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

it’s OK. You don’t have to be from Swansea, I checked that. You just need to have talent, of which our Norman most certainly—’

I saw a look pass between Kathy and Tony and a faint alarm began to sound in the back of my head, nudging some words over my tongue and cutting Leonard off mid-sentence.

‘Kathy? What’s the . . . I mean, is there a problem? Is it cancelled or something?’

Norman was also watching Kathy and Tony closely and had gone a slightly paler shade of pasty, which made the lacework of psoriasis around his hairline stand out like raspberry ripple. He’d clearly seen the look as well, and if there was something to be anxious about he wanted in. I felt a slight sweatiness in our joined hands, but I couldn’t tell whose it was.

‘No, no. It’s just that, well . . . um . . .’ Kathy cleared her throat and started again. ‘Look, I have a friend whose daughter is, err . . . performing in that. It’s, ah . . . actually kind of like a talent show, with dancers and singers, and it’s quite . . . um, you know . . . well, it actually is a talent show. And the Taliesin isn’t a pub, it’s an arts centre, it’s . . . well, I don’t mean to . . . but it isn’t anything like an open mic at all, really.’

I tried to catch Norman’s eye to reassure him, but he wasn’t looking at me because he was too busy swivelling his head from Kathy to Tony to Leonard and back again. The urgent telepathic messages I was sending out were getting lost on the table between the leftover carrot cake and teacups, so I gave up and concentrated on worrying about the vision I suddenly had of Norman sandwiched in to perform between Swansea’s finest up-and-comers. He let go of my hand, but the sweatiness remained.

Poor Leonard looked absolutely mortified as the penny began to drop. But then Tony, Kathy and the waitress, who’d stopped by to offer an opinion along with a top-up of tea, all started talking at the same time, tripping over each other’s words and saying things like, ‘Well, comedy might not be singing and dancing but it’s definitely a talent. It’ll be fine, of course it will be fine and, anyhow, where’s the harm? Why shouldn’t Norman have a go?’ How long have you got?

It was a worrying turn of events and no doubt about it. Even the name of the thing suggested the idea that Swansea already had talent was a given, and this was just a way of giving a bit of extra kudos to the best of the best. I really wasn’t sure how my beautiful boy and his Post-it note jokes would survive. Norman and Jax’s plan was never supposed to be about competing, it was always about the comedy. About a couple of mates having the bollocks to get out there and make people laugh for a couple of minutes. This just felt like an ambush.

Clearly used to thinking on her feet, probably from all those years of picking up the spirits of Swansea’s disaffected community members, Kathy sprang into action.

‘Listen, Norman, I didn’t mean to scare you off or anything. I just didn’t want you to think . . . well, anyhow, maybe you could just go along and have a look first and see what you think? Tony and I could come, too, if . . . Tony?’ Tony was already nodding enthusiastically so Kathy turned her attention back to Norman.

‘You could take a look at the set-up of the place and the other contest— err, entrants, and then, if you decide it’s not for you, well, nobody says you have to do it, right? What do you think, Sadie?’

She swung her head around to include me and I thought for a second it might be possible to fall in love with Kathy, just like Tony had. I had the feeling she’d be able to take anything in her stride. Just lift up her Birkenstocks, step right over the hard stuff life threw at her and keep on walking. I nodded mutely and wondered when would be the best time to deliver the news of why we were really here.

I looked over at Norman, his raspberry-ripple rash melting down his forehead and cheek, into his collar and who knows where else underneath his clothes. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get anything out there was a soft rustle and a strong waft of Imperial Leather as Leonard, who’d been silent since Kathy’s revelation, shifted in his seat and leaned forward over the table.

‘I . . . I know it’s not what you expected, Norman, and I’m so terribly sorry about my error. I . . . I don’t know how I could have got things so mixed up like that . . . really, I don’t. But, you know, nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say. Why not just say you’ll do it and damn the torpedoes!’

Now that he had our attention, Leonard sat up straight in his chair, put his shoulders back, cleared his throat and delivered his finale.

‘I say, get in there, my boy! This is no time to be a pussy!’

It couldn’t have been more unexpected if Charlotte Church herself had popped down to the seafront in her leisurewear to have tea with us.

Everyone was looking at Norman, but his eyes were fixed on a point beyond Leonard, out through the door of the café and way, way past the shoreline of Swansea Beach. When he spoke, his voice sounded infinitely distant and I knew he was out there, swinging his legs over the edge of the horizon, eating cheesy toast with his best mate. Softly, so softly, his voice came back like a used-up echo.

‘That’s exactly what Jax would have said.’

I glanced over at Leonard, who was sat there looking pretty pleased with himself, and he gave me a slow wink. For someone who was partial to a bit of an afternoon kip during the important parts he was