I feel breathless, is all I will admit to.
‘There.’ He sounds satisfied. ‘See?’
Linus doesn’t sound breathless. He just sounds interested, like I proved a point which now he’ll tell his friends about or write up in his blog or whatever. He leaps to his feet and says, ‘So, I’ll see you,’ and the spell is broken.
‘Yeah. See you.’
‘Your mum will chase me out of the house in a minute. I’d better go.’
‘Huh. Yeah.’
I hunch towards the sofa corner, determined not to give away how I kind of wish he’d stay.
‘Oh. Um,’ I say as he reaches the door. ‘Maybe I could interview you for my documentary.’
‘Oh yeah?’ He pauses. ‘What’s that?’
‘I have to make this documentary, and I’m supposed to interview people who come to the house, so . . .’
‘OK. Cool. Whenever. I’ll be back after . . . you know. When Frank can play games again.’
‘Cool.’
He disappears and I stay motionless for a while, wondering if he’ll come back or send me any more notes, or a message via Frank or whatever.
Which of course he doesn’t.
MY SERENE AND LOVING FAMILY – FILM TRANSCRIPT
INT. 5 ROSEWOOD CLOSE. DAY
The camera approaches the door of the study. It edges inside. Dad is sitting at his desk. His eyes are closed. On his screen is a different Alfa Romeo car.
AUDREY (VOICE-OVER)
Dad? Are you asleep?
Dad jumps and opens his eyes.
DAD
Of course I’m not asleep. Just working here. Getting some work done.
He moves his mouse and clicks off the Alfa Romeo car.
AUDREY (V.O.)
I’m supposed to interview you.
DAD
Great! Fire away.
He swivels his chair round to face the camera and gives a cheesy smile.
DAD
The life and times of Chris Turner, accountant to the stars.
AUDREY (V.O.)
No you’re not.
Dad looks defensive.
DAD
OK, accountant to several medium-sized firms, one in media. I do get tickets to concerts.
AUDREY (V.O.)
I know.
DAD
And you all met those TOWIE people, remember? At the Children in Need event?
AUDREY (V.O.)
It’s OK, Dad, I think your job is cool.
DAD
You could ask me about my rowing at college.
He casually flexes a bicep.
DAD
Still got it. Or you could ask me about my band.
AUDREY (V.O.)
Right. Yes. The . . . Turtles?
DAD
The Moonlit Turtles. Moonlit. I gave you the CD, remember?
AUDREY (V.O.)
Yes! It’s great, Dad.
Dad has an idea. He points at the camera, almost speechless with excitement.
DAD
I have it! You want a soundtrack for your film? I can give you one, free of charge. Original music, performed by the Moonlit Turtles, one of the most exciting student acts of the 1990s!
AUDREY (V.O.)
Right.
(pause)
Or I could choose my own music . . .
DAD
No! Sweetheart, I want to HELP. This way we work together. It’ll be a family project. It’ll be fun! I’ll buy the software, we’ll edit it together, you can choose your favourite songs . . .
He has called up a playlist on his computer.
DAD
Let’s have a listen now. Tell me your favourite song – we’ll put it on, play around.
AUDREY (V.O.)
My favourite song of all time?
DAD
No! Your favourite song by the Moonlit Turtles. Your favourite song that your old dad performs in. You must have one? A favourite?
Long pause. Dad looks at the camera expectantly.
DAD
You told me you listened to the CD over and over on your iPod.
AUDREY (V.O.)
(quickly)
I did! All the time. So. Um. Favourite song. There are so many.
(pause)
I think it would have to be . . . the loud one.
DAD
Loud one?
AUDREY (V.O.)
The one with the . . . um. Drums. It’s really good.
The camera starts to back away as a heavy rock track powers through the room. Dad is nodding his head along.
DAD
This one?
AUDREY (V.O.)
Yes! Exactly! It’s great. So good. Dad, I have to go . . .
The camera retreats out of the room.
AUDREY (V.O.)
Oh God.
As I go to bed that night I’m thinking about Linus. I’m trying to picture myself greeting him at the front door when he comes round next. Like other people do. Normal people. I mean, I know how the script should go:
‘Hey, Linus.’
‘Hey, Audrey.’
‘How’s it been going?’
‘Yeah, good.’
Maybe a high five. Maybe a hug. Definitely a pair of smiles.
I can think of about sixty-five reasons why this is not going to happen any time soon. But it might, mightn’t it? It might?
Dr Sarah says positive visualization is an incredibly effective weapon in our armoury and I should create in my mind scenarios of success that are realistic and encouraging.
The trouble is, I don’t know how realistic my ideal scenario is.
OK, yes I do: not at all.
In the ideal scenario, I don’t have a lizard brain. Everything is easy. I can communicate like normal people. My hair is longer and my clothes are cooler and in my last fantasy, Linus wasn’t even at the front door, he was taking me on a picnic in a wood. I have no idea where that came from.
Anyway. The ban is over tomorrow. Linus will be round again. And we’ll see.
Except I hadn’t reckoned on the apocalypse, which hit our house at 3.43 a.m. this morning. I know, because that was the time I blinked awake and stared blearily at my clock, wondering if there was a fire. There was a distant high-pitched screaming noise, which could have been an alarm, or could have been a siren, and I grabbed my dressing gown off the floor and shoved my feet into my furry slippers and thought in a panic, What do I take?
I grabbed my ancient pink teddy and my picture of me with Granny before she died, and I was halfway down the stairs when I realized that the noise wasn’t a siren. Or an alarm. It was Mum. I could hear her in the playroom, and she was screaming, ‘What are you DOING?’
I skittered to the entrance and felt my whole body sag in astonishment. Frank was sitting at his computer playing LOC. At 3.43 a.m.
I mean, obviously he wasn’t playing LOC right that second. He’d paused. But the graphics were there on the screen, and his headset was on and he was looking up at Mum like a cornered fox.
‘What are you DOING?’ Mum yelled again, then turned to Dad, who had just arrived at the doorway too. ‘What is he DOING? Frank, what are you DOING?’
Parents have this way of asking really dumb, obvious questions.
Are you going out in that skirt?
No, I’m planning to take it off as soon as I get out of the front door.
Do you think that’s a good idea?
No, I think it’s a terrible idea, that’s why I’m doing it.
Are you listening to me?
Your voice is 100 decibels, I can hardly avoid it.
‘What are you DOING?’ Mum was still shrieking, and Dad put a hand on her arm.
‘Anne,’ he said. ‘Anne, I have an eight o’clock.’
Big mistake. Mum turned on him like he was the baddie.
‘I don’t care about your eight o’clock! This is your son, Chris! Lying to us! Playing computer games at night! What else has he been doing?’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ said Frank. ‘OK? That’s all. I couldn’t sleep and I thought “I’ll read a book”, but I couldn’t find a book, so I thought I’d just . . . you know. Wind down.’