It felt like when you turn the tomato sauce bottle upside down and you bang and bang on the end of it and nothing comes out, but then you do one last bang and all the sauce just explodes out of the bottle onto your chips. I reckon Big Al’s book was the last big bang on my sauce bottle because it was like I exploded all over the street, all over Toad Hall, all over Leonard’s car and, for how bad it felt, maybe all the way from Barnstaple to Swansea.

24

Sadie

IF TOAD HALL was a blight on the good name of bed and breakfasts (and it was), Eden Rock Guesthouse in Swansea was a shining beacon of righteousness. When we pulled up out front it seemed like even Leonard’s old Austin breathed a sigh of appreciation, although my romanticism was short-lived when I noticed a delicate wisp of smoke drifting up from under the bonnet to accompany it. But before I had time to worry if the car had plans to retire in Wales and we’d be catching the train to Edinburgh after all, Norman and Leonard were out of the Austin, hopping around to get the blood back into their legs.

“Holy moly, Mum! Is this it? We’re staying here?”

You’d think the kid had never seen an example of fine Georgian architecture by the way he was staring at the building Google maps had very kindly directed us to. I took in the sweeping views of the Swansea beachfront and turned back to look at the rather grand entrance of the Eden Rock, and for a second it crossed my mind that I might have made a mistake and booked a place that was actually five hundred pounds a night and not the fifty I’d thought it was. On the spot I decided it didn’t even matter. I would have paid five thousand just so I could see the look on Norman’s face when I said yes.

Because Norman breaking down like that just before we left Barnstaple had terrified me, and although I’d given myself a mental pat on the back for not showing it, not for the first time it made me worry about how easily this thing could go pear-shaped. But I knew there was no way of safeguarding against that completely, short of calling an end to the whole trip. And I wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that. Not to Norman, and now it looked like probably not to Leonard either, judging by his level of investment. How the hell had I become responsible for two people’s happiness all of a sudden? I still wasn’t sure I was up to the job of one.

Which, by the way, must have been pretty clear, because when Norman chose the footpath out the front of Toad Hall to lose it for the first time since Jax died, everybody seemed to know what to do except me. Without even hesitating, Big Al had grabbed him in a massive Hulk Hogan hug, squashing the life out of the shuddering sobs that were bursting from his little chest and shocking them just about into submission. Leonard had produced a perfectly ironed handkerchief from his jacket pocket and, even though I’m ashamed to say it was quite possible Norman had never even seen a hanky in his life before, let alone used one, he took it like it was the most precious thing he’d ever been offered. Even Bill got in on the act by shoving a handful of bacon sandwiches into Norman’s hands.