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

angriness had retreated from the skin on his face and the huge scales on his chest that had looked so rigid just a couple of hours ago now seemed thinner, softer and almost translucent.

The newspaper-wrapped packets were spread out all over the desk and I could see that about five or six of them had been opened. While I couldn’t quite put my finger on the smell that hung in the air, something about it reminded me of when the Indian restaurant down the road starts cooking the korma for the evening rush, and I wondered if perhaps Leonard had got so lost he’d had to make a substitution for his Chinese medicines.

‘He looks . . . I mean, I think . . . it looks a lot better, right? What did you get for him, Leonard?’ Leonard’s lips twitched a little and he indicated with his thumb to the bedside table, where the plastic water jug that I’d seen earlier in the fridge was sitting alongside the kettle. In the bottom there looked to be the remnants of a manky compost heap, marinating in a thin golden liquid. I could see Leonard had definitely got good value out of the rest of the formerly white Premier Inn towels, and they lay in a messy pile on the floor, a lovely pale yellow in contrast to the two olive-green-stained ones I’d used on Norman for the ointment.

‘You know, you were right, Sadie, this time, it’s . . . it’s something different.’ Leonard’s voice was soft so as not to wake Norman, but I could see he was having trouble containing his excitement. ‘The Chinese gentleman I went to see saw it as soon as I showed him the photos of Norman.’

‘Saw what, Leonard?’ I was slightly put out that a complete stranger thought he could give an expert diagnosis on my son’s chronic condition from a couple of photos on a phone, but then again, we’ve had worse.

‘Come and look, my dear.’ Leonard touched my arm and motioned me a little closer to the bed, pulling back the sheet gently so I could properly see Norman’s chest, rising and falling as he breathed.

‘Now, really look, Sadie.’

I looked. I really looked. But all I could see was the old familiar enemy Norman had been submitting to for most of his life. Covering his lovely peaches-and-cream skin with its insidious scales and even decorating the spaces in between.

‘What, Leonard? What am I looking at? I mean, like I said, it definitely looks a lot better, not as red . . . but all I can see is that bloody psoriasis coming for him, and I just . . .’ I’d given up whispering and I saw the rhythm of Norman’s breathing change as though he was about to stir.

‘Aha! That’s just it, Sadie!’ Leonard looked like I’d hit the jackpot and he’d supplied me with the winning numbers. He squeezed my arm tightly and did a fist-pump in the air with his other hand.

‘That’s the very difference. Don’t you see?’ He paused dramatically and, in his excitement, his whisper came out louder than if he’d spoken normally.

‘This time it’s not coming. It’s going.’

It took a second or two for me to get my head around what he was saying, but now that I knew what I was looking for I realized Leonard was right. Instead of tripping over themselves on a chaotic rampage across Norman’s poor body as they had been before, the scales were now lifting. Away from his body.

His skin looked like crazy paving, networked with hairline cracks and deeper crevices, and on top of that, countless flaps of peeling skin of varying thicknesses and size. Norman moved slightly and a flake the size of a twenty-pence piece wafted off his shoulder and on to the sheet. Just like that. Underneath was a triangle of smooth, pink baby skin. It’s a boy, Miss Foreman. Norman rolled towards the side of the bed, stretching one arm out and opening an eye. When he saw me standing over him he opened the other and was staring bright-eyed at me within seconds. Just like the day he was born. Hello, you.

‘Mum, Mum. Where’s Leonard?’ As soon as the words were out, Leonard was beside me, nudging himself into Norman’s line of vision.

‘Hello there, old chap. Good to see you. Feeling better?’ Norman smiled and nodded, taking the tender, wrinkly hand he was offered with both of his own, holding it like a sandwich.

‘Yes, I am. I really and truly am. And Leonard, did you tell her? Mum, guess what the Chinese herbalist guy gave Leonard to help me? And it made a difference straight away, didn’t it, Leonard? In, like, two minutes! Guess what it was, Mum!’

‘Well, I . . .’

‘Tell her then, old boy. Don’t keep her in suspenders!’

Norman looked from Leonard to me then to the jumble of towels on the floor and back to Leonard again, like they all had the most exciting secret in the world.

‘Go on then, Norman, what was it?’

‘You’ll never believe it!’ My son’s delight was immeasurable. ‘It was just like Iris always says. Cold tea! Cold Chinese tea, Mum!’

That smile.

35NORMAN

First rule of comedy: Try it, they might like it.

Peter woke with a shock, not knowing where he was until the noise of the giant thrusters of the rocket ship brought him back to reality. He looked out the small porthole window and saw the Earth spiralling below him.

For a few seconds when I woke up I didn’t know where I was, because everything looked fuzzy and even when I blinked hard all I could see was snow in front of my eyes. I wondered for a moment if I’d left planet Earth, like Peter from the story Jax made up for my tenth birthday, which was called Leaving Is Believing. But then I saw the Premier Inn pen on the table beside the bed and I remembered that I wasn’t in outer space, only Bournemouth.

While I was lying there trying to