The Funny Thing about Norman Foreman by Julietta Henderson (sci fi books to read .TXT) 📗

world apart. And how now all that was left of a best friend was a hole in a wall. And then, because it was eight forty-five and I was running out of time, I told Leonard about Norman’s new plan.

‘And I know it’s only four weeks until the Edinburgh Fringe, and I’m probably going to have to read every phone book in Britain from cover to cover, and there’s actually quite a bit less than a snowflake’s chance in hell that I’m going to be able to deliver either of the big-ticket items on that plan, but by hell or high water, Leonard, I’m going to try.’

Now, I’m not saying my real life is anywhere near as interesting as three courses of shit food and a handful of has-beens going through each other’s underwear drawers on the telly, but Leonard certainly seemed to be paying more attention than usual.

14

The thing about friends is that there are nearly always consequences to having them. Becoming friends with Leonard in March had led to the deviation from my diversionary conversation tactics and the unexpected early-morning spilling of my guts in July. Which led to him knowing about Norman’s Plan. And being an ex-army guy who clearly loved a plan, that led to him wanting in on it. And I don’t just mean a ‘let’s have a cheeky pot of Egyptian tea when you come back and tell me all about it’ kind of thing. I mean all-the-way, hold-on-to-your-hat, I’m-coming-with-you in on it. And the consequence of that was that, all of a sudden, it became very real, very quickly.

Leonard’s decision came the day after our slightly late early-morning catch-up and about two minutes after he’d given Dennis the riskiest finger yet. Right to his face, wrapped around the handle of the mop as he lifted it to swing it on to his shoulder. Dennis was so focused on adjusting his hair in the reflection of the window and laughing at his own crack about how Leonard better get over to Boots because they were having a two-for-one sale on Depend he was oblivious.

I’d just about stopped chuckling and was back to rattling off some standard debtor-avoidance emails when Leonard walked past again, heading for the back door. As he nodded goodbye he dropped a folded-up piece of paper on my desk. With Dennis distracted by one of the mechanics asking how far they could get away with winding back the odometer on the Vauxhall Astra that had just come in, I unfolded the paper.

Cereal, oats, sugar, plain flour, cooking chocolate, bread, Hobnobs, madeira cake.

Aside from confirming that Leonard and Iris should probably reduce their carb intake, I wasn’t quite sure what the list had to do with me. But, as with most things in life, when I turned it over and looked closer it made more sense. Underneath a phone number was a neat handwritten note.

Dear Sadie. I have given your Norman’s plan a great deal of thought and I want to help, if you will allow me. I would be delighted to drive you to Edinburgh, as the Austin and I could both do with a good spin. I believe I can also help with certain other aspects of the plan. If you would be so good as to forward me your address by text to the mobile phone number above, I will call around this afternoon so that we may discuss the details.

Regards, Leonard

Just like our chats right up until the previous day, it looked like he didn’t really need any input from me to have a meaningful conversation. And if it felt like his decision was all a bit sudden, for someone who could list staring down an insurgent rebellion in a jungle in Borneo on his resumé, a quick jaunt up to Edinburgh probably wasn’t all that daunting.

On the other hand, for me, the more I thought about my hastily delivered promises to Norman, the more I realized that heading back to the scene of my conjugal crime with the key piece of evidence in tow had the potential to serve up the kind of consequences of which I’d never seen the like.

15

While I might have been able to kid myself with a little early-morning list-making, I’d really had next to no idea where to start on the plan. But once a certain ex-services octogenarian got involved it was more a case of where things were going to stop, because it turned out Leonard was a bit of a whizz with more than just a mop and a teapot.

He was waiting out the front of the house for me when I got home from work just after three thirty that same afternoon, as promised.

‘Hello again! Twice in one day, how lovely. I’ve just parked there, if that’s OK. Are you ready to get started?’

It was a very good question. And even though dredging up memories of some frankly inappropriate and questionable behaviour from my past was just about the last thing I wanted to do, over tea (PG Tips) and Hobnobs (sadly, always in plentiful supply since Jax died), it looked like that’s exactly what Leonard had meant by ‘certain other aspects’.

Judging by his eagerness, he’d clearly been more productive in a few hours than I’d been at work all day, unless you’d call getting through a six-month-old OK! Magazine easy sudoku in a personal best time of eight minutes a worthwhile achievement. And when he sat down at my kitchen table, pulled out a small silver laptop from his backpack and started tapping away at it like a court reporter, it was my first sign that judging a book by its cover definitely wasn’t an option in Leonard’s case. The second was the Excel spreadsheet labelled ‘Finding Fathers’ that appeared on the screen after a particularly dramatic flourish on the keyboard.

My surprise must have been obvious, and Leonard looked quite delighted about it.

‘Tactical communications