Finding Audrey by Sophie Kinsella Page B

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