The Funny Thing about Norman Foreman by Julietta Henderson (e book reader online txt) 📕

been so happy to meet up. Someone fearless and fierce who didn’t give a toss about what the world thought. But before I could open my mouth to correct him he barrelled on.

‘I had some funny ideas back then, Sadie. You know, post-adolescence angst and all that. I think I thought that if . . . well, that some of your brilliance might rub off on me if we . . . you know. But . . . well, to be honest, you probably did me a big favour by cutting me loose.’

OK, then. I saw Kathy staring at me intently, probably searching for even an inkling of brilliance. Without even looking at her, Tony reached for her hand and landed it first go.

‘It made me see that we’re nothing without the life lessons that make us, Sadie. You didn’t seem like you were afraid of anything or anyone, and it made me realize I wasn’t even close to being who I wanted to be, so I had to change.’

I could feel the weight of Norman’s silence next to me and I wanted to grab him in a hug and send him one of my telepathic messages that don’t seem to work any more. I’m sorry, son. This crazy hippy’s got me all mixed up. He’s mistaken blind anger and desperation for courage and passion, and maybe he is your dad and maybe he isn’t, but we don’t need to know. Let’s just pack it in and head home. But Tony was relentless.

‘Remember all the chats we had during those boring lectures about the effect that the Thatcher years had on the British social-justice system?’ No idea. None.

‘Well, that’s what I ended up doing my thesis on after I changed courses. Then I got my first social-work job in Swansea and I just never left. So the way I see it, following my heart brought me to Swansea and then Swansea brought me to Kathy. Or brought Kathy to me, really!’

Either way, they looked delighted at the way the universe had conspired and, apparently, I’d had something to do with it. One never knows. Indeed. I snuck a glance at Norman and had to do a double take. Damned if he wasn’t looking at me and basking in some kind of a glow. Well, hadn’t I turned out to be a regular Cilla Black? Surprise, surprise. I wondered what else Tony and I had spoken about that I had no recollection of and decided that, actually, that was probably quite enough ancient history for one day. So once I’d agreed to accept that me being an absolute cow to Tony had led him to the love of his life, I decided the best course of action was to steer away from the subject before some of the less complimentary details started surfacing.

After I made a lame and unsuccessful attempt to divert the conversation to something about the weather in Penzance, Leonard came to my rescue. Again. He started talking to Tony and Kathy about how lovely Swansea was, how the beach was so different to ours in Cornwall, and how we were so glad we decided to stop off here on our way up to Edinburgh. Which then took him nicely into why we were going to Edinburgh in the first place, which then unexpectedly took a side road into what had happened to Jax.

It’s bound to be a bit of a conversation stopper, isn’t it? The death of an eleven-year-old boy. Only, strangely, it wasn’t. I don’t know, maybe it was the social-work thing kicking in, but Tony and Kathy seemed to know exactly how much and how little to say. And to my amazement, after a while it was Norman who was talking, not Leonard.

He told them Jax had been the best friend in the whole world, and Tony and Kathy nodded like they knew it to be true.

‘He’s . . . actually, he’s . . .’ Norman shot a sideways look at me and underneath the table we reached for each other’s hand at exactly the same moment. ‘He was the Rolls-blood— the Rolls-Royce of best friends.’ I squeezed gently and felt his small fingers link into mine.

With Tony and Kathy listening like it was an address to the nation, Norman told them about Jax and the first rules of comedy and the Five Year Plan to get to the Fringe, which was now a new plan. Norman’s Plan. And how Leonard had set up practice runs along the way, which started with the open mic at the Noble Goat where we’d met Big Al and he’d done his first ever stand-up and wasn’t that genius?

‘We’ve got another one here in Swansea this afternoon at the Tally something pub, and even though none of the places . . . I mean the ven— venues from the Fringe have got back to us yet about a real show, Leonard reckons there’s still loads of time, right, Leonard? Right, Mum?’ I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Norman’s surprisingly firm squeeze of my hand at that very moment, but I nodded and smiled.

I hadn’t heard Norman talk that much since, well, it felt like forever, but I suppose it was really just a couple of months. It was like accidentally finding an omnibus rerun of your favourite show on telly, and even he looked slightly surprised at the sound of his own voice. I didn’t want it to stop. I held on to that small hand in mine with all that I had.

‘So, Leonard, the Swansea open mic thing, it’s not at a place called the Taliesin, by any chance, is it?’ After the breathless tumbling of Norman’s voice Kathy sounded calm and unhurried.

‘Yes, yes, that’s it! The Taliesin pub.’ Leonard seemed delighted that Kathy knew the place, probably because that might mean there would be a slightly larger audience than the Noble Goat. ‘Are you familiar with it?’

‘Mmm hmm. And the thing . . . the event’s called Swansea’s Got Talent, right?’

‘Yes indeed, that’s right!’ Leonard clapped his hands together. ‘But