LINUS
What do you call it again?
FELIX
Squares.
Linus is struggling to keep a straight face.
LINUS
That’s right. Squares. So why don’t we say ‘Squares’ when we move the pieces?
Felix looks at him pityingly, as though he’s a little dim.
FELIX
Because we say ‘Chess’.
Linus looks at the camera.
LINUS
That tells me.
Mum comes into the garden.
MUM
Linus! You’re here! Marvellous. Now, you speak German, don’t you?
LINUS
(warily)
A bit.
MUM
Great! Well, you can come and help me decipher my new dishwasher instructions. The whole leaflet’s in German. I mean, German. I ask you.
LINUS
Oh. OK.
As he gets up, Felix grabs onto his leg.
FELIX
Lin-us! Play Squares!
At this moment FRANK comes into the garden and brandishes a gaming magazine at Linus.
FRANK
Linus, you have to see this.
AUDREY (VOICE-OVER)
What is this family LIKE? Stop trying to kidnap my boyfriend, everyone. OK?
Dr Sarah has said I need to increase my interactions with strangers. It’s not enough just to go to a restaurant and hide behind a menu and let other people order for me. (How did she guess?) I need to talk confidently to unfamiliar people. This is my homework. So Linus and I are sitting in Starbucks and he’s choosing someone random for me to go and talk to.
We did all kinds of role-play in hospital, which was supposed to achieve the same aim. But role-play is role-play. You feel so stupid. OMG, it was embarrassing, pretending to have a ‘confrontation’ with some skinny boy who you knew would practically go into a panic attack if you even looked at him. And all the counsellors having to feed us lines when we dried up, and saying, ‘Look at your body language, Audrey.’
Anyway. So role-play totally sucks, but this is kind of fun. Because I’m going to do one and then Linus is going to do one. It’s like dares.
‘OK, that guy.’ Linus points to a man on his own at a corner table, tapping away at a laptop. He’s in his twenties with a goatee and a grey T-shirt and one of those cool leather man-bags that Frank despises. ‘Go up to that guy and ask him if he has Wi-Fi.’
I feel a bubble of panic, which I try to swallow down. The man looks absorbed in his work. He doesn’t look like he wants to be interrupted.
‘He looks really busy,’ I prevaricate. ‘What about someone else? What about that old lady?’ There’s a sweet-looking grey-haired woman sitting at the next table, who has already smiled in our direction.
‘Too easy.’ Linus is adamant. ‘You won’t need to say a word, she’ll just jabber at you. Go up to that guy and ask about the Wi-Fi. I’ll wait here.’
Everything in my body is telling me not to go, but Linus is sitting there looking at me, so I force my leg muscles to operate. Somehow I’m walking across the coffee shop and now I’m standing right in front of the man, but he hasn’t looked at me. He’s just tapping and frowning.
‘Um, hi?’ I manage.
Tap-tap-tap-frown.
‘Hi?’ I try again.
Tap-tap-tap-frown.
He hasn’t even looked up.
I so want to back away. But Linus is watching. I have to see this through.
‘Excuse me?’ My voice bursts out so loudly I almost jump in fright, and finally the man lifts his head. ‘I was wondering if you have Wi-Fi?’
‘What?’ He scowls.
‘Wi-Fi? Do you have Wi-Fi here?’
‘Jesus. I’m trying to work.’
‘Right. Sorry. I was just wondering—’
‘About the Wi-Fi. Are you blind? Can you read, at all?’ He points to a notice in the corner of the coffee shop, which is all about the Starbucks Wi-Fi code. Then he focuses on my dark glasses. ‘Are you blind? Or just subnormal?’
‘I’m not blind,’ I say, my voice trembling. ‘I was just asking. Sorry to bother you.’
‘Fucking moron,’ he mutters as he starts tapping again.
Tears are welling in my eyes and as I back away, my legs are wobbly. But my chin is high. I’m determined I’m not going to dissolve. As I get back to the table, I force a kind of rictus grin onto my face.
‘I did it!’
‘What did he say?’ demands Linus.
‘He called me a fucking moron. And blind and subnormal. Apart from that, you know, he was really charming.’
The tears in my eyes are edging down my cheeks by now, and Linus stares at them in alarm.
‘Audrey!’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I say fiercely. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Wanker.’ Linus is glaring balefully at the man in the grey T-shirt. ‘If he doesn’t want to be disturbed, he shouldn’t come and sit in a public place. You realize how much he’s saving on rent? He buys one coffee and sits there for an hour and then he expects the whole world to tiptoe around him. If he wants an office he should pay for an office. Fucker.’
‘Anyway, I did it.’ I speak brightly. ‘Your turn now.’
‘I’m speaking to the same guy.’ Linus gets to his feet. ‘He doesn’t get away with being such a prick.’
‘What are you going to say?’ I ask in panic. A choking dread is filling my chest, and I don’t even know what I’m scared of. I just don’t want Linus to go over there. I want to leave. ‘Sit down,’ I beg him. ‘Let’s stop the game.’
‘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 voice which is so loud that half the coffee shop looks round. ‘That’s an Apple Mac, isn’t it?’
The man looks up as though in disbelief at being interrupted again. ‘Yes,’ he says curtly.
‘Could you tell me the advantages of an Apple Mac over other brands of computer?’ says Linus. ‘Because I want to buy a computer. Is your one really good? I bet it is.’ He sits down opposite the man. ‘Can I have a go?’
‘Look, I’m busy,’ the man snaps. ‘Could you sit somewhere else?’
‘Are you working here?’
There’s silence as the man continues tapping and Linus leans forward. ‘Are you working?’ he repeats in a foghorn voice.
‘Yes!’ The man glowers at him. ‘I’m working.’
‘My dad works in an office,’ says Linus artlessly. ‘Don’t you have an office? What do you do? Could I be like your shadow? Will you come and give a talk to our school? Oh look, your cup’s empty. Are you going to buy another coffee? Was that a cappuccino? I like flat whites. But why are they called flat whites? Do you know? Can you look it up for me?’
‘Listen.’ The man slams his laptop shut. ‘Kid. I’m working. Could you please find another table?’
‘But this is Starbucks,’ says Linus in tones of surprise. ‘You can sit anywhere. You’re allowed.’ He flags down a female barista who’s collecting empty cups nearby. ‘Excuse me, can I sit anywhere? Is that how Starbucks works?’
‘Of course,’ says the barista, and smiles at him. ‘Anywhere you like.’
‘Did you hear that? Anywhere I like. And I’ve got a cup of coffee, but you haven’t,’ Linus points out to the man. ‘You’ve finished yours. Hey, wait.’ He gives the empty cup to the barista. ‘See?’ he says to the man. ‘You’re all done. You should either buy a cup of coffee or go.’
‘Jesus!’ Looking like he wants to explode, the man shoves his laptop into his man-bag and gets to his feet. ‘Fucking kids,’ he mutters to himself. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘Bye then,’ says Linus innocently. ‘Have fun being a wanker.’
For an instant I think the man might hit him round the head – but of course he doesn’t. He just heads out of the coffee shop looking savage. Linus gets up and slides back into the seat opposite
me, his face all creased up into his orange-segment smile.
‘Oh my God.’ I exhale. ‘I can’t believe you did that.’
‘Next time, you do it.’
‘I couldn’t!’
‘You could. It’s fun.’ Linus rubs his hands together. ‘Bring it on.’
‘OK, give me another one,’ I say, inspired. ‘Give me another dare.’
‘Ask this barista if they serve mint muffins. Go.’ He flags her down, and she comes over with a smile. I haven’t even got time to think about whether I’m nervous or not.
‘Excuse me, do you serve mint muffins?’ I say, adopting Linus’s innocent, childlike tones. Somehow, channelling Linus is giving me strength. I’m not me, I’m not Audrey, I’m a character.
‘Ah, no.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘But I saw them on the website,’ I say. ‘I’m sure I saw them. Mint muffins with a chocolate centre? With, like, sprinkles?’
‘And Polo mints on top,’ chimes in Linus seriously, and I nearly crease up with laughter.
‘No.’ The barista looks puzzled. ‘I never heard of them.’
‘Oh well,’ I say politely. ‘Thank you anyway.’ As she walks off, I grin at Linus, feeling a bit heady. ‘I did it!’
‘You can talk to anyone.’ He nods. ‘Next, why don’t you hire a soap box and make a speech?’
‘Great idea!’ I say. ‘Let’s invite, like, a thousand people.’
‘So the graph is going upwards. Miss Audrey is heading for the stars.’ Linus knows about the jagged/not-jagged graph, because I told him about it. I drew it out and everything.
‘Definitely.’ I clink my coffee cup against his. ‘Miss Audrey is heading for the stars.’
Which just proves it: I’m in charge of my graph. Me. And if I want a straight graph, I’ll have a straight graph.
So at my next session with Dr Sarah, I lie a little when I’m filling in my tick boxes.
Have you experienced worries most days? Not at all.
Do you find your worries difficult to control? Not at all.
She looks at the sheet with raised eyebrows when I hand it to her.
‘Well. This is an improvement!’
‘You see?’ I can’t help saying at once. ‘You see?’
‘Do you have any idea why you’ve improved so much this week, Audrey?’ She smiles at me. ‘Life’s good, is it just that? Or anything else? Any changes?’
‘Dunno.’ I shrug innocently. ‘I can’t think of anything that’s changed in particular.’
Which is another lie. Something that’s changed is: I’ve stopped taking my meds. I just take the pills out of the blister packs and chuck them away in a screwed-up envelope. (Not down the loo, because all the chemicals get into the water or whatever.)
And guess what? I haven’t noticed a single difference. Which just proves I didn’t need them.
I haven’t told anybody. Well, obviously I haven’t, because they’d stress out. I’m going to wait, like, a month and then I’ll casually tell everyone, and I’ll be like, you see?
‘I told you,’ I say to Dr Sarah. ‘I’m cooked. I’m done. All better.’
Mum’s in an organizing mood. She’s sweeping around the house, tidying and shouting and saying, ‘Whose shoes are these? What are they doing here?’ and we’ve all hidden in the garden. I mean me, Frank, Linus and Felix. It’s a warm day anyway, so it’s nice, just sitting on the grass, picking daisies.
There’s a rustling sound, and Dad appears round the side of the bush we’re lurking behind.
‘Hi, Dad,’ says Frank. ‘Have you come to join the Rebel Alliance?’
‘Frank, I think your mother wants you,’ says Dad.
Your mother. Code for: Don’t associate me with Mum’s latest nutty plan, I have nothing to do with it.
‘Why?’ Frank gives an unpromising scowl. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Busy hiding behind a bush?’ I say, and snort with laughter.
‘You offered to help?’ Dad says. ‘For the Avonlea fête catering? I think they’re starting.’
‘I did not offer to help,’ says Frank, looking outraged. ‘I did not offer. I was forced. This is forced labour.’
‘You have such a great attitude,’ I observe. ‘Helping your fellow man and everything.’
‘I don’t notice you helping your fellow man,’ Frank shoots back.
‘I’ll help my fellow man.’ I shrug. ‘I don’t mind making a few sandwiches.’
‘Anyway, fellow man?’ counters Frank. ‘That’s sexist. Glad you’re such a sexist, Audrey.’
‘It’s an expression.’
‘It’s a sexist expression.’
‘I think we should go,’ Dad cuts in. ‘Mum’s on the warpath.’
‘I’m entertaining Linus,’ says Frank, without moving an inch. ‘I’m entertaining a guest. You want me to abandon my guest?’
‘He’s my guest,’ I object.
‘He was my friend first.’ Frank glowers at me.
‘I have to go anyway,’ says Linus diplomatically. ‘Waterpolo practice.’
After Linus leaves, we hear Mum yelling, ‘Chris! Frank! Where are you!’ in her most ominous ‘You’ll-pay-for-this-later’ voice, and it’s like we all realize there’s no point hiding out here any more. Frank trudges back to the house looking like a condemned man and I take a few deep breaths because I’m feeling a little edgy.
I mean, I’m fine. I’m not panicking or anything. I’m just a tiny bit—
Well. A bit jittery. Dunno why. I’m probably just getting back to normal after all those months polluting my body with chemicals. I mean, when is the last time I knew what normal even was?
The kitchen is full of the most motley crew of people. There’s one old lady in an ancient purple suit and hair which is clearly a wig. There’s one middle-aged lady with plaits and sandals. There’s a plump couple who are wearing matching St Luke’s Church sweatshirts. And a white-haired man on a mobility scooter.
The mobility scooter’s pretty cool, actually. But it is kind of getting in everyone’s way.
‘Right!’ Mum comes in and claps her hands. ‘Welcome, everybody, and thank you for coming along today. So, the fête starts at three. I’ve bought lots of ingredients . . .’ She starts emptying food out of supermarket carriers onto the kitchen table – stuff like tomatoes and cucumbers, lettuce and bread, chicken and ham. ‘I thought we could make some sandwiches, stuffed wraps, um . . . does anyone have any other ideas?’
‘Sausage rolls?’ says the plump woman.
‘Right.’ Mum nods. ‘D’you mean buy sausage rolls or make sausage rolls?’
‘Ooh.’ The plump woman looks baffled. ‘I don’t know. But people like sausage rolls.’
‘Well, we haven’t got any sausage rolls. Or any sausage meat. So—’
‘That’s a shame,’ says the plump woman. ‘Because people like sausage rolls.’
Her husband nods. ‘They do.’
‘Everyone loves a sausage roll.’
I can see Mum getting a little tense. ‘Maybe next time,’ she says brightly. ‘Moving on. So, I thought . . . egg sandwiches?’
‘Mum!’ Frank says in horror. ‘Egg sandwiches are rank.’
‘I like egg sandwiches!’ says Mum defensively. ‘Does anyone else like egg sandwiches?’
‘Sweetheart, I think we can do better than egg sandwiches.’ A man’s voice cuts across Mum’s, and we all look up. A bloke I’ve never seen before is striding into the kitchen. He must be in his twenties. He’s got a shaved head and about six earrings in one ear and is wearing one of those chef outfits.
‘I’m Ade,’ he announces. ‘My grandad’s Derek Gould – he just moved into Avonlea. Told me about this. What are we doing?’
‘Are you a chef?’ Mum goggles at him. ‘A professional chef?’
‘I work at the Fox and Hounds. I’ve got an hour. This what you’ve got?’ He’s turning Mum’s food over in his hands. ‘I think we can knock up some nice fresh fillings to go
in the wraps – maybe a Waldorf salad – and maybe roast this fennel off and do it with a lemon-tarragon dressing . . .’
‘Young man.’ Purple lady waves a hand in his face. ‘How will we keep salads fresh on a day like today?’
Ade looks surprised. ‘Oh, I brought the chill boxes from the pub. Thirty. And all the other catering supplies. You can give them back tomorrow.’
The purple lady blinks at him in surprise.
‘Chill boxes?’ Mum is starting to look overexcited. ‘Catering supplies? You’re a saint!’
‘No problemo. OK, so our menu is Waldorf salad wrap, Mexican bean wrap, a couple of salads—’
‘Um, could we use some eggs?’ says Mum, looking embarrassed. ‘I bought a whole load of eggs for egg sandwiches, which no one seems keen on.’
‘Spanish omelette,’ says Ade without missing a beat. ‘We’ll put in some chorizo, garlic, fry off some sweet onion, serve it in slices . . .’
I love Spanish omelette. This guy is so cool!
‘I bought lots of peppers too,’ says Mum eagerly, handing him one. ‘Could they go in?’
‘Perfect.’
Ade takes the pepper from Mum and turns it over in his fingers. Then he opens up his backpack to reveal a set of knives, all carefully packed in covers. We watch agog as he takes a chopping board from the kitchen table, places the pepper on it and starts chopping it up.
Oh my God, I have never seen anyone chop so fast.
Chop-chop-chop-chop-chop.
Everyone in the kitchen is just staring in astonishment. Even Frank. In fact, especially Frank. When Ade finishes and everyone bursts into applause, Frank is the only one who is still transfixed, his eyes like saucers.
‘You.’ Ade seems to notice him. ‘I want you on dicing duty.’
‘But . . .’ Frank swallows. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘I’ll teach you. No sweat.’ Ade looks Frank up and down. ‘You cooking in that? Got an apron?’
‘I can find one,’ says Frank hastily, and I stifle a giggle. Frank’s going to wear an apron?
Ade is now rootling around in Mum’s cupboards, dumping ingredients all over the counter.
‘I’m going to make a shopping list,’ he announces. ‘We need Parmesan, more garlic, harissa . . . Who’s our runner?’ He looks at me. ‘Pretty girl in the dark glasses. You want to be our runner?’
Finding Audrey Page 14
