“Well, now. There you are! I need to see you, young man.”

I was shaken out of my musings by the sight of the woman from the registration desk, who had suddenly materialized at our booth, looking frazzled, flustered and quite a bit less substantial out in the real world.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Across the table I saw Norman shrink down into his seat and, straightaway, Leonard cleared his throat and puffed out a protective chest as if to shield him.

“Of course, the entire show’s had to be canceled for this year, I’m afraid. Due to...well, due to my husband’s bad behavior, quite frankly. Pardon the pun, won’t you! I should leave the jokes to you, really, shouldn’t I, Norman? Ha ha!”

It appeared we all did pardon the pun, or in a few cases maybe didn’t get it. And again, while I’m no expert, an organizer being married to one of the contestants definitely seemed like a giant conflict of interest. It seems to me it’s just asking for trouble, really, and I rest my case.

“But anyhow, I wanted to find you so I could give you this, Norman.”

She pulled a rolled-up piece of cardboard tied with a blue ribbon out of her tote bag and balanced it delicately across Norman’s teacup.

“It’s a very special award for being a good sport...and, you know, for trying. You were a real trouper, love. Well done, and I’m so sorry you didn’t get the chance to perform properly. You’ll come back and see us next year, won’t you?”

Over the entire population of Swansea’s dead bodies, I thought. And only if. This time next year, the closest I’m hoping to be to Swansea is nibbling on a bit of cheesy rarebit for my supper and watching Catherine Zeta Jones in The Darling Buds of May reruns. But it looked like Norman might have had other ideas. He’d unrolled the flimsy bit of cardboard on the table and was staring at it, eyes wide. I could see the generic Certificate of Excellence was printed with a sponsor’s logo along the top and Norman’s name hastily scrawled across it in gold pen.

When he spoke, Norman’s voice was soft, but it was full to overflowing with more of everything wonderful than I could muster in a month of Sundays.

“Mum. Mum, look. Do you see it?”

I leaned forward across the table to get a closer look at the upside-down certificate where his finger rested on a line of text.

Swansea’s Got Talent. Proudly sponsored by Wallace and Evans Urban Planning. Never give up on a good plan.

Bloody hell. I saw it.

27

Norman

FIRST RULE OF COMEDY:
If somebody laughs, it’s funny.

EVEN IF I don’t go back to Swansea again in my entire life, I’ll never forget it. And that’s not just because I met Kathy and Tony or saw two Frank Sinatras in a dustup, or even because I got given a certificate of encouragement for a talent show that I didn’t even know I was going to be in. Even though all those things were pretty cool, especially the meeting Tony and Kathy part. But the reason I’m never going to forget about my trip to Swansea is because it was the place where I had my first real, proper, couldn’t-actually-help-myself laugh since the day before Jax went.