‘We’ll have robotic body-part replacements by the time we’re your age,’ says Frank, unmoved. ‘So.’
‘Do you know how many people your age have diabetes?’ Mum continues. ‘Do you know how many teens these days are obese? And don’t even get me started on heart problems.’
‘OK, I won’t get you started on heart problems,’ says Frank mildly, which seems to enrage her.
‘And you know what it is? It’s all the fault of these evil screens. Some children your age can’t even get up off the couch!’
‘How many?’ retorts Frank.
‘What?’ Mum looks at him, puzzled.
‘How many children my age can’t even get up off the couch? Because that sounds like BS to me. Did you read it in the Daily Mail?’
Mum glares at him. ‘A significant number.’
‘Like, three. Because they broke their leg.’
I can’t help giggling, and Mum shoots me a glare too.
‘You can mock me all you like,’ she says to Frank. ‘But I take my responsibility as a parent seriously. I will not let you become a couch potato. I will not let your arteries harden. I will not let you become a statistic. So come on. We’re running. We’ll start with a warm-up. Follow me.’
She starts marching, pumping her arms at the same time. I recognize the moves from her Davina exercise DVD. After a moment Frank joins in, waving his arms around and rolling his eyes comically. I have to ball a fist into my mouth to stop laughing.
‘Engage your core,’ Mum says to Frank. ‘You should do Pilates. Have you heard of an exercise called “the plank”?’
‘Give me a break,’ mutters Frank.
‘Now, stretch . . .’
As they’re bending over to stretch their hamstrings, Felix comes bouncing into the hall.
‘Yoga!’ he shouts in his joyous way. ‘I can do yoga. I can do yoga VERY FAST.’
He lies on his back and kicks his legs in the air.
‘Brilliant yoga,’ I tell him. ‘That’s very fast yoga.’
‘And STRONG yoga.’ Felix looks at me seriously. ‘I am the strongest yoga.’
‘You are the strongest yoga,’ I agree.
‘All right.’ Mum lifts her head. ‘So, Frank, we’ll take it easy today, just a nice little run . . .’
‘What about press-ups?’ Frank interrupts. ‘Shouldn’t we do some press-ups before we leave?’
‘Press-ups?’ Mum’s face falls for an instant.
I’ve seen Mum doing press-ups along with Davina’s DVD. It’s not a pretty sight. She curses and sweats and gives up after about five. ‘Well . . . yes.’ She regains her composure. ‘Good idea, Frank. We could do a couple of press-ups.’
‘How about thirty?’
‘Thirty?’ Mum looks ashen.
‘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 up rhythmically. He’s really good. I mean, really good.
Mum is staring at him as though he’s turned into an elephant.
‘Aren’t you going to join in?’ says Frank, barely pausing.
‘Right,’ says Mum, getting onto her hands and knees. She does a couple of press-ups, then stops.
‘Can’t you keep up?’ says Frank, panting. ‘Twenty-three . . . twenty-four . . .’
Mum does a few more press-ups, then stops, puffing. She’s really not enjoying this.
‘Frank, where did you learn to do those?’ she says as Frank finishes. She sounds almost cross, like he’s fooled her.
‘School,’ he says succinctly. ‘PE.’ He sits back on his knees and gives her a malicious little smile. ‘I can run too. I’m in the cross-country team.’
‘What?’ Mum looks faint. ‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘Shall we go?’ Frank gets to his feet. ‘Only I don’t want to turn into an obese teenage heart-attack victim.’ As they head for the door, I hear him saying, ‘Did you know that most middle-aged women don’t do enough press-ups? It was in the Daily Mail.’
Forty minutes later they pant back into the hall. I say pant. Frank’s barely broken a sweat, whereas Mum looks like she’s going to collapse. Her face is red and her hair is dripping. She clutches onto the banister for support, and breathes in and out like a traction engine.
‘How was the running?’ begins Dad, coming into the hall, and stops in alarm as he sees Mum. ‘Anne, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ manages Mum. ‘Fine. Frank did very well, in fact.’
‘Never mind Frank, what about you?’ Dad is still staring at her. ‘Anne, did you overdo it? I thought you were fit!’
‘I am fit!’ she practically yells. ‘He tricked me!’
Frank is shaking his head sadly. ‘Mum’s cardio could really do with some work,’ he says. ‘Mum, you only get one body. You need to treasure it.’
And, winking at me, he ambles off to the playroom.
I mean, Frank has a point.
But Mum has a point too. Everyone has a point.
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 day with Felix, taking him to a series of birthday parties, and they told Frank to do his homework while they were out, and Frank said ‘Yes’, and then he logged on and that was it.
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 Frank appears at the door.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’ My dark glasses are already on and I don’t turn my head.
‘Listen, Audrey, Linus is going to be spending a lot of time at our house. I think you should get to know him. He’s on my LOC team.’
I’ve already stiffened a little at the words Linus and get to know him.
‘Why do I need to get to know him?’ I counter.
‘He feels weird coming to our house. Like, what happened the other day? When you ran away? It freaked him out a bit.’
I scowl at Frank. I don’t want to be reminded.
‘He doesn’t need to feel weird¸’ I say, wrapping my arms round my knees.
‘Well, he does. He thinks he upset you.’
‘Well, tell him. You know. About . . .’
‘I have.’
‘Well then.’
There’s silence. Frank still doesn’t look happy.
‘If Linus doesn’t want to come to our house, he might join another LOC team,’ he says. ‘And he’s really good.’
‘Who else is on the team?’ I swivel round to face Frank.
‘These two guys from school. Nick and Rameen. They play online. But Linus and I are, like, the strategists. We’re going to enter the international LOC tournament, and the qualifiers are on July the eighteenth, so we need a ton of practice. The prize pot is six million dollars.’
‘What?’ I stare up at him.
‘Seriously.’
‘You win six million dollars? Just for playing LOC?’
‘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’re holding it in Toronto and they’re building, like, this massive stadium, and everyone’s flying in. It’s big money. This is what Mum and Dad don’t get. These days, being a gamer is a career choice.’
‘Right,’ I say dubiously.
I went to a careers fair at school. I didn’t see anyone sitting at a stall under a sign, BECOME A GAMER!
‘So you need to make Linus feel comfortable here,’ Frank finishes. ‘I can’t lose him off my team.’