Finding Audrey (4 page)

This is stupid. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be filming. This is the window.

ANGLE ON: a window to the garden, where we can see an old swing set and a brand new fire pit, still with tags on. Camera zooms in on the fire pit.

AUDREY (V.O.)

That was my dad’s birthday present. He should use it really.

Camera swings shakily to door.

AUDREY (V.O.)

OK, so I should introduce myself. I’m Audrey Turner and I’m filming this because . . .

(pause)

Anyway. My mum and dad bought me this camera. They were all, like, ‘Maybe you’ll become a documentary maker!’ I mean, they got super-excited and they spent far too much on this camera. I was, like, just get me the cheapest thing, but they wanted to, so . . .

The camera moves jerkily through to the hall and focuses on the stairs.

AUDREY (V.O.)

That’s the stairs. You can see that, right? You’re not a moron.

(pause)

I don’t even know who you are. Who’s watching this? Dr Sarah, I suppose. Hi, Dr Sarah.

The camera moves unsteadily up the stairs.

AUDREY (V.O.)

So we’re going upstairs now. Who lives in THIS house?

Camera focuses on a black lacy bra draped over the banisters.

AUDREY (V.O.)

That’s Mum’s.

(beat)

Actually, she may not want you to see that.

Camera turns a corner and focuses on an ajar door.

AUDREY (V.O.)

That’s Frank’s room but I can’t even go near it because of the stench. I’ll zoom in.

Camera zooms in on an area of floor space covered with trainers, dirty socks, a wet towel, three Scott Pilgrim books, a half-empty bag of Haribo, all thrown on top of each other.

AUDREY (V.O.)

The entire room’s like that. Just so you know.

Camera moves away along an upstairs landing.

AUDREY (V.O.)

And this is my mum and dad’s room . . .

Camera focuses on a half-open door. From inside the room we hear a voice. This is MUM, Audrey’s mum. She is talking in a low, urgent voice which, nevertheless, we can hear.

MUM (V.O)

I was talking about it at book group and Caroline said, ‘Does he have a girlfriend?’ Well, he doesn’t! Is THAT the problem? If he had a girlfriend, maybe he’d be out more, instead of hunched over that screen. I mean, why DOESN’T he have a girlfriend?

DAD (V.O.)

I don’t know. Don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault!

AUDREY (V.O.)

(sotto voce)

This is my mum and dad. I think they’re talking about Frank.

MUM (V.O.)

Well, I’ve had an idea. We need to throw a party for him. Set him up with some pretty girls.

DAD (V.O.)

A PARTY? Are you serious?

MUM (V.O.)

Why not? It would be fun. We used to throw him some lovely parties.

DAD (V.O.)

When he was EIGHT. Anne, do you know what teenage parties are like? What if they knife each other and have sex on the trampoline?

MUM (V.O.)

They won’t! Will they? Oh God . . .

The door closes slightly. The camera moves closer to pick up the sound.

MUM (V.O.)

Chris, have you given Frank a father-to-son talk?

DAD (V.O.)

No. Have you given him a mother-to-son talk?

MUM (V.O.)

I bought him a book. It had pictures of . . . you know.

DAD (V.O.)

(sounds interested)

Did it? What kind of pictures?

MUM (V.O.)

You know.

DAD (V.O.)

I don’t.

MUM (V.O.)

(impatiently)

Yes you do. You can imagine.

DAD (V.O.)

I don’t want to imagine. I want you to describe them to me, very slowly, in a French accent.

MUM (V.O.)

(half giggling, half cross)

Chris, stop it!

DAD (V.O.)

Why should Frank have all the fun?

The door opens and DAD comes out. He is a handsome man in his early forties, wearing a suit and holding a scuba-diving mask. He jumps as he sees the camera.

DAD

Audrey! What are you doing here?

AUDREY (V.O.)

I’m filming. You know, for my project.

DAD

Right. Right, of course.

(calls warningly)

Sweetheart, Audrey’s filming . . .

Mum appears at the door, dressed in a skirt and bra. She claps her hands over her top half and shrieks when she sees the camera.

DAD

That’s what I meant when I said, ‘Audrey’s filming.’

MUM

(flustered)

Oh, I see.

She grabs a dressing gown from the door hook and wraps it around her top half.

MUM

Well, bravo, darling. Here’s to a great film. Maybe warn us next time you’re filming?

(glances at Dad and clears her throat)

We were just discussing the . . . er . . . crisis in . . . the Middle East.

DAD

(nods)

The Middle East.

Both parents look uncertainly at the camera.

OK, so, the backstory. You’ll want to know that, I suppose.
Previously, in Audrey Turner’s life
 . . .

Except, Jeez. I can’t go into it all again. Sorry, I just can’t. I’ve sat in enough rooms with teachers, doctors, regurgitating the same story, using the same words, till it starts to feel like something that happened to someone else.

Everyone involved has started to feel unreal. All the girls at Stokeland Girls’ School; Miss Amerson, our head teacher, who said I was deluded and seeking attention. (Attention. Irony God, are you listening?)

No one ever quite found out why. I mean, we sort of found out why, but not
why
.

There was a big scandal, yadda yadda. Three girls were excluded, which is a record. My parents took me out of Stokeland instantly, and I’ve been at home ever since. Well, and hospital, which I told you about already. The idea is that I ‘start again’ at the Heath Academy. Only to ‘start again’ you need to be able to ‘get out of the house’, which is where I have a teeny problem.

It’s not the outside
per se
. It’s not trees or air or sky. It’s the people. I mean, not
all
people. Probably not you; you’d be fine. I have my comfort people – people I can talk to and laugh with and feel relaxed with. It’s just, they make up quite a small group. Tiny, you might call it, compared to, say, the world’s population. Or even the number of people on an average bus.

I can eat supper with my family. I can go to see Dr Sarah in my safe little bubble of car–waiting room–Dr Sarah’s room–car–home. All the people in my therapy groups at St John’s – they’re comfort people too. Because they’re not a threat. (OK, OK, I
know
people aren’t really a threat. But try telling my stupid brain that.)

It’s everyone else who is the problem. People on the street, people at the front door, people on the phone. You have no idea how many people there are in the world until you start getting freaked out by them. Dr Sarah says I may never be comfortable in massive crowds, and that’s OK, but I have to ‘dial down’ the thoughts that are telling me to panic. When she’s telling me this, it seems totally reasonable, and I think,
Yes! I can do that! Easy.
But then a postman comes to the door and I run before I can even stop myself.

Thing is, I was never exactly
out there
, even when I was OK. In a bunch of girls, I was the one standing alone, hiding behind her hair. I was the one trying to join in chat about bras, even though – hello, a bra? That would surely require a female shape. I was the one paranoid that everyone must be looking at me, thinking how uncool I was.

At the same time, I was the one who got shown off to all the visitors: ‘Our straight-A student, Audrey.’ ‘Our netball star, Audrey.’

Top tip to all teachers reading this (i.e. none, probably): try
not
showing off the girl who cringes when anyone even looks at her. Because it’s not that helpful. Also, it’s not that helpful to say in the whole class’s earshot: ‘She’s the great hope of this year group, so talented.’

Who wants to be the great hope? Who wants to be ‘so talented’? Who wants the entire rest of year to slide their eyes round like daggers?

I mean, I don’t blame those teachers. I’m just saying.

So then. All the bad stuff happened. And I kind of slid off a cliff. And here I am. Stuck in my own stupid brain.

Dad says it’s totally understandable and I’ve been through a trauma and now I’m like a small baby that panics as soon as it’s handed to someone it doesn’t know. I’ve seen those babies, and they go from happy and gurgling to howling in a heartbeat. Well, I don’t howl. Not quite.

But I feel like howling.

You still want to know, don’t you? You’re still curious. I mean, I don’t blame you.

Here’s the thing: does it matter exactly what happened and why those girls were excluded? It’s irrelevant. It happened. Done. Over. I’d rather not go into it.

We don’t have to reveal everything to each other. That’s another thing I’ve learned in therapy: it’s OK to be private. It’s OK to say no. It’s OK to say, ‘I’m not going to share that.’ So, if you don’t mind, let’s just leave it there.

I mean, I appreciate your interest and concern, I really do. But you don’t need to pollute your brain with that stuff. Go and, like, listen to a nice song instead.

MY SERENE AND LOVING FAMILY – FILM TRANSCRIPT

INT. 5 ROSEWOOD CLOSE. DAY

The camera pans around the hall and focuses on the hall tiles.

AUDREY (VOICE-OVER)

So, these are old Victorian tiles or whatever. My mum found them in a skip and made us lug them all home. It took FOR EVER. We had a perfectly good floor but she was all, like, ‘These are history!’ I mean, someone threw them out. Does she not realize that?

MUM

Frank!

Mum comes striding into the hall.

MUM

FRANK!

(to Audrey) Where is your brother? Oh. You’re filming.

She flicks back her hair and pulls in her stomach.

MUM

Well done, darling!

FRANK ambles into the hall.

MUM

Frank! I found these on Felix’s playhouse.

She brandishes a bunch of sweet wrappers at him.

MUM

First of all, I don’t want you sitting on top of the playhouse – the roof is unstable and it’s a bad example to Felix. Second of all, do you realize how toxic this sugar is to your body? Do you?

Frank doesn’t reply, just glowers at her.

MUM

How much exercise do you take per week?

FRANK

Plenty.

MUM

Well, it’s not enough. We’re going on a run tomorrow.

FRANK

(outraged)

A run? Are you serious? A RUN?

MUM

You need to get out more. When I was your age, I lived outside! I was always playing sport, enjoying nature, walking through the woods, appreciating the outside world . . .

FRANK

Last week you said when you were our age you were ‘always reading books’.

MUM

Well, I was. I did both.

AUDREY

(from behind camera)

Last year you said when you were our age you were ‘always going to museums and cultural events’.

Mum looks caught out.

MUM

(snaps)

I was doing all of it. Anyway, we’re going for a run tomorrow. This is non-negotiable.

(as Frank draws breath)

Non-negotiable. NON-NEGOTIABLE, FRANK.

FRANK

Fine. Fine.

MUM

(over-casually)

Oh, and Frank. I was just wondering. There were some nice girls in your school play, weren’t there? Anyone on the . . . you know . . . horizon? You should ask them round!

Frank gives her a withering look. The doorbell rings and Frank looks warningly at the camera.

FRANK

Hey, Aud, this is Linus, if you want to . . . you know. Get out of the way.

AUDREY (V.O.)

Thanks.

Mum disappears into the kitchen. Frank heads towards the front door. The camera backs away but has a view of the front door.

Frank opens the front door to reveal LINUS.

FRANK

Hey.

LINUS

Hey.

Linus glances at the camera and it quickly swoops away and retreats.

Then, slowly, from a further distance it comes back to rest on Linus’s face. It zooms in.

I mean, I was just filming him because he’s Frank’s friend. It’s just, you know. Family context or whatever.

OK. And he has a nice face.

Which I have watched on playback a few times.

The next day after breakfast Mum comes down in leggings, a pink crop top and trainers. She has a heart-rate monitor strapped round her chest and is holding a water bottle.

‘Ready?’ she calls up the stairs. ‘Frank! We’re going! Frank! FRANK!’

After an age, Frank appears. He’s wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt, his usual trainers and a scowl.

‘You can’t run like that,’ says Mum at once.

‘Yes I can.’

‘No you can’t. Don’t you have any athletics shorts?’

‘
Athletics
shorts?’

Frank’s look of disdain is so terrible, I give a snort.

‘What’s wrong with athletics shorts?’ says Mum defensively. ‘That’s the trouble with you young people. You’re closed minded. You’re prejudiced.’

You young people.
Three words which signal that a Mum-rant is coming. I look at her from the sitting-room doorway, and sure enough, the other signs are building. Her eyes are full of thoughts . . . she clearly has things to say . . . she’s breathing fast . . .

And bingo.

‘You know, Frank, you only get one body!’ She turns on him. ‘You have to treasure it! You have to take care of it! And what worries me is you seem to have no idea about health, no idea about fitness – all you want to eat is junk . . .’

‘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.