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

being conceived around the very time of the comedy show he was on the way to perform at thirteen years later presents a pretty good case of synchronicity.

But to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to do too much more thinking about any of it, let alone discover that something might Mean Something. The fact is that, despite my grudging but growing realizations about my own motivation for being Norman’s one and only parent for so long, while it was all well and good to have a tidy spreadsheet of possibilities, without some kind of DNA testing there was no way we’d really be able to know the truth anyhow. And without pursuing that onus of proof, weren’t we really just a bunch of weirdos flailing around the country meeting up with random men? And if you’re considering the irony of that, so was I.

Anyhow, in amongst the trifle of my thoughts, I decided that if nobody else mentioned calling James Knox, then I wasn’t going to either. It felt like a good decision and, unaccustomed to the effort required in making any of those, I managed to nod off into the sleep of the righteous.

In between dozing I caught snatches of Leonard and Norman’s chatter as they ran through jokes. Cutting out a word here, adding a couple more in there and generally working on the delivery.

‘The beat and rhythm, old boy. Beat and rhythm.’

Leonard accompanied his words with a volley of helpful slaps on the steering wheel every now and then, but sleepy as I was, I couldn’t help hearing that, no matter how many times he fed Norman a line to repeat, the practice seemed to be having little to no effect on my son’s off-kilter delivery. It still sounded like something, or someone, was missing.

Somewhere along the road I woke up and realized their voices had stopped and the only sound I could hear was the whirr of the Austin’s motor. I looked over at Leonard, hands now firm on the wheel, a look of intense concentration on his face.

‘All right, Leonard?’

He half turned his head to me and smiled, and I felt a sudden rush of affection.

‘All right, love.’ Come on, Sadie love, let’s go home.

I raised my arms in a stretch and twisted around in my seat. Norman was scrunched up on the far side of the back seat, scraps of paper and Post-it notes spilling off his lap. His head was leaning on the glass of the window and his eyes were wide and unblinking, staring at the blurry passing scenery. I wondered what could possibly be going through his head.

I mean, what would a twelve-year-old kid who was about to get up on a proper stage at one of the world’s most famous comedy festivals be thinking? That two days out from the biggest moment in his life his skin was basically peeling off in front of his eyes? That there was a very real chance this one show could destroy every bit of confidence he’d ever had? That, kid or no kid, in a couple of days they might be sweeping him off the floor of the Duke in bits? Of course, I realized there was a strong possibility that could just have been me projecting. But what if it wasn’t?

‘Leonard! Can you pull over? Please? Now. I mean, as soon as . . .’ Startled, Leonard slammed his foot on the brake, causing the Austin to shudder then slow right down.

‘What is it, Sadie? Do you need a comfort stop?’ He scanned the open paddocks on both sides of the road dubiously.

‘No, no. Nothing like that. Just . . . look, can you just pull over as soon as you can? I . . . I need to talk to Norman, that’s all. I just need a few minutes.’

As luck would have it, when we rounded the next corner there was a pub a couple of hundred metres up on the left. The Little Creek Arms seemed all but deserted and I had a flashback to the night at the Noble Goat. It had only been five days ago, but it seemed so much longer. And even though now we were only a few hours away from our final destination, suddenly I really didn’t feel like I’d come much distance at all.

Norman’s little head had popped up when he heard me ask Leonard to slow down, and he leaned forward and touched my arm as we pulled into the car park.

‘What’s up, Mum?’

I smiled what I hoped was a reassuring smile and patted his hand.

‘I just need . . . I . . . I just want to stop for a minute, Norman.’

When we got out Leonard tactfully wandered off away from the car. I saw him take out his phone and squint at the screen, and his face immediately got that same worried expression I now knew hadn’t been a coincidence. I made a mental note to try and get to the bottom of it next time I had a chance, but right now I had other fish to fry.

Norman and I walked towards a section of fence overlooking a narrow channel of fast-flowing water. I hazarded a guess that this was the Little Creek of the Little Creek Arms and marvelled at how simple some things in life were and how difficult others could be.

Why couldn’t being a good mother be as easy as referring to the Good Mother chapter of a Manual for Life? Thumb through a few pages and come up with a solution to the latest problem: Apply cream X to remove all traces of psoriasis, apply cream Y to remove all traces of sadness. Follow up with a liberal rubbing of cream Z to erase all traces of history and bad judgement and emerge as the best mother in the world.

But there was no sign of any such manual to hand and, as I looked at my beautiful boy looking slightly worriedly back at me, I marvelled at just how useless my talent