Even though Norman was so sure he wanted to do all of this, meeting a father was one thing, but what if, when push came to shove, he just couldn’t pull off his comedy show without Jax? Or what if he did actually make it through his routine and got laughed at all right, but not in a good way? Leonard may have created Little Big Man to get Norman to the Fringe, but could Norman actually be Little Big Man once he got there?

Most of the comedy acts performing at the Fringe would probably have spent years slogging around the clubs paying their dues and hardening their hearts well before they got the balls to front up for something like this. And notwithstanding my pride at his gutsy attempts at the Noble Goat and Swansea’s Got Talent, I couldn’t help worrying that Norman just wasn’t ready for the big time. No matter how small it was. Not even fifteen minutes at the Duke Supper Club on the fringes of the Fringe.

I sucked in my breath as something inside delivered a sharp kick to the back of my scar. It was almost too much for me to bear to think of Norman up there on a stage with only my father’s old jacket to protect him. That jacket had seen it all before and, like me, it already knew how things could end. It doesn’t matter, love. Let’s go home.

Tony and Kathy insisted on seeing us off right up to the last goodbye, which was pretty handy because Tony took over the repacking of the car and, for the first time, it looked like Leonard might actually be able to see out the back window. Even though we didn’t really have much between the three of us, the boot was tiny and our bags seemed to be getting progressively bulgier as the trip went on and my dedication to folding our clothes waned. Leonard’s duffel was definitely taking up more room, too, since we’d stopped for petrol at a Tesco garage half an hour outside of Barnstaple. In the time it had taken me to pay for the petrol and buy a packet of chewing gum and a couple of bottles of water Leonard had managed to purchase an impressive array of spicy-smelling toiletries, a pair of slippers and, surreptitiously, a six-pack of underpants to add to his luggage. Although not surreptitiously enough for Norman not to have noticed.

As we’d walked to the café that morning he said he’d thought of a joke about old men’s pants and my third favorite song of all time, Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind.”

“Do you think Leonard would mind if I used it, Mum? Should I ask him? It’s a pretty funny one. I... I think it is anyway.”

Leonard was a good sport and I was pretty sure it would be fine to talk about his underpants, although that was before I thought they were actually going to get an airing at the bloody Edinburgh Fringe. Anyhow, Tony took one look at how we’d just chucked everything into the car and unloaded it all again. But in a kindly way, not bossy. I had a sudden very unexpected flashback to that night in Edinburgh. It was a hell of a time to remember, but apparently he packed cars like he approached his work with women. Considered, concerned and very neat and tidy with all the ends finished off.