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

I hadn’t expected anything other than a sweet old lady’s voice on the other end, so I was a little taken aback.

‘Hello . . . umm . . . I . . . I . . .’

Norman was way ahead of me, though, and started making the hang-up sign before Emily-Jade could say anything else. I hit the red button just as a slightly concerned-sounding ‘Hello? Hello, can you hear me? This is the Wheeler . . .’ came down the line, then dropped the phone back on the bed.

‘Well, I think we can safely say that wasn’t Iris, can’t we?’ I was still a little flustered at being put on the spot by Emily-Jade.

‘Did she say the Wheeler Centre, Mum? Do you think I should . . . ? We could check . . .’

I nodded yes, and Norman picked up Leonard’s phone and started typing into Google search. After a few seconds his forehead wrinkled into a frown and he slowly turned the phone around to face me. On the screen was a slick-looking photo of a grim brick administrational building. There were a few well-dressed OAPs staged in the foreground like mannequins, pushing walkers, chatting to young people, patting dogs and generally looking happy and content. Across the front of the entrance to the building was a large sign.

Fred Wheeler Dementia Care Centre Secure Residential Unit

Why had Leonard received a total of twenty-seven calls from this place since we left Penzance? New cleaning job, maybe? But why hadn’t he mentioned it? As I scrolled through the website, the phone suddenly dimmed and gave a low-battery warning. After trying to plug it into my charger and realizing it didn’t fit, Norman opened up Leonard’s hold all and did some delicate rummaging with no luck, then sat back on his haunches with a look of concentration on his face.

‘I know I saw him with it yesterday, Mum. I remember, because he nearly left it behind at . . . oh, wait! I know!’

He sprang up and went over to where Leonard’s coat was hanging on the chair, reached into the inside pocket and, within seconds, he was holding the charger triumphantly in the air, as the rest of the contents of the pocket fluttered to the floor.

I plugged the phone into the wall and Norman began gathering up the folded hanky, two pencils, half a packet of Mentos and a couple of pieces of paper that had dropped out to put back in Leonard’s coat. I was engrossed back in the Wheeler Centre website when I looked up and Norman was standing in front of me.

‘Mum, look at this,’ he said quietly.

One of the pieces of paper that had fallen out of Leonard’s pocket was in his hand. He passed it over to me and I immediately saw why it had caught his eye. Printed across the top of the torn-off piece of headed paper were the words Fred Wheeler Dementia Centre. There were some handwritten details below the letterhead in neat cursive.

Cobcroft CL1576. New Admissions. Level 2.

Bring signed forms, personal effects, medications.

There was a date and time on the piece of paper, which I quickly calculated was the day before we left on our trip. I stared at the words, trying to work out what exactly I was looking at, and my eyes were drawn back to the phone on my lap. I glanced between the paper and the Wheeler Centre website several times, and as my focus adjusted, the words ‘secure’ and ‘dementia’ jumped out of the phone screen and started to do a little tap dance in front of my eyes. There was a second when they seemed to pause for effect, before taking a low, flourishing bow to herald a flurry of dropping pennies.

Because there definitely had been a few times when Leonard seemed a little vague or absent since we’d left Penzance. More than the usual, I mean. Then there was that weird moody thing in Swansea, the near-miss with the Ocado van, the evasiveness about getting lost in Bournemouth when he went to find the Chinese tea. And now, disappearing like this.

Now that I thought about it, maybe there really had been something just a little too keen about how quickly Leonard had decided to join us on the trip. Because if the pennies had dropped into their correct slots, the date on the note and the evidence presented suggested that at this very moment he might actually be supposed to be safely and securely tucked up in the Wheeler Centre with his medications and personal possessions. Had Norman and I just been a lucky coincidence that happened along in the nick of time to aid and abet him in absconding? Were Iris and the police at this very moment monitoring APBs and scouring the country looking for him?

All of a sudden, it felt to me like Leonard’s disappearance was shaping up to be a whole lot more serious than we’d thought. Because what if the poor guy had just planned to go out for a walk and then had some kind of funny turn? What if he was out there now on the mean streets of Edinburgh without a clue as to where, or possibly even who, he was? My stomach began tying itself to a couple of vital organs and tightening the knots. OK, then.

‘Right, Norman, we need to find Leonard. And fast.’

Of course, finding someone fast is all relative to your plan of action, so if you don’t have one, well, then you can’t expect too much. When ten o’clock came and Norman was still running to the window every two minutes to report back, ‘Nope, nothing,’ I finally decided more proactive measures were needed.

My big, bold plan was for us to tackle a search of the immediate neighbourhood around the Soft Fudge. Even at that hour, though, there were way too many people around for my liking, and I felt the need to hold on to Norman’s arm as tightly as I dared without hurting his skin. As we walked up and