Finding Audrey - Sophie Kinsella Page 0,35

population and budget and shit. Assassin’s Creed—ancient Rome and the Borgias and like…Leonardo da Vinci. Everything. All the history I remember comes from Assassin’s Creed. None from school. All from gaming.

AUDREY (V.O.)

What have you learned from LOC?

FRANK

(grins)

Mostly Korean curse words. (He suddenly shouts.) SHEEBSEKEE!

AUDREY (V.O.)

What does that mean?

FRANK

Use your imagination.

From downstairs, Mum calls.

MUM

Frank! Audrey! Lunchtime!

Frank doesn’t even seem to hear.

FRANK

You know in lots of countries LOC is a spectator sport? You know they have arenas?

AUDREY (V.O.)

I know. You told me like a million times.

FRANK

You know in the States they have LOC scholarships at some universities?

AUDREY (V.O.)

You told me that too.

FRANK

LOC is sophisticated. It has its own language. It has rules. It’s like…it’s like fucking Latin. That’s what it’s like. Latin. And Mum and Dad are like, “Oh it’s so evil.” What if I was addicted to Latin?

A long pause.

AUDREY (V.O.)

I honestly can’t imagine that.

So Mum’s bought me a phone. That was step one. I’ve got Linus’s number off Frank. That was step two. Now I need to call him.

I input his number and stare at it for a while. I try to imagine how I’ll start the conversation. I write down some useful words and phrases I might need. (Dr. Sarah’s tip.) I visualize a positive scenario.

But I still can’t bring myself to call him. So instead I text.

Hi, Linus. This is Audrey here. Frank’s sister. I still need to do my documentary and you said you would be interviewed for it. Is that still OK? Could we meet? Thanks, Audrey.

And I’m expecting no reply, or at least a long wait, but the phone buzzes straight away and there’s his response:

Sure. When?

I hadn’t thought about that. When? It’s Saturday evening, which means we’ve got all day tomorrow.

Tomorrow? Do you want to come round here? 11 a.m.?

I press Send, and this time there’s a bit of a wait before he replies:

No, let’s meet at Starbucks.

A jolt of panic goes through me like white fire. Starbucks? Is he nuts? Then a second text comes through:

You have to go there anyway, right? Isn’t that your project?

But…but…but…

Starbucks?

Tomorrow?

My fingers are trembling. My skin feels hot. I’m breathing in for four counts and out for seven and trying to channel Dr. Sarah. How would she advise me? What would she say?

But already I know what she’d say. Because she’s said it. I can hear her voice in my head, right now:

It’s time for some bigger steps.

You need to push yourself, Audrey.

You won’t know till you try.

I believe you can cope with it.

I stare at the phone till the numbers blur in front of my eyes, then type the text before I can change my mind.

OK. See you there.

I know what it’s like to be an old person now.

OK, I don’t know what it’s like to have wrinkly skin and white hair. But I do know what it’s like to walk down the road at a slow, uncertain pace, wincing at the passing of people, and flinching when horns beep and feeling like everything is just too fast.

Mum and Dad have taken Felix out for the day to some garden show, and at the last minute they took Frank too to “broaden his horizons.” So they have no idea I’m doing this. I couldn’t face the whole big deal of telling them and Mum fussing and all that palaver. So I waited till they left, got my key, got my money and the camera, and just left the house.

Which I haven’t done for…

I don’t know. So long.

We live about twenty minutes’ walk from Starbucks, if you’re striding. I’m not striding. But I’m not stopping either. I’m going. Even though my lizard brain is poised to curl up in fright, I’m managing to put one foot in front of the other. Left, right. Left, right.

My dark glasses are on, my hands are jammed in the pockets of my hoodie, and I’ve pulled the hood up for extra protection. I haven’t raised my gaze from the pavement but that’s OK. Most people walk along in their own worlds anyway.

As I reach the town centre the crowds become denser and the shop fronts are bright and noisy and with every step I have a stronger desire to run, but I don’t. I push on. It’s like climbing a mountain, I tell myself. Your body doesn’t want to do it, but you make it.

And then, at last, I’ve made it to Starbucks. As I approach the familiar façade I feel kind of exhausted, but I’m giddy too. I’m here. I’m here!

I

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