Finding Audrey - Sophie Kinsella Page 0,14
inhale. I think I can smell his soap or shampoo or whatever.
Felix is pressing his nose to the other paper and he looks at me over the top with huge eyes.
“Your pocket paper smells like poo,” he says, and bursts into laughter.
Trust a four-year-old to ruin the mood.
“Thanks, Felix.” I ruffle his hair. “You’re a great messenger.”
“Draw more words,” he says, patting the paper. “More words.”
“We’ve finished our chat,” I say, but Felix picks up a crayon and hands it to me.
“Make red words,” he commands me. “Make ‘Felix.’ ”
I write “Felix” and he gazes at it lovingly as I draw him close for another restoring cuddle.
I feel kind of exhilarated. And kind of emptied out. Which may seem like an overreaction, but then, in case you hadn’t picked it up, I am the Queen of Overreaction.
The truth is, if you don’t communicate with anyone new, ever, at all, then you lose the knack. And when you go back to it, it’s sort of draining. Dr. Sarah has warned me about that. She says I should expect even the tiniest tasks or new steps to be a bit exhausting. And believe it or not, that silly little exchange of notes was.
Nice, though.
MY SERENE AND LOVING FAMILY—FILM TRANSCRIPT
INTERIOR. 5 ROSEWOOD CLOSE. DAY.
Camera pans towards a closed door.
AUDREY (VOICE-OVER)
So this is my dad’s study.
This is where he works when he’s not at the office.
The door is pushed open by a hand. We see Dad, slumped at his desk, gently snoring. On the screen is an Alfa Romeo sports car.
AUDREY (V.O.)
Dad? Are you asleep?
Dad jumps up and hastily closes down his monitor.
DAD
I wasn’t ASLEEP. I was thinking. So, have you wrapped your present for Mum?
AUDREY (V.O.)
That’s why I’m here. Do you have any wrapping paper?
DAD
I do.
He reaches for a roll of wrapping paper and hands it to Audrey.
DAD
And look what else!
He produces a white pâtisserie box and opens it to reveal a large birthday cake. It is iced with a big “39.”
There is silence for a moment.
AUDREY (V.O.)
Dad, why have you put “thirty-nine” on Mum’s cake?
DAD
No-one’s too old for a personalized birthday cake.
(He twinkles at the camera.)
I know I’m not.
AUDREY (V.O.)
But she’s not thirty-nine.
DAD
(puzzled)
Yes she is.
AUDREY (V.O.)
No she’s not.
DAD
Yes she—
He breaks off and gasps. Aghast. He looks at the cake and back at the camera.
DAD
Oh God. Will she mind? No. Of course she won’t mind. I mean, it’s one year, what’s the big deal—
AUDREY (V.O.)
Dad, she will SO mind.
Dad looks panic-stricken.
DAD
We need a new cake. How long do we have?
We hear the sound of a door bang downstairs.
MUM (OFF-SCREEN)
I’m home!
Dad looks freaked out.
DAD
Audrey, what shall I do?
AUDREY (V.O.)
We can fix it. We can change it to “thirty-eight.”
DAD
With what?
He picks up a Tipp-Ex pot.
AUDREY (V.O.)
No!
There’s a knocking at the door and Frank comes in.
FRANK
Mum’s home. When are we doing her birthday tea?
Dad is uncapping a Sharpie.
DAD
I’ll use this.
AUDREY (V.O.)
No! Frank, go to the kitchen. We need some writing icing or something. Anything edible you can write with. But don’t let Mum know what you’re doing.
FRANK
(baffled)
Anything edible you can write with?
DAD
Quick!
Frank disappears. The camera focuses on the cake.
AUDREY (V.O.)
How did you get her age wrong?
I mean, how did you manage that?
DAD
(clutches head)
I don’t know. I’ve spent all month writing financial reports about next year. My whole mind-set is next year. I guess I lost a year somewhere.
Frank bursts into the room holding a squeezy bottle of Heinz ketchup.
AUDREY (V.O.)
Ketchup? Seriously?
FRANK
(defensive)
Well, I didn’t know!
Dad grabs the bottle.
DAD
Can we turn a “nine” into an “eight” with ketchup?
FRANK
You won’t fool her.
AUDREY (V.O.)
Go over the whole number with ketchup. Make the whole thing a ketchup cake.
FRANK
Why would you ice a cake with ketchup?
DAD
(hurriedly icing)
Mum loves ketchup. It’s fine. It’s all good.
OK, so here’s a life lesson. Don’t try fixing a birthday cake with ketchup. Tipp-Ex would have been better.
As Dad brought out the cake, Mum’s jaw dropped. And not in a good way. I mean, if you take a white iced cake and pipe it all over with ketchup, it basically looks like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. We all launched into “Happy Birthday” extra loudly, and as soon as we’d finished and Mum had blown out her (one) candle, Dad said, “Great! So let me take that away and cut it up—”
“Wait.” Mum put a hand on his. “What IS that? That’s not ketchup?”
“It’s a Heston Blumenthal recipe,” said Dad without blinking. “Experimental.”
“Right.” Mum still looked puzzled. “But isn’t that…” Before anyone could stop her, she was scraping the ketchup off with a napkin. “I thought so! There’s a message