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.

‘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.