Finding Audrey by Sophie Kinsella Page A

lasts twenty-four hours.
    Meanwhile Linus has sat down on the sofa, at the other end from me. In my peripheral vision I see him extending a grubby trainer.
    ‘Go on,’ he says. ‘Shoe contact. Let’s do it.’
    I can’t move. I’m a hedgehog rolled into a ball. I don’t want to know.
    ‘You can move your foot,’ says Linus. ‘You don’t have to look at it. Just move it.’
    He sounds persistent. I can’t believe this is happening. My lizard brain is
really
not liking this. It’s telling me to dive under the blanket. Hide. Run. Anything.
    Maybe if I don’t react
, I tell myself,
he’ll just give up and we can forget all about it.
    But the seconds tick on, and he doesn’t go anywhere.
    ‘Go on,’ he says encouragingly. ‘I bet you can do it.’
    And now I have Dr Sarah’s voice in my head:
You need to start pushing yourself
.
    Gradually, I shift my foot across the carpet, until the rubber rim of my trainer is touching the rubber rim of his. The rest of my body is still turned away. I’m staring fixedly at the fabric of the sofa, my entire brain focused on the centimetre of foot that is in contact with his.
    And OK, I know there’s, like, two layers of trainer rubber between us, I know this could not be less erotic or romantic or whatever – and by the way, my entire body is still twisted firmly away from his as if I can’t stand the sight of him. But still, it feels kind of—
    Well.
    See how I stopped mid-sentence? I can do it too. When I don’t necessarily want to reveal the
exact
thought I’m having.
    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