Finding Audrey

At my next appointment with Dr Sarah, she watches my documentary so far, while making notes.

Mum has come to the appointment, as she does every now and then, and she keeps up a running commentary – ‘I don’t know WHAT I was wearing that day . . . Dr Sarah, please don’t think our kitchen is usually that untidy . . . Audrey, why did you film the compost heap, for goodness’ sake’ – until Dr Sarah politely tells her to shut up. At the end she sits back in her chair and smiles at me.

‘I enjoyed that. You’ve been a good fly-on-the-wall, Audrey. Now I want that fly to buzz around the room a bit. Interview your family. Maybe some outsiders too. Push yourself a little.’

At the word outsiders I clench up.

‘What kind of outsiders?’

‘Anyone. The milkman. Or one of your old school friends?’ She says this casually, as though she doesn’t know that my ‘old school friends’ are a sore point. For a start, what ‘old school friends’? There weren’t that many to begin with and I haven’t seen any of them since leaving Stokeland.

Natalie was my best friend. She wrote me a letter after I left school and her mum sent flowers and I know they call Mum every so often. I just can’t reply. I can’t see her. I can’t face her. And it doesn’t help that Mum kind of blames Natalie for what happened. Or at least, she thinks Natalie was ‘culpable’ for ‘not acting sooner’. Which is so unfair. None of it was Natalie’s fault.

I mean, yes, Natalie could have said something. The teachers might have believed me sooner then. But you know what? Natalie was paralysed by stress. And I get that now. I really do.

‘So you’ll do that, Audrey?’ Dr Sarah has this way of pressing you until you agree to do something, and she writes it down like homework and you can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.

‘I’ll try.’

‘Good! You need to start widening your horizons. When we suffer prolonged anxiety, we have a tendency to become self-obsessed. I don’t mean that in a pejorative way,’ she adds. ‘It’s simply a fact. You believe the whole world is thinking about you constantly. You believe the world is judging you and talking about you.’

‘They are all talking about me.’ I seize the opportunity to prove her wrong. ‘Linus told me they were. So.’

Dr Sarah looks up from her notes and gives me that pleasant, level look of hers. ‘Who’s Linus?’

‘A boy. A friend of my brother.’

Dr Sarah is looking back at her notes. ‘It was Linus who visited before? When you found things difficult?’

‘Yes. I mean, he’s OK, actually. We’ve talked.’

A pink tinge is creeping over my face. If Dr Sarah notices it, she doesn’t say anything.

‘He’s a computer-game addict, like Frank,’ says Mum. ‘Dr Sarah, what am I going to do about my son? I mean, should I bring him to see you? What’s normal?’

‘I suggest we concentrate on Audrey today,’ says Dr Sarah. ‘Feel free to consult me at a different time about Frank if you feel it would be helpful. Let’s return to your concern, Audrey.’ She smiles at me, effectively dismissing Mum.

I can see Mum bristle, and I know she’ll slag off Dr Sarah a little in the car on the way home. Mum and Dr Sarah have a weird relationship. Mum adores Dr Sarah, like we all do, but I think she resents her too. I think she’s secretly poised for the moment when Dr Sarah says, Well, Audrey, of course it’s all the fault of your parents.

Which of course Dr Sarah never has said. And never will.

‘The truth is, Audrey,’ Dr Sarah is saying, ‘that yes, people will probably talk about you for a fraction of the time. I’m sure my patients talk about me, and I’m sure it’s not always complimentary. But they’ll get bored and move on. Can you believe that?’

‘No,’ I say honestly, and Dr Sarah nods.

‘The more you engage with the outside world, the more you’ll be able to turn down the volume on those worries. You’ll see that they’re unfounded. You’ll see that the world is a very busy and varied place and most people have the attention span of a gnat. They’ve already forgotten what happened. They don’t think about it. There will have been five more sensations since your incident. Won’t there?’

I shrug reluctantly.

‘But it’s hard for you to believe that, trapped in your own little world. And for that reason, I’d like you to start making visits out of the house.’

‘What?’ My chin jerks up in horror. ‘Where?’

‘To your local high street?’

‘No. I can’t.’

My chest has started to rise and fall at the very idea, but Dr Sarah ignores it.

‘We’ve talked about exposure therapy. You can start with a tiny visit. A minute or two. But you need to gradually expose yourself to the world, Audrey. Or the danger is, you really will become trapped.’

‘But . . .’ I swallow, unable to talk properly. ‘But . . .’

There are black dots in front of my eyes. Dr Sarah’s room was always a safe space, but now I feel as though she’s thrusting me into a pit of fire.

‘Those girls might be anywhere,’ says Mum, protectively grabbing my hand. ‘What if she bumps into one of them? Two of them are still at school in the area, you know. I mean, it’s outrageous. They should have been sent away. And when I say away, I mean away.’

‘I know it’s difficult.’ Dr Sarah is focused solely on me. ‘I’m not suggesting you go out alone. But I think it’s time, Audrey. I think you can do it. Call it Project Starbucks.’

Starbucks? Is she kidding?

Tears have started to my eyes. My blood is pulsing in panic. I can’t go to Starbucks. I can’t.

‘You’re a brave, strong girl, Audrey,’ says Dr Sarah, as though reading my mind, and she passes me a tissue. ‘You need to start pushing yourself. Yes you can.’

No I can’t.

The next day I spend twelve solid hours in bed. Just the thought of Starbucks has sent me slithering down a tunnel of fear, to the black, dark place. Even the air seems abrasive. Every noise makes me flinch. I can’t open my eyes.

Mum brings me soup and sits on my bed and strokes my hand.

‘It’s too soon,’ she says. ‘Too soon. These doctors get carried away. You’ll get there in your own time.’

My own time, I think after she’s gone. What’s that? What’s Audrey time? Right now it feels like a slow-motion pendulum. It’s lurching forwards and back, forwards and back, but the clock’s not ticking round. I’m not getting anywhere.