The tears in my eyes are edging down my cheeks by now, and Linus stares at them in alarm.
‘Audrey!’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I say fiercely. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Wanker.’ Linus is glaring balefully at the man in the grey T-shirt. ‘If he doesn’t want to be disturbed, he shouldn’t come and sit in a public place. You realize how much he’s saving on rent? He buys one coffee and sits there for an hour and then he expects the whole world to tiptoe around him. If he wants an office he should pay for an office. Fucker.’
‘Anyway, I did it.’ I speak brightly. ‘Your turn now.’
‘I’m speaking to the same guy.’ Linus gets to his feet. ‘He doesn’t get away with being such a prick.’
‘What are you going to say?’ I ask in panic. A choking dread is filling my chest, and I don’t even know what I’m scared of. I just don’t want Linus to go over there. I want to leave. ‘Sit down,’ I beg him. ‘Let’s stop the game.’
‘The game hasn’t finished.’ Linus winks at me and heads over to the corner table, coffee in hand. ‘Hi!’ he says to the man in a childish voice which is so loud that half the coffee shop looks round. ‘That’s an Apple Mac, isn’t it?’
The man looks up as though in disbelief at being interrupted again. ‘Yes,’ he says curtly.
‘Could you tell me the advantages of an Apple Mac over other brands of computer?’ says Linus. ‘Because I want to buy a computer. Is your one really good? I bet it is.’ He sits down opposite the man. ‘Can I have a go?’
‘Look, I’m busy,’ the man snaps. ‘Could you sit somewhere else?’
‘Are you working here?’
There’s silence as the man continues tapping and Linus leans forward. ‘Are you working?’ he repeats in a foghorn voice.
‘Yes!’ The man glowers at him. ‘I’m working.’
‘My dad works in an office,’ says Linus artlessly. ‘Don’t you have an office? What do you do? Could I be like your shadow? Will you come and give a talk to our school? Oh look, your cup’s empty. Are you going to buy another coffee? Was that a cappuccino? I like flat whites. But why are they called flat whites? Do you know? Can you look it up for me?’
‘Listen.’ The man slams his laptop shut. ‘Kid. I’m working. Could you please find another table?’
‘But this is Starbucks,’ says Linus in tones of surprise. ‘You can sit anywhere. You’re allowed.’ He flags down a female barista who’s collecting empty cups nearby. ‘Excuse me, can I sit anywhere? Is that how Starbucks works?’
‘Of course,’ says the barista, and smiles at him. ‘Anywhere you like.’
‘Did you hear that? Anywhere I like. And I’ve got a cup of coffee, but you haven’t,’ Linus points out to the man. ‘You’ve finished yours. Hey, wait.’ He gives the empty cup to the barista. ‘See?’ he says to the man. ‘You’re all done. You should either buy a cup of coffee or go.’
‘Jesus!’ Looking like he wants to explode, the man shoves his laptop into his man-bag and gets to his feet. ‘Fucking kids,’ he mutters to himself. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘Bye then,’ says Linus innocently. ‘Have fun being a wanker.’
For an instant I think the man might hit him round the head – but of course he doesn’t. He just heads out of the coffee shop looking savage. Linus gets up and slides back into the seat opposite me, his face all creased up into his orange-segment smile.
‘Oh my God.’ I exhale. ‘I can’t believe you did that.’
‘Next time, you do it.’
‘I couldn’t!’
‘You could. It’s fun.’ Linus rubs his hands together. ‘Bring it on.’
‘OK, give me another one,’ I say, inspired. ‘Give me another dare.’
‘Ask this barista if they serve mint muffins. Go.’ He flags her down, and she comes over with a smile. I haven’t even got time to think about whether I’m nervous or not.
‘Excuse me, do you serve mint muffins?’ I say, adopting Linus’s innocent, childlike tones. Somehow, channelling Linus is giving me strength. I’m not me, I’m not Audrey, I’m a character.
‘Ah, no.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘But I saw them on the website,’ I say. ‘I’m sure I saw them. Mint muffins with a chocolate centre? With, like, sprinkles?’
‘And Polo mints on top,’ chimes in Linus seriously, and I nearly crease up with laughter.
‘No.’ The barista looks puzzled. ‘I never heard of them.’
‘Oh well,’ I say politely. ‘Thank you anyway.’ As she walks off, I grin at Linus, feeling a bit heady. ‘I did it!’
‘You can talk to anyone.’ He nods. ‘Next, why don’t you hire a soap box and make a speech?’
‘Great idea!’ I say. ‘Let’s invite, like, a thousand people.’
‘So the graph is going upwards. Miss Audrey is heading for the stars.’ Linus knows about the jagged/not-jagged graph, because I told him about it. I drew it out and everything.
‘Definitely.’ I clink my coffee cup against his. ‘Miss Audrey is heading for the stars.’
Which just proves it: I’m in charge of my graph. Me. And if I want a straight graph, I’ll have a straight graph.
So at my next session with Dr Sarah, I lie a little when I’m filling in my tick boxes.
Have you experienced worries most days? Not at all.
Do you find your worries difficult to control? Not at all.
She looks at the sheet with raised eyebrows when I hand it to her.
‘Well. This is an improvement!’
‘You see?’ I can’t help saying at once. ‘You see?’
‘Do you have any idea why you’ve improved so much this week, Audrey?’ She smiles at me. ‘Life’s good, is it just that? Or anything else? Any changes?’
‘Dunno.’ I shrug innocently. ‘I can’t think of anything that’s changed in particular.’
Which is another lie. Something that’s changed is: I’ve stopped taking my meds. I just take the pills out of the blister packs and chuck them away in a screwed-up envelope. (Not down the loo, because all the chemicals get into the water or whatever.)
And guess what? I haven’t noticed a single difference. Which just proves I didn’t need them.
I haven’t told anybody. Well, obviously I haven’t, because they’d stress out. I’m going to wait, like, a month and then I’ll casually tell everyone, and I’ll be like, you see?
‘I told you,’ I say to Dr Sarah. ‘I’m cooked. I’m done. All better.’
Mum’s in an organizing mood. She’s sweeping around the house, tidying and shouting and saying, ‘Whose shoes are these? What are they doing here?’ and we’ve all hidden in the garden. I mean me, Frank, Linus and Felix. It’s a warm day anyway, so it’s nice, just sitting on the grass, picking daisies.
There’s a rustling sound, and Dad appears round the side of the bush we’re lurking behind.
‘Hi, Dad,’ says Frank. ‘Have you come to join the Rebel Alliance?’
‘Frank, I think your mother wants you,’ says Dad.
Your mother. Code for: Don’t associate me with Mum’s latest nutty plan, I have nothing to do with it.
‘Why?’ Frank gives an unpromising scowl. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Busy hiding behind a bush?’ I say, and snort with laughter.
‘You offered to help?’ Dad says. ‘For the Avonlea fête catering? I think they’re starting.’
‘I did not offer to help,’ says Frank, looking outraged. ‘I did not offer. I was forced. This is forced labour.’
‘You have such a great attitude,’ I observe. ‘Helping your fellow man and everything.’
‘I don’t notice you helping your fellow man,’ Frank shoots back.
‘I’ll help my fellow man.’ I shrug. ‘I don’t mind making a few sandwiches.’