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

police, for starters. And maybe the Wheeler Centre. But, of course, I gave in. Because of Thelma & Louise and because who wants their kid to think they’re a snitch? And we did end up sitting in the room for another hour, drinking tea and hoping Leonard would just come back. I even tried visualizing him zooming up the road, executing a perfect reverse parallel park out the front of the Soft Fudge and bounding out of the Austin in top hat, tails and with a bag of fresh-baked croissants. For all the good it did. In the end, it was Norman who broke the long, tea-sodden silence.

‘Mum, I think I’ve got a plan.’ I braced myself. ‘We need to find Leonard, right?’

Norman spoke very slowly and clearly, like he’d thought this through and rehearsed exactly what he was going to say in his head. Which of course he probably had. I nodded and maintained the brace position.

‘So, we need to start looking. But I mean, like, really looking properly. And if we can’t call anyone else . . . yet’ – he stopped and made sure I was looking him right in the eyes – ‘and we can’t . . . well, we have to do it ourselves. Or, that is . . . I mean yourself. You.’

I didn’t think I liked where this was going, but I was paying attention.

‘Look, Mum, someone’s got to stay here in case Leonard comes back, don’t you think? So that someone should be me. Because, well . . .’ And the kid, bless him, looked like he felt he had to apologize. ‘I . . . I still have to practise for the show tomorrow night. I’ve got tons of stuff to go over and, actually . . . I don’t mean to be rude, Mum, but I could do with some time on my own to . . . to try and get it right. Or . . . at least better, anyhow. You know, because . . . because practice makes perfect and all that.’

I still wasn’t sure that a few hours’ practice was going to be nearly enough to help Little Big Man at this late stage, and it crossed my mind that it would be an ideal opportunity to try to convince him to reconsider again. Forget it, Norman. Just surrender and it’ll all be OK.

But something stopped me. And maybe it was my mini epiphany at the Little Creek Arms, or perhaps it was just because Norman’s was the only plan we had and practice really might make perfect, but for the first time in my life I entertained the thought that running away mightn’t always be the only way to save yourself.

‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll lock the door and I won’t even leave the room. I promise. I’ve got my phone to call you if I need to. And I’ve got the crisps and chocolate and I . . . I won’t answer the door to anyone. Except if it’s Leonard, of course.’

He’d thought of everything. The words were tumbling out now and, even as they landed in a messy heap on the floor, I realized that Norman’s plan did make sense.

‘If you’re out there, you’ll have much more of a chance on your own of finding him before anything . . . well, you know . . . just finding him. I know you can find him, Mum. I know it.’

He had me on the ropes.

‘Oh, and apples. I’ve got the apples, too, Mum.’ Kapow.

40

There wasn’t one bone in my body that was happy about leaving Norman alone, but I knew he was right and that if he stayed in the room he’d be perfectly safe. I could also see that without outside help, aka snitching to the police, getting out and scouring the streets of Edinburgh really was our only option of finding Leonard. And even though there was only a remote to non-existent chance that I’d succeed, I had to try.

It was eleven o’clock, and Leonard had potentially been on the run for six hours already. That was long enough for him to be halfway up Ben Nevis in first gear if he’d so chosen. Or in Paris, if the 1969 British rally champ had really put his foot down.

I set Norman up on the huge bed in the Caramel Suite, surrounded by Post-it notes and crisps, with the big free-standing mirror angled so he could practise his onstage facial expressions. I made sure his fully charged mobile phone was right beside him and went through the rules. Don’t OD on chocolate, do alternate a glass of water and an apple with the crisps, and don’t set foot outside this door except to go to the toilet, and even then be quick.

‘I mean it, Norman. And no matter what happens, I’ll be back by six o’clock at the latest. OK? No ifs, no buts. That’s a promise. Whatever you do, just do not go anywhere, not for anything.’

‘I’ll be fine, Mum, honest. I promise. Don’t worry.’

And the thing was, I knew he would be. He was the sensible one in the family, and I should probably have worried more about myself being out there loose on the streets of Edinburgh. Again. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I hadn’t found Leonard by six o’clock, because I’d probably have no choice but to call the police then, and who knows what turn things would take. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d cooled my heels at a police station in this particular city, although losing an old man with dementia probably had far more serious ramifications than being drunk and disorderly after a Cure concert.

I stepped off the number 10 bus from Leith on to St Andrew Square with the bare bones of a plan. I’d got a free map from the bus driver, with Edinburgh on one side and the whole of Scotland on the other (non-existent god forbid I’d need that), and I decided for once in my life to be methodical and cover the city