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 and vulnerable and kind of lesser. I’m not winning any battle, sitting here, silently clutching the table, unable to speak, just thinking my own rapid, restless thoughts.
But more than that – there isn’t even any battle to have, is there? The Lawtons aren’t interested in me. I could say what I like – they wouldn’t listen. They’re playing out their little story in which Izzy apologizes and she’s the hero and I’m the bit part. And I’m letting them do it. Why am I letting them do it?
I feel a sudden wave of revulsion as I survey Izzy’s bowed head.
She won’t look at me, will she? She can’t. Because I might pop the bubble.
I mean, I guess that’s one way to go. Slip back into being eleven years old, wear ponytails and get homeschooled and let your parents take over and tell you everything’s OK, you weren’t really a bullying monster, my sweetheart. It was the nasty people who didn’t understand you. But if you write a poem, everything will be OK.
Out of nowhere, Linus’s voice comes into my head: Why would you even give her the time of day?
Why would 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 . . .”’
Izzy is still droning on in what seems to have become a tragically bad rap. She’s got another A4 page to go, I notice. It’s definitely time to leave.
I squeeze Frank’s hand and look at the door. He raises his eyebrows and I nod firmly. I even make a small, inarticulate sound.
‘Yes, we have to go now,’ says Frank, cutting across Izzy. ‘Thanks for the water.’
‘Go?’
The Lawtons look pole-axed.
‘But Izzy hasn’t finished reading.’
‘We haven’t had any discussion.’
‘We’ve only just begun the meeting!’
‘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 sounds quite shirty. ‘I’m sorry, what kind of behaviour is this?’
And then I finally find my voice. ‘You want to talk about behaviour?’ I say quietly.
It’s like a magic charm. Everyone else is silenced. Paralysed.
There’s an odd hush around the place – it feels like the whole of Starbucks might have picked up on our vibe, just for a second. Mr Lawton’s face has kind of crumpled. It’s as if reality has pushed its way through his soap bubble of denial, just for a second, and he’s been forced to see exactly who I am. I’m the one they did all those things to.
Yes, those things. The ones they did. And said. And wrote. Your daughter in her ponytail. That’s right.
I don’t look at Izzy. Why would I expend the energy that swivelling my eyeballs in her direction would require? Why would I expend even one microjoule of energy on Izzy?
And then we’re walking out, Frank and I, not looking back, not talking about it, not wasting a second more of our lives on that load of shitty, shitty crap.
And I should feel high now. Shouldn’t I? I mean, I think I won. Didn’t I?
Only now it’s all over I just feel kind of empty. Frank’s sole comment as we walked back was ‘What a bunch of weirdos.’ Then he told me he was heading back to school for tech club, and when I gave him a big hug and muttered, ‘Thanks, I don’t know how I can repay you,’ into his shoulder, he said, ‘OK, well, I get to choose both pizza toppings on Friday night. OK?’
And now it’s seven o’clock and I’m on my own. Mum and Dad are out at their salsa class. They have no idea. I mean, how weird is that? I’ve actually met up with Izzy and they don’t know.
I’ve texted Linus and told him about it. I’ve said I’m sorry I blew up at him. I’ve said he was right, I should never have gone and I miss him and I want to see him so, so much. I want to go back to how we were. I want him to give me another crazy challenge. I want to forget I ever went to see Izzy.
I mean, I think we were both right. I was right because I didn’t relapse and there aren’t any pieces to pick up. And Linus was right because I shouldn’t have given her the time of day in the first place. So. And when he texts back, I’ll ask him round and maybe we’ll get back to that other conversation we were having in the park.
That was two hours ago and he still hasn’t texted back. I’ve checked my phone signal, like, a million times and it’s fine. Anyway. Maybe he’s busy or whatever.
Except by ten o’clock he still hasn’t texted back. And he always texts back. Always within the hour. He finds a way. He’s texted me from lessons, from his family supper, wherever. He doesn’t not text. But right now he’s not texting.
It’s eleven. He’s not texting.
It’s midnight. No text.
And now it’s one o’clock, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t sleep. I can’t even lie down. I officially ‘went to bed’ three hours ago but I haven’t touched the covers. I’m pacing around my room, trying to calm my whirling thoughts, but they’re like a hurricane.
I’ve wrecked everything with Linus. He’s never texting. It’s over. He was right, I was selfish. I should never have gone to that stupid meeting. Why did I do it? Why? I always do stupid things. I’m such a stupid, idiot failure, and now I’ve spoiled the only good thing I had in my life, and he hates me and there’s nothing I can do about it. The whole thing’s over. And it’s all my fault, my stupid, stupid fault . . .
My thoughts are speeding up and my pace is speeding up too, and I’m pulling at my arms, pulling at the flesh of my forearms, trying to . . . I don’t know. I don’t understand it. I glance in the mirror and flinch at my own wild stare. I can feel a weird sparking all over my body, like I’m more alive than I should be, like my body is overloaded with life force. Can you have too much life stuffed into one body? Because that’s what this feels like. And everything’s too fast. My heart, my thoughts, my feet, my clawing arms . . .
Maybe I should take something. The thought hits me like a very sensible person talking in my ear. Yes. Of course. I have things I could take. I have lots of things.
I rootle around in my box full of magic tricks, dropping bottles and packets on the floor in my haste. OK, a Clonazepam. Maybe two. Maybe three. I swallow them, and wait for everything to calm down. But my mind is still screaming, round and round like a motor race, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand myself. I have to escape . . .
When suddenly another brilliant idea hits me. I’ll go for a walk. I’ll burn off all this energy. The fresh air will do me a power of good. And I’ll come back and sleep it off and, like they say, things will be better in the morning.
MY SERENE AND LOVING FAMILY – FILM TRANSCRIPT
INT. 5 ROSEWOOD CLOSE. DAY
The camera wobbles as someone stabilizes it on a high surface. As this person backs away we see it is Frank, in the sitting room. He stares into the camera with deeply worried eyes.
FRANK
Is this working? OK. Hello. I’m Frank Turner and this is my video diary. My sister Audrey is missing. It’s a nightmare. We woke up this morning and there she wasn’t. Mum and Dad are just . . . (He swallows.) We’ve looked everywhere, and we’ve phoned everyone. Mum and Dad called the police, like, that instant. And the police are great, they’re really calm. But . . .