“Well, sure, my love. Name?” The rafters sighed with relief, but Barbara didn’t even have a pen in her hand so it was Leonard’s turn to try and work out if she was taking the piss.

“Ahh. Not...not me, no. It’s for the boy here,” he said. “Norman Foreman. Little Big Man.” He raised his voice a little louder when he said the last bit and, although Norman ducked his head shyly, I saw the smudge of a smile pass his lips. I reached forward and grabbed his hand to give it a squeeze, and I felt him trembling. Oh, you beautiful, beautiful kid.

Barbara, who was actually Lou, according to a silver name tag pinned to her blouse, scanned us slowly, probably trying to decide who was the least insane. When she got to Norman her face seemed to soften a little. Good choice.

“Please yourselves. But the open mic’s only open to paying customers. What’ll it be?”

A round of drinks looked like it was in lieu of the registration fee so we ordered lemonades and a neat whiskey for Leonard. I quickly added two packets of crisps when I saw Lou’s face. To be honest, I could have done with something stronger, which would no doubt have made both Lou and I a lot happier, but while my liver was willing, my stomach was definitely not.

Despite the lack of an audience, Norman was too nervous to drink his lemonade and instead divided the time between making multiple trips to the toilet and furiously scratching at his arms through the suit jacket. I knew that the heat inside the pub was probably making his psoriasis worse under that heavy fabric, but I also knew he’d never take that damn thing off. The show must go on, Sadie, love.

By seven twenty-five it looked like Lou had totally forgotten we were there and she was immersed back in the paper. Who knew there was so much hard news to be delivered in Muddiford? Then, out of nowhere, we were swept up in a gust of wind as the door of the pub swung open and somebody turned out all the lights. Okay, nobody actually turned out the lights, but the man mountain standing in the doorway had the same effect. The guy was built like Hulk Hogan, although much hairier in the facial department and, thankfully, completely clothed.

“Now that was an entrance,” I whispered to Norman as I brushed his windblown fringe out of his eyes. Ah, that smudge of a smile again.

“All right, Big Al?”

Lou didn’t even look up, but she’d already started pulling a pint of something black, with one eye still on the paper. Big Al crossed the floor in three paces, took the frothing glass from Lou’s hand and downed it in one. She was already pulling a second as he slammed the empty glass down on the bar and let out an almighty burp that reverberated through the rafters. The choreography was precision personified and I could only assume it had taken Lou and Big Al years of practice. With his second pint securely in hand, the mountain turned his attention to us. I could feel Norman’s hot little body shrink closer into me as Big Al’s eyes traveled slowly over each of us in turn.