“Tony. There’s something... I... I need to tell you something.” Tony half turned his head and gave me a look as if to say, “Why would you want to strike up a conversation just as your son is about to have his big moment?” Wait for it, fella.

“H-hell-hello. I...good even—I mean, good afternoon, ladies and gent-gentlemen...” Race you to the bottom, Norman.

“Tony,” I whispered. “Remember, when you, when we...well, you know, that night after the Brontë sisters in Edinburgh?” Even from Tony’s profile I could tell that he remembered.

“Tony, I... Did you... Look, do you know... Well, have you thought about how old Norman is? He’s twelve. Just turned twelve a month ago, actually. The thing is...” I felt like I was trying to suck a duvet through a straw. “Look, I’m not saying for sure, I mean... I don’t really know...but anyhow, there’s a chance, maybe a good one, that...that Norman could be yours.” Then, just in case. “Your son.”

“Um, la-ladies and gentlemen, I... I’d like to tell you a couple of jokes that I think... I hope maybe you might...um, like.” Wild-eyed and pasty-faced, Norman plowed on. Go get ’em, you gorgeous kid.

Suddenly there was a massive shriek of feedback and everyone in the audience threw their hands over their ears at the same time. For a brief but truly magnificent moment, I thought there was about to be a flash mob and Norman would be saved from his ordeal at the last minute while they filmed a resurrection of the old T-Mobile ads. But all that happened was he started waving the microphone closer and then farther away from his face, trying to judge the right distance to stop the feedback.

I could see him mouthing words, trying to get through his first joke, something about meerkats and telescopes, and every couple of seconds he looked desperately left and right into the wings, as if he was hoping against hope to see Leonard with a handful of Post-its.

I felt Tony’s eyes boring into the side of my head and Kathy’s warm body leaning into me on the other side, but I couldn’t bear to look at either of them. Because it was out now. Job done. Tony’s court. His serve. I caught a movement as he turned his head away from me and up to Norman on the stage, and then back to me again. He put his hand on my arm and squeezed gently, just as Kathy had before. What was it with these two? I wasn’t used to being touched by anyone other than Norman, really, and I was finding I didn’t quite hate it.

It was a couple of seconds before I realized that Tony’s hand on my arm felt a lot firmer than Kathy’s had. More like he was pushing down, and quite hard. It didn’t have that reassuring feel, like Kathy’s, it almost felt as if it was to stop me from saying anything else. No problem there. I looked over at him and “Don’t say anything else” was also what his face was telling me. He shook his head very slightly and leaned down like he was about to whisper in my ear. But then, as they say in the classics, all hell broke loose.