Leonard sat forward and very upright in the driver’s seat, staring intently into the crowd. He might have been checking out the competition, but he could just as easily have been scanning for snipers. Who would know? I could see Kathy and Tony looking kindly and eager, waving from the steps like a pair of benevolent Jesuses giving blessings to a car park full of impostery superstars, and I knew I needed to pull myself well and truly together if I was going to be any help at all to Norman.

I felt a bit like I was having an out-of-body experience and the Macarena in my stomach that had been steadily getting worse since we left Barnstaple was hitting a chorus. I was about to deliver my highly underprepared son up to a packed hall of Welsh vultures who were probably ready to eat him for their supper and not even spit out the bones, and Tony still had no idea he could be a father. Could things get any worse?

We’ve all been around long enough to know that the answer to that question is always yes.

Just inside the doors, Leonard found the desk to register and I handed over five pounds to a large woman sitting behind a flimsy table. She gave Norman a yellow sticker printed with “contestant” and a handwritten number fourteen on it to stick on the lapel of his jacket.

“Hello, love, it’s good to have you here, and all the best of luck. Make sure you show your number to Elvis, the stage manager, and let him know you’re there so he can slot you in correctly. Hurry along now, there’s a good boy. Quick sticks. No dallying around.”

As we stepped away from the desk I turned around to Norman, hoping I might come up with something brilliant and encouraging to say, but the words jammed in my throat when I realized there had to be at least two hundred people milling around in the foyer waiting for the show to start. Even though most of them looked like the families or support crew of the entrants, judging by the amount of hair spray, water bottles and snack supplies they were carrying, it was still at least 196 more people than Norman had ever performed for on his own.

As we stood in a silent huddle off to the side, Leonard put a hand on Norman’s shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze and I saw my boy wince. I knew even a gentle touch like that could hurt when the monster took over his body at will. Its latest path of destruction led around his torso and off on a jaunty day trip to circumnavigate his neck, but I knew Norman would rather suffer ten times as much than say anything to hurt Leonard’s feelings. That kid. My heart ached with love for him, but my gut continued to ache with something else entirely, and for just a moment I wondered if there might be anything brewing that I should be worrying about. I closed my eyes briefly against the thought and took a slow, deep breath in. Get in line, buddy.