Finding Audrey

I don’t look back once, the entire time I’m talking to her. But I can feel his eyes on me all the time. Like sunshine.

We’re just looking and looking at each other. And I can feel something new between us, something even more intimate than anything we’ve done. Eye to eye. It’s the most powerful connection in the world.

It’s actually pretty funny. When Linus arrives at Starbucks we’re all sitting there at one big table, the whole family, waiting for him. He looks totally unnerved, and for a moment I think he’s going to run away, but you know, Linus isn’t a runner-awayer. After about five seconds he comes forward resolutely and looks at us all in turn, especially Mum. And last of all me.

But vulnerable. And speechless. And now they’re all looking our way. I squeeze Frank’s hand in silent desperation and he seems to get the message.

My insides have turned hollow. Just like that, in an instant. All the inner strength I’ve been building up, the tensed-up spring, the fighting talk . . . it’s all disappeared.

I feel small and vulnerable.

‘Leave me alone,’ I say, wrenching my arm out of his grasp. ‘Leave me alone.’ And finally, after managing to ignore it all day, I surrender to my lizard brain. And I run.

I’m scrambling to my feet, trying to keep my poise, which isn’t easy when the landscape is looming at me and my head is singing loud protests.

Stressful events don’t make you ill, actually. It’s the way your brain reacts to stressful events. So.’

He doesn’t understand. He won’t understand. He’s not just opposed to the plan, he’s angry. Physically angry. He hits a tree, like it’s the tree’s fault.

‘It’s fucking nuts,’

but right now it’s as though the whole world has shrunk to his face. His brown hair, his honest eyes, that crescent smile.

‘What . . . do you mean?’ I force the words out.

‘What I said. I love it too,’ he says, not taking his eyes off mine.

‘You said you.’

‘Well . . . maybe that’s what I meant.’

I love it. So do I. You.

The words are dancing around my mind like jigsaw pieces, fitting together this way and that way.

‘What, exactly?’ I have to say it.

‘You know exactly.’ His eyes are smiling to match his orange-segment mouth. But they’re grave too.

‘Well . . . I love it too,’ I say, my throat tight. ‘You.’

‘Me.’

‘Yes.’ I swallow. ‘Yes.’

We don’t need to say any more. And I know I’ll always remember this moment, right here, standing in the park with the ducks and the sunshine and his arms round me.