Anyhow, in the end I didn’t have to decide whether to go and do the Bournemouth open mic thingy. Because when we got to our room Mum said she was going to have a bit of a sleep so I got out all my Post-it notes to do some practice. But instead of practicing I ended up falling asleep too, and I had this weird dream that I was being dive-bombed on the beach by a flock of seagulls throwing chips at me and squawking, he’s not a Bournemouth guy! And then when I woke up, I definitely wasn’t feeling right.

My skin was even more tingly and fizzy than before and my head kind of was too, which might be why my first thought was, now I know exactly what one of those Coke bottle candies feel like. From the inside. Then my next thought was, well, maybe I’m still in the dream or I’ve been abducted by aliens and they’ve implanted me with something. But then I got up to go to the loo and when I looked in the bathroom mirror I realized it was me who was the alien.

32

Sadie

IT HAD SUCH a short temper, Norman’s sly little friend. It had always been like that—the slightest sign of trouble and it’d poke its cranky head above the waterline and get partying. After Jax died I thought it had reached its most magnificent proportions, but this time it had excelled even itself. And while I couldn’t identify quite what had changed, there was definitely something about it that was different. Norman’s chest, arms and face were a mess of sharp, fleshy peaks, and in some places great slices of raw skin looked to be almost separating from his body. Just below the surface it looked like something was breathing. Eating itself up, spitting itself out on the crisp Premier Inn sheets and smacking its lips as it went.

After a lifetime of going into battle with Norman’s psoriasis I’d experimented with every potion, lotion and cream known to man. And even a few known only to animals, courtesy of a well-meaning neighbor with a part-time job at the local vet’s. One whole bag of our luggage was filled with a fairly decent selection of them, because it hadn’t taken a genius to work out that this trip was just the kind of thing to rile the little bugger up. I had prepared for every eventuality. Or so I thought.

I laid all the creams and lotions out on the faux-timber hotel desk so Norman could see them. It looked like a pharmaceutical police lineup, and we both knew the drill: identify your perp of choice, son. As he always did, I could see Norman considering his options carefully before making his selection. His eyes traveled from one bottle and tube to another and another, as the edges of his nostrils turned white from the effort of resisting a scratch.

I knew exactly what he was thinking. If he chose that one, it might offer some quick relief but then it would seep into his eyes and sting like hell and the smell would stay for days. If he chose that other one, it would take longer to work but the relief would also last longer, even if sometimes it had the effect of creating a lump on top of an existing scale.