinkthat’saprettygoodanswer,”saysDad,shrugging.“I’ll do it,” says Frank, grabbing the page, andwe all look up in shock.

Frankspoke!HetakesablackSharpiefromhispocketandreadsaloudashewrites:“ ‘We love each other because we respect each other’s choices and

understand when a person has a hobby that they love, and would neverdeliberatelydamagetheirproperty.’Oh,wait.”“Frank,youcan’twritethat!”saysMumsharply.It’sabitlatetosaythat,sincehe’salreadywrittenit.Inpermanentink.“Great!” Mum glares at Frank. “So now you’ve ruined your brother’s

homeworksheet.”“I’vespokenthe truth.”Frankglowersbackather.“Youcan’thandle the

truth.”“AFewGoodMen,”saysDadpromptly.“Ididn’tknowyou’dseenthat.”“YouTube.”Frankgetstohisfeetandheadsovertothedishwasher.“Well,marvellous,”saysMum, lookingtotallypissedoff.“Nowwecan’t

send this in. I’ll have to write a note in his link book. ‘Dear Mrs. Lacy,unfortunatelyFelix’shomeworkwas…’what?”“Chewedbyrats,”Isuggest.“ ‘InapplicabletotheTurnerfamilyastheydonotunderstandtheconcept

of love beyond their own self-serving version,’ ” comes Frank’s sonorousvoicefromthesink.Asheslouchesoutofthekitchen,MumandDadexchangeglances.“Thatboyneedsahobby,”muttersMum.“Weshouldneverhave lethim

giveupthecello.”“Please not the cello again,” says Dad, looking alarmed. “I think he’s

beyondthecello.”“I’mnotsayingthecello!”snapsMum.“Butsomething.Whatdoteenagers

dothesedays?”“Allsortsofthings.”Dadshrugs.“WinOlympicmedals,getintoHarvard,

create Internet companies, star in blockbuster films…”As he trails off, helooksabitdepressed.“He doesn’t need towin amedal,” saysMum firmly. “He just needs an

interest.Whatabouttheguitar?”Herfacebrightens.“Canhestillplaythat?Whydon’tyoutwojamtogetherinthegarage?”“We tried that once,” saysDad, pulling a face. “Remember? It wasn’t a

success…but we can try again!” he amends quickly, atMum’s expression.“Goodidea!We’llhaveabitofajammingsession.Fatherandson.We’llplaysometracks,getinthebeers—Imean,notthebeers,”headdshastilyasMumopenshermouth.“Nobeers.”“And he should volunteer,” saysMumwith sudden determination. “Yes!

That’swhatFrankcando.Volunteer.”

I’msittinginthekitchenlaterthatevening,fiddlingwiththeplaybackonmycamera,whenFrankshufflesin.“Oh, hi.” I raise my head, remembering something. “Listen, I haven’t

interviewedyouyet.Canwedoit?”“Idon’twanttobeinterviewed.”Frank looks like he hates everyone and everything.His face is pale.His

eyesarebloodshot.He looks less healthy thanwhenhewasgamingall thetime.“OK.”Ishrug.IreachforaDoritofromthebowlstillsittingonthetable.

WehadTex-Mexforsuppertonight,whichistheonlytimeMumbuyscrisps.It’slike,ifthey’reDoritosandscoopingupguacamolethentheydon’tcountasjunkfood.“So…”Itrytospeakcasually.“Iwaswondering…”Myvoiceislettingmedown.Itdoesn’tsoundcasual,itsoundsover-alert.

Ontheotherhand,Idon’tthinkFrankisinanoticingmood.“IsLinuscomingover?”ItcomesoutinahurryandIsoundtheoppositeof

casual,butthereyougo.I’veasked.Frankturnshisheadtogivemeamurderousglare.“WhywouldLinuscomeover?”“Well…because…”I’mconfused.“Haveyouhadafight?”“No,Ihaven’thadafight.”Hiseyesaresobleakandfullofanger,Iflinch.

“I’vebeendroppedfromtheteam.”“Droppedfromtheteam?”Istareathiminshock.“Butitwasyourteam.”“Well,Icanhardlyplaynow,canI?”Hisvoiceisallmuffledandlow.Ihaveahorriblefeelinghewantstocry.I

haven’tseenFrankcrysincehewasaboutten.“Frank.”Ifeelahugewaveofsorrowforhim.Infact,IthinkImightcry

forhiminstead.“HaveyoutoldMum?”“ToldMum?”helashesout.“What,soshecanstandthereandcheer?”

“Shewouldn’t!”Isay.ButactuallyI’mnotsure.ThethingaboutMumis,shedoesn’tknowwhatshe’stalkingabout.Idon’t

mean that inabadway. It’s just,noadultsdo.They’re totally ignorant,butthey’re in control. It’s nuts. The parents are in charge of all the stuff liketechnologyinthehouseandtimeonscreensandhoursonsocialmedia,butthen their computer goes wrong and they’re like a baby, going, “Whathappened to my document?” “I can’t get Facebook.” “How do I load apicture?Double-clickwhat?Whatdoesthatmean?”Andwehavetosortitoutforthem.So Mum probably would cheer if she heard Frank wasn’t on the team

anymore.Andtheninthenextbreathshe’dsay,“Darling,whydon’tyoutakeupahobbyandjoinateam?”“I’mreallysorry,Frank,”Isay,buthedoesn’treact.Thenextminutehe’s

shuffledoutofthekitchenandI’mleftalonewiththeDoritos.

“Sothingshaven’tbeengood.”Dr.Sarahsoundsasunruffledasever.“They’reOK.Buteveryone’sstressy.I’vebeeninbedalot.It’slike,I’mso

tiredallthetime.”“Whenyou’retired,justrest.Don’tfightit.Yourbody’smendingitself.”“Iknow.”Isigh,mylegshuncheduponthechair.“ButIdon’twanttobe

tired.Idon’twanttobeoverwhelmed.Iwanttokickthis.”ThewordscomeoutbeforeI’vethoughtthem,andIfeelasuddenlittlejab

ofadrenaline.WhenIsaythingstoDr.Sarah,it’sasifI’mhearingthemforthefirsttime

and suddenly they become real. She’s a bit magic, I think. She’s like afortune-teller—onlyinthepresent,notthefuture.Thingschangeinherroom.Idon’tknowhow,theyjustdo.“Good!” she says. “That’s good. But, Audrey, what you don’t seem to

realizeis,youarekickingit.”“NoI’mnot.”Ilookatherresentfully.Howcanshesaythat?“Youare.”“I’vebeeninbedfor,like,thelastthreedays.”“No-onesaidgettingbetterwouldbeastraightforwardjourney.Remember

ourgraph?”Shegetsupandheadsforherwhiteboard.Shedrawstwoaxesandajagged

redlineheadingup.

“You’llgoupandyou’llgodown.Butyourprogresswillbe in the rightdirection. It is in the right direction. You’ve come a long way, Audrey.Rememberourfirstmeeting?”

Ishrug.Someofoursessionsareabitofablur,tobehonest.“Well,Ido.Andbelieveme,I’mpleasedwithwhatIseebeforemetoday.”“Oh.” I feel a tiny glow of pride, which is pathetic. Imean, I didn’t do

anything.“How’sthefilmgoing?”“It’sOK.”Inod.“Haveyouinterviewedanyonefromoutofthehouse?”“Well.”Ihesitate.“Notyet.Notexactly.”Dr.Sarahwaits.This iswhat she does, like a copwaiting to catchout a

criminal.AndeverytimeIsayIwon’tcrackfirst,butIalwaysdo.“OK,there’sthisboy,Linus,”Ihearmyselfsaying.“Yes,you’vementionedhim.”Shenods.“Heused to come round to seeFrank and Iwasgoing to interviewhim.

Onlynowhedoesn’tcomeroundanymore.SoIthought…Imean…”Itrailoff,notsurewhatIdomean.“Maybeyoushouldaskhim,”saysDr.Sarah,likeit’snobigdeal.“Ican’t,”Isayautomatically.“Whynot?”“Because…” I lapse into silence. She knows why not. It doesn’t need

saying.“Let’svisualizetheworstthatcanhappen,”saysDr.Sarahcheerfully.“You

askLinustocomeoverandhesaysno.Howdoesthatmakeyoufeel?”Trickles of anxiety are running down my back. I don’t like this

conversationanymore.IshouldneverhavementionedLinus.“Howdoes thatmake you feel?” persistsDr. Sarah. “Audrey,workwith

me.Linushasjustsaid,‘No,Iwon’tcomeover.’Whatareyoufeeling?”“I’m totally embarrassed,” I saymiserably. “I’m dying. I’m like, ohmy

God.Like,I’msostupid…”Iscrewupmyfaceinagony.“Whystupid?”“Because—Because!”Ilookatheralmostangrily.SometimesDr.Sarahis

deliberatelyobtuse.“Linuswon’tcomeover.”Shegetsupandwritesitontheboard:

ThenshedrawsanarrowfromitandwritesLinus’sthoughtsinacircle.

“Why should these thoughts”—she taps the board—“make you feelstupid?”“Because…”Istrugglewithmyownthoughtprocess.“BecauseIshouldn’t

haveaskedhim.”“Whynot?”shecounters.“Sohesaysno.Allthatmeansis,hedidn’tfeel

likebeing interviewed,orhewasbusy,orhe’s intending tosayyesanothertime.Oranynumberofthings.Itdoesn’tmeananythingaboutyou.”“Ofcourseitdoes!”IsaybeforeIcanstopmyself.“Ofcourse?”Sheinstantlypicksmeuponit.“Ofcourse?”OK, I fell into that one.Of course is the kind of phrase that makes Dr.

Sarah’snosetwitchlikeasharkscentingblood.ThatandIhaveto.“Audrey,doyouknowwhatLinusisthinking?”“No,”Isayreluctantly.“You don’t sound sure about that. Audrey, can you see into people’s

heads?”“No.”“Areyougiftedwithsuperpowers?IsthissomethingIshouldknowabout

you?”“No.”Iholdupmyhands.“OK.Igetit.Iwasmind-reading.”“You were mind-reading.” She nods. “You have no idea what Linus is

thinking. It could be good, it could be bad.Most likely, it’s nothing at all.He’saboy.You’dbettergetusedtothat.”Herfacecrinklesinhumour.“Right.” I know she’s trying to make me smile, but I’m too confused.

“So…Ishouldaskhim?”“Ithinkyoushould.”ShepicksupthewhiteboardclothandrubsoutLinus

won’tcomeover.Initsplace,shewrites:

“OK?”shesays,whenI’vehadachancetoreadit.“OK.”“Good.Thenaskhim.Let’smakethatyourhomework.AskingLinus.”

ThefirststepiscatchingMuminagoodmood,whenshe’snotgoingtofreakoutoroverreactoranything.Iwaittillshe’sjustfinishedwatchinganepisodeofMasterChef,thencasuallysitonthearmofthesofaandsay,“Mum,I’dlikeaphone.”“Aphone?”Shesitsup,hereyeswidecircles,hermouthopen.“Aphone?”IfI’mtheQueenofOverreaction,MumistheEmpress.“Um,yes.Aphone.Ifthat’sOK.”“Whoareyougoingtocall?”shedemands.“Ijust…Idon’tknow.People.”IknowIsoundscratchy,butshemakesme

scratchy.“Whichpeople?”“People!Doyou,like,needalltheirnames?”There’s silence, and I knowwhat she’s thinking, because I’m thinking it

too.Mylastphonewasn’texactlyasuccess.Imean, itwasanicephone.ItwasaSamsung.Butitbecamelikethisportal.Akindoftoxicportalto…allofit.Itusedtomakemequiverwithfright,justhearingthebuzzofatext,letalonereadingit.Idon’tknowwhathappenedtoit.Dadgotridofit.ButImean,thatwasthen.Thatwasthem.“Audrey…”Mum’s face is strained and I feel sorry I’ve ruined her nice

eveningofMasterChefandGrandDesignsorwhatever.“It’llbefine,”Ireassureher.“DoyouwanttocallNatalie?Isthatit?”ThenameNataliemakesme shrink away a little. I’mnot sure I’mquite

readytotalktoNatalie.ButnordoIwanttogiveanythingawaytoMum.“Maybe.”Ishrug.“Audrey,Idon’tknow…”IknowwhyMum’ssensitiveonthisissue.Imeanbelieveme,I’msensitive

too.(Infact,I’moversensitive,whichbasicallythewholeworldhastoldme.)ButI’mnotgivingin.Ifeelresolvedonthis.Ishouldgetaphone.“Audrey,becareful.Ijust…Ijustdon’twantyoutobe…”

“Iknow.”IcanseeafewgreyhairsamongMum’svividbrownhighlights.Herskin

lookskindofthin.Ithinkallthishasagedher.I’veagedher.“Dr.Sarahwouldtellmetogetthephone,”Isay,tomakeherfeelbetter.

“ShealwayssaysIcantexther,anytime.ShesaysI’llknowwhenI’mready.Well,I’mready.”“OK.”Mumsighs.“We’llgetyouaphone.Imean,it’sgreatthatyouwant

one,darling. It’swonderful.”Sheputsahandonmineas thoughshe’sonlyjustseeingthepositiveside.“Thisisprogress!”“Ihaven’tusedityet,”Iremindher.“Don’tgettooexcited.”Isitproperly

onthesofaandshiftupabit.“Whatareyouwatching?”AsI’mmovingthecushionsaround,Iseeabook,nestledinMum’slap.It’s

entitledHowtoTalktoYourTeensbyDr.TerenceKirshenberger.“OhmyGod.”Ipickitup.“Mum,whatisthis?”Mumflushespinkandgrabsit.“Nothing.Justsomereadingmatter.”“Youdon’tneedabooktotalktous!”Iflipthroughthepagesandseelots

of lame-looking cartoons, then turn to the back. “Twelve ninety-five? Youspent twelve ninety-five on this? What does it say? I bet it says, ‘Yourteenagerisapersontoo.’ ”“No,itsays,‘Givememybookback.’ ”MumgrabsthebookbeforeIcan

stopherandsitsonit.“OK,nowarewewatchingTV?”She’sstillpink,though,andlookskindofembarrassed.PoorMum.Ican’t

believeshespent£12.95onabookfullofcrapcartoons.

Shereadit!Shereadthe£12.95book!ThereasonIknowisthatonSaturdayshesuddenlystartstalkingtoFrank

atbreakfastlikeshe’sspeakingaforeignlanguage.“So,Frank,Inoticedyoulefttwowettowelsonthefloorofyourbedroom

yesterday,” shebegins, inweird, calm tones. “Thatmademe feel surprised.Howdiditmakeyoufeel?”“Huh?”Frankstaresather.“I think we could find a solution to the towel issue together,” Mum

continues.“Ithinkthatcouldbeafunchallenge.”Franklooksatme,baffled,andIshrug.

“What do you think, Frank?” persists Mum. “If you were running thishouse,whatwouldyouadviseabouttowels?”“Dunno.” Frank looks a bit unnerved. “Use kitchen towel and chuck it

away.”IcantellMumisabitfrustratedwiththatanswer,butshekeepsonsmiling

thisweirdsmile.“Ihearyou,”shesays.“Interestingidea.”“It’snot.”Franklooksathersuspiciously.“Yesitis.”“Mum, it’s a stupid idea I invented to piss you off. You can’t say ‘It’s

interesting.’ ”“Ihearyou.”Mumnods.“Ihearyou,Frank.Icanseeyourpointofview.

It’svalid.”“I don’t have a point of view!” Frank snaps. “And stop saying ‘I hear

you.’ ”“Mumreadabook,”Itellhim.“It’scalledHowtoTalktoYourTeens.”“Ohforfuck’ssake.”Frankrollshiseyes.“Donotswear,youngman!”MumsnapsstraightoutofherStepfordMum

mode.“Oh,forfuttsake!”chimesinFelixjoyfully,andMuminhalesfuriously.“Yousee?Youseewhatyoudid?”“Well, stop talking tome likeabloody robot!” shoutsFrank.“It’s totally

fake.”“Bloodyrobot!”echoesFelix.“Thatbookcosttwelveninety-five,”ItellFrank,whogivesanincredulous

laugh.“Twelve ninety-five! I couldwrite that book in fourwords. Itwould say

‘Stoppatronizingyourteenager.’ ”There’s silence. I thinkMum’smaking an effort not to lose it. From the

wayshe’scrushinghernapkin intoa tinyball, I think she’s finding itquitehard.Atlastshelooksupwithasmileagain.“Frank,Iunderstandyou’refrustratedwithlifeatthemoment,”shesays,in

pleasant tones. “So I’ve found you some occupations. You can do somejammingwithDadtodayandnextweekyou’revolunteering.”“Volunteering?”Franklookstakenaback.“Like,buildinghutsinAfrica?”“MakingsandwichesfortheAvonleafete.”

Avonlea is the old people’s home in the next street. They have this feteevery year and it’s quite fun. You know. For a thing in a garden with oldpeople.“Makingsandwiches?”Franklooksaghast.“You’rejoking.”“I’vevolunteeredourkitchenforthecatering.We’reallgoingtohelp.”“I’mnotmakingbloodysandwiches.”“Ihearyou,”saysMum.“Butyouare.Anddon’tswear.”“I’mnot.”“Ihearyou,Frank,”saysMumimplacably.“Butyouare.”“Mumstopit,OK?”“Ihearyou.”“Stopit.”“Ihearyou.”“Stop it! Jesus!” Frank brings two fists to his head. “OK, I’ll make the

bloodysandwiches!Nowhaveyoufinishedruiningmylife?”HeswingsawayfromthetableandMumgivesatinysmile.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Thecameraapproachesthegaragedoors.Insidewe

findDaddressedinleathers,holdingaguitar

connectedtoamassiveamp.Frankisstanding

nearby,holdingabass,lookingdismal.

DAD

(enthusiastically)

Solet’sjam.Justplayaround,havesome

fun.

Heplaysashowyguitarriff.

DAD

Youknow“ForHer,ForMe”?

FRANK

What?

DAD

“ForHer,ForMe.”It’sourbest-known

song.

Helooksalittlehurt.

DAD

Isentyouthelink?Ihaveasoloonthat

track.

Heplaysanothershowyguitarriff.

FRANK

Right.Er…Idon’tknowit.

DAD

Whatdoyouknow?

FRANK

IknowthethemetunetoLOC.

Hestartstoplayit,butDadshakeshishead

impatiently.

DAD

Wewanttoplayrealmusic.OK,we’lljust

jamoverthechordstructure.Keepit

simple.Intro—CE,F,G,chorusindouble

time—Dminor,F,Cfortwobeats,chorus

repeatswithaGchordforapickuptogo

intotheverse.

Frankstaresathiminpanic.

FRANK

What?

DAD

Justfeelit.You’llbefine.Aone,atwo,

aone-two-three-four.

Acacophonyofmusichitstheairasbothstart

playing.Dadstartssinginginascreechyvoice.

DAD

(sings)

Forher…formeeeeee…Comin’roundagain…

(shoutsabovemusic)

Youdobacking,Frank.

(sings)

Forher,formeeeee…

Helaunchesintoasolo.Frankstareswildlyatthe

cameraandmouths“Help.”

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

MumismakinglunchinthekitchenasDadenters,

allfiredup.Shelooksup.

MUM

So?Howwasthat?

DAD

Itwasgreat!Wejammed,webonded…

IthinkFrankreallyenjoyedit.

MUM

Great!Welldone!

Shegiveshimahug.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Franksitsatthetopofthestairs.Headdresses

thecamera.

FRANK

OhmyGod.Thatwasthesingleworst

experienceofmylife.

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

Noitwasn’t.

FRANK

(scowls)

Youdon’tknow.Maybeitwas.

Hesagsagainstthebannister.

FRANK

WhydoesDadwanttoplayold-manrockwith

me?Why?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Tostopyouplayingcomputergames.

Frankgivesheradarklook.

FRANK

Thanks,Einstein.

AUDREY(V.O.)

I’mjusttellingyou.Theywantyoutohave

otherinterests.

FRANK

(explodes)

Idon’twantanyotherinterests!What’s

wrongwithgaming?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Ididn’tsayanythingwaswrongwith

gaming.

FRANK

Gamingdevelopsyourreactiontimes,it

helpsteamworkandstrategy,itteachesyou

stuff…

AUDREY(V.O.)

(sceptically)

Itteachesyoustuff?Whatstuff?

FRANK

OK,youwanttoknow?(Hecountsoffonhis

fingers.)Minecraft—architecture.SimCity—

howtomanageapopulationandbudgetand

shit.Assassin’sCreed—ancientRomeandthe

Borgiasandlike…LeonardodaVinci.

Everything.AllthehistoryIremember

comesfromAssassin’sCreed.Nonefrom

school.Allfromgaming.

AUDREY(V.O.)

WhathaveyoulearnedfromLOC?

FRANK

(grins)

MostlyKoreancursewords.(Hesuddenly

shouts.)SHEEBSEKEE!

AUDREY(V.O.)

Whatdoesthatmean?

FRANK

Useyourimagination.

Fromdownstairs,Mumcalls.

MUM

Frank!Audrey!Lunchtime!

Frankdoesn’tevenseemtohear.

FRANK

YouknowinlotsofcountriesLOCisa

spectatorsport?Youknowtheyhavearenas?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Iknow.Youtoldmelikeamilliontimes.

FRANK

YouknowintheStatestheyhaveLOC

scholarshipsatsomeuniversities?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Youtoldmethattoo.

FRANK

LOCissophisticated.Ithasitsown

language.Ithasrules.It’slike…it’slike

fuckingLatin.That’swhatit’slike.

Latin.AndMumandDadarelike,“Ohit’s

soevil.”WhatifIwasaddictedtoLatin?

Alongpause.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Ihonestlycan’timaginethat.

SoMum’sboughtmeaphone.Thatwasstepone.I’vegotLinus’snumberoffFrank.Thatwassteptwo.NowIneedtocallhim.Iinputhisnumberandstareatitforawhile.ItrytoimaginehowI’llstart

theconversation.IwritedownsomeusefulwordsandphrasesImightneed.(Dr.Sarah’stip.)Ivisualizeapositivescenario.ButIstillcan’tbringmyselftocallhim.SoinsteadItext.

Hi,Linus.ThisisAudreyhere.Frank’ssister.Istillneedtodomydocumentaryandyousaidyouwouldbeinterviewedforit.IsthatstillOK?Couldwemeet?Thanks,Audrey.

AndI’mexpectingnoreply,orat leasta longwait,but thephonebuzzesstraightawayandthere’shisresponse:

Sure.When?

I hadn’t thought about that. When? It’s Saturday evening, which meanswe’vegotalldaytomorrow.

Tomorrow?Doyouwanttocomeroundhere?11a.m.?

IpressSend,andthistimethere’sabitofawaitbeforehereplies:

No,let’smeetatStarbucks.

Ajoltofpanicgoesthroughmelikewhitefire.Starbucks?Ishenuts?Thenasecondtextcomesthrough:

Youhavetogothereanyway,right?Isn’tthatyourproject?

But…but…but…Starbucks?Tomorrow?

My fingers are trembling. My skin feels hot. I’m breathing in for fourcounts and out for seven and trying to channel Dr. Sarah. Howwould sheadviseme?Whatwouldshesay?But already I knowwhat she’d say.Because she’s said it. I can hear her

voiceinmyhead,rightnow:It’stimeforsomebiggersteps.Youneedtopushyourself,Audrey.Youwon’tknowtillyoutry.Ibelieveyoucancopewithit.Istareatthephonetillthenumbersblurinfrontofmyeyes,thentypethe

textbeforeIcanchangemymind.

OK.Seeyouthere.

Iknowwhatit’sliketobeanoldpersonnow.OK,Idon’tknowwhatit’sliketohavewrinklyskinandwhitehair.ButI

do know what it’s like to walk down the road at a slow, uncertain pace,wincingatthepassingofpeople,andflinchingwhenhornsbeepandfeelinglikeeverythingisjusttoofast.MumandDadhavetakenFelixoutforthedaytosomegardenshow,andat

thelastminutetheytookFranktooto“broadenhishorizons.”SotheyhavenoideaI’mdoingthis.Icouldn’tfacethewholebigdealoftellingthemandMumfussingandallthatpalaver.SoIwaitedtilltheyleft,gotmykey,gotmymoneyandthecamera,andjustleftthehouse.WhichIhaven’tdonefor…Idon’tknow.Solong.Weliveabouttwentyminutes’walkfromStarbucks,ifyou’restriding.I’m

not striding.But I’mnot stoppingeither. I’mgoing.Even thoughmy lizardbrainispoisedtocurlupinfright,I’mmanagingtoputonefootinfrontoftheother.Left,right.Left,right.Mydarkglassesareon,myhandsarejammedinthepocketsofmyhoodie,

and I’ve pulled the hood up for extra protection. I haven’t raisedmy gazefrom the pavement but that’s OK. Most people walk along in their ownworldsanyway.AsIreachthetowncentrethecrowdsbecomedenserandtheshopfronts

arebrightandnoisyandwitheverystepIhaveastrongerdesiretorun,butIdon’t. I push on. It’s like climbing a mountain, I tell myself. Your bodydoesn’twanttodoit,butyoumakeit.And then, at last, I’ve made it to Starbucks. As I approach the familiar

façadeIfeelkindofexhausted,butI’mgiddytoo.I’mhere.I’mhere!Ipushthedooropenandthere’sLinus,sittingatatableneartheentrance.

He’swearingjeansandagreyT-shirtandhelookshot,InoticebeforeIcanstopmyself.Notthatthisisadate.Imean,obviouslyit’snotadate.Butevenso—MidsentenceStop.Whatever.YouknowwhatImean.Linus’sfacebrightensasheseesme,andheleapsupfromthetable.

“Youmadeit!”“Yes!”“Ididn’tthinkyouwould.”“Ididn’tthinksoeither,”Iadmit.“Butyoudid!You’recured!”HisenthusiasmissoinfectiousIgrinmadlybackandwesortofdoamini-

dance,armswavingupanddown.“Shallwegetsomecoffee?”“Yes!”Isay,inmynewconfident,everything’s-fineway.“Great!”AswejointhequeueIfeelkindofwired.Themusiconthesoundsystem

istooloudandtheconversationsaroundmearehittingmyeardrumswithaforce thatmakesmewince, but I’mgoingwith it insteadof resisting.Likeyoudoatarockconcert,whenyournervesgettakenoverbytheforceofthenoise and you just have to surrender. (And yes, I appreciate most peoplewouldnotequatelow-levelStarbuckschattertoarockconcert.AllIwillsayis:Trylivinginsidemybrainforabit.)Ican feelmyheartpumping,butwhether it’sbecauseof thenoiseor the

peopleorbecauseI’mwithahot-lookingboy,Idon’tknow.Igivemyorder(caramelFrappuccino)andthesurlygirlbehindthecountersays,“Name?”Ifthere’sonethingIdon’twantit’smynamebeingshoutedacrossabusy

coffeeshop.“Ihatethenamething,”ImuttertoLinus.“Metoo.”Henods.“Giveafakeone.Ialwaysdo.”“Name?”repeatsthegirlimpatiently.“Oh.Um,Rhubarb,”Isay.“Rhubarb?”It’s easy to keep a poker face when you’re wearing dark glasses and a

hoodieandyou’relookingofftooneside.“Yes,that’smyname.Rhubarb.”“You’recalledRhubarb?”“Of course she’s called Rhubarb,” chimes in Linus. “Hey, Rhu, do you

wantanythingtoeat?Youwantamuffin,Rhu?”“No,thanks.”Ican’thelpsmiling.“OK,Rhu.Noproblem.”“Fine.Rhu-barb.”ThegirlwritesitdownwithherSharpie.“Andyou?”“Iwouldlikeacappuccino,”saysLinuspolitely.“Thankyou.”

“Yourname?”“I’llspellitforyou,”hesays.“Z-W-P-A-E-N—”“What?”Shestaresathim,Sharpieinhand“Wait. I haven’t finished. Double-F-hyphen-T-J-U-S. It’s an unusual

name,”Linusaddsgravely.“It’sDutch.”I’m shaking, trying not to laugh. The Starbucks girl gives us both evil

stares.“You’reJohn,”shesays,andscrawlsitonhiscup.ItellLinusI’llpaybecausethisismydocumentaryandI’mtheproducer,

andhesaysOK,he’llgetthenextone.Thenwetakeourcups—RhubarbandJohn—andheadbacktoourtable.Myheartispoundingevenharder,butI’monahigh.Lookatme!InStarbucks!Backtonormal!Imean,OK,I’mstillindarkglasses.AndIcan’tlookatanyone.Andmy

handsaredoingweirdtwistythingsinmylap.ButI’mhere.That’sthepoint.“So you dumped Frank off your team,” I say as we sit down, and

immediatelyregretitincaseitsoundsaggressive.ButLinusdoesn’tlookoffended.Helooksworried.“Frankdoesn’tblame

me,”hesaysquickly,andIrealizetheymusthavehadaconversationaboutthis.“Imean,hewouldn’texpectusalltogiveupplayingLOCjustbecausehe’shadto.Hesaidhe’ddothesameifitwashim.”“Sowho’sthefourth?”“ThisguyMatt,”saysLinuswithoutenthusiasm.“He’sOK.”“DadmadeFrankplaybasswithhiminthegarage,”Itellhim.“Hethinks

that’sabetterinterest.”“DoesFrankplaybass?”“Barely.” I snuffle with laughter. “He plays, like, three chords and Dad

doesten-minutesolos.”“Youthinkthat’sbad?Mydadplaystherecorder.”“Hewhat?”Mylaughterdiesaway.“Seriously?”“Youcan’ttellanyone.”LinuslookssuddenlyvulnerableandIfeelawave

of…something. Something strong andwarm. Likewhen you put your armroundsomeoneandsqueeze.“Iwon’t tell. I promise.” I take a sip of Frappuccino. “Like, the kind of

recorderkidsplay?”“Agrown-upkind.Wooden.Big.”Hedemonstrates.“Wow.Ididn’tknowthatexisted.”

Wesipourdrinksandsmileateachother.Thoughtsareracingthroughmyhead,crazythoughtslikeI’vemadeit!I’minStarbucks!Gome!Butthereareother,weird,randomthoughtspoppingup,likeEveryone’slookingatmeandIhatemyself.AndthensuddenlyIwishIwasathomerightnow,whichisjustweird.IdonotwishIwasathome.I’moutwithLinus!InStarbucks!“Sowhatdoyouwanttoaskmeonyourdocumentary?”hesays.“Oh,Idon’tknow.Stuff.”“Isthispartofyourtherapy?”“Yes.Kindof.”“Butdoyoustillneedtherapy?Imean,youlookfine.”“Well,Iamfine.It’sjustthisproject…”“If you just took off your dark glasses you’d be, like, totally back to

normal.Youshoulddothat,”Linussayswithenthusiasm.“Youknow,justdoit.”“Iwill.”“Butyoushouldn’twait.Youshoulddoit,righthere,rightnow.”“Yes.Maybe.”“ShallIdoit?”HereachesoverandIrecoil.Mybravadoismeltingaway.Hisvoicefeelshectoring,likehe’sgivingme

aninterrogation.Idon’tknowwhat’shappenedinmyhead.Thingshaveturned.Itakeasip

ofFrappuccino,tryingtorelax,butallIreallywanttodoisgrabanapkinandshred it into littlebits.Thevoicesaroundmearegetting louderand louder;moreandmorethreatening.At the counter, someone’s complaining about a cold coffee, and I find

myselftuningintotheonlysideoftheargumentthatIcanhear.“Complained three times—Don’twant a freecoffee—Notgoodenough!

Justnotgoodenough!”The angry voice is like a chisel inmy brain. It’smakingme flinch and

closemyeyesandwanttoflee.I’mstartingtopanic.Mychestisrisingandfalling.Ican’tstay.Ican’tdothis.Dr.Sarah’swrong.I’mnevergoingtogetbetter.Look,Ican’tevensitinStarbucks.I’matotalfailure.And now darker thoughts are circling my head, dragging me down. I

shouldjusthideaway.Ishouldn’tevenexist.What’sthepointofme,anyway?“Audrey?”Linuswavesahandinfrontofmyface,whichmakesmeflinch

evenmore.“Audrey?”“I’msorry,”Igulp,andpushmychairback.Ihavetoescape.

“What?”Linusstaresatme,bewildered.“Ican’tstay.”“Why?”“It’sjust…tooloud.Toomuch.”Iputmyhandsovermyears.“Sorry.I’m

sosorry…”I’malreadyatthedoor.IpushitopenandfeelsomesmallreliefasImake

itoutside.ButI’mnotsafe.I’mnothome.“Butyouwerefine.”Linushasfollowedmeout.Hesoundsalmostangry.

“Youwerefinejustnow!Wewerechattingandwewerelaughing…”“Iknow.”“Sowhathappened?”“Nothing,”Isaydesperately.“Idon’tknow.Itmakesnosense.”“So,justtellyourselftosnapoutofit.Youknow,mindovermatter.”“I’ve tried!” Angry tears rise in my eyes. “Don’t you think I’ve tried

snappingoutofit?”Myheadisawhirlingmassofdistresssignals.Ihavetogo.Now.Inever

hail taxis,ever,but rightnowIdon’teven think twice. I stickmyhandoutandablackcabcomestrundlingby.TearsarefillingmyeyesasIgetin—notthatanyonecanseethem.“Sorry,”IsaytoLinus,myvoicealittlethick.“Ireallyam.So.Weshould

forget the film and everything. So. I won’t see you, I guess. Bye. Sorry.Sorry.”

Athome I lie inmybed, totally still, totally silent,with thecurtainsdrawnandearplugsin.Forabout threehours.Idon’tmoveamuscle.SometimesIfeelasifI’maphone,andthisistheonlywayIcanrecharge.Dr.Sarahsaysmybodyisonanadrenalinerollercoaster,andthat’swhyIlurchfromtotallywiredtototallyfatigued,withnothinginbetween.At last, feelingwobbly, I headdownstairs for something to eat. Iwrite a

texttoDr.Sarah:

IwenttoStarbucksbutIhadameltdown,

andsenditoff.Thedark,illthoughtshavegone,butthey’veleftmefeelingweakandjittery.Idrift into thekitchen,andwinceas Ipassmy reflection in themirror. I

lookpaleandkindof…Idon’tknow.Shrunken.It’sliketheflu.Itattacksyouandyourwholebody takes thehit. I’m just consideringwhether tomake aNutellasandwichoracheeseonewhenIheararattlingsoundfromthehall,andsomethingdroppingonthemat,andIjumpamile.For amoment there’s silence. I’ve tensedup all over like an animal in a

trap,butItellmyselffirmly,Iamsafe,Iamsafe,Iamsafe,andmyheartrateslowlydrops,andatlastIwanderouttoseewhatitis.It’sanote,onthedoormat—apieceoflinedpapertornoutofanotebook

withAudreywritteninLinus’shandwriting.Iopenittosee:

AreyouOK?Itextedbutyoudidn’treply.Frankdidn’treplyeither.Ididn’twanttoringthedoorbellandshockyou.

Ihaven’tevenlookedatmyphonesinceItextedDr.Sarah.AndFrank’satthe garden show, in the countryside. He probably hasn’t got any signal. Iimagine Frank, grimly tramping round some field, and raise a faint smile.He’llbeinsuchabadmood.Through the ripply glass of the front door I suddenly notice a kind of

shadowymovement,andmyheartcatches.OhGod.IsthatLinus,there?Ishewaiting?Forwhat?Ireachforapenandthinkforamoment.

I’mfine,thankyou,sorryIfreakedout.

I push it back through the letter box. It’s a bit difficult because there’s aspring,butImanageit.Amomentlater,itreappears.

Youlookedreallybad.Iwasworried.

I stare at his words, my heart falling like a stone.Really bad. I lookedreallybad.Iruineverything.

Sorry.

Somehow I can’t findanything toput except thatoneword, so Iwrite itagain.

Sorry.Sorry.

AndIposttheletterbackthroughtheletterbox.Almostatoncethepageispushedbackwithhisreply:

No,don’tbesorry.It’snotyourfault.InStarbucks,whatwereyouthinking?

Iwasn’texpectingthat.ForafewmomentsIdon’tmove.I’mhunchedonthedoormat,thoughtsrunningthroughmyheadliketickertape.DoIanswer?WhatdoIanswer?DoIwanttotellhimwhatIwasthinking?ThevoiceofthattherapistfromSt.John’skeepsrunningthroughmyhead;

the onewho used to take the Self-Assertion workshop.We do not have torevealourselves.Sheusedtosayiteveryweek.Weareallentitledtoprivacy.Youdonothave toshareanythingwithothers,howevermuch theymayaskyou.Photos,fantasies,plansfortheweekend…they’reyours.Sheusedtolookaroundtheroomalmoststernly.YoudoNOThavetosharethem.Idon’thavetosharewithLinuswhatIwasthinking.Icouldwalkaway.I

couldwrite,Oh,nothing!Or,Youdon’twant toknow!!!;)Like it’sall abigjoke.But somehow…Iwant to share. I don’t knowwhy, but I do. I trust him.

Andhe’sontheothersideofthedoor.It’sallsafe.Likeinaconfessional.BeforeIcanchangemymind,Iscrawl,

Iwasthinking,“I’matotalfailure,Ishouldn’texist,what’sthepointofme?”

Ishoveitthroughtheletterbox,sitbackonmyheels,andblowout,feelinga strange satisfaction. There. Enough pretending. Now he knows just howweirdtheinsideofmymindis.Iholdmybreath,tryingtogleanhisreactionon the other side of the door, but there’s silence.The ripply glass is still. Ican’t detect any response at all. I think hemust have gone.Of course he’sgone.Whowouldstay?OhGod,am Inuts?Whywould Iwrite downmymostwarped thoughts

andpostthemthroughaletterboxtotheoneguyIactuallylike?WhywouldIdothis?Totallydeflated,Igettomyfeet,andI’vereachedthekitchendoorwhenI

heararattling.Iwhipround—andthere’sareplyonthedoormat.MyhandsaretremblingasIgrabit,andatfirstIcan’tfocusproperly.It’sanewpage,coveredinwriting,anditbegins,

What’sthepointofyou?Trythis,forstarters.

Andunderneaththere’salonglist.He’swrittenalong,longlist, thatfillsthepage.I’msoflustered,Ican’tevenreaditproperly,butasIscandownI

catchbeautifulsmileandgreattasteinmusic(IsneakedalookatyouriPod)andawesomeStarbucksname.Igiveasuddensnortoflaughterthatalmostturnstoasobandthenturnsto

asmile,andthensuddenlyI’mwipingmyeyes.I’mallovertheplace.Witharattle,anothernoteplopsthroughtheletterboxandIjerkinshock.

Whatmorecanhehavetosay?Notanothergreatbiglist,surely?Butitsays:

Willyouopenthedoor?

Aflurryofalarmracesthroughme.Ican’tlethimseemyshrunken,pale,ratty self. I just can’t. IknowDr.Sarahwould tellme I’mnot shrunkenorratty,I’mimaginingit,butshe’snothere,isshe?

Notquiteuptoit.Anothertime.Sorry,sorry…

IholdmybreathafterI’vepostedthepage.He’llbeoffended.He’llleave.That’sit,allover,beforeitevenbegan…Butthentheletterboxrattlesyetagainandareplycomesthrough:

Understood.I’llbeoff,then.

My spirits plunge.He is leaving.He is offended.He hatesme, I shouldhaveopened thedoor, I shouldhavebeen stronger, I’mso stupid…I’m justtryingdesperatelytothinkofwhatIcanwrite,whenanotherpagedropsontothemat.It’sfoldedover,andontheoutsideiswritten:

HadtogiveyouthisbeforeIgo.

ForafewmomentsIdon’tdarereadit.ButatlastIopenitupandstareatthewords inside.Myhead ispricklingalloverwithdisbelief.Mybreath isjumpyasIreadit.Hewrotethat.Hewrotethat.Tome.

It’sakiss.

AtSt. John’s, they tell you not to keep rewinding your thoughts and goingoveroldground.Theytellyoutoliveinthepresent,notthepast.Buthowareyousupposedtodothatwhenaboyyoulikehasjustkindof,virtually,kissedyou?BythetimeIseeDr.SarahatmynextsessionI’vereplayedthescenelikea

million times, and now I’m wondering if the whole thing was just himwindingmeup,orhavingsomethingtolaughaboutwithhisfriends,orwashejustbeingpolite?Imean,doeshefeelsorryforme?Wasitapitykiss?OhGod. Itwas so apitykiss. (Not that I’manexpertonkisses. I havekissedpreciselyoneboyinmylife,whichwasonholidaylastyearanditwasgross.)Dr.SarahlistenspolitelyforabouthalfanhourasIblabberonaboutLinus.

And then we talk about “mind-reading” and “catastrophising,” just like Iknewwewould.IthinkIcouldbeatherapistmyself,sometimes.“I knowwhat you’ll tellme,” I say at last. “I can’t read hismind and I

shouldn’t try.ButhowcanInot thinkabout it?Hekissedme.Imean…sortof. On paper.” I shrug, feeling a bit embarrassed. “You probably think itdoesn’tcount.”“Notatall,”saysDr.Sarahseriously.“Thefactthatitwasonpaperdoesn’t

lessenit.Akissisakiss.”“AndnowIhaven’theardfromhimandIhavenoideawhathe’sthinking,

anditstressesmeout…”Dr.Sarahdoesn’treplyimmediately,andIsigh.“Iknow,Iknow.Ihaveanillnessandit’sfullytreatable.”There’sanotherlongsilence.Dr.Sarah’smouthistwitching.“Youknow,Audrey?”shesaysatlast.“Ihatetobreakittoyou,butgetting

stressedoverwhatboysarethinkingafterthey’vekissedyoumaynotbefullytreatable.Notfully.”

Andthen,threedaysafterStarbucks,I’msittingwatchingTVpeacefullyonmyownwhenFrankcomesstompingintothedenandsays,“Linusishere.”“Oh, right.” I sit up in a fluster. “Really? He’s here? But…” I swallow.

“You’renotallowedtoplayLOC,so…Imean,whyishe…”“Hewants to seeyou.”Frank sounds fairly unimpressedby this fact. “Is

thatOK?Youwon’tfreakout?”“No.Yes.Imean…that’sfine.”“Good,becausehe’shere.Lin-us!”Some brotherswould give their sister a chance to brush their hair.Or at

leastchangeoutofthescaggyoldT-shirtthey’vebeeninallday.I’msendingmurderous thought waves to Frank as Linus comes into the den and sayscautiously,“Hi.Wow,it’sdarkinhere.”Everyoneinthefamilyhasgotsousedtomydarkenedden,Iforgethowit

mustlooktootherpeople.Ikeeptheblackoutcurtainsclosedandthelightsoff,andtheonlyilluminationistheflickeringtelly.AndthenIfeelsafe.Safeenoughtotakemydarkglassesoff.“Yes.Sorry.”“No,it’sfine.Youreallyarerhubarb.”“That’smyname.”Iseehimsmilethroughthedarkness.There’saglowon

histeethfromtheTV,andhiseyesaretwoshiningchinks.I’m sitting in my customary place on the carpet and after a moment he

comesoverandsitsdownnexttome.Imean,notrightnexttome.He’sabouta foot away. I think my skin must be able to send out signals like a bat,becauseI’mtotallyawareofhispositioninrelationtomine.Andallthetimemyhead isbuzzingwith the thought:Hekissedme.Onpaper.Kindof.Hekissedme.“What are you watching?” He stares at the telly, where a woman in a

tailored dress is trying to find things to say about kelp shampoo. “Is thatQVC?”“Yes.Ifindtheconversationssoothing.”QVCisthemostcalmingTVIknow.Youhavethreepeopleinastudioand

theyallthinkthemoisturiserisgreat.No-onearguesthepointorraisestheirvoice.No-one discovers they’re pregnant or getsmurdered.And there’s nostudiolaughter,whichbelieveme,cansoundlikeadrillinmyhead.“Don’tworry,IknowI’mnuts,”Iadd.“Youthinkthisisnuts?”saysLinus.“Youwanttomeetmygranny.She’s

really nuts. She thinks she’s twenty-five.When she looks in themirror shethinkswe’replayingtricksonher.Shecan’tseereality.Shewearsminiskirts,she wants to go out to dances…She wears more makeup than any grannyyou’veeverseen.”

“Shesoundsawesome!”“She’s…youknow.”Heshrugs.“Sometimesit’sfunny,sometimesit’ssad.

But thepoint is, she’snot twenty-five, isshe?It’s justhersickbrain tellingherthat,isn’tit?”Heseemstoexpectananswer,soIsay,“Right.”“Imeanttosaythistoyou,before.AfterStarbucks.DoyougetwhatI’m

saying?” He sounds emphatic. “Gran’s not twenty-five, and you’re not…whateverallthatbadstuffinyourheadwastellingyou.You’renotthat.”AndsuddenlyIseewhathe’sdoing,whathe’stryingtodo.“Right,”Isayagain.“Yes.Iknow.”AndIdoknow.Althoughit’seasiertoknowwhenthebadthoughtsaren’t

rushingthroughyourheadlikeariver.“Thanks,”Iadd.“Thanksfor…youknow.Understanding.Gettingit.”“Idon’treallygetit.But…”“Youdo,morethanmostpeople.Really.”“Well.”Hesoundsawkward.“Anyway.So,areyoufeelingbetternow?”“Loadsbetter.”Ismileinhisdirection.“Loadsandloadsbetter.”TheladiesonQVChavemovedontoavegetablechopper,andforawhile

wewatchitdemolishingcarrotsandcabbages.ThenLinussays,“How’stheshoecontactcomingalong?”AtthewordcontactIstiffeninside.Contact.Notjustonpaper,forreal.Don’tthinkIhaven’tthoughtaboutit.“Haven’t tried it again.” I’m trying hard to sound casual. “Do youwant

to?”“OK.”Ishiftmyshoeovertillit’stouchinghis.Shoetoshoe,likewedidbefore.

I’m poised for a meltdown, for a freakout, for some totally embarrassingreaction. But the strange thing is…it doesn’t happen. My body hasn’tsquirmed away.Mybreathing is even.My lizard brain is, like, allZen andrelaxed.What’sgoingon?“It’s the darkness,” I say out loud, before I can stop myself. “It’s the

darkness.”Ifeelalmostheadywithrelief.“Whatis?”“Icanrelaxwhenit’sdark.It’slike,theworldisadifferentplace.”Ispread

my arms out in the dark, feeling it againstmy skin like a soft, envelopingcushion.“IthinkIcoulddoanythingifthewholeworldwasdarkthewhole

time.Youknow.I’dbefine.”“Thenyoushouldbeapotholer,”suggestsLinus.“Oracaver.”“Orabat.”“Avampire.”“OhmyGod,Ishouldsobeavampire.”“Exceptthewholeeatingpeoplething.”“Yerk.”Inod,agreeing.“Doesn’t itgetmonotonous?People’sbloodeverynight?Don’t theyever

wantaplateofchips?”“I don’t know.” I feel a giggle rise. “Next time I see a vampire I’ll ask

him.”Wewatchthevegetablechoppermakewayforasteamcookerwhichhas

sold145unitsalready,thishour.“So,bearinginmindit’sdarkandall,”saysLinus,casually,“whatabout…

thumbcontact?Justtoseeifyoucandoit.Likeanexperiment.”“Right.”Inod,feelingalittleflipinmystomach.“Um.OK.Whynot?”Ifeelhishandmakeitswaytowardsmine.Ourthumbsfindeachotherand

hisskinisdryandwarmandkindofhowIexpectedittobe.HisthumbnailcirclesmineandIplayfullydodgehis,andhelaughs.“Soyou’reOKwiththumbcontact.”“Thumbcontactisgood.”Inod.He doesn’t say anything more, but I can feel him extending his thumb

downintothepalmofmyhand.We’reintofinger-to-handcontact.Andthenpalm-to-palmcontact.HishandclaspsmineandIsqueezeback.Now he’s shifting closer andwithmore intent. I can feel thewarmth of

him, through the air, againstmy arm, againstmy leg.Andnow I’ma littlekeyed up, but not like I was in Starbucks. There’s nothing crazy runningthroughmyhead.Infact,I’mnotsureanything’srunningthroughmyheadatallexceptIsthishappeningforreal?AndYesitis.“JeanscontactOK?”hemurmurs,ashislegtwinesroundmine.“Yes,jeanscontactisgood,”Imanage.We’ve reached arm-round-shoulders contact.Hair-to-hair contact. Cheek-

to-cheekcontact.Hisfacefeelsgentlyroughasheslidesitalongmine.Mouthcontact.He doesn’t say anything about it or ask if it’s OK. I don’t say anything

either.ButitisOK.It’smorethanOK.

Whenwe’vekissed, like, forever,heshufflesupandsitsmeonhisknee,andIcurlintohim.Hefeelswarmandsolid.Hisarmsfeelstrongaroundme.Andhishairsmellsnice.Andit’sprettyhardtoconcentrateonthebenefitsofa food processor with four unique attachments, on special exclusive offertodayforonly£69.99.

Here’s the really embarrassing thing: I fell asleep. I don’t know if itwas apost-adrenaline crash or just theClonazepam I’d taken at lunchtime—but Idid.WhenIwoke,Iwasspread-eagledonthefloorandMumwascallingmefromthehall,andthe ladiesonQVCweretalkingaboutamagicchipfryerthathalvesthecalories.Andnexttometherewasanote.

I’llseeyousoon.XXX

I’vegoneupalevel.That’stheonlywayIcandescribeit.If Iwas a hero inLOC I’d have like enhanced attributes, or some extra

kick-ass weapon or something. I’m stronger. I feel taller. I bounce backquicker.It’sbeenaweeksinceLinusandIwatchedQVCandyes,I’vehadonebadepisode,butIdidn’tsinkquiteaslow.Thingsweren’tquiteasdark.LinushascomeoverafewtimesandwealwayswatchQVCandjustchat

orwhateverandit’sjust…Well.It’sgood.Nowit’sFridayafternoonandeventhoughI’mnotatschool, I’vegot thatend-of-weekfeeling.Theair’swarmandIcanhearchildrenplayingintheirgardens.FromthekitchenwindowIwatchFelixrunningroundthelawnwithnoclothesonandawateringcaninhisfist.Ihearthetinkleofanice-creamvanandI’mabouttocallouttoMumthat

weshouldgetFelixanicelolly,whenshecomesintothekitchen.Staggers,morelike.Herfaceissopaleit’slikemauve.Andsheactuallyholdsontothekitchenislandasthoughotherwiseshemightfallover.“Mum?” I eye her in alarm. “Are you OK?” At once I realize this is a

stupidquestion.She’snotOK,she’spoorly.“Ithinkyoushouldgotobed.”“I’mfine.”Shegivesmeaweaksmile.“You’renot!You’vegotabug.Youneedrestandfluids.Haveyougota

temperature?” I’m trying to remember all the things she says to us whenwe’reill.“WouldyoulikeaLemsip?”“Oh,aLemsip.”Shebreathesout,lookinglikeawraith.“Yes,thatwould

benice.”“I’ll lookafterFelix,”Isayfirmly.“Yougo tobed. I’llbring theLemsip

up.”IfliponthekettleandamrootingaroundinthecupboardsfortheLemsip

packet,whenFrankarriveshome.Icantellthisfromthealmightycrashthatcomesfromthehall.That’llbehisschoolbag,asportsbag,hiscricketbat,andwhateverotherjunkhe’sgot,allbeingdumpedfromagreatheightontothetiles.Hecomesintothekitchen,singingsometunelesssongandpeelingoffhistie.“All right!”Hepunches the air, singing, “It’s theweeeeeek-end…What’s

forsupper?”“Mum’sill,”Itellhim.“She’sgot,like,fluorsomething.Itoldhertogoto

bed.Youshouldgooutandbuyher…”Ithinkforamoment.“Grapes.”“I’veonlyjustgothome.”Franklooksunenthusiastic.“AndI’mstarving.”“Well,haveasandwichandthengethersomegrapes.”“Whatgooddograpesdo?”“Dunno,”Isayimpatiently.“It’swhatyouhavewhenyou’reill.”I’vemadetheLemsipandfoundacoupleofbiscuits,andIputthemallon

atray.“GetRibena too.”Isay.“Andwhatsit.Nurofen.Write itdown.”I turn to

makesureFrankis listening—buthe’snotwritinganythingdown.He’s juststanding there, givingme thisweird, veryun-Frank look.His head is tiltedand he looks sort of fascinated, or curious, or something. “What?” I saydefensively.“Look,Iknowit’sFriday,butMum’sill.”“I know,” says Frank. “It’s not that. It’s…” He hesitates. “D’you know

something,Aud?Youwouldn’thavedonethiswhenyoufirstcamebackfromhospital.You’vechanged.”I’m so taken aback, I don’t knowwhat to say. Like, first of all, I didn’t

thinkFrankevernoticedthingsaboutme.Andsecondofall,isthattrue?Itrytothinkback,butit’sabithazy.Thisisaside-effectofdepression,Dr.Sarahhas toldme.Yourmemorygets shot to pieces.Which, youknow, can be agoodthingorabadthing.“Really?”Isayatlast.“Youwouldhavejusthiddeninyourroom.Everythinggotyouintoastate,

eventhedoorbellringing.Butnowlook.You’reincharge.You’reontopofit.”Henodsatmeholdingthetray.“It’s…well…It’sgood.It’scool.”“Thanks,”Isayawkwardly.“Noprobs.”Helooksequallyawkward.Thenheopensthefridge,getsout

a carton of chocolate milk and plugs in his iPod buds. I guess thisconversationisover.ButasIwalkupthestairswiththetray,I’mreplayingit.You’reincharge.

You’reontopofit.Justthethoughtgivesmeaninnerglow.Ihaven’tfeltontopofanythingfor…forever.I tapon thedoorandgo intomyparents’ room.Mum’s lying inbed,her

eyesclosed.Ithinkshe’sfallenasleep.Shemusthavebeenexhausted.I put the tray down as quietly as I can, on her dressing table. There’s a

bunchofframedphotosonthepolishedwood,andI linger, lookingat them

all.MumandDadontheirweddingday…meandFrankasbabies…andoneofMumwithallherworkmates,winningsomeaward.She’swearingapinkjacket and clutching a Perspex trophy and beaming, and she looks totallyvibrant.Mumisa freelancebrandconsultant,whichmeans that shedoesprojects

all over the country. Sometimes she’s really busy and sometimes she hasweeksoff,andthat’showit’salwaysbeen.Shecametomyschoolandtalkedabout her job once, and showed us this supermarket logo redesign she’dworkedon,andeveryonewasreallyimpressed.Imean,she’scool.Herjobiscool. Only now I’m looking at this photo I’m wondering:When did sheactuallylastwork?Shewasonaprojectwhen Igot ill. Icanvaguely rememberhearingher

talking toDad about it, hearingher say, “I’mpullingout. I’mnot going toManchester.”AllIfeltthenwasrelief.Ididn’twanthertogotoManchester.Ididn’twanthertogoanywhere.Butnow…I look at the photo again, at Mum’s happy, shiny photo face—and then

downather tired,asleep, real-life faceon thebed. Ithadn’toccurred tomethatMumhadstoppedworkingcompletely.ButeversinceI’vebeenathome,Irealize,shehasn’tgonetoherofficeonce.I feel like I’m slowly coming out of a fog and noticing things I didn’t

before.WhatDr. Sarah said is true: you get self-obsessedwhen you’re ill.Youcan’tseeanythingaroundyou.ButnowI’mstartingtoseestuff.“Audrey?”IturntoseethatMumispushingherselfuponherelbows.“Hi!”Isay.“Ithoughtyouwereasleep.IbroughtyousomeLemsip.”Mum’sfacecracksintoasmile,asthoughI’vemadeheryear.“Sweetheart,”shesays.“Thatissokind.”Ibringthetrayandwatchasshesipsthehotdrink.Herfaceissodistant

thatIthinkshemightbefallingasleepagain,butsuddenlyshefocusesonme.“Audrey,”shesays.“ThisLinus.”Ifeelmydefensesriseatonce.NotLinus.ThisLinus.“Yes?”Isay,tryingtosoundcasual.“Ishe…?”Shetrailsoff.“Areyou…?Isheaspecialfriend?”I can feel myself squirming inside. I don’t want to talk about Linus to

Mum.“Kindof.”Ilookaway.“YoualwayssayIneedtomakefriends.So.Idid.”

“And that’sgreat.”Mumhesitates. “But,Audrey,youneed tobecareful.You’revulnerable.”“Dr.SarahsaysIneedtopushmyself,”Icounter.“Ineedtobeginbuilding

relationshipsoutsidethefamilyagain.”“Iknow.”Mumlookstroubled.“ButIsupposeI’dratheryoubeganwith…

Well.Agirlfriend.”“Becausegirlsaresoniceandsweetandlovely,”Iretort,beforeIcanstop

myself,andMumsighs.“Touché.” She takes a sip of Lemsip, wincing. “Oh, I don’t know. I

supposeifthisLinusisaniceboy…”“He’sverynice,”Isayfirmly.“Andhisnameisn’tThisLinus.It’sLinus.”“WhataboutNatalie?”Natalie.A tinypartofmeshrivelsautomaticallyat thename.But for the

first time in ages, I can also feel a kind of longing. A longing for thefriendshipwehad.Forfriendship,fullstop.There’s quiet in the roomas I try topick throughmymuddled thoughts.

Mumdoesn’tpushme.SheknowsitsometimestakesmealongtimetoworkoutwhatIthink.She’sprettypatient.IfeellikeI’vebeenonthismassivelong,lonelyjourney,andnoneofmy

friendscouldeverunderstandit,evenNatalie.IthinkIkindofhatedthemforthat. But now everything’s feeling easier. Maybe I could see Nataliesometime? Maybe we could hang out? Maybe it wouldn’t matter that shecan’tunderstandwhatI’vebeenthrough?There’saphotoonMum’sdressingtableofNatalieandmedressedupfor

lastyear’sYear9prom,andI findmyeyesswiveling towards it.Nat’s inapinklacydressandI’minblue.We’relaughingandpullingpartypoppers.Wedidthatpictureaboutsixtimestogetthepartypoppersjustright.TheywereNat’s idea.Shehasfunnyideas like that. Imean,shedoesmakeyoulaugh,Nat.“MaybeIwillcallNatalie,”Isayatlast.“Sometime.”IlookatMumfora

reaction,butshe’sfallenasleep.Thehalf-fullLemsipistiltingdangerouslyonthetray,andIgrabitbeforeitcanspill.Ileaveitonherbedsidetableincaseshewakesup,thentiptoeoutoftheroomandheaddownstairs,fullofakindofnewenergy.“Frank,”IdemandasIenterthekitchen.“HasMumgivenupwork?”“Yeah,Ithinkso.”“Forgood?”

“Dunno.”“Butshe’sreallygoodatherjob.”“Yes,butshecan’tgoout,canshe?”Hedoesn’tsayit,butIknowwhathemeans.Becauseofyou.Becauseofme,Mumishangingaroundathome,worryingandreadingthe

DailyMail.Becauseofme,Mum looks all tense and tired insteadof shinyandhappy.“Sheshouldwork.Shelikeswork.”Frankshrugs.“Well.Iexpectshewill.Youknow…”Andagain,theunspokenhangsintheair:Whenyougetbetter.“I’llgoandgetthegrapes,”hesays,andamblesoutofthekitchen.AndI

sit, staring at my blurry reflection in the stainless steel fridge.When I getbetter.Wellthen.It’suptometogetbetter.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY

Dadismakingacallathisdeskinthestudy.

DAD

(intophone)

Yes.Yup.I’llcheckthat.(Hetapsatthe

computer.)OK,I’vegotitupnow.

Frankbargesintotheroomwithoutknocking.

FRANK

Dad,Ineedtolooksomethingupformy

geographyhomework.

DAD

You’llhavetodoitlater.

Sorry,Mark—

FRANK

ButIcan’tdomyhomeworktillIlookthis

up.

DAD

Frank,doitlater.

Franklooksathim,wide-eyed.

FRANK

Youalwaystellmetoprioritizemy

homework.Youalwayssay,“Don’tputoff

yourhomework,Frank.”Butnowyou’re

tellingmetoputoffmyhomework.Imean,

isn’tthatmixedmessages?Aren’tparents

supposedtobeconsistent?

DAD

(sighs)

Fine.Lookitup.Mark,I’llcallyouback.

HegiveswaytoFrankatthecomputer.Franktapsa

fewtimes,looksatawebsite,andscribbles

somethingdown.

FRANK

Thanks.

AsFrankleaves,Dadredialsandsummonsuphis

documentonthecomputer.

DAD

Sorry,Mark.So,asIwassaying,these

figuresreallydon’tmakesense—

HestopsasFrankcomesinagain.

FRANK

Ineedtolookupthepopulationof

Uruguay.

Dadputshishandoverthephone.

DAD

What?

FRANK

Uruguay.Population.

Dadstaresathim,exasperated.

DAD

Isthisreallyessentialrightnow?

Franklookshurt.

FRANK

It’sformyhomework,Dad.Youalwayssay,

whatIdoatschoolwillaffectmywhole

life.ImeanIwoulddoitonmyown

computer,but…well.

(Helookssombrelyatthefloor.)

ThatwasMum’sdecision.We’llneverknow

whyshedidwhatshedid.

DAD

Frank—

FRANK

No,it’sOK.Ifyouwanttoputyourphone

callabovemyeducationthenthat’syour

decision.

DAD

(snaps)

Fine.Lookitup.(Hegetsup.)Mark,we’ll

havetodothismuchlater.Sorry.

FRANK

(atthecomputer)

Itshouldbeonhistories…

HesummonsupapageentitledFinancingYourAlfa

Romeo.

FRANK

Wow,Dad.AreyoubuyinganAlfaRomeo?

DoesMumknow?

DAD

(snaps)

Thatisprivate.Thatisnothing—

HebreaksoffasheseesFranktappingatthe

keyboard.

DAD

Frank,whatareyoudoing?What’shappened

tomyscreen?

Dad’sbland,seasidewallpaperhasbeenreplacedby

aleeringgraphiccharacterfromLOC.

FRANK

Youneededanewwallpaper.Youronewas

rank.Nowweneedsomenewsoundsettings…

HeclicksthemouseandBoomshakalakablastsfrom

thecomputer.

Dadcompletelylosesit.

DAD

Stopthat!Thatismycomputer…(Hegetsup

andstalkstothedoor.)Anne?Anne?

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Fromthedoorofthekitchen,wecanseeDadand

Mum,havingalow-pitchedfight.

DAD

Heneedshisowncomputer.Wecan’tshare

anymore.I’llendupmurderinghim.

MUM

Hedoesnotneedacomputer!

DAD

Heneedsitforhishomework.Allthekids

do.

MUM

Rubbish.

DAD

It’snot!Youknowtheytakenoteson

laptopsthesedays?Theydon’tevenknow

whatpensarefor.Theythinkthey’re

styluseswhicharesomehowleakingaweird

substance.Imean,theycan’twrite

anymore.Forgetwriting.

MUM

Whatareyousaying?Thatchildrenneed

computers?Thatit’sphysicallyimpossible

tolearnanythingwithoutacomputer?What

aboutbooks?Whataboutlibraries?

DAD

Whendidyoulastgotoalibrary?They’re

fullofcomputers.That’showpeoplelearn

thesedays.

MUM

(outraged)

AreyoutellingmethatintheAfrican

scrubland,childrencan’tlearntoread

unlesstheyhaveacomputer?Areyou

tellingmethat?

DAD

(baffled)

Africanscrubland?WhendidtheAfrican

scrublandcomeintoit?

MUM

Doyouneedacomputertoreadgreat

literature?

DAD

Actually,I’mreallygettingintomyKindle

—

HeseesMum’sface.

DAD

Imean,no.Definitelynot.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

AhandknocksatFrank’sdoor.

FRANK

Whoisit?

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

Me!

FRANK

OK.

Thedooropensandthecameraproceedsjerkilyinto

theroom.Itisatipofteenagestuff.Frankis

sittingbythewindow,playingagameona1980s

Atariconsole.Bleepy,tinnynoisesfilltheroom.

AUDREY(V.O.)

YoucouldhavelookedupUruguayonyour

phone.

FRANK

Yeah.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Soyou’rejustmessingwithDad.

FRANK

Ineedacomputer.

ThecamerafocusesontheAtariconsole.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Wheredidyoufindthat?

FRANK

Intheloft.

There’saknockatthedoorand,inoneseamless

motion,FrankthrowsatracksuitovertheAtari

console,swivelshischairround,andpicksupa

book.

Mumcomesinandlooksaroundtheroom.

MUM

Frank,thisroomisamess.Youneedto

tidyitup.

Frankshrugs.

MUM

Sowhatareyouupto?

FRANK

Just…youknow.

Heglancesatthecamera.

FRANK

Theusual.

I’m doing it. I’m getting better. Not just baby-steps better, massive-great-strides better. It’s threeweeks later and I’m feelingmore on top of it thanever.I’vebeentoStarbucksthreetimes,Costaonce,andTheGingerBiscuitonceformilkshakes.Iknow!Dr.Sarahwaslike,“Audrey,youaremakingstrides!”Thenshetoldmenottogotoofasttoosoon,yaddayadda,butyoucouldtellshewasimpressed.I’ve even had lunch at a pizza restaurant! I had to leave before pudding

because the restaurant suddenlygot tooclatteryand threatening—butstill, Ilasted a whole Quattro Staggioni.Mum andDad came too, and Linus andFrankandFelix,anditfeltlikewewere…youknow.Anormalgroup.Apartfrom the fact thatoneofuswassitting there indarkglasses likesomesad,wannabe celeb. I said that to Mum and she said, “You think you’re theabnormal-lookingone?LookatFelix!”Whichwasafairpoint,asFelixwasdressedinhisbelovednewmorphsuit

withatigermaskontopofit,andhadatantrumwhenwepointedoutthathewouldn’tbeabletoeatanypizzalikethat.So thatmademe feelbetter. In fact, a lot ismakingme feelbetterat the

moment.SeeingLinusisdefinitelymakingmefeelbetter.Wetextallthetimeand he comes over every day after school, andwe’ve started playing tabletennisinthegarden,like,obsessively.EvenFrankjoinsinsometimes.Andtodaywasamazing,becauseLinusgavemeapresent.AT-shirt.Ithas

apictureof rhubarbon it andhegot itoff the Internet.MumandDadsaid“Whyrhubarb?”andhewinkedatmeandsaid,“It’sourthing.”Ourthing.I’m not sure what makes me happier—the T-shirt or the our thing. I’ve

neverhadanourthingwithaboybefore.Whicheveritis,I’mstillglowing.MumandDadareoutandFrankisdoinghomeworkandFelixisinbedandIfeel firedup. I feel restless. I’mwanderingaround thehouse inmyT-shirt,feelinglikeIwanttoshareall this.Iwanttotalktosomeone.IwanttoseesomeoneNatalie.IwanttoseeNatalie.Thethoughtislikealightrayinmybrain,sopositive,itmakesmeblink.I

wanttoseeher.Iwantmyfriendback.Yes.I’mgoingtodoit.Rightnow.

I’venearlyphonedNatacoupleoftimessinceIhadthattalkwithMum.OnceIwasactuallyhalfwaythroughdiallingwhenIchickenedoutatthelastmoment.ButtodayIcanfaceit.Icanmorethanfaceit.Igetoutmyphoneandkey inNatalie’snumberbefore I canchangemy

mind.Iknowitoffbyheart,eventhoughIhaven’tspokentoherfor,like,azillionyears.The last timewesaweachotherwason thatawful lastdayatschool,andshewascrying,andIwas,like,beyondcrying,anditwasn’tthegreatestgoodbye.Itext:

Hi Nat. How are u? I’m a lot better. Love to c usometime.Auds.x

About thirtyseconds laterher replyarrives. It’s likeshe’sbeensittingbyherphoneallthistime,alltheseweeks,waiting.Whichmaybeshehas.Iblinkatthetext,whichgoeslikethis:

OMGAuds.IhavebeenSOWORRIEDABOUTU.CanIcomeround?Shall Icomeroundnow?Mumsays it’sfine.Natxxxxx

Itextback:

OKCusoon.

Andwhat seems like fiveminutes later, thedoorbell rings. Itmighthavebeentenminutes.Itdefinitelywasn’tanylongerthanthat.Shemusthaveleftthehousethatexactsecond.Iswingopenthefrontdoorandstepback,abitunnerved.NotbecauseI’m

notpleasedtoseeNatalie,butbecauseofallthestuffshe’sholding.She’sgotagiftbasketofbathoil anda teddybearholdingabanner sayingGetWellSoon and some books andmagazines and bars of chocolate and amassivecard.“Hi,”Isayfaintly.“Wow.”“We wanted to visit you before,” says Nat in a rush. “But your mum

said…”She swallows. “Anyway. Sowe’d already bought all this stuff. It’sjustbeen sitting there in thehall.”She looksather ladenarms. “Iknow. Itlooksabitmad.”“Well…comein.”Assheedgesin,she’seyeingupmydarkglassesuntilIsay,“Whatisit?”

“Peopleatschooltoldmethey’dseenyouinthose.”Shepointsatmydarkglasses.“Youknow,inthestreet.Evenwhenit’sraining.No-oneknowswhyyouwearthemallthetime.”“It’sjust…youknow.”Ishrugawkwardly.“Beingillandeverything.“Oh.”Sheseemsabitfreakedout.“Right.”Shecomesinanddumpsthestuffonthekitchentableandlooksatme.For

amomentthere’saprickly,awkwardsilence,exceptthetickingoftheclock,andIthinkWasthisamistake?I’mtenselikeacat.I’mwary.It’snotthewayIexpectedtobe,butseeing

NatisbringingbackallkindsofthingsI’dputawayinmymind.“I’m sorry.”Her voice comes out in amiserable gush. “Auds, I’m sorry,

I’msosorry—”“No.” I shakemy head, notwanting to go there. “You don’t have to be

sorry.”“But I should’ve— I didn’t—”Tears are trickling downher face. “I still

can’tbelieveithappened.”“It’sOK.Look,haveadrink.”Ipourusbothsomeelderflower.Ishouldhaverealizedshe’dbeupset.In

myheadI’veskippedpastallthat.Ortrudgedthroughit,morelike.Workedthroughit,iswhatDr.Sarahwouldsay.Processedit.LikeI’macheeseslicemachine.Idon’t thinkNathasprocessedanawful lot.Everytimeshelooksatme,

freshtearspourdownherface.“Andnowyou’reill.”“I’mfine.I’malotbetter.I’vegotaboyfriend!”OK,thatsoundedabitabrupt,butlet’sfaceit—thiswasthemainpurpose

of invitingher over.To tell her I’vegot a boyfriend. Immediatelyher tearsvanishandsheleansforward,avidly.“Aboyfriend?Fromthehospital?”FFS.What does she think, that I’m somemental case hanging out with

anothermentalcasebecausethat’sallI’mfitfornow?“No,not from thehospital,” I say impatiently. “It’sLinus.Youknow? In

Frank’syearatCardinalNicholls?”“Linus?Youmean…AtticusFinch?”Natseemsflabbergasted.“Exactly.Hegavemethis.”IpointatmyT-shirt.“Today.Isn’titcool?”“Isthatapictureofrhubarb?”Shelooksconfused.“Yes.It’sourthing,”Isaycasually.

“Wow.”Natseemsunabletogetoverthisnews.“So…howlonghaveyoubeengoingout?”“Afewweeks.WegotoStarbucksandstuff.Imean,it’sjust…youknow.

Kindoffun.”“Ithoughtyouwere,like,properlyill.Like,inbed.”“Well,Iwas.”Ishrug.“IsupposeI’mrecoveringorwhatever.”Iripopena

barofchocolateandbreakitintopieces.“So,tellmeaboutschool.”I force myself to ask it, even though the word school leaves a nasty

sensationinmybrain;akindofpoisonousimprint.“Oh, everything’s different now,” says Natalie vaguely. “You wouldn’t

believeit.NowthatTashaandthatlothaveleft.Katie’stotallychanged.Youwouldn’t even know her.AndChloe isn’t friendswithRuby anymore, andyouknowMissMooreleft?Well,wehaveanewdeputyheadnowandshe’sbrilliant—”Nataliebreaksofffromherjabbering.“So,areyougoingtocomeback?”Thequestionhitsmelikeapunchinthestomach.Theideaofgoingbackto

thatplaceliterallymakesmefeelill.“I’m going to theHeathAcademy,” I tell her. “I’m going to go down a

year, because I’vemissed somuch school time. Imean, I’myoung for theyearanyway,soit’llallworkout…”“YoucouldgodownayearatStokeland?”suggestsNat,butIwrinklemy

nose.“Thatwouldbeweird.Tobe in theyearbelowyou.Anyway…”Ipause.

“They hate us at Stokeland.My parents got really angry with them. Theycalledthiswholebiggovernors’meetingandhadagoatthemanditallgot…youknow.Acrimonious.” Iknowthis fromFrank,not fromMumandDad.“Theyreckonthestaffdidn’thandlethingswell.”“Well, they didn’t!” Nat opens her eyes wide. “Everyone says that the

wholetime.Like,myparentsgoonaboutit.”“Well.So.Exactly.It’dbeweirdtocomeback.”Ibreakthechocolate intomorepiecesandoffer themtoNat.Shetakesa

piece,thenlooksup,ateartricklingdownherfaceagain.“Imissyou,Auds.”“Imissyoutoo.”“Itwasreallyhorriblewhenyou’dgone.Reallyhorrible.”“Yeah.”There’s a moment’s pause—then somehow, with no warning, we’re

hugging one other. Natalie smells ofHerbal Essences, just like she always

does, and she has this little thing of patting you in the small of your backwhichbringstearstomyeyes,justbecauseit’ssofamiliar.I’vemissedhugging.God,I’vemissedhugging.Aswedrawawayfromeachother,we’rebothlaughingbutabittearytoo.

Natalie’sphoneringsandshegrabsitimpatiently.“Yes, Mum,” she says shortly. “Everything’s fine. That’s Mum,” she

explainsasshe throwsherphonedownagain.“She’swaitingoutside in thecar.Iwassupposedtotexthereveryfiveminutestosayeverything’sOK.”“Why?”“Because…youknow.”“What?”“Youknow.”Nataliewrigglesawkwardly,lookingpastme.“Idon’t.”“Auds.Youknow.Becauseyou’re…”“What?”“Mentallyunstable,”saysNatalie,practicallyinawhisper.“What?”Istareather,genuinelygobsmacked.“Whatdoyoumean?”“You’rebipolar.”Natalie’scringingallover. “Bipolarpeoplecanbecome

violent.Mumwasjustworried.”“I’mnotbipolar!”Isayinastonishment.“WhotoldyouIwasbipolar?”“Aren’t you?” Natalie’s jaw drops open. “Well, Mum said you must be

bipolar.”“SoI’mgoingtoattackyou?BecauseIshouldneverhavebeenletoutof

my institution and should in fact be in a straitjacket? Jesus!” I try to staycalm.“I’vemetbipolarpeople,Nat,andtheywereperfectlysafe,believeitornot.”“Look,I’msorry!”Natalielooksunhappy.“Butwedidn’tknow,didwe?”“Didn’tmymumtellyouwhatwaswrong?Didn’tsheexplain?”“Well…” Natalie looks still more awkward. “Mymum thought she was

puttingaglossonit.Imean,therehavebeenalltheserumours—”“Like what? What rumours?” Natalie is silent, and I put on my most

menacingtone.“Whatrumours,Nat?”“OK!”shesayshurriedly.“Likeyoutriedtocommitsuicide…likeyou’ve

goneblind…likeyoucan’tspeakanymore…Oh!Someonesaidyou’dgougedoutyourowneyesandthat’swhyyouweardarkglasses.”“What?”Ifeelwindedfromshock.“Andyoubelievedthem?”

“No!”Natalielooksfoolish.“OfcourseIdidn’tbelievethem.But—”“Igougedoutmyowneyes?LikeVanGogh?”“Thatwasears,”Nataliepointsout.“Onlyoneear.”“I gouged out my own eyes?” I feel a bit hysterical. A weird, painful

laughter is bubbling through me. “You believed it, didn’t you, Nat? Youbelievedit.”“Ididn’t!”Natalie isgettingallpink.“OfcourseIdidn’t. I’mjust telling

you!”“ButyouthoughtIwasabipolarhomicidalmaniac.”“Idon’tevenknowwhatbipolarmeans,”admitsNatalie.“Imean,it’sjust

oneofthosewords.”“Abipolar,homicidalmaniacwithgouged-outeyes.”Ifeelafreshwaveof

hysteria.“Nowonderyourmum’soutsideinthecar.”“Stopit!”wailsNatalie.“Ididn’tmeananyofit!”Natalieisatotal,utterdopeandhermumisworse.ButIcan’thelpfeeling

a wave of affection as I watch her, all miserable and flustered and notknowingwhat tosay. I’veknownNatsinceweweresix,andeven thenshewastotallywide-eyedandthoughtmydadreallywasFatherChristmas.“I’mfine,”Isayatlast,lettingNatalieoffthehook.“It’sfine.Don’tworry

aboutit.”“Really?”Natalie looksatmeanxiously. “OhGod,Auds, I’msorry.You

knowIdon’tknowanythingaboutanything.”Shebitesherlip,thinkingforamoment.“So…ifyou’renotbipolar,whatareyou?”Thequestiontakesmebysurprise.Ihavetothinkforafewsecondsbefore

Ireply.“I’mgettingbetter,” I sayat last.“That’swhat Iam.” I reachfor the last

piece of the chocolate bar and split it into two. “C’mon. Let’s finish thisbeforeFrankseesit.”

Dr.Sarahlovesthebipolarhomicidalmaniacstory.Well, I say “loves.” She actually groans and clutches her hair with both

handsandsays“Seriously?”AndIcanseeherwritingOutreachprogram—schools?EDUCATE???onhernotepad.ButIjustlaugh.Imean,itisfunny,evenifit’sallwrongtoo.Youhaveto

seethat.IlaughalotmorewhenIseeDr.Sarahthesedays.AndItalkalotmore.

ForalongtimeitseemedlikeshehadmoretosaythanIdid.ItseemedlikeshedidmostofthetalkingandIdidmostofthelistening.(Tobefair,Iwasn’twildaboutcommunicationofany typewhenwefirstmet.Tobeevenmorefair,atourfirstsessionIwouldn’tevencomein theroom, letalone lookather, let alone speak.)But now thingshave flipped theotherway. I have somuchto tellher!AboutLinus,Natalie,allmytripsout, that timeIwentonthebusanddidn’tpaniconebit…“So anyway, I reckon I’m done,” I say as I finish my last story. “I’m

cooked.”“Cooked?”“Cured.”“Right.”Dr.Sarahtapsherpencilthoughtfully.“Whichmeans…”“Youknow.I’mfine.Backtonormal.”“You’re certainly making very good progress. I’m delighted, Audrey.

Reallydelighted.”“No,not just ‘goodprogress,’ ” I say impatiently. “I’mback tonormal. I

mean,youknow.Practically.”“Mmhhm.”Dr.Sarahalways leaves apolitepausebefore she contradicts

me. “You haven’t been back to school yet,” she points out. “You’re stillwearingdarkglasses.You’restillonmedication.”“OK,Isaid‘practically.’ ”Ifeelaspikeofanger.“Youdon’thavetobeso

negative.”“Audrey,Ijustneedyoutoberealistic.”“Iam!”“RememberthegraphofyourprogressthatIdrew?Thejaggedline?”

“Yes,well,thatgraphisoldnews,”Isay.“Thisismygraph.”Istandup,marchtothewhiteboardanddrawastraightline,zoomingupto

thestars.“Thisisme.Nomoredown.Onlyup.”Dr.Sarah sighs. “Audrey, I’d love that to be true.But theoverwhelming

majorityofpatientsrecoveringfromanepisodesuchasyourswillencountersetbacks.Andthat’sfine.It’snormal.”“Well,I’vehadallmysetbacks.”Ilookatherstonily.“I’vedonesetbacks,

OK?I’mjustnothavinganymore.It’snothappening.”“Iknowyou’refrustrated,Audrey—”“I’mthinkingpositive.What’swrongwiththat?”“Nothing.Justdon’toverdoit.Don’tputpressureonyourself.Thedanger

isthatyougiveyourselfarealsetback.”“I’mfine,”Isayresolutely.“Yes,youare.”Shenods.“Butyou’realsofragile.Imagineamendedchina

platewhichhasn’tquiteset.”“I’maplate?”Isaysardonically,butDr.Sarahdoesn’trisetoit.“Ihadapatientafewyearsago,verysimilartoyou,Audrey,whowasat

thesamestageofherrecovery.ShedecidedtogotoDisneylandParis,againstmyadvice.”Sherollshereyes.“Disneyland!Ofallplaces!”EventheideaofDisneylandmakesmewince,notthatI’lladmitthattoDr.

Sarah.“Whathappened?”Ican’tresistasking.“Itwas far toomuch for her. Shehad to comehome from the trip early.

Then she felt she’d failed.Hermood sank to the lowest it hadbeen, and itdidn’tdoherprogressanygood.”“Well,Iwon’tgotoDisneyland.”Ifoldmyarms.“So.”“Good. I know you’re sensible.” As Dr. Sarah surveys me, her mouth

twitches.“You’vegotyourspiritback,atanyrate.Andlifeisgood?”“Lifeisgood.”“AndLinusisstill…”Shepausesdelicately.“Linus.”Inod.“He’sstillLinus.Hesayshi,bytheway.”“Oh!”Dr.Sarahseemstakenaback.“Well,sayhiback.”“Andhesays,‘Goodjob.’ ”There’ssilenceandalittlesmilecreepsroundDr.Sarah’sface.“Well,”she

says.“Youcansaythatbacktohimtoo.I’dliketomeetthisLinus.”“Yeah,well,don’tgetyourhopesup,”Isaywithadeadpanshrug.“He’s

mine.”

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

LONGSHOT:LinusandFELIXaresittinginthe

garden.Theyhaveachessboardbetweenthemand

appeartobeplayingchess.

Thecamerapanscloserandtheirvoicesbecome

audible.

FelixmovesapieceandlookstriumphantlyatLinus.

FELIX

Chess

Linusmovesapiece.

LINUS

Chess.

Felixmovesapiece.Chess.

FELIX

Chess.

Linusmovesapiece.

LINUS

Chess.

HelooksatFelixseriously.

LINUS

Thisisagoodgameyouinvented,Felix.

Felixbeamsathim.

FELIX

Iknow.

LINUS

Whatdoyoucallitagain?

FELIX

Squares.

Linusisstrugglingtokeepastraightface.

LINUS

That’sright.Squares.Sowhydon’twesay

“Squares”whenwemovethepieces?

Felixlooksathimpityingly,asthoughhe’sa

littledim.

FELIX

Becausewesay“Chess.”

Linuslooksatthecamera.

LINUS

Thattellsme.

Mumcomesintothegarden.

MUM

Linus!You’rehere!Marvellous.Now,you

speakGerman,don’tyou?

LINUS

(warily)

Abit.

MUM

Great!Well,youcancomeandhelpme

deciphermynewdishwasherinstructions.

Thewholeleaflet’sinGerman.Imean,

German.Iaskyou.

LINUS

Oh.OK.

Ashegetsup,Felixgrabsontohisleg.

FELIX

Lin-us!PlaySquares!

Atthismoment,Frankcomesintothegardenand

brandishesagamingmagazineatLinus.

FRANK

Linus,youhavetoseethis.

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

WhatisthisfamilyLIKE?Stoptryingto

kidnapmyboyfriend,everyone.OK?

Dr.SarahhassaidIneedto increasemyinteractionswithstrangers.It’snotenoughjusttogotoarestaurantandhidebehindamenuandletotherpeopleorder forme. (Howdid sheguess?) Ineed to talkconfidently tounfamiliarpeople.Thisismyhomework.SoLinusandIaresittinginStarbucksandhe’schoosingsomeonerandomformetogoandtalkto.Wedidall kindsof role-play inhospital,whichwas supposed to achieve

the same aim. But role-play is role-play. You feel so stupid. OMG it wasembarrassing, pretending to have a “confrontation” with some skinny boywhoyouknewwouldpracticallygointoapanicattackifyouevenlookedathim.Andall thecounsellorshaving to feedus lineswhenwedriedup,andsaying“Lookatyourbodylanguage,Audrey.”Anyway. So role-play totally sucks, but this is kind of fun.Because I’m

goingtodooneandthenLinusisgoingtodoone.It’slikedares.“OK,thatguy.”Linuspointstoamanonhisownatacornertable,who’s

tappingawayatalaptop.He’sinhistwentieswithagoateeandhasagreyT-shirtandoneof thosecool leatherman-bags thatFrankdespises.“Goup tothatguyandaskhimifhehasWi-Fi.”I feel a bubble of panic, which I try to swallow down. The man looks

absorbedinhiswork.Hedoesn’tlooklikehewantstobeinterrupted.“Helooksreallybusy…”Iprevaricate.“Whataboutsomeoneelse?What

about thatold lady?”There’sa sweet-looking,grey-hairedwomansittingatthenexttable,whohasalreadysmiledinourdirection.“Tooeasy.”Linus isadamant.“Youwon’tneed tosayaword,she’ll just

jabberatyou.GouptothatguyandaskabouttheWi-Fi.I’llwaithere.”Everything inmybody is tellingme not to go, butLinus is sitting there

lookingatme,soIforcemylegmuscles tooperate.SomehowI’mwalkingacrossthecoffeeshopandnowI’mstandingrightinfrontoftheman,buthehasn’tlookedatme.He’sjusttappingandfrowning.“Um,hi?”Imanage.Tap-tap-tap-frown.“Hi?”Itryagain.Tap-tap-tap-frown.Hehasn’tevenlookedup.

Isowanttobackaway.ButLinusiswatching.Ihavetoseethisthrough.“Excuseme?”Myvoiceburstsoutso loudlyIalmost jumpinfright,and

finallythemanliftshishead.“IwaswonderingifyouhaveWi-Fi?”“What?”Hescowls.“Wi-Fi?DoyouhaveWi-Fihere?”“Jesus.I’mtryingtowork.”“Right.Sorry.Iwasjustwondering—”“About theWi-Fi.Are you blind?Can you read, at all?”He points to a

noticeinthecornerofthecoffeeshop,whichisallabouttheStarbucksWi-Ficode. Then he focuses on my dark glasses. “Are you blind? Or justsubnormal?”“I’m not blind,” I say,my voice trembling. “I was just asking. Sorry to

botheryou.”“Fuckingmoron,”hemuttersashestartstappingagain.Tearsarewellinginmyeyes,andasIbackaway,mylegsarewobbly.But

mychinishigh.I’mdeterminedI’mnotgoingtodissolve.AsIgetbacktothetable,Iforceakindofrictusgrinontomyface.“Ididit!”“Whatdidhesay?”demandsLinus.“Hecalledmeafuckingmoron.Andblindandsubnormal.Apartfromthat,

youknow,hewasreallycharming.”Thetearsinmyeyesareedgingdownmycheeksbynow,andLinusstares

attheminalarm.“Audrey!”“No,I’mfine,”Isayfiercely.“I’mfine.”“Wanker.”Linusisglaringbalefullyat themanin thegreyT-shirt.“Ifhe

doesn’twanttobedisturbed,heshouldn’tcomeandsitinapublicplace.Yourealizehowmuchhe’ssavingonrent?Hebuysonecoffeeandsitsthereforanhourandthenheexpectsthewholeworldtotiptoearoundhim.Ifhewantsanofficeheshouldpayforanoffice.Fucker.”“Anyway,Ididit.”Ispeakbrightly.“Yourturnnow.”“I’m speaking to the same guy.” Linus gets to his feet. “He doesn’t get

awaywithbeingsuchaprick.”“Whatareyougoingtosay?”Iaskinpanic.Achokingdreadisfillingmy

chest,andIdon’tevenknowwhatI’mscaredof.Ijustdon’twantLinustogooverthere.Iwanttoleave.“Sitdown,”Ibeghim.“Let’sstopthegame.”“The game hasn’t finished.” Linus winks at me and heads over to the

corner table, coffee in hand. “Hi!” he says to the man in a childish voicewhichissoloudthathalfthecoffeeshoplooksround.“That’sanAppleMac,isn’tit?”Themanlooksupasthoughindisbeliefatbeinginterruptedagain.“Yes,”hesayscurtly.“CouldyoutellmetheadvantagesofanAppleMacoverotherbrandsof

computer?”saysLinus.“BecauseIwanttobuyacomputer.Isyouronereallygood?Ibetitis.”Hesitsdownoppositetheman.“CanIhaveago?”“Look,I’mbusy,”themansnaps.“Couldyousitsomewhereelse?”“Areyouworkinghere?”There’ssilenceasthemancontinuestappingandLinusleansforward.“Are

youworking?”herepeatsinafoghornvoice.“Yes!”Themanglowersathim.“I’mworking.”“My dad works in an office,” says Linus artlessly. “Don’t you have an

office?Whatdoyoudo?Could Ibe likeyour shadow?Willyoucomeandgiveatalktoourschool?Ohlook,yourcup’sempty.Areyougoingtobuyanothercoffee?Was thatacappuccino? I like flatwhites.Butwhyare theycalledflatwhites?Doyouknow?Canyoulookitupforme?”“Listen.” Theman slams his laptop shut. “Kid. I’mworking. Could you

pleasefindanothertable?”“But this is Starbucks,” says Linus in tones of surprise. “You can sit

anywhere.You’reallowed.”Heflagsdownafemalebaristawho’scollectingemptycupsnearby. “Excuseme, can I sit anywhere? Is thathowStarbucksworks?”“Ofcourse,”saysthebarista,andsmilesathim.“Anywhereyoulike.”“Didyouhearthat?AnywhereIlike.AndI’vegotacupofcoffee,butyou

haven’t,”Linuspointsouttotheman.“You’vefinishedyours.Hey,wait.”Hegives the empty cup to the barista. “See?” he says to theman. “You’re alldone.Youshouldeitherbuyacupofcoffeeorgo.”“Jesus!”Lookinglikehewantstoexplode,themanshoveshislaptopinto

hisman-bagandgetstohisfeet.“Fuckingkids,”hemutterstohimself.“Unbelievable.”“Byethen,”saysLinusinnocently.“Havefunbeingawanker.”ForaninstantIthinkthemanmighthithimroundthehead—butofcourse

hedoesn’t.Hejustheadsoutofthecoffeeshoplookingsavage.Linusgetsupand slides back into the seat opposite me, his face all creased up into hisorangesegmentsmile.

“OhmyGod.”Iexhale.“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthat.”“Nexttime,youdoit.”“Icouldn’t!”“Youcould.It’sfun.”Linusrubshishandstogether.“Bringiton.”“OK,givemeanotherone,”Isay,inspired.“Givemeanotherdare.”“Askthisbaristaif theyservemintmuffins.Go.”Heflagsherdown,and

shecomesoverwithasmile.Ihaven’tevengottimetothinkaboutwhetherI’mnervousornot.“Excuseme,doyouservemintmuffins?”Isay,adoptingLinus’sinnocent,

childlike tones.Somehow, channellingLinus isgivingme strength. I’mnotme,I’mnotAudrey,I’macharacter.“Ah,no.”Sheshakesherhead.“I’msorry.”“ButIsawthemonthewebsite,”Isay.“I’msureIsawthem.Mintmuffins

withachocolatecentre?With,like,sprinkles?”“AndPolomintsontop,”chimesinLinusseriously,andInearlycreaseup

withlaughter.“No.”Thebaristalookspuzzled.“Ineverheardofthem.”“Ohwell,”Isaypolitely,“thankyouanyway.”Asshewalksoff,Igrinat

Linus,feelingabitheady.“Ididit!”“Youcantalk toanyone.”Henods.“Next,whydon’tyouhireasoapbox

andmakeaspeech?”“Greatidea!”Isay.“Let’sinvite,like,athousandpeople.”“So the graph is going upwards.Miss Audrey is heading for the stars.”

Linusknowsaboutthejagged/not-jaggedgraph,becauseItoldhimaboutit.Idrewitoutandeverything.“Definitely.”Iclinkmycoffeecupagainsthis.“MissAudreyisheadingfor

thestars.”

Whichjustprovesit:I’minchargeofmygraph.Me.AndifIwantastraightgraph,I’llhaveastraightgraph.SoatmynextsessionwithDr.Sarah,I liealittlewhenI’mfillinginmy

tickboxes.Haveyouexperiencedworriesmostdays?Notatall.Doyoufindyourworriesdifficulttocontrol?Notatall.ShelooksatthesheetwithraisedeyebrowswhenIhandittoher.“Well.Thisisanimprovement!”“Yousee?”Ican’thelpsayingatonce.“Yousee?”“Doyouhaveanyideawhyyou’veimprovedsomuchthisweek,Audrey?”

She smiles at me. “Life’s good, is it just that? Or anything else? Anychanges?”“Dunno.” I shrug innocently. “I can’t thinkof anything that’s changed in

particular.”Whichisanotherlie.Somethingthat’schangedis:I’vestoppedtakingmy

meds.Ijusttakethepillsoutoftheblisterpacksandchuckthemawayinascrewed-upenvelope. (Notdown the loo,becauseall thechemicalsget intothewaterorwhatever.)Andguesswhat?Ihaven’tnoticedasingledifference.WhichjustprovesI

didn’tneedthem.Ihaven’ttoldanybody.Well,obviouslyIhaven’t,becausethey’dstressout.

I’mgoingtowait,like,amonthandthenI’llcasuallytelleveryoneandI’llbelike,yousee?“Itoldyou,”IsaytoDr.Sarah.“I’mcooked.I’mdone.Allbetter.”

Mum’sinanorganizingmood.She’ssweepingaroundthehouse,tidyingandshoutingandsaying“Whoseshoesarethese?Whataretheydoinghere?”andwe’ve all hidden in the garden. Imeanme, Frank, Linus, and Felix. It’s awarmdayanyway,soit’snice,justsittingonthegrass,pickingdaisies.There’sarustlingsound,andDadappearsroundthesideofthebushwe’re

lurkingbehind.“Hi,Dad,”saysFrank.“HaveyoucometojointheRebelAlliance?”“Frank,Ithinkyourmotherwantsyou,”saysDad.Yourmother.Codefor:Don’tassociatemewithMum’slatestnuttyplan,I

havenothingtodowithit.“Why?”Frankgivesanunpromisingscowl.“I’mbusy.”“Busyhidingbehindabush?”Isay,andsnortwithlaughter.“Youoffered tohelp?”Dad says. “For theAvonlea fete catering? I think

they’restarting.”“Ididnotoffer tohelp,” saysFrank, lookingoutraged.“Ididnotoffer. I

wasforced.Thisisforcedlabour.”“Youhavesuchagreatattitude,”Iobserve.“Helpingyourfellowmanand

everything.”“Idon’tnoticeyouhelpingyourfellowman,”Frankshootsback.“I’ll help my fellow man.” I shrug. “I don’t mind making a few

sandwiches.”“Anyway,fellowman?”countersFrank.“That’ssexist.Gladyou’resucha

sexist,Audrey.”“It’sanexpression.”“It’sasexistexpression.”“Ithinkweshouldgo,”Dadcutsin.“Mum’sonthewarpath.”“I’m entertaining Linus,” says Frank, without moving an inch. “I’m

entertainingaguest.Youwantmetoabandonmyguest?”“He’smyguest,”Iobject.“Hewasmyfriendfirst.”Frankglowersatme.“Ihavetogoanyway,”saysLinusdiplomatically.“Waterpolopractice.”

AfterLinusleaves,wehearMumyelling,“Chris!Frank!Whereareyou!”inhermostominousYou’ll-pay-for-this-latervoiceandit’slikeweallrealizethere’s no point hiding out here anymore. Frank trudges back to the houselooking like a condemnedman and I take a few deep breaths because I’mfeelingalittleedgy.Imean,I’mfine.I’mnotpanickingoranything.I’mjustatinybit—Well.A bit jittery.Dunnowhy. I’mprobably just getting back to normal

afterallthosemonthspollutingmybodywithchemicals.Imean,whenisthelasttimeIknewwhatnormalevenwas?Thekitchenisfullofthemostmotleycrewofpeople.There’soneoldlady

inanancientpurplesuitandhairwhichisclearlyawig.There’sonemiddle-aged ladywithplaitsandsandals.There’saplumpcouplewhoarewearingmatching St. Luke’s Church sweatshirts. And a white-haired man on amobilityscooter.The mobility scooter’s pretty cool, actually. But it is kind of getting in

everyone’sway.“Right!”Mumcomes in and clapsher hands. “Welcome, everybody, and

thankyouforcomingalongtoday.So,thefetestartsatthree.I’veboughtlotsof ingredients…”Shestartsemptying foodoutof supermarketcarriersontothe kitchen table—stuff like tomatoes and cucumbers, lettuce and bread,chickenandham.“Ithoughtwecouldmakesomesandwiches,stuffedwraps,um…doesanyonehaveanyotherideas?”“Sausagerolls?”saystheplumpwoman.“Right.” Mum nods. “D’you mean buy sausage rolls or make sausage

rolls?”“Ooh.”The plumpwoman looks baffled. “I don’t know.But people like

sausagerolls.”“Well,wehaven’tgotanysausagerolls.Oranysausagemeat.So—”“That’s a shame,” says the plumpwoman. “Because people like sausage

rolls.”Herhusbandnods.“Theydo.”“Everyonelovesasausageroll.”IcanseeMumgettingalittletense.“Maybenexttime,”shesaysbrightly.

“Movingon.So,Ithought…eggsandwiches?”“Mum!”Franksaysinhorror.“Eggsandwichesarerank.”“I like egg sandwiches!” saysMum defensively. “Does anyone else like

eggsandwiches?”

“Sweetheart,Ithinkwecandobetterthaneggsandwiches.”Aman’svoicecuts acrossMum’s, and we all look up. A bloke I’ve never seen before isstridingintothekitchen.Hemustbeinhistwenties.He’sgotashavedheadandaboutsixearringsinoneearandiswearingoneofthosechefoutfits.“I’m Ade,” he announces. “My grandad’s Derek Gould—he just moved

intoAvonlea.Toldmeaboutthis.Whatarewedoing?”“Areyouachef?”Mumgogglesathim.“Aprofessionalchef?”“IworkattheFoxandHounds.I’vegotanhour.Thiswhatyou’vegot?”

He’sturningMum’sfoodoverinhishands.“Ithinkwecanknockupsomenicefreshfillingstogointhewraps,maybeaWaldorfsalad,mayberoastthisfenneloffanddoitwithalemon-tarragondressing…”“Youngman.”Purple ladywaves ahand inhis face. “Howwillwekeep

saladsfreshonadayliketoday?”Ade lookssurprised.“Oh, Ibrought thechillboxes from thepub.Thirty.

Andalltheothercateringsupplies.Youcangivethembacktomorrow.”Thepurpleladyblinksathiminsurprise.“Chill boxes?”Mum is starting to look overexcited. “Catering supplies?

You’reasaint!”“No problemo. OK, so our menu is Waldorf salad wrap, Mexican bean

wrap,acoupleofsalads—”“Um, could we use some eggs?” says Mum, looking embarrassed. “I

boughtawhole loadofeggs foreggsandwiches,whichno-oneseemskeenon.”“Spanishomelette,”saysAdewithoutmissingabeat.“We’llput insome

chorizo,garlic,fryoffsomesweetonion,serveitinslices…”IloveSpanishomelette.Thisguyissocool!“Iboughtlotsofpepperstoo,”saysMumeagerly,handinghimone.“Could

theygoin?”“Perfect.”Adetakes thepepperfromMumandturns itover inhisfingers.Thenhe

opens up his back pack to reveal a set of knives, all carefully packed incovers.Wewatchagogashetakesachoppingboardfromthekitchentable,placesthepepperonit,andstartschoppingitup.OhmyGod,Ihaveneverseenanyonechopsofast.Chop-chop-chop-chop-chop.Everyoneinthekitchenisjuststaringinastonishment.EvenFrank.Infact,

especially Frank. When Ade finishes and everyone bursts into applause,

Frankistheonlyonewhoisstilltransfixed,hiseyeslikesaucers.“You.”Adeseemstonoticehim.“Iwantyouondicingduty.”“But…”Frankswallows.“Ican’tdothat.”“I’llteachyou.Nosweat.”AdelooksFrankupanddown.“Youcookingin

that?Gotanapron?”“Icanfindone,”saysFrankhastily,andIstifleagiggle.Frank’sgoingto

wearanapron?AdeisnowrootlingaroundinMum’scupboards,dumpingingredientsall

overthecounter.“I’mgoing tomakea shopping list,”heannounces. “WeneedParmesan,

moregarlic,harissa…Who’sourrunner?”Helooksatme.“Prettygirlinthedarkglasses.Youwanttobeourrunner?”

Shopping’sOK-ishformenow.Imean,it’snotalwayseasy.Istillhavetodealwithmylizardbrain,which

springsintoactionwheneverIdon’twant it to.Over the lastfewdays,I’vebeen feeling these, like, waves of panic at random times, which is reallyannoying,becauseIthoughtI’dgotridofthem.ButwhatI’velearnedisnottofightmylizardbrain,butkindoftolerateit.

Listentoitandthensay,“Yeah,whatever.”Justlikeyoutolerateafour-year-old.I’vecometothinkofmylizardbrainasbasicallyaversionofFelix.It’stotallyrandomandmakesnosenseandyoucan’tletitrunyourlife.IfweletFelix run our lives,we’d allwear superhero costumes all day long and eatnothingbutice-cream.ButifyoutrytofightFelix,allyougetiswailsandscreamsandtantrums,

anditallgetsmoreandmorestressy.Sothethingistolistentohimwithhalfanearandnodyourheadandthenignorehimanddowhatyouwanttodo.Samewiththelizardbrain.SowhenIfreezeinsuddenterrorattheentrancetothesupermarket,Iforce

myself tosmileandsay,“Nicetry, lizardbrain.”Iactuallysayitaloud,andexhale for twelve beats. (If you breathe out really slowly, it regulates thecarbondioxideinthebrainandcalmsyoudown,instantly.Tryitifyoudon’tbelieveme.) Then I saunter in, doingmy best impression of someonewhoreallycouldn’tgiveatosswhatsomeoldreptilethinks.Andyouknowwhat?Itkindofworks.

WhenIgetbackhome,holdingtwocarrierbags,Istopdeadinastonishment.Frank’sstandingatthekitchencounter,chopping.He’s wearing one of Mum’s aprons and he’s holding a knife I don’t

recognize and he’s learned that cool-chefway of doing it. That chop-chop-chopthing.Fast.He’spinkinthefaceandtotallyabsorbed.Like,hedoesn’tevennoticemewatching,letalonecomeupwithsomewisecrack.“Great!”Adehasnoticedmeandgrabsthebags.“Let’sgetthatgarlicout.”

Hesniffsitandrubsthepaperyskin.“Beautiful.OK,Frank,Iwantitfinelydiced.Allofit.”“Yes,chef,”saysFrank,breathlessly,andtakesthegarlic.Yes,chef?Yes,chef?OK,whathashappenedtoFrank?

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Thecameraentersthekitchen,whereFrankis

hunchedoverDad’slaptop.

AUDREY(VOICE-OVER)

So,wehadthefetetoday.ItwasOK.Iwon

thisintheraffle.

Ahandpicksupafluffypinkloorollcoverfrom

thekitchentable.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Youputitonyourlooroll.Isn’titlike

thegrossestthingyouhaveeverseen?

Shereplacestheloorollcover.

AUDREY(V.O.)

ButeveryoneLOVEDthefood.Imean,itall

soldoutin,like,fiveminutes,anditgot

aspecialmentionfromthemayor.

ThecamerafocusesinonFrank.He’swatchinga

YouTubevideoofachefchopping.

FRANK

D’youthinkMumwouldbuymeasetof

knives?Like,properknives?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Dunno.Howmuchdotheycost?

Frankopensanewwindowonthelaptop.

FRANK

Theseonesare£650.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Yup,that’sreallygonnahappen.

FRANK

Youneedgoodknives.AdesaysIcancome

andlearnsomemoreskillsatthepub.Only

Ihavetodoabitofwashingupor

whatever,butyouknow,ifIdothat,he’ll

teachme.

Helooksup,hiswholefacealive.

AUDREY(V.O.)

That’samazing!

FRANK

Hehasthiswholethingthathedoeswitha

blowtorch.Hesingesachicken.

AUDREY(V.O.)

Wow.Well,itwasdeliciousfood.No-one

couldstoptalkingaboutit.

FRANK

TheWaldorfneededmoreseasoning.That’s

whatAdesaid.

AUDREY(V.O.)

TastedOKtome.

Thecameramovesoutofthekitchenandtowardsthe

gardendoor.Thereitpauses.WeseeMumandDad,

standingbytheplayhouse,talkinginlowvoices.

Mumisholdingaletterandgesticulatingfuriously

withitatDad.

MUM

Ican’tbelievetheywouldevenaskthis.

DAD

Anne,don’ttakeitpersonally.

MUM

HowcanInottakeitpersonally?Howcan

theyhavethegall?Thenerve?

DAD

Iknow.It’spreposterous.

MUM

It’smonstrous!Doyourealizehowmuch

damagetheycoulddotoAudrey?I’mgoing

toemailthiswomantonight,andI’mgoing

totellherwhatIthinkofherand—

DAD

I’llsendit.

MUM

(fiercely)

Well,I’mcontributing.Andyou’reNOT

censoringme,Chris.

DAD

We’llworkoutanemailtogether.Wedon’t

wanttobetooantagonistic.

MUM

Tooantagonistic?Areyoujoking?

AUDREY(V.O.)

Aboutwhat?

Bothparentswhiproundinshock.

AUDREY(V.O.)

What’sgoingon?

MUM

Audrey!

DAD

It’snothing,sweetie.

MUM

Nothingforyoutoworryabout.Um,wasn’t

thefetefun?

There’sapauseasthecamerasurveystheiranxious

facesandzoomsinonMum’shand,clutchingthe

letter.

AUDREY(V.O.)

(slowly)

Yes.Itwassuper-fun.

Whatweretheylookingat?What?I’m totally flummoxed.Mum andDad have never been like that before.

Theywere so anxious that I shouldn’t knowwhat theywere talking about,theywerekindofaggressive.Imean,Mumwasalmostsnarly.Sowhateveritis,theydon’twantmetohaveeventheslightestinklingof

it.I’m nonplussed. I can’t even go through all the possible theories in my

headandeliminatethem,becauseIdon’thaveanytheories.MaybesomethingtodowithDr.Sarah?That’sallIcanthinkof.Maybeshewantstodosomeweirdoexperimental treatmentonmeandMumandDadaremadatherforasking?ButDr.Sarahwouldn’tdothat.Shewouldn’tjustlandsomethinglikethat

onme.Wouldshe?AndMumandDadwouldn’tcallherthey.That evening at supper I bring it up again, and both Mum and Dad

practicallybitemyheadoff.“It was nothing,” says Mum, eating her pasta very fast and crossly.

“Nothing.”“Mum,itwassomething.”“Youdon’tneedtoknoweverysomethingintheworld,Audrey.”Asshesaysthat,Ifeelasuddenshaftoffear—isMumillorsomething?Is

theresomemassive family tragedycomingalong tohitus likea juggernautandthat’swhyshewon’tsayanything?Butno,shesaiddamageAudrey.Andthey.It’sallaboutthey,whoeverthey

are.

ThateveningMumandDadareclosetedinDad’sstudyfor,like,twohours,andtheneventuallytheyemerge,andMumsays,“Well,thereweare,then.”There’sakindofdark, satisfiedcloudsurroundingher. Ihavea feelingheremaildidn’tholdback.Dad announces he’s off for a quickhalfwithMikewhoheplays squash

with, andMum says she’s going to have a bath. Iwait until I can hear thewaterrunning, thensidlealongtoFrank,who’s inhisroom, listening tohisiPod.“Frank,canyouhackintoDad’semails?”Isayinalowvoice.“Yeah.Why?”“Canwedoit?Now?”FromthewayFrankgetsstraightintoDad’sinbox,it’sclearhe’sdonethis

before. He even knows Dad’s weirdo password, which is all signs andnumbersandgibberish.“DoyouoftenlookatDad’semails?”Isaycuriously,perchingontheside

oftheofficechair.“Sometimes.”“Doesheknow?”“Course not.” Franks clicks on a couple of emails from someone called

George Stourhead. “There’s some quite interesting stuff. Did you know heappliedforanotherjoblastyear?”“No.”“Didn’t get it. But his mate Allan reckons the company’s in trouble

anyway,soDad’swelloutofit.”“Oh.”Idigestthisforamoment.“That’snotinteresting.”“It’sbetterthangeographycoursework.Oh,andthey’replanningasurprise

birthdaypartyforme,sodon’tletonyouknow,OK?”“Frank!”Iwail.“Whydidyoutellme?”“Ididn’t.”Hedrawsalineoverhismouth.“Isaidnada.OK,whatarewe

lookingfor?”“Dunno.SomeemailwhereMum’sangry.”

Frankraiseshiseyessocomically,Ican’thelpgiggling.“Canyounarrowitdown?”“OK.Well…Dunno.It’saboutme.SearchAudrey.”Frank givesme a funny look. “Every other email is about you, Audrey.

Don’tyourealizethat?You’reTopicAinthisfamily.”“Oh.”Istareathim,takenaback.Idon’tknowwhattosaytothat.Idon’t

wanttobeTopicA.Anyway,I’mnot.“That’s rubbish,” I counter. “I’mnotTopicA,you’reTopicA.AllMum

talksaboutisyou,alldaylong.Frankthis,Frankthat.”“Butallsheemailsaboutisyou.Audreythis,Audreythat.”Hegivesmea

seriouslook.“Believeme.”I’msilenced foraminute. Inever thoughtofMumhavinga secretemail

world.Butofcourseshedoes. Iwonderwhatshesays. Icould look.Frankcouldshowme,Icouldaskhim…Evenatthethought,it’sasifabigirongateclanksdowninmymind.No.

I’mnotgoingtolook.Notatanythingmorethanisnecessary.Idon’twanttoknowwhatMumsecretlythinks.We’reallallowedourprivateplaces.“Youshouldn’tspyonMumandDad,”Isay.“You’respyingtoo,”retortsFrank.“OK,but…”Iwince,knowinghe’sright.“Thisisnecessary.Thisisaone-

offandit’saboutmeandit’simportantand…Iwon’teverdoitagain.”“This’llbeit,Ibet.”FrankisclickingonarecentlysentemailcalledYour

request.As the text comes up I scan straight to the bottom and it’s signed from

AnneandChrisTurner.“OhmyGod.”Frankischuckling.“Mum’sreallyletthispersonhaveit.”“Shhh!Letmereadit!”Ipeeroverhisshoulderandsquintatthewords.

DearMrs.Lawton

Wearewritingtoyouinshock,horror,anddismay.First,thatyouwouldhavethenervetowriteanemaildirectlytoourdaughter,Audrey,inacompletelyinappropriatemanner.Second,thatyoushouldmakesuchanoutrageousrequest.IamsorrythatyourdaughterIzzyishavingproblems,butifyouthinkthatAudreywouldbewillingtomeether,youmustbequitemad.Doyourecall

thesituationhere?Doyourecallthefactthatourdaughterwaspersecutedbyyourdaughter(amongothers)?AreyouawarethatAudreyhasnotreturnedtoschoolsincetheeventsandspentseveralweeksinhospital?Wedon’tcare if Izzywants toapologiseornot.Weare

not risking any further psychological damage to ourdaughter.

Yours,AnneandChrisTurner

“Who’sIzzy?”saysFrank.“Oneofthem?”“Yes.”I’mgettingthesick,poisonedfeelingagain.JustthatnameIzzydoes

it.“Ican’tbelieveshewants toseeme,”Isay,myeyesfixedon thewords.

“Afterallthistime.”“Well,theysaidno.Soyou’reoffthehook.”“I’mnot.”“You are!Look,MumandDadwill backyouup.Youdon’t have to see

anyone.Audrey,youpracticallydon’tevenhave togo toschooleveragain.You can dowhatever the hell you like. Do you appreciate your position?”Frankclicksonanotheremail.“Youdon’t,doyou?It’swastedonyou.”I’m only barely aware of him. Thoughts are spinning around my brain.

ThoughtsIdon’tevenunderstandmyself.ThoughtsIdon’twant.WithoutrealizingI’vedoneit,I’vecrumpleddownonthefloorandburied

myheadinmyhands.Ineedallmyenergyforthinking.“Aud?”Franksuddenlyseemstonotice.“Aud,what’sup?”“Youdon’tunderstand,”Isay.“Readingthis—knowingthatthey’veasked

—that’sputmeonthehook.”“Why?”“Because…”I can’t say it.Thewords are inmybrain, but I don’twant them there. I

don’tknowwhythey’rethere.Buttheywon’tdisappear.“MaybeIshouldseeher.”Iforceitout.“MaybeIshouldgoandseeher.”“What?”Franklooksaghast.“Whywouldyoudothat?”“Idon’tknow.Because—Idon’tknow.”Iclutchmyhead.“Idon’tknow.”“It’s a crap idea,” proclaimsFrank. “It’s like inviting bad stuff into your

life.Youknow,it’sbeenshitenoughforyoualready,Aud.Don’tmakethings

worse.Hey,Dad’sgot a link to thisquizonWhichSimpsonscharacterareyou?”headds.“Youshoulddoit.Whereisit…”Frank’sclickingrandomlyalloverthedesktop.“Dad’sactuallyquiteafunnyguy…”“Stopit.Ineedtothink.”“Youthinktoomuch.That’syourtrouble.Juststopthinking.”Frankbreaks

offmidclick.“Oh.Shit.Idon’tknowwhatIjustdid.DidyouseewhatIdid?”“No.”“I think I deleted a document. Oops.” He clicks madly. “Come on, you

bastard—undo.Hey,don’ttellDadwedidthis,willyou?BecauseifI’velostanything,heisgoingtogoinsane—”Franksayssomethingelse,butIwalkout,notevenhearinghim.Myhead

isawhirlandmyheart’sthumpingandIfeelsurreal.

Apologize.Ican’timagineIzzyapologizing.Ican’timagineIzzysayingalot.She was never the main one. She sort of hung back and agreed and wentalongwithTasha.Well, let’s face it, everyone inmy classwent alongwithTasha.Because if Iwas thevictim, then theyweren’t.EvenNataliestoppedstandingupforme—No. Let’s not go there anymore.Nataliewas freaked out. I’vemademy

peacewithNatalie.It’sallgood.Tasha is the one who’s really scary. She’s the one whomakesmy flesh

crawl.She’sbrightandsmartandmotivatedandpretty in that strong-jawedathleticway.All the teachers lovedher.They lovedher.Youknow, till theyfoundoutthetruthandeverything.I’vehadalongtimetothinkaboutthis.AndI’vedecidedshediditforfun.

Youknow.Becauseshecould.My theory is that Tasha will win awards one day. She’ll be some top

advertisingcreative,sellingamessage to thepublicandgettingeveryone tobelieveitanddoingitinarelentless,unremitting,reallyinspiredway.She’llbe one of those advertiserswho trick you so you don’t even realize you’rebeingadvertised to,you justgive inand start tooperate thewayshewantsyouto.She’lluseotherpeoplethendiscardthem.Everyoneshesmilesatwillfall under her spell and join the team. The people who hate her will feeltotallyusedandwretched,butwhocaresaboutthem?Therealtruth,whichbythewaynogrown-upwouldeveradmitto,isthat

probablythewholeexperiencewilldohergreatinlife.Itwaslike,themostput-togetherprojectyoucouldimagine.Itwasinnovative.Itwassustained.Ifit had been a GCSE project: Torment Audrey Turner using a variety ofimaginativemethods,shewouldhavegotA+highlycommended.Imeanyes,shegotexcludedintheend.Butsmalldetail,right?

In theend, I can’t rest till I’vehad itout.So Imarchdownstairs,waypasteleven, when I should be asleep, and catch Mum and Dad in the kitchenmakingherbalteas.“Mum,IreadyouremailandIthinkIshouldgoandseeIzzy,”Isay.There.Done.

SothatwasanofromMum.AndfromDad.Mum got prettymad. Imean, shewasmadwithMrs. Lawton, she kept

saying,butitsoundedlikeshewasmoremadwithme,fromthewayshekeptcomingbacktothesametopics.Idoappreciatethatreadingprivateemailsisbeyondthepale.IdoappreciatethatMumandDadarejugglingsomebigissues,andthey

can’t do that if they’re constantly afraid I’mgoing to hack into their emailaccountallthetime.DoIwanttoturnintoahouseholdwithlockeddoors?(No.)DoIwanttoliveinafamilywithnotrust?(No.)Waitaminute,wasthisFrank?DidFrankhelpyou?(Silence.)Mum’snostrilswerewhiteandherforeheadveinswerethrobbing,andDad

lookedgrave,seriouslygrave,likehehasn’tlookedforawhile,andtheywerebothonehundredpercentadamantthatseeingIzzywasanonstarter.“You’refragile,Audrey,”Mumkeptsaying.“You’relikeapieceofchina

that’sjustbeenmended.”ShepinchedthatfromDr.Sarah.DoesMumtalktoDr.Sarahbehindmyback?Thishasneveroccurredto

mebefore.Butthen,Icanclearlybequiteslowoffthemark.“Sweetheart,Iknowyouthinkit’llbeacatharticexperienceandyou’llsay

yourpieceandeveryonewillcomeaway thewiser,”saysDad.“But in reallife, thatdoesn’thappen. I’veconfrontedenoughassholes inmy time.Theynever realize they’re assholes. Not once. Whatever you say.” He turns toMum.“RememberIan?Myfirstboss?Now,hewasanasshole.Alwayswas,alwayswillbe.”“I’mnotplanningtosayapiece,”Ipointout.“She’stheonewhowantedto

apologise.”“Shesays,”muttersMumdarkly.“Shesays.”“Telluswhyyouwanttodoit,”saysDad.“Explain.”“Doyouwanttohearhersaysorry?”saysMum.“Wecouldtellhershehas

towritealetter.”

“It’snotthat.”Ishakemyheadimpatiently,tryingtoshiftmythoughtsintomakingsense.Thetroubleis,Ican’texplain.Idon’tknowwhyIwanttodoit.Exceptmaybetoprovesomething.Buttowho?Myself?Izzy?Dr. Sarah isn’t wild about hearing about Izzy or Tasha or any of them.

She’sall, like,“Audrey,youaren’tvalidatedbyotherpeople,”and,“You’renot responsible for other people’s emotions” and “This Tasha sounds verytedious,let’smoveoffthetopic.”Sheevengavemeabookaboutunhealthyrelationships.(Ialmostlaughed

outloud.CouldyougetanymoreunhealthythantherelationshipbetweenmeandTasha?)Itwasabouthowyouhavetobestrongtobreakfreefromabuseandnotconstantlymeasureyourselfagainsttoxicpeoplebutstandstronganddistinct like a healthy tree. Not some stunted, falling-over, codependentvictimtree.Orwhatever.It’sallverywell.ButIzzyandTashaandallofthemarestillinmymindall

thetime.Theyhavenotcheckedoutofthebuilding.Maybetheyneverwill.“IfIdon’tdoit,it’llalwaysbeaquestion,”Isayatlast.“It’llbugmemy

wholelife.CouldIhavedoneit?Wouldithavechangedthings?”MumandDaddon’tlookconvinced.“Youcould say that aboutanything,” saysMum.“Could you skydiveoff

theEmpireStateBuilding?Well,maybe.”“Life’stooshort,”saysDadfirmly.“Moveon.”“I’mtryingtomoveon.Thisispartofmovingon!”ButasIlookfromfacetofaceIknowI’mnevergoingtopersuadethem.

Never,whateverIsay.

SoIgotoFrank.Whoalsothinksit’sabadidea,butthedifferenceis,afterwe’vediscusseditforaboutfiveminutes,heshrugsandsays,“Yourlife.”Dad’s changed his email password, but Frank soon finds it on his

BlackBerryonamemocalledNewPassword(poorDad;hereallyshouldn’tleave his BlackBerry lying around), and we get into the account. I wasplanning to write the email myself, but Frank takes over, and honestly, hesoundsjustlikeDad.“You’vebeenreadingtoomanyofDad’semails,”IsayinaweasIreadhis

words.“Thisisamazing!”“Pieceofpiss,”saysFrank,butIcantellhe’spleased.Andheshouldbe.

Theemailistotallyaworkofart.Itgoeslikethis:

DearMrs.Lawton

Pleaseforgivemywifeandmeforourintemperateoutburstofyesterday.Asyoucanimagine,wewereshockedatbeingcontactedbyyouandperhapsreactedtooquickly.Onreflection,Audreywouldverymuchliketomeetwith

Izzyandhearwhatshehastosay.Couldwesuggest3:00p.m.nextTuesday,inStarbucks.Please do not reply to this email, as my machine is

playing up. Please text this number to confirm: 079986435619.

Withbestwishes,ChrisTurner

That’smynewmobilenumber.Afterwe’vesent theemail,FrankdeletestheemailandthendeletesitagainoutofTrash,andIthinkwe’resafe.AndthenallofasuddenIfeelthislurchoffright.WhatamIdoing?Shit,

whatamIdoing?Myheartstartsracing,andIcanfeelmyhandstwistingupintoknots.“Will you come with me? Please?” I say before I can stop myself, and

Frank turns to giveme a long look. I dodge it, turningmy head, but thensneakaglanceback.He’s looking really anxious, like it’s suddenlyhithimtoo,whatwe’vedone.“Aud,areyousureyouwanttodothis?”“Yes.Yes.”Inod,overandover,asthoughtoconvincemyself.“Yes. I’m

goingtodoit.Ijustneedabitofmoralsupport.Ifyoucomewithme.AndLinus.”“Thethreemusketeers.”“Somethinglikethat.”“HaveyoutoldLinus?”“No,butI’mmeetinghimlateratthepark.I’lltellhimthen.”

AsIgettothepark,Ihaveareallybadmoment.Oneoftheold,scarykinds.Everyone around looks like a robot out to get me, and the whole place iscrackling with this air of dread and threat. My lizard brain is really notenjoyingtheexperience;infact,mylizardbrainwantstocrawlunderabush.ButI’mnotcrawlingunderbushes,Itellmyselffirmly.I’mnotlisteningto

any lizards. Even though I feel ill with fear and keep getting these weird,dizzywaves,Imanagetostrideintotheparklikeanormalperson,andspotLinussittingonabench.Seeinghimanchorsmealittle.Seeinghisorange-segment smile splitting his face, allwide and happy, just forme, feels likesomeone strokingmy lizard brain and telling it to calmdown, everything’sfine.(I haven’t mentioned my lizard brain to Linus. I mean, there are some

things you tell a boyfriend and there are some things you totally keep toyourself;otherwiseyousoundlikeanutter.)“Hey,Rhubarb.”“Hey,OrangeSlice.”Itouchhishandandwebrushmouthstogether.“OK,”saysLinus,assoonaswepart.“Ihaveone.Goandaskthatmanif

ducks are vegetarian.” He points to an elderly man throwing bread at theducks.“Areducksvegetarian?”“Ofcoursethey’renot,youdope.Theyeatworms.Goon.”Hepushesmy

shoulderandIgetupwithagrin.I’mpulsatingwithdreadbutIforcemyselftohaveaconversationwiththeguyaboutducks.ThenIreturntothebenchandtellLinustogoandaskabunchofFrenchtouristswhichcountrywe’rein.Linus is a master. A master. He tells the French tourists in tones of

consternationthathewasaimingforSweden,andmusthavegoneastray,andthey all start looking at maps and phones and saying “Angleterre!Eeengland!”tohimandgesticulatingattheredbusesthatpasstheparkeveryfiveseconds.“Oh, England,” says Linus at last, and they all nod furiously and say

“D’accord!GrandeBretagne!Eeengland!”andat last theyheadoff,allstillgabblingandlookingbackathim.They’llprobablytalkabouthimfortherest

oftheirholiday.“OK,” saysLinus ashe returns to thebench. “Goandask thatguy if he

sellscoconutice-cream.”Henodsattheice-creamsellerwhohashadhisstallintheparkeverysummerforaslongasIcanremember.“Hedoesn’t.”“Iknow.That’swhyyou’reasking.”“Tooeasy,”Isayproudly.“Thinkofanotherone.”“Can’tbebothered,”saysLinuslazily.“Goanddoice-creamguy.”Iheadovertothestallandpatientlywaitmyturn,andthensay,“Excuseme,doyousellcoconutice-cream?”Iknowwhathe’sgoingtosay.I’veaskedforcoconutice-creameveryyear

sinceIwasabouteight,butheneverhasit.“I do today,” says the ice-cream seller, his eyes twinkling. I stare at him

stupidlyashereachesforhisscoop.“I’msorry?”“Coconutice-creamfortheyounglady,”hesayswithaflourish.“One-day

special.Justforyou.”“What?” Iblinkindisbeliefashescoopswhite ice-creamintoamassive

cone.“Isthatcoconut?”“Justforyou,”herepeats,handingmethecone.“Andachocolate-chipfor

theyoungman,”headds,handingmeasecondcone.“Allpaidfor.”“Coconut’smyfavouriteflavour,”Isay,inadaze.“Butyouneverhaveit.”“That’swhathesaid.Youryoungman.Askedmetogetitinspecial-like.”Iswivelround,andLinusiswatching,hissmilewiderthanever.“Thanks,”Isaytotheice-creamseller.“Imean,thanks.”AsIreachLinus,Iflingmyarmsroundhimwithoutdroppingeither ice-

creamandkisshim.“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthat!”Ihandhimhisconeandlickmyown. It’snectar. It’sbliss.Coconut is thebest flavour in theworld.“OhmyGod.”“Nice?”“Iloveit.Iloveit.”“SodoI,”saysLinus,lickinghisowncone.“You.”Hiswordscatchonmybrain.SodoI.You.Theparkisariotofsunshineandducksquackingandchildrenshrieking,

butrightnowit’sasthoughthewholeworldhasshrunktohisface.Hisbrownhair,hishonesteyes,thatcrescentsmile.

“What…doyoumean?”Iforcethewordsout.“WhatIsaid.Iloveittoo,”hesays,nottakinghiseyesoffmine.“Yousaidyou.”“Well…maybethat’swhatImeant.”Iloveit.SodoI.You.Thewordsaredancingroundmymindlikejigsawpieces,fittingtogether

thiswayandthatway.“What,exactly?”Ihavetosayit.“You know exactly.” His eyes are smiling to match his orange-segment

mouth.Butthey’regravetoo.“Well…Iloveittoo,”Isay,mythroattight.“You.”“Me.”“Yes.”Iswallow.“Yes.”We don’t need to say anymore. And I know I’ll always remember this

moment,righthere,standingintheparkwiththeducksandthesunshineandhisarms roundme.Hiskiss tastesofchocolate-chipand I’msure I tasteofcoconut.Actually,thoseflavoursgoverywelltogether.So.

Andit’sonlylaterthatlifedisintegrates.Hedoesn’tunderstand.Hewon’tunderstand.He’snotjustopposedtothe

plan,he’sangry.Physicallyangry.Hehitsatree,likeit’sthetree’sfault.“It’sfuckingnuts,”hekeepssaying,stridingbackandforthoverthegrass,

glaringatthesquirrels.“Bonkers.”“Look,Linus…”Itrytoexplain.“Ihavetodothis.”“Don’tgiveme thatbollocks!”heyells.“I thoughtyour therapistbanned

thosewords?Ithoughttheonlythingyou‘haveto’doinlifeisobeythelawsofphysics?Didn’tyoulearnanything?Whataboutlivinginthepresent,notthepast?Whataboutthat?”Istareathim,silenced.HewaslisteningmorethanIrealized.“Youdon’t‘haveto’dothis,”hecontinues,“you’rechoosingtodoit.What

ifyouhavearelapse?Whatthen?”“Then…”Iwipemydampface.“Iwon’t. I’llbe fine. I’mbetter, in case

youhadn’trealized—”

“You’re still wearing fucking dark glasses!” he explodes. “You’re stillpracticinghavingthree-lineconversationswithstrangers!Andnowyouwanttofacedownsomebitchbullygirl?Whywouldyouevengiveherthetimeofday?It’sselfish.”“What?”Istareathim,reeling.“Selfish?”“Yes, selfish! You know howmany people have tried to help you? You

knowhowmanypeoplearewillingyou togetbetter?Andyoupull a stuntlike this, justbecauseyou‘haveto’?This isdangerous, ifyouaskme.Andwho’sgoingtopickupthepiecesafterwards?Tellmethat.”He’ssorighteouslyindignant,Ifeelasurgeoffury.Whatdoesheknow?

Whatthefuckdoesheknowaboutme?“Therewon’tbeany‘pieces,’ ”Ispitathim.“ForGod’ssake,seeingone

girlinStarbucksisn’tdangerous.Andanyway,itwasn’twhathappened thatmademeill.That’sacommonmistakepeoplemake,actually.Stressfuleventsdon’tmakeyouill,actually.It’sthewayyourbrainreactstostressfulevents.So.”“OK,sohow’syourbraingoingtoreacttothisstressfulevent?”heshoots

backwithequalferocity.“Doadanceandsing‘Happy’?”“It’sgoingtoreactfine,”Isaysavagely.“I’mbetter.Andifbyanychance

itdoesn’t,don’tworry,Iwon’texpectyoutopickupthepieces.Infact,youknow,Linus,I’msorryI’vecausedyousomuchtroublealready.You’dbetterfindsomeoneelsetohangoutwith.Someonewhodoesn’tpossessanydarkglasses.MaybeTasha,I’veheardshe’ssuper-fun.”I’mscramblingtomyfeet,tryingtokeepmypoise,whichisn’teasywhen

thelandscapeisloomingatmeandmyheadissingingloudprotests.“Audrey,stop.”“No.I’mgoing.”Tears are coursing downmy face, but that’sOK, because I’m keeping it

twistedawayfromLinus.“Well,I’mcomingwithyou.”“Leavemealone,” I say,wrenchingmyarmoutofhisgrasp.“Leaveme

alone.” And finally, after managing to ignore it all day, I surrender to mylizardbrain.AndIrun.

Here’swhatI’mnotsupposedtodoafterastressfulevent:Ruminateaboutit.Brood. Replay it over and over. Take responsibility for anyone else’semotions.Here’swhat I’vebeendoingever sincemy fightwithLinus:Ruminating

about it.Brooding.Replaying itoverandover.Taking responsibility forhisfury(yetresentingit).Lurchingbetweendespairandindignation.Wantingtocallhim.Wantingtonevercallhimagain.Whycan’theunderstand? I thoughthe’d admireme. I thoughthe’d talk

aboutClosureandCourageandsay,“You’reright,Audrey,thisissomethingyouhavetodo,howeverharditis,andI’llberightbehindyou.”I’ve barely slept, the last two nights. It’s like my mind is a cauldron,

cookingaway,throwingupnoxiousbubblesandfumesandfermentingitselfinto something quite weird. I feel light-headed and surreal and hyper. Butkindof focused too. I’mgoing todo this, and it’s going tobe like amajorturning point, and afterwards things will be different. I don’t know howexactly,buttheywill.It’slike,I’llhavegotoverthehurdleorrunthroughthefinishingtapeorwhatever.I’llbefree.Ofsomething.So in short, I’m a bit obsessed. But luckily Mum and Dad are too

preoccupiedwith Frank to noticeme right now. I’mway down under theirradar.Basically,Mum found theAtari in Frank’s room last night and it allkickedoffagainandnowwe’reinFamilyCrisisMode.AsIcomedowntobreakfast,they’reatitagain.“Forthemillionthtime,it’snotacomputer,”Frankissayingcalmly.“It’s

anAtariconsole.Yousaidnocomputers.Iclassifyacomputerasamachinewhich can process information in a number of ways, including wordprocessing, email and Internet browsing. The Atari does none of these,thereforeit’snotacomputer, thereforeitwasn’tabasicbreachoftrust.”HeshovelsShreddies intohismouth. “Youneed to tightenupyourdefinitions.That’stheproblem.NotmyAtariconsole.”I thinkFrank shouldbe a lawyeroneday. Imean,he’s totallynailed the

argument,notthatMumappreciatesit.“Doyouhearthis?”MumisappealingtoDad,wholookslikehewantsto

hidebehindhisnewspaper.“Thepoint is,Frank,wehadanagreement.You

donot play anykindof videogames, endof.Doyouknow howdamagingtheyare?”“Jesus.”Frankholdshishead inhishands.“Mum,you’re theonewitha

problemwithcomputergames.You’rebecomingfixated.”“I’mnotfixated!”Shegivesascoffinglaugh.“Youare!Youcan’tthinkaboutanythingelse!DoyouevenknowthatIgot

ninety-fiveinmychemistry?”“Ninety-five?”Mumisstoppedinhertracks.“Really?”“Itoldyouyesterday,butyoudidn’tevenlisten.Youwereall,Atari!Evil!

Getitoutofthehouse!”Mumlooksabitchastened.“Oh,”shesaysatlast.“Well…ninety-five!That’sgreat!Welldone!”“Outofathousand,”saysFrank,thenadds,“Joke.Joke.”Hegrinsatme,andItrytosmileback,thoughmystomachischurning.All

Icanthinkis:Threeo’clock.Threeo’clock.We’ve stuck to themeetingplace inStarbucks, even though theLawtons

have been constantly texting, wanting to change it to a “more conducivelocation” and offering their own house or a hotel suite or a room at Izzy’scounsellor’soffice.Yeah,right.Frank has been in charge of all the correspondence. He’s brilliant. He’s

batted away all their suggestions in a way that could totally be Dad, andrefusedtogivethemanalternativeemailaddress,whichtheykeepaskingfor,andtextedinexactlyDad’sstyle.It’s actuallyquite funny. Imean, theyhaveno idea it’s justus, twokids.

They think Dad and Mum are coming. They think this is a big familymeeting.Theyhopeitwillbe“catharticforall,”accordingtotheirlasttext.Asforme,Ican’tbelieveI’mgoingtoseeIzzyagain.It’sgoingtohappen.

Thebigshowdown.IfeellikeI’maspringthatisslowlycoilingupandup,tensing,waiting…Onlysevenhourstogo.

Andthensuddenlyit’ssevenminutestogoandItrulyfeelsick.Myheadispounding, not with a headache, but with a kind of impending, heightenedsense of reality. The street seems brighter than normal, somehow. Noisier.Rawer.

Frank’sbunkedoffschoolearly,whichisOKbecauseexamsareover,soalltheydoinlessonsiswatch“educational”DVDs.He’swalkingalongwithme,chattingaboutwhathappened inassembly thismorningwhensomeonebrought theirpet rat in and let it go. Ihalfwant to snap, “Shutup!Letmethink!”andI’mhalfgratefulforthedistraction.I’mwearingjeansandablackT-shirtandblacktrainers.Seriousclothes.I

havenoideawhatIzzywillwear.Shewasneveraparticularlycooldresser;thatwasTasha.IevenhalfwonderifI’llrecognizeher.Imean,itwasn’tthatlongago,butitfeelsawholelifetime.But of course I do recognize her, instantly. I see them through the glass

before they see us.Themother, the father, both looking anxious, but doingthatfakesmilething.Andher.Izzy.She’sinsomechildlikeT-shirtwithpinkribbonedging,andaprettyskirt.What’sthatallabout?Iwanttolaugh.But…Ican’t.Ican’tsmileeither.It’slikeallmypowersareslippingaway,onebyone.As I step inside the coffee shop, I know I can’t speak.My insides have

turned hollow. Just like that, in an instant.All the inner strength I’ve beenbuildingup,thetensed-upspring,thefightingtalk…it’salldisappeared.Ifeelsmallandvulnerable.No,notsmall.I’mtallerthanher.Istillhavethat.I’mtall.But vulnerable.And speechless.And now they’re all looking ourway. I

squeezeFrank’shandinsilentdesperationandheseemstogetthemessage.“Hello,” he says briskly, heading towards their table. “Let me introduce

myself.FrankTurner.YoumustbetheLawtons.”He holds out his hand but no-one takes it. Both of Izzy’s parents are

lookinghimupanddowninbewilderment.“Audrey,wewereexpectingyourparents,”saysMrs.Lawton.“Theywereunavoidablydetained,”saysFrankwithoutblinking.“Iamthe

familyrepresentative.”“But—”Mrs.Lawtonlooksflustered.“Ireallythinkyourparentsshould—

Weunderstoodthiswouldbeafamilymeeting.”“IamtheTurnerfamilyrepresentative,”Frankrepeatsadamantly.Hepulls

outachairandwesitdownopposite them.TheLawtonslookateachotheranxiouslyandmakelittlemouthinggesturesandraised-eyebrowsignals,butafter a while they quieten down and it’s clear that the conversation aboutparentsisover.“We bought some bottles of water,” saysMrs. Lawton, “but we can get

someteas,coffees,whatever?”

“Waterisfine,”saysFrank.“Let’sgettothepoint,shallwe?IzzywantstoapologisetoAudrey,yes?”“Let’sput this incontext,” saysMr.Lawtonheavily.“We, likeyou,have

gone through someprettyhellishmonths.We’veaskedourselveswhy,overand over. Izzy has asked herselfwhy too.Haven’t you, darling?”He looksgravelyat Izzy. “Howcould sucha thinghappen?And, in away,whatdidhappenandwho,inactualfact,wasatfault?”Hepresses ahand to Izzy’s, and I lookatherproperly for the first time.

God, she looks different. She looks like an eleven-year-old, I suddenlyrealize. It’s kind of disturbing. Her hair is in a ponytail with a little-girlbobble,and there’s the infantile ribbonyT-shirtgoingon,andshe’s lookingup at her father with huge baby eyes. She’s wearing some kind of sicklystrawberrylipgloss.Icansmellitfromhere.She hasn’t given me a single glance this whole time. And her parents

haven’tmadeher.IfIwerethem,that’sthefirstthingIwoulddo.Makeherlookatme.Makeherseeme.“Izzyhasbeenthroughapretty toughjourney.”Mr.Lawtoncontinueson

what is clearly a prepared speech. “As you know, she’s homeschooled fornow,andshe’sundergoneafairlyrigorousprogramofcounselling.”Snap,Ithink.“Butshe’s finding ithard tomoveon.”Mr.LawtonclutchesIzzy’shand,

andshelooksimploringlyupathim.“Aren’tyou,darling?Sheunfortunatelysuffersfromclinicaldepression.”Hesays it like it’sa trumpcard.What,arewesupposed toapplaud?Tell

himhowsorryweare,wow,depression,thatmustbehorrible?“So what?” says Frank scathingly. “So’s Audrey.” He addresses Izzy

directly. “I knowwhatyoudid tomy sister. I’dbedepressed if Iwereyoutoo.”BothLawtonsinhalesharplyandMr.Lawtonputsahandtohishead.“Iwashopingforamoreconstructiveapproach to themeeting,”hesays.

“Perhapswecouldkeeptheinsultstoourselves?”“That’snotaninsult!”saysFrank.“It’sthetruth!AndIthoughtIzzywas

going to apologise? Where’s the apology?” He pokes Izzy’s arm and shewithdrawsitwithagasp.“Izzyhasbeenworkingwithherteam,”saysMr.Lawton.“She’swrittena

piece which she would like to deliver to Audrey.” He pats Izzy on theshoulder.“Izzydevisedthisinoneofherpoetryworkshops.”Poetry?Poetry?

IhearFranksnortandbothLawtonslookathimwithdislike.“ThiswillbehardforIzzy,”saysMrs.Lawtoncoldly.“Sheisveryfragile.”“Asweallare,”saysMr.Lawton,noddingatmeandmakingafaceathis

wife.“Yes,ofcourse,”saysMrs.Lawton,butshedoesn’tsoundconvinced.“So

weaskyouto listentoherpieceinsilence,withoutcomment.Thenwecanmoveintothediscussionphaseofthemeeting.”There’ssilenceasIzzyunfurlsawadofA4pages.Shestillhasn’tlookedat

meproperly.Still.“Youcandoit,Izzy,”whispershermother.“Bebrave.”Herfatherpatsher

handandIseeFrankmakeabarfgesture.“ ‘When thedarknesscame,’ ”says Izzy ina tremblingvoice.“ByIsobel

Lawton.‘Itcameonme,thedarkness.IfollowedwhenIshouldnot.IactedwhenIshouldnot.AndnowIlookbackandIknowthatmylifeisatwistedknot…’ ”OK,iftheypaidgoodmoneyforthispoetryworkshop,theyweredone.AsIlistentothewords,I’mwaitingforsomestrong,visceralreaction.I’m

waitingforsomepartofmetoriseupandhateherorattackherorsomething.I’mwaitingforthebigmoment,theconfrontation.Butit’snotcoming.Ican’tgettraction.Ican’tfeelit.Since the moment I stepped through the door, this hasn’t been what I

thought it would be. I’m not the warrior I imagined. I’m hollow andvulnerableandkindoflesser.I’mnotwinninganybattle,sittinghere,silentlyclutching the table, unable to speak, just thinking my own rapid, restlessthoughts.But more than that—there isn’t even any battle to have, is there? The

Lawtonsaren’tinterestedinme.IcouldsaywhatIlike—theywouldn’tlisten.They’replayingout their little story inwhich Izzyapologises and she’s theheroandI’mthebitpart.AndI’mlettingthemdoit.WhyamIlettingthemdoit?IfeelasuddenwaveofrevulsionasIsurveyIzzy’sbowedhead.Shewon’tlookatme,willshe?Shecan’t.BecauseImightpopthebubble.Imean,Iguessthat’sonewaytogo.Slipbackintobeingelevenyearsold,

wearponytails,andgethomeschooledandletyourparentstakeoverandtellyoueverything’sOK,youweren’treallyabullyingmonster,mysweetheart.Itwas the nasty peoplewho didn’t understand you.But if youwrite a poem,everythingwillbeOK.Outofnowhere,Linus’svoicecomesintomyhead:Whywouldyoueven

giveherthetimeofday?Whywould I?Why am I giving her the time of day?What am I doing

here?“ ‘…but bad forces come from every direction, no affection, just

affliction…’ ”Izzyisstilldroningoninwhatseemstohavebecomeatragicallybadrap.

She’sgotanotherA4pagetogo,Inotice.It’sdefinitelytimetoleave.IsqueezeFrank’shandandlookatthedoor.HeraiseshiseyebrowsandI

nodfirmly.Ievenmakeasmall,inarticulatesound.“Yes,wehavetogonow,”saysFrank,cuttingacrossIzzy.“Thanksforthe

water.”“Go?”TheLawtonslookpoleaxed.“ButIzzyhasn’tfinishedreading.”“Wehaven’thadanydiscussion.”“We’veonlyjustbegunthemeeting!”“That’s right,” says Frank cheerfully as we both get to our feet. “OK,

Aud?”“You can’t leave before Izzy has even finished her piece!”Mrs. Lawton

soundsquiteshirty.“I’msorry,whatkindofbehaviouristhis?”AndthenIfinallyfindmyvoice.“Youwanttotalkaboutbehaviour?”Isay

quietly.It’slikeamagiccharm.Everyoneelseissilenced.Paralysed.There’sanoddhusharoundtheplace—itfeelslikethewholeofStarbucks

mighthavepickeduponourvibe, just forasecond.Mr.Lawton’s facehaskindofcrumpled.It’sasifrealityhaspusheditswaythroughhissoapbubbleofdenial,justforasecond,andhe’sbeenforcedtoseeexactlywhoIam.I’mtheonetheydidallthosethingsto.Yes,thosethings.Theonestheydid.Andsaid.Andwrote.Yourdaughter

inherponytail.That’sright.I don’t look at Izzy.Whywould I expend the energy that swivelingmy

eyeballs in her direction would require? Why would I expend even onemicrojouleofenergyonIzzy?And then we’re walking out, Frank and I, not looking back, not talking

aboutit,notwastingasecondmoreofourlivesonthatloadofshitty,shittycrap.

AndIshouldfeelhighnow.Shouldn’tI?Imean,IthinkIwon.Didn’tI?Onlynowit’sallover,Ijustfeelkindofempty.Frank’ssolecommentas

wewalked backwas “What a bunch ofweirdos.”Then he toldme hewasheading back to school for tech club and when I gave him a big hug andmuttered“Thanks,Idon’tknowhowIcanrepayyou,”intohisshoulder,hesaid“OK,well,IgettochoosebothpizzatoppingsonFridaynight.OK?”Andnowit’sseveno’clockandI’monmyown.MumandDadareoutat

theirsalsaclass.Theyhavenoidea.Imean,howweirdisthat?I’veactuallymetupwithIzzyandtheydon’tknow.I’ve textedLinus and told him about it. I’ve said I’m sorry I blewup at

him. I’vesaidhewas right, I shouldneverhavegoneandImisshimandIwanttoseehimso,somuch.Iwanttogobacktohowwewere.Iwanthimtogivemeanothercrazychallenge.IwanttoforgetIeverwenttoseeIzzy.Imean,Ithinkwewerebothright.IwasrightbecauseIdidn’trelapseand

therearen’tanypieces topickup.AndLinuswas rightbecause I shouldn’thavegivenherthetimeofdayinthefirstplace.So.Andwhenhetextsback,I’ll ask him round andmaybewe’ll get back to thatother conversationwewerehavinginthepark.

That was two hours ago and he still hasn’t texted back. I’ve checked myphonesignallikeamilliontimesandit’sfine.Anyway.Maybehe’sbusyorwhatever.

Exceptbyteno’clockhestillhasn’t textedback.Andhealwaystextsback.Alwayswithin thehour.Hefindsaway.He’s textedmefromlessons, fromhis family supper, wherever. He doesn’t not text. But right now he’s nottexting.

It’seleven.He’snottexting.

It’smidnight.Notext.

Andnowit’soneo’clock,andIdon’tknowwhattodo.Ican’tsleep.Ican’tevenliedown.Iofficially“wenttobed”threehoursagobutIhaven’ttouchedthecovers.I’mpacingaroundmyroom,tryingtocalmmywhirlingthoughts,butthey’relikeahurricane.I’vewreckedeverythingwithLinus.He’snevertexting.It’sover.Hewas

right,Iwasselfish.Ishouldneverhavegonetothatstupidmeeting.WhydidIdoit?Why?Ialwaysdostupidthings.I’msuchastupid,idiotfailure,andnowI’vespoiled theonlygoodthingIhad inmylife,andhehatesmeandthere’snothingIcandoaboutit.Thewholething’sover.Andit’sallmyfault,mystupid,stupidfault…My thoughts are speeding up and my pace is speeding up too, and I’m

pulling atmy arms, pulling at the flesh ofmy forearms, trying to…I don’tknow.Idon’tunderstandit.Iglanceinthemirrorandflinchatmyownwildstare.Icanfeelaweirdsparkingallovermybody,likeI’mmorealivethanIshouldbe,likemybodyisoverloadedwithlifeforce.Canyouhavetoomuchlife stuffed into one body? Because that’s what this feels like. Andeverything’stoofast.Myheart,mythoughts,myfeet,myclawingarms…MaybeI should takesomething.The thoughthitsme likeaverysensible

persontalkinginmyear.Yes.Ofcourse.IhavethingsIcouldtake.Ihavelotsofthings.Irootlearoundinmyboxfullofmagictricks,droppingbottlesandpackets

on the floor in my haste. OK, a Clonazepam.Maybe two.Maybe three. Iswallow them, andwait for everything to calmdown.Butmymind is stillscreaming, round and round like amotor race, and I can’t stand it. I can’tstandmyself.Ihavetoescape…Whensuddenlyanotherbrilliant ideahitsme.I’llgoforawalk. I’llburn

offall thisenergy.Thefreshairwilldomeapowerofgood.AndI’llcomebackandsleepitoffand,liketheysay,thingswillbebetterinthemorning.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Thecamerawobblesassomeonestabilisesitona

highsurface.Asthispersonbacksawayweseeitis

Frank,inthesittingroom.Hestaresintothe

camerawithdeeplyworriedeyes.

FRANK

Isthisworking?OK.Hello.I’mFrank

Turnerandthisismyvideodiary.My

sisterAudreyismissing.It’sanightmare.

Wewokeupthismorningandthereshe

wasn’t.MumandDadarejust…(Heswallows.)

We’velookedeverywhere,andwe’vephoned

everyone.MumandDadcalledthepolice,

like,thatinstant.Andthepoliceare

great,they’rereallycalm.But…

Heshutshiseyesbriefly.

FRANK

Istilldon’tbelievethisishappening.

He’ssilentawhile,hiseyeshollow.

FRANK

Theyblameme.Whichis…

Heexhalesmiserably.

FRANK

Anyway.We’regoingoutagaininaminute,

tolookagain.Idunnowhere—Imean,we’ve

lookedeverywhere.Allthelittleside

alleys,maybe?ButMumsaidIshouldhave

somefoodfirst.Likeanyonewantstoeat.

Hegivesanotherheavysigh.

FRANK

Anyway.Itoldthemwhatwedidyesterday.

Ihadto.Audrey,ifyou’rewatchingthis,

Ihadto.

Longpause.

FRANK

Audrey,pleasecomehomeandbewatching

this.

Thedoorbellringsandhejumpsamile.

FRANK

Waitasec.

Herunsoutoftheroom.Afewsecondselapse,then

hereturns,slack-shouldered,accompaniedbyLinus.

FRANK

(intocamera)

Itwasn’ther.ItwasLinus.

LINUS

(toFrank)

Sorry.

Helooksawkwardlyintothecamera.

LINUS

Sorry.

Mumcomesstridingintotheroom,herfacedrawn,

hereyesburningwithpurpose,hermannerhyper.

MUM

Frank,we’regoingthroughherthings,and

Ineedtoknow—

SheseesLinusandstopsdead,fullofhostility.

MUM

You.Whatareyoudoinghere?

Linusisshockedbyheraggression.

LINUS

Me?Ijust—FranktoldmeaboutAudrey,so—

MUM

Doyouknowwheresheis?

LINUS

No!Ofcoursenot!Iwouldhavesaid!

HegulpsnervouslyatMum’smannerbutcarrieson.

LINUS

Franksaidyouwantedtoknowwhoshe’d

beentexting?Well,shesentmethistext

yesterday,butitonlycamethroughjust

now.Ihadnoideashe’dtexted.

Heholdsouthisphone.

LINUS

Imean,Idon’tknowifithelps.

Mumscansthephone,gettingagitatedasshedoes

so.

MUM

(toLinus)

Soyouknewaboutthismeetingwiththe

Lawtonstoo.Wasityouridea?

LINUS

No!

MUM

Butyou’vebeentellingherto“docrazy

challenges,”apparently.

Shetapsthephone.

MUM

Shesaysshewantsyoutogiveheranother

“crazychallenge.”

LINUS

(alarmed)

Notthatkindofcrazychallenge.Just

talkingtopeopleinStarbucksandstuff.

Mumdoesn’tseemtohearhim.

MUM

Wasthis,leavinghomeinthemiddleofthe

night,wasthisoneofyour“crazy

challenges,”Linus?

LINUS

No!Howcouldyoueven—

HeappealstoFrank.

LINUS

WouldIdothat?

FRANK

Mum,you’reoutofline.

MumroundsonLinus.

MUM

AllIknowis,shewasonanevenkeeltill

shemetyou.Andnowshe’smissing.

LINUS

Thatissounfair.

He’shavingtroubleholdingittogether.

LINUS

Sounfair.Ihavetogo.LetmeknowifI

canhelp.

AsLinusleaves,FrankturnsfuriouslyonMum.

FRANK

HowcouldyoublameLinus?Ofallpeople.

Thishouseissofuckedup.

Mumeruptsinafloodofsuddenanguish.

MUM

She’smissing,Frank!Don’tyouunderstand,

she’smissing.Ihavetotryeverything,I

havetoconsidereverything,every

possibility—

ShebreaksoffasDadappears,breathless,holding

hismobile.

DAD

They’vefoundher.Inthepark.

Asleep.Shewashiddenaway,

behinda—

Wemusthavemissedher—

Hecanbarelyformhiswords.

DAD

They’vegother.

Theweird thing is, I lostmy sunglasses that night and I didn’t evennoticeuntilDadsuddenlysaid,“Audrey!You’renotwearingyourdarkglasses!”AndIwasn’t.Myeyeswerebare.Afterallthosemonths.AndittookDad

topointitouttome.Wewereinthepolicewaitingroomatthetime,andthenicepolicewoman,

Sinead,gotthewrongendofthestickandthoughtwewerecomplainingandthatwe’dlostapairofdarkglassesonthepremises.IttookawhileforustoexplainthatIdidn’twantthemback.AndIdon’t. I’mgoodthewayIam.Theworldseemslighter,althoughI

don’tknowif that’sbecauseof thedarkglassesorbecauseI’mbackonmymeds.Fornow.Dr.Sarahgavemethiswholegreatlectureaboutthedangersof coming off meds without supervision and how it can cause dizziness(check)anda racingheart (check)and loadsofother symptomsand Imustpromisenevertodoitagain.WhichIdid.Thestuffshegavemekindofknockedmeout,soI’vebeensleepingalot

theselasttwodays,buteveryone’scomeintomyroomtoseeme,like,allthetime.TomakesureI’mstillhere,Iguess.Dadhastoldmeaboutthenewsonghe’swriting,andFrankhasshownme

endlessYouTubeclipsofknifeskills(whichheisgettingveryboringabout)and Felix has toldme he cut the hair of his friendBen at school andBencried.Thisisapparentlytrue,accordingtoDad,butFelixmaintainsthatBencried“becausehewashappy.”Mum’sbeenintoseemethemost.Shesatonmybedallafternoonandwe

watchedLittleWomen, which is like the perfectmovie towatchwith yourmumwhen you’re in bed, feeling a bitweird. (The old onewithElizabethTaylor,incaseyou’rewondering.)Whilewewerewatching,wedecoratedthesehandbagswe’dmadeoutof

feltyesterday.ThisisMum’snewthing:shebuyslittlecraftprojectsandwemakethemtogether.Neitherofusisverygoodatit,but…youknow.It’snice.It’srelaxing.It’snotaboutanything.AndMumjustsitsonmybed,hangingout, not looking anxiously around the room, not trying to get clues to mythoughts.Idon’tthinksheneedscluesanymore.Sheknows.Oratleast,sheknowsenough.

ItwaswhileIwastryingtoglueanappliquéstarontothefrontofmybagthatIsaid,“Mum,whydon’tyougobacktowork?”Mumkindofstiffened.Shecarefullyloopedapieceofribbonintoabow

andstapleditbeforelookingupandsaying,“Work?”“Yes,work.Youhaven’tbeenforages.Notsince…”Itrailedoff.“Well,it’sbeendifficult.”Mumgaveashortlaugh.“Iknow.Butyou’rebrilliantatyourjob.Andyouwinprizesandyouwear

greatjackets…”Mum threw back her head and laughed again. “Darling, you don’t go to

workjusttoweargreatjackets.”Shethinksforamoment.“Well,mostofthetimeyoudon’t.”“You’restayingathomebecauseofme,aren’tyou?”Ipersisted.“Sweetheart…”Mumsighed.“Ilovebeingherewithyou.Iwouldn’twant

tobeanywhereelse.”“Iknow.”Therewas silence andwewatched as Jo turned downLaurie’s proposal,

which,everytimeIwatchit,Iwishshewouldsayyes.“But still, I thinkyou shouldgoback towork,” I said. “You’re all shiny

whenyou’reatwork.”“Shiny?”Mumseemedabittakenaback.“Shiny.Like,super-mum.”Mum looked incredibly touched. She blinked a few times and threaded

anotherribbonthroughthebow,andthensaid,“It’s not as simple as that,Audrey. Imighthave to travel, there are long

hours,you’restartinganewschool…”“Sowe’llmake itwork,”Isaid,asrobustlyasIcould.“Mum, there’sno

pointmegettingbetterifthingsdon’tgetbetterforallofus.Imean,we’veallhadabadtime,haven’twe?”I’dbeenthinkingaboutthatallmorning.Abouthowitwouldbeeasyfor

metogetbetterandspringhappilythroughthedoor,andleaveMumandDadandFrankandFelixbehind.Butitshouldn’tbelikethat.Wewereallaffectedbywhathappened.Weshouldallspringhappilyoutofthedoortogether.Well,youknow.MaybeFrankcouldslouchhappily.Wewatched for awhilemore in silence.ThenMum said, as though she

wascarryingonthesameconversation,“Dr. Sarah told me why you ditched your meds. You wanted to have a

straightgraph?”

Myheartkindof sank. Ihadreallynotwanted togetonto thesubjectofmeds.ButImighthaveknownitwouldcomeup.“Iwantedtobebetter,”Imumbled,feelinghot.“Youknow.Properly,one

hundredpercentbetter.Nomeds,nothing.”“Youarebetter.”Mumputmyfacebetweenherhands,justlikesheusedto

when I was a little girl. “Sweetheart, you’re somuch better everyweek. Imean,you’readifferentgirl.You’reninetypercentthere.Ninety-fivepercent.Youmustbeabletoseethat.”“But I’m sick of this bloody jagged graph,” I said in frustration. “You

know,twostepsup,onestepdown.It’ssopainful.It’ssoslow.It’slikethisendlessgameofsnakesandladders.”AndMumjust lookedatmeas ifshewanted to laughormaybecry,and

shesaid,“But,Audrey,that’swhatlifeis.We’reallonajaggedgraph.IknowIam.Upabit,downabit.That’slife.”AndthenJometProfessorBhaer,sowehadtowatchthatbit.AndthenBethdied.SoIguesstheMarchsisterswereontheirownjagged

graphtoo.

ThatnightIcomedownstairsforacupofhotchocolateandhearDadsaying,“Anne,I’veorderedFrankanewlaptop.There.I’vesaidit.It’sdone.”Wow.Icreep forwardandpeer through theopendoor to seeMumalmostdrop

hermug.“Anewlaptop?”“Secondhand. Excellent price. I went to Paul Taylor, he has some good

deals—”DadbreaksoffatMum’sexpression.“Anne,OK.Iknowwhatwesaid. Iknow.But I can’t copewith the tension in this house anymore.AndFrank’sright,hedoesneedtheInternetforhisschoolwork,andhecanhackintomyemails,aswenowknow…”“Ican’tbelieveyoujustwentanddidit.”Mumisshakingherhead,butshedoesn’tsoundquiteasshriekyasIwas

expecting.Infact,sheseemsalmostcalm.It’seerie.I’mnotsureIlikeMumcalm.She’sbetterallmadandvoluble.“IsitsobadforFranktoplaycomputergamesonceinawhile?”ventures

Dad.“Oh, I don’t know,Chris.”Mum rubs her face. “I don’t know anymore.

Aboutanything.”“Well, nor do I.” He pulls her in for a hug. “Anyway, I’ve got him a

laptop.”“OK.”MumkindofsubsidesontoDadandIcanseehowtiredoutsheis.

Franksaidhe’sneverseenMumlikeshewaswhenIwasmissing.Shewaskindofgrey,hesaid.Andhereyeswereflatinside,liketheirbatteryhaddied.I’llnevergetoverdoingthattothem.ButI’mnotbrooding.I’vetalkedto

Dr.Sarahaboutitandwe’veagreedthatthebestwayIcanmakeituptothemistostaywell.Stayonmymeds.Thinkhealthfulthoughts.“You remember that Christmaswhen they got ill?”Mum says presently.

“Theyeartheywereabouttwoandthree?Remember?AndgotpooallovertheirChristmasstockings,anditwaseverywhere,andwesaid,‘Ithastogeteasierthanthis’?”“Iremember.”

“Wewerecleaningitallupandwekeptsayingtoeachother,‘Whentheygetolder,it’llgeteasier.’Remember?”“Ido.”Dadlooksfondlyather.“Well, bring back the poo.” Mum begins to laugh, a bit hysterically. “I

woulddoanythingforabitofpoorightnow.”“Idreamofpoo,”saysDadfirmly,andMumlaughsevenmore, tillshe’s

wipingtearsfromhereyes.AndIbackaway,withoutmakingasound.I’llgetmyhotchocolatelater.

AndsotheonlypieceleftinthejigsawisLinus.Butit’sabigpiece.FrankjustshowedmethefootageofMumlayingintoLinusinthesitting

roomandIstaredintotaldisbelief.First,Icouldn’tbelieveMumcouldblameLinus for anything, Second, I couldn’t believe he’d only just got my text.Third,Icouldn’tbelievehe’dcomeovertoseeme.So he hadn’t given up on me. He didn’t hate me. I hadn’t spoiled

everything.I’dbeenwrongonprettymucheverything.AsIwatcheditforthesecondtimeIfeltprettysheepish,andIcouldtellMumfeltevenworse.“Idon’tsoundlikethat,”shekeptsayinginhorror.“Ididn’tsaythat.Did

I?”“Youtotallysoundlikethat,”saidFrank.“Yousoundworse,actually.The

camerawasflattering.”Hewasrubbingitin.Shedoesn’tsoundquiteasshrillasthatinreallife.“So,IneedtoapologisetoLinus.”Shesighs.“SodoI,”Isayquickly.“SodoI,”saysFrankglumly.“What?”MumandIswiveltolookathim.“Wehada fight.AboutLOC.Hewas talkingabout the tournamentand I

got…well,jealous,Isuppose.”Franklookslikeanovergrownschoolboy.He’sgotinkonhishandsandis

staringmiserablyathisknees.Hedoesn’tknowabout the laptopyet, and Iwould love towhisper it inhisear tocheerhimup,but I’vehadenoughofgoingbehindmyparents’backs.Fornow.“So.”Mumisbackintoherbriskmodeagain.“Weallneedtoapologiseto

Linus.”“Mum,that’sallverywell,”Isayinaflattone.“Butit’stoolate.Linus’s

parents are emigrating. He’s at the airport right now. We’ve missed ourchance.”“What?”Mumlooksupasthoughscalded.“We could make the airport.” Dad looks alertly at his watch. “Which

airport?Anne,we’lltakeyourcar.”

“Whichflight?”demandsMum.“Audrey,whichflight?”Whataremyparentslike?They’vewatchedtoomanyRichardCurtisfilms,

that’stheirtrouble.They’vegonesoftinthehead.“He’snotatthebloodyairport!”Iexpostulate.“Isaidthatasajoke.Don’t

youthinkyou’dknowifLinuswasemigrating?”“Oh.”Mumsubsides,lookinghighlyembarrassed.“OK.Ijustgotcarried

awayforamoment.Whatshallwedo,then?”“InvitehimtoStarbucks,”Isayafteramoment’sthought.“Itneedstobeat

Starbucks.Frank,youtexthim.”

It’sactuallypretty funny.WhenLinusarrivesatStarbucks,we’reall sittingthere at one big table, the whole family, waiting for him. He looks totallyunnerved, and for amoment I thinkhe’sgoing to runaway,butyouknow,Linus isn’t a runner-awayer. After about five seconds he comes forwardresolutelyandlooksatusallinturn,especiallyMum.Andlastofallme.Ittakeshimaboutthirtysecondstorealize.“Yourglasses!”“Iknow.”Ican’thelpbeaming.“When—?”“Dunno.Theyjustfelloff.And…hereIam.”“So,Linus,”saysMum.“Wewouldallliketoapologisetoyou.Frank?”“SorryIgotratty,mate,”saysFrank,turningred.“Oh.”Linusseemsembarrassed.“Er…that’sOK.”TheybangfiststogetherthenFrankturnstoMum.“Mum,yourturn.”“OK.”Mumclearsherthroat.“Linus,I’mverysorryItookmyworriesand

fearsout onyou. I got completely thewrong endof the stick. I knowhowgoodyou’vebeenforAudreyandIcanonlyapologise.”“Right.Um.”Linuslooksevenmoreembarrassed.“Listen,youdon’thave

to do this,” he says, looking around the family. “I know you were allstressed.”“Wewant to.”Mum’svoicegivesasuddenwaver.“Linus,we’reallvery

fondofyou.AndIshouldnothaveshoutedatyou.Itwasabadtime,andIreallyamsorry.”“Sorry!”chimesinFelix,whohasbeenchompingonshortbreadbiscuitsall

this time.“Wehave tosaysorry toLinus.Sorry,Linus.”Hebeams.“Sorry,Linus.”“Felix,you’refine,”saysLinus.IcanseeFelixgazingatLinus,hisdandelionclockheadononeside, as

thoughtryingtoworkoutwhatwe’realldoinghere.“DidMummycutyourhair?”hesays,asthoughhe’scrackedit.“Didyou

cry?Bencriedbecausehewashappy.”“Er,no,Felix,no-onecutmyhair,”saysLinus,lookingbaffled.“Bencriedbecausehewashappy,”reiteratesFelix.“So that’s me,” saysMum. “Chris? Your turn?” She turns to Dad, who

looksa little startled. I’mnotsurehe realized thiswasago-round-the-tableapology.“Er…hear, hear,” he says. “What she said.” He waves towards Mum.

“Countmeinonthat.Understood?”“Understood,”saysLinuswithalittlesmile.“And,Linus,we’dliketogiveyoualittlepresenttomakeamends,”says

Mum.“Alittlegift.Maybeatheatreouting…orathemepark?Youchoose.”“I can choose anything?” Linus looks secretively from Mum to Dad.

“AnythingIwant?”“Well,withinreason!Nothingtooexpensive…”“Thiswouldn’tbeexpensive,whatI’mthinkingof.”“Itsoundsgreat!”saysDadatonce,andMumfrownsathim.“IwanttoplayintheLOCqualifierswithFrank,”saysLinus.“That’swhat

Iwantmorethananything.”“Oh.”Mumstaresathim,discomfited.“Really?”“You’reinateamalready,”saysFrankgruffly.Icantellhe’ssuper-touched

fromthewayhewon’tevenlookatLinus.“Iwanttoplayinyourteam.They’vegotareserve.Theydon’tneedme.”“Butwe haven’t got a team!” says Frank, and there’s a sudden depth of

miserytohisvoice.“Ihaven’tgotacomputer,wedon’thaveateam—”“Yet,” chimes in Dad, bubbling over. “Yet.” He grins madly at Frank.

“Yet.”“What?”Frankstaresblanklyathim.“Youhaven’tgotacomputeryet.”Dadgivesoneofhisstagewinks.“Just

look out for a big brown box, is all I’m saying. But nomore hackingmyemails.”

“What?”Franklooksalmostheadywithhope.“Seriously?”“If you followour rules anddon’tmake a fusswhenwe tell you to stop

playing,” saysMum. “If there’s any trouble, it’s goingout of thewindow.”Shegivesasatisfiedlittlegrin.“YouknowI’lldoit.YouknowIwantto.”“Anything!”Frankseemsalmostbeyondspeechless.“I’lldoanything!”“Soyoucanplayinyourgame,”saysDad,wholooksalmostasfiredupby

thisasFrank.“IwasreadingapieceaboutitintheSundayTimesmagazine.Imean,thisLOCisabigbusiness,isn’tit?”“Yes!”saysFrank,asiftosayFinally!“InKoreait’sanofficialspectator

sport!AndtheyhavescholarshipsforitintheStates.Actualscholarships.”“You should read the piece,Anne,” saysDad. “What’s the prize pot, six

milliondollars?”HegrinsatFrank.“So,areyougoingtowinthat?”“Wedon’thaveateam.”Franksuddenlydeflates.“We’llnevergetateam

together.It’s,like,aweekaway.”“Olliecouldplay,”suggestsLinus.“He’snotbad,foratwelve-year-old.”“Icouldplay,”Ioffer,onimpulse.“Youknow,ifyouwantmeto.”“You?”saysFrankderisively.“You’recrap.”“Well,Icanpractice,can’tI?”“Exactly!”saysMum.“Shecanpractice.So,that’ssorted.”Sheglancesat

herwatch, thenatLinus andme. “Andnowwe’ll leaveyou twoalone, forAudrey to…Well, for you to…” She pauses. “Anyway. You don’t want ushangingaroundembarrassingyou!”OK, the thing is, no-one was embarrassed till she said the word

embarrassed.Asitis,LinusandIwaitinawkwardsilencewhiletheyallgetupandFelixdropshisbiscuitandwantsanotherone,andDadstartslookingforhisBlackBerryandMumtellshimhedidn’thaveit,andhonestly,Ilovethemtobits,butcouldmyfamilybeanymoreannoying?Iwaituntilthey’vewellandtrulyleftandtheglassdoorhasclosedbehind

them.AndthenIturnproperlytoLinusandlookathim.“Welcometomyeyes,”Isaysoftly.“Whatdoyouthink?”“Ilikethem.”Hesmiles.“Ilovethem.”We’rejustlookingandlookingateachother.AndIcanfeelsomethingnew

betweenus,somethingevenmoreintimatethananythingwe’vedone.Eyetoeye.It’sthemostpowerfulconnectionintheworld.“Linus,I’msorry,”Isayatlast,wrenchingmygazeaway.“Ishouldhave

listened,youwereright—”“Stop.”Heplantshishandonmine.“You’vesaidit.I’vesaidit.Enough.”

He has a point.We’ve sent about five zillion texts to each other since Icame back. (OnlyMum isn’t supposed to know howmany, because I was“resting.”)“So…areweOK?”“Well, that depends,” says Linus, and I feel a lurch of fear in spite of

myself.“Onwhat?”Linuslooksatmethoughtfullyforamoment.“Onwhetheryoucanaskthat

blondwomanthreetablesawaydirectionstothecircus.”IstartlaughinginawayIhaven’tforages.“Thecircus?”“You’veheardthecircusisintown.You’redesperatetoseeit.Especially

theelephants.”“OK. I’lldo it.” Igetupanddoamockcurtsey. “Look,noglasses! Just

eyes!”“Iknow.”Helooksup,smiling.“Itoldyou,Ilovethem.”“Youlovethem?”Ipreenmyself.“You.”Somethingcatchesinmythroat.Hisgazeisfixedonmineandthere’sno

doubtingwhathemeant.“Metoo,”Imanage.“You.”We’resinkingintoeachother’sgazes.We’re likestarvingpeoplegorging

oncreamcakes.Buthe’schallengedme,andI’mnotgoingtowussout,noway.SoIwrenchmyselfawayandgotopesterastrangeblondwomanaboutthecircus.Idon’tlookbackonce,theentiretimeI’mtalkingtoher.ButIcanfeelhiseyesonmeallthetime.Likesunshine.

Mum’s printed us T-shirts. She’s actually printed us team T-shirts. We’recalledTheStrategists,whichgotpulledoutofahatwhenwecouldn’tagreeonaname.Youwouldn’tbelievetheplayroom.ItlookslikeGamingCentral.Ollieand

Linus brought their stuff over yesterday, so now there are two desktops(Dad’s,whichhe’slendingtomeforthematch,andOllie’s)andtwolaptops,eachwithachairandaheadsetandabottleofwatersowestayhydrated.And—last-minutepurchasebyMum—aboxofKrispyKremes.I mean, we could all play online in our own homes. That would be the

normal thing.ButMumwas like,“OK, if this isa teamsport,play it likeateamsport.”Andit’saSaturdaymorning,soactuallyitworksfine.Mum’s suddenlybecome interested inLOC, for the first time in her life,

and we’ve spent all week explaining the characters and the levels and thebackstory andansweringherdumbquestions, like “Butwhydoes everyonehave tobesogreedyandviolent?” In theend,Franksnapped,“It’sLandofConquerors,Mum,notLandofCommunityServiceVolunteers,”andshedidlookabitembarrassed.I’veput in a fewhoursonline and I’ve sharpenedupmygamea little. I

mean,I’mnoFrank.ButIwon’tletthemdown.Ihope.Actually,IthinkI’ma littlebetter thanOllie,whoaskedmeatour firstpractice session if IwasdatingLinusandwhenIsaid“Yes,”lookeddeflatedforaboutthirtyseconds,thensaid,manfully,“Well,let’sjustbegoodfriendsandteammates,then.”Heisquiteacutie,oldOllie.“I bought some Cokes for the team!” Dad arrives at the door of the

playroom.“Chris!”Mumfrowns.“Igotthemwater!”“OneCokewon’thurt.”“OhGod.Lookatthis.”Mumispeeringroundtheroomasthoughforthe

first time.“Lookat this room.Coke?KrispyKremes?Computers?”It’s likethetriumvirateofall the thingsshedespisesandfears. I feelquitesorryforher. “Are we bad parents?” She turns to Dad. “Seriously. Are we badparents?”“Maybe.”Heshrugs.“Probably.Whatofit?”

“Arewe,Audrey?”Shewheelsroundtome.“Hit-and-miss,”Isay,deadpan.“We’re not as bad as these guys,” says Dad in sudden inspiration, and

handsheracopyoftheDailyMailwhichhemusthaveboughtwhilehewasout.“Readthis.”MumgrabstheMailandhereyesfallavidlyonaheadline.“Wehavetowearidenticalclotheseveryday,”shereads.“Mumforcesher

six kids intomatching clothes.OhmyGod.”She looksup, totally cheered.“We’reso not asbadas this!Listen,Thechildrenare teasedat school,butChristy Gorringe, thirty-two, is unrepentant. ‘I like my kids to match,’ shesays.‘Ibuymyfabricwholesale.’”Mumshakesherheadindisbelief.“Haveyouseenthem?”Sheturnsthepaperroundsowecanseealineupofsixmiserablekids,all

inmatchingspottedshirts.“That’smademyday!”Mumhastilyadjustsherexpression.“Imean,poor

kids.”“Poorkids.”Dadnods.“Butatleastwe’renotasbadasthat.”Shehitsthepaper.“AtleastIdon’t

makemychildrenwearvilematchingclothes.Thingscouldbeworse.”Idon’tknowwhereMumwouldbeinlifewithouttheDailyMail.

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Thecamera(heldbyDad)showstheplayroomlittered

withemptyCokecansandwaterbottles.

Seenfrombehind,Frank,OLLIE,Linus,andAudrey

areplayingLOCintensely.Mumislookingfrom

screentoscreen,peeringovertheirshouldersand

tryingtofollow,withoutsuccess.

FRANK

Goonhim.Jesus.

Heclicksmadlyandhisscreenexplodesingraphics.

MUM

(alertly)

Whatwasthat?Whichone’syou?

LINUS

Initiate.Initiate.

AUDREY

Stayinthetrees.Nooo!Ollie,younoob.

Ollieisdesperatelyclicking,hisfacered.

OLLIE

Sorry.

Mum’sheadisswivelingwildlyfromscreento

screen.

MUM

Areyoudead?Whathappenswhenyoudie?

Howcanyoukeepup?

FRANK

Fireblastthefucker.Die!Die!

MUM

(shocked)

Frank!

AseriesofRussianswearingcomesfromtheaudio

Skypelink.

FRANK

Nakaleni,cyka.

MUM

Whatdoesthatmean?Isthatinthegame?

LINUS

It’sRussian.Youdon’twanttoknowwhat

itmeans.

MUM

SoisthatchapaRussian?Oristhatyou,

Frank?

Shepointsatthescreen.

MUM

Imean,theyalllookthesametome.Do

theylookthesametoyou,Chris?

Thecamera(heldbyDad)focusesinonascreen.

DAD(VOICE-OVER)

Ofcoursethey’renotthesame.Die!Die!

Wedidn’twin.Notonlydidwenotwin,wewerestomped.Mumwasgenuinelyshocked.Ithinkshe’dmentallycheckedusinforthe

finalsinTorontoandthesix-million-dollarprizepot,withherlordingitoveralltheotherparents.“So,howdidtheybeatyou?”shesaidinastonishmentwhenwe’dfinally

gotitthroughtoher.“Theyplayedbetter,”saidFrankdespondently.“Theywerereallygood.”“Well, you’re really good too,” saysMum at once. “You killed loads of

people. I mean, you have great technique, Frank. Doesn’t he, Chris? Verygoodtechnique.”YouhavetoloveMum.She’snowbehavingasthoughtheonlythingshe

ratesinlifeisLOC.“Anyone want the last Krispy Kreme?” she says, and we all shake our

heads.It’saprettysadatmosphereinhere,whatwiththesilentcomputersandtheCokecansandtheairofdefeat,andIthinkMumrealizesthis.“Well, anyway!” she says brightly. “We’ll go out for a team lunch to

celebratethetakingpart.PizzaExpress,everyone?”“Cool.”Franktakesoffhisheadsetandswitchesoffhislaptop.“AndthenI

mightgointotheFoxandHounds,”hesayscasually.“AdesaidIcouldhelpin thekitchenorwhateveratweekends. Ineed to talk to theheadchef. I’llgiveAdearingnow,sortitout.”“Oh.”Mumlooksabitflummoxed.“Well…OK,Frank.Goodidea!”Ashe

lopes out of the room, she turns toDad, her jaw sagging. “Did I hear thatright?IsFrankgettinghimselfajob?”But Dad can’t hear. He’s put on one of the headsets and is logged into

anotherLOCgamewithOllie.“Dad,canyouplay?”Isayinsurprise.“Oh,I’vepickedupabit,”hesays,andclicksfuriously.“Hereandthere.”“Butwhoareyouplayingwith?”“Acouple of friends from school,” saysOllie,who is equally engrossed.

“Theywereonline,so…Goonhim!”“I’monit,”saysDadbreathlessly.“Oh,shit.Sorry.”

Mum is staring atDad, flabbergasted. “Chris,what are you doing?” Shepokeshisshoulder.“Chris!I’mtalkingtoyou!DidyouhearwhatIsaidaboutFrank?”“Right.”Dad pulls off the headset for amoment. “Yes. I heard. Ground

him.”Ican’thelpgiggling,andevenMumgivesalittlesmile.“Getbacktothegame,youbigkid,”shesays.“Butwe’regoingoutinhalf

an hour, OK?Half an hour. And I don’t care if you have to interrupt thegame.”“OK,”saysDad, sounding just likeFrank.“Great.Yeah.Can’twait.”He

clicksmadly,thenpunchestheairasthescreenexplodesincolour.“Die,youbastard!Die!”

MYSERENEANDLOVINGFAMILY—FILMTRANSCRIPT

INTERIOR.5ROSEWOODCLOSE.DAY.

Thecamerawobblesassomeonestabilisesitona

highsurface.Asthispersonbacksawayweseeitis

AUDREY,inherbedroom.Shehesitates,thenpeers

intothecamera.

AUDREY

So,thisisme.Audrey.Youhaven’tmetme

yet.I’mprobablynotwhatyouexpected.

Like,myhair’sprobablydarkerorlighter

orwhatever…Anyway.Hello.Nicetomeet

you.

Shepullsupachairandlooksintothecamerafora

while,asthoughsortingoutherownthoughts.

AUDREY

I’vebeenthinkingalotabouteverything.

AndIguessMumwasrightaboutthejagged

graphsthing.We’reallonone.EvenFrank.

EvenMum.EvenFelix.IthinkwhatI’ve

realizedis,lifeisallaboutclimbingup,

slippingdown,andpickingyourselfup

again.Anditdoesn’tmatterifyouslip

down.Aslongasyou’rekindofheading

moreorlessupwards.That’sallyoucan

hopefor.Moreorlessupwards.

There’sanothersilence.Thenshelooksupwitha

sunnysmile.

AUDREY

Anyway.Ican’tstay.Ihaveanimportant

engagementwith…

Shereachesdownandproducesalarge,flatcase

madeofchrome.

AUDREY

This!Mumboughtitforme.It’seye

makeup.Look.

Sheopensthepaletteandstartsdisplayingit

proudly.

AUDREY

Thisismascara,andthisis…primeror

whatever…

Shemakesafaceasshesurveysthetube.

AUDREY

Ihavenoideawhattodowiththat.But

Mum’sgoingtoshowme.Imean,it’sonly

lunchatPizzaExpress,butLinusis

coming,soit’skindofadate,right?

Anotherpause.

AUDREY

IthinkMum’sreallypleasedI’vegotmy

eyesback.Shesaidtheywerethefirst

thingshelookedatwhenIwasborn.My

eyes.They’reme.They’rewhoIam.

Audreyplaysaroundwiththelidofthepalettefor

afewseconds,thenclosesitandaddressesthe

camera.

AUDREY

Anyway.Thishasbeenfun,makingthis

film.Imean,notalwaysfun,butmostly.

Youknow.So.Thanksforwatching,whoever

youare.

Apause—thenshegivesthemostdazzling,radiant

smile.

AUDREY

SoIguessthat’sit.I’llturnoffnow.

Asshecomesclosetoturnoffthecamera,Audrey’s

blueeyesloomlarge,fillingthescreen.Sheblinks

acoupleoftimes,thenwinksatthecamera.

AUDREY

Seeyou.

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

SophieKinsellaisabestsellingwriterandformerfinancialjournalist.Sheisthe author of many number one bestsellers, including the hugely popularShopaholicseries.ShehasalsowrittensevenbestsellingnovelsasMadeleineWickham.ShelivesinLondonwithherhusbandandfamily.

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