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

‘You ordered yet, love?’

For one too-good-to-be-true moment I thought Adam was going to reveal a redeeming feature by offering to buy our drinks. But before I could say, thanks but actually, yes, I already have and in fact here they are now and please don’t reverse into the waitress carrying our hot chocolates, Adam shattered my delusion.

‘Ah, be a doll and go up and order me a coffee then, would you? Caramel latte, double shot of caramel, three sugars. This thing’s a bastard to get up to the counter and those fuckers always try to pretend they can’t see me. Excuse my French. Go on now, there’s a love. Me and Norman will be OK here.’

There was no offer of any money, but if we could get through this meeting for the cost of a coffee, even with the extra shot, I thought we’d be doing OK. On my way up to the counter I turned to look back over my shoulder. Neither of them had moved. Adam was leaning back in the scooter with his hands behind his head, most definitely now looking at Norman, who was staring downwards, scuffing the floor with his trainers. I knew I needed to get back there quick smart before Adam and his motor mouth ploughed into my son’s tender heart at full tilt.

But with four people ahead of me and none of them under seventy it took a good ten minutes to get served. I was sweating at the thought of Norman being back there at the mercy of Adam, but when I finally pushed my way back to the table around a clutch of schoolgirls and a couple of backed-up prams, my son was alive and well and his body, soul and spirit all seemed very much intact.

Norman was out of his seat, leaning casually over the top of the mobility scooter, and it almost looked like he was about to hop on and go for a ride. He and Adam were both engrossed in looking at the screen of an iPad, and when I slid in the other side of the table I steeled myself to what the guy could have exposed him to. Porn? Online gambling? The Cooking Channel? Frankly, it was worse, as it turned out.

When the waitress delivered Adam’s drink he began spooning the mountain of cream off the top into his mouth and pushed his iPad over the table to me. I recognized the Facebook page Leonard had set up for Norman, way back when the plan was still just a little old plan on a wall and not a looming reality. The good old days. Judging by the stream of photos and videos, it was clear Leonard had been diligently posting on Little Big Man’s page ever since we left Penzance, as promised.

I scrolled past a few old videos of Morecombe and Wise, a couple of stills of Live at the Apollo, a few reappearances of the Little Big Man poster and a lot of random pictures of comedians old and new. It looked like Leonard had created an entire world for Little Big Man, and there was no getting around the fact that it was actually pretty impressive. I noticed he’d created something called an Event, in which he’d announced the time and date Norman was due to perform at the Duke, in Edinburgh. I was still reading the details when I realized Adam was talking.

‘. . . and so after you told me about Normie’s show last night I went and had a look and found this page. Normie tells me some old geezer called Harold is looking after it for you and, OK, it’s not bad, but it could be better. Well, anyhow, I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I’m pretty big in the online world. Got loads of stuff going viral all over the place. So I shared it out there to my connections and, well, you know, I knew it would happen, but it’s a pretty good result, if I do say so myself.’

I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about and Norman hadn’t had an opportunity to say a word since I’d sat down, so I had no idea what had passed between them, except, obviously, Adam had done something that had something to do with the Facebook page.

‘It’s Leonard, and anyhow, what is, Adam? What’s a good result?’

I really, really didn’t want to ask, because he was so clearly gagging to tell me, but I felt the need to at least attempt to fill in the gaps. Adam made a noise that was halfway between a wheeze and a snort, which was as disgusting as it sounds, and he picked up the iPad and pushed it right up to my face. He leaned out of the scooter at a dangerous angle and jabbed a finger into the screen. A blob of cream landed right in the middle of Little Big Man’s face and quivered as Adam waved the iPad in front of me.

‘Likes, love! Shares. You name it. That bloody thing was only at eleven confirmed people last night. Like I said, now shit’s gone viral!’

I squinted at the screen again and focused on the cartoon thumbs-up icon with the number 1,901 beside it, then glanced over at my battle-scarred son, who was looking particularly vulnerable and small next to that great hulking human who better bloody not be his father. Ah, but it’s nice to be nice, Sadie.

I felt a sudden pang of guilt at being so nasty and it crossed my mind that perhaps it might be a little over the top to hold a grudge primarily based on a toasted sandwich press that, if I’m honest, I’d only ever used twice anyhow. I turned my attention back to the iPad and it took me several more seconds to realize that, large as it was, 1,901 likes wasn’t the most disturbing number on the page. Because