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

open-mouthed, dripping in the aftermath, and even Lou looked like she was wiping a tear away as she pulled Al another pint of Guinness. Nobody dared break the silence, except Big Al himself.

‘Righto, then, Norman. There’s the old ham out of the way, now for the young blood! Up you come, lad, you’re on!’ When he said ‘up’, it was only a figure of speech, as it was really just a corner of the room, but then out of nowhere Lou appeared with a milk crate, which she handed to Big Al with a flick of her head in Norman’s direction. Big Al turned it over, placed it on the floor and swung Norman on to it in one swift but gentle movement, almost before any of us knew what was happening.

Seeing my beautiful boy wobbling up there on that plastic crate, nervously picking at a huge scab on his hand, was almost more than I could bear. I felt a pinching pain in my gut and the sensation of something stirring deep within. Here’s your chance, Sadie. Say something helpful. But of course you already know I didn’t. That’d take quite a bit more than I had at that moment and I was frozen behind the folds of a heavy velvet curtain, watching reruns of my father.

‘That’s the way, Norman, old man! Hurrah!’ Leonard pumped his fist into the air and looked like he couldn’t have been more excited if it was opening night of the Royal Variety.

Norman was about ten seconds into his first stumbling sentence before Big Al interrupted.

‘Hang on, Norman! Look, sorry . . . wait a sec. If you don’t mind . . . do you mind? Does anybody mind if I butt in for a second? Norman’s mum?’

‘Err, no. Go right ahead. And, um, it’s Sadie.’

Big Al flashed me an unsettling grin and a thumbs-up. Definitely thirty-five. It seemed nobody else minded either, especially not Norman, who was looking at Big Al like he might be the second coming of Jesus.

‘OK, now. See, you’ve got to create a buzz, Norman, right? The crowd’s here to see you. You’re the man! So you’ve got to tease them a little. Know what I mean?’ Strangely, Big Al sounded like he might just know what he was talking about. I sat up a little straighter.

‘You see, it’s like a woman, son. You don’t give them everything they want all at once, now, do you? Thrill of the chase, boy. Little by little. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey.’

OK, then. It appeared Big Al had failed to notice that half of this particular crowd actually were women, but he ploughed on.

‘Introduce yourself, Normie. Give ’em a taste of what you’ve got and make that crowd want you – no ifs, no buts. You know what I mean?’

He looked over at me and winked, then took a step forward and placed his hands lightly on Norman’s shoulders. I could see the outline of a Hulk Hogan-esque quadricep as he gently adjusted Norman’s stance on the crate and I wondered just how well he did do with the ladies. And whether there was a Mrs Big Al waiting at home with a rolling pin to berate him for drinking the weekly grocery money away. And why on earth I was thinking about that all of a sudden. I decided I might be in need of a distraction of a far more useful kind.

‘Come on, Norman, you can do it! You’ve got this!’ My spontaneous vote of encouragement came out quite a bit louder than I’d intended and I felt my face warm up as Big Al turned to look at me with a surprised chuckle.

‘Well, will you look at that, lad. It’s working already!’

Nobody could ever say that Norman doesn’t take direction well, and he was pretty used to it after six years with Jax. He took on board what Big Al said to the letter, although I could only hope he’d forget the rest of the advice before any girls started to take an interest in him.

‘Evening, all!’ Theatrical throat clear. ‘Well, umm . . . if it isn’t your, err . . . umm, lucky night tonight!’ Norman shot an anxious look over at Big Al, who was nodding enthusiastically as he drained his pint. Which looked like quite a talent in itself. He slammed the empty glass down on the bar and let out a whoop.

‘Woohoo! Work it, Normie, that’s the way! Just like that! Good lad!’

I glanced over at Leonard, who raised a startled eyebrow, but Lou was already approaching with another pint, so presumably Big Al wasn’t deemed a danger to the public. I looked back to Norman, radiant on his milk crate, and I could have watched him for the rest of my life.

‘Wait, wait! One more thing.’ Big Al brought his voice down to a reasonable level and walked over and placed his hands on Norman’s shoulders again. ‘Before you launch, take a deep breath in, lad. The deepest breath you’ve ever taken. That’s it. Now hold it . . . hold it . . . right, now let it out. All the way. Then a bit more. OK. Now you’re ready for anything. Breath is life, Norman. Never forget it.’

I exhaled and felt a slight retreat behind my scar. Breath is life. I realized Norman wasn’t the only one following Big Al’s instructions. Go, Norman, go.

Norman went.

‘Umm, ah . . . umm . . . so . . . err, well . . . like I was saying, your luck’s never been better because, umm . . . you’ve got me! Norman Foreman, the . . . ah, umm . . . Little . . . Little Big Man of comedy. Here for your . . . comedy pleasure for . . . err, one night only. And, umm, all you lot have to do is sit back, relax and enjoy the . . . umm . . . ride!’

‘Yeeeehaaaa, nailed it, Normie! The crowd goes wild!’

I was a little worried that Big Al’s fourth pint in twenty minutes might have pushed him over the edge, but Lou gave me a wink and a slight shake of her head, as