At precisely eleven o’clock, Leonard would materialize at my desk with his backpack over his shoulder, wish me a very good day, then walk out the back to the car park and climb into his teal Austin Maxi to drive home to Iris and his cottage by the sea.

Those two and a half cups of hibiscus tea, the conversation, and the secret flipping of the bird were the highlights of my day, and in six years of working at Pearl’s, Leonard was the only friend I’d ever made there. And if you’re wondering whose fault that is, the only thing I can tell you is that all those school lunch breaks I spent sitting around wondering if my father might fade away from sadness before I got home means it takes more than a few high shelves to get to know me now.

11

I DOZED OFF easily the night I saw Norman’s new plan. And the next. The deep, dream-free rest of a mother who’d brought her son to the brink of a smile with a promise that had come so easily she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. Because wouldn’t she do anything to make him happy? It wasn’t until the third night, as I was hovering around the mezzanine of sleep, that things took a decidedly sharp turn in the direction of reality.

So whatcha got, Sadie?

The hiss in my ear was so pin-sharp my head bounced off the pillow and straight into the corner of my bedside table as I was compelled almost vertical. I really should have known better than to be fooled by a couple of good nights’ sleep. I half lay, half sat awkwardly, with my head pounding and one leg hanging off the side of the bed and thought about promises. Not by choice, you understand.

I’ve probably made about the average amount in my time, including quite a few I never had any intention of following up. And no harm done, I’d say. But, hand on heart, I’ve never made one to Norman that I didn’t absolutely mean to keep at the time. So there I was on night number three, with no hope of climbing back aboard the sleepy express and the full slap-in-the-face truth of what I’d promised my son becoming uncomfortably clear.

Because, naturally, I didn’t have even the faintest clue as to how to go about getting Norman a spot to perform at the bloody Edinburgh Fringe, even if I hadn’t known it was less than a month away. Which, by the way, I definitely hadn’t when I opened my mouth. And as for the logistics of tracking down a month’s worth of one-night-ish stands from nearly thirteen years ago, well, think about that for a minute or two then try and get yourself back to sleep. Every time I even considered trying to get horizontal again there was a tug on the strings from my invisible puppet master and I was jerked bolt upright and wide-awake. After about twenty minutes of tussling I gave in, climbed out of bed and scuffed my way up the hallway to a well-worn spot.