When I walked out on stage at the talent show I couldn’t see a thing in the audience because of the lights, but as soon as I started talking all of a sudden I could see everything right up to the back row of the auditorium. And you’ll never guess who was up there—but if you guessed Jax you’d be right.

He was standing on one of the seats holding up a bunch of cardboard sheets with prompt words written on them like they do in those old-fashioned music video clips. He kept pulling the cards out of the bunch and holding them up for me to read then dropping them on the ground. And even when the Frank fell off the stage Jax kept on pulling out those cards faster and faster and holding them up for me to say the lines. Which is why I kept on going till the end. Not because I had suddenly got clever or funny or brave. Or because all that practicing I did with Leonard had actually worked. I kept going because Jax was helping me.

When I started laughing in the Cozy Tree Café it was like when I started crying in Barnstaple, which got me thinking that maybe the storing up laughing thing was the same for crying. Later, when I went for a wee, I was washing my hands and I looked in the mirror and saw lots and lots of teeny tiny spots of blood coming through my shirt. Because I’d laughed so much remembering about She Prefers Hobnobs to Husbands and getting zapped by Jax that the big bits of scale on my chest had cracked. But even though it hurt and even though I knew all that blood probably wasn’t going to come off the one good shirt I’d brought on the trip, I didn’t care. Because it was like everything just felt a little bit looser.

28

Sadie

WHEN I’M OLD and wrinkly and reliving my misspent middle years I think maybe I’ll remember our three days in Swansea as the time Norman started to come back. Because even though it was only a brief glimpse, that guy laughing his heart out in the Cozy Tree Café looked very much like the son I used to have.

The next day, while Leonard sat out on the balcony doing whatever it was he did on his laptop, Norman was helping me pack our bags. As I sorted out clothes and shoes and underpants I saw him carefully roll up his certificate from the talent show and wedge it inside a sock at the bottom of his duffel. He caught me looking and straightaway he arranged his face into a smile for my benefit. It didn’t quite make it to his eyes, though, turning down a side street at his cheekbones and slipping into the neck of his crumpled T-shirt to have a quiet drink alone in a bar.

It had been so long since I’d heard his laugh for real, when I heard it in the Cozy Tree I’d just sat there staring at him, wanting it to go on and on forever. But then he stopped and closed his eyes, and he stayed like that for so long it made me wonder if in his head he was standing at a crossroads with tumbleweeds drifting past, deciding which guy he was going to be for the rest of his life.