Page 10 of Playing By Ear

“Och, I could pure murder some ravioli just now.”

They went down the stone stairs of Perry’s building. As they reached the pavement, he stopped and turned to Jamie. “You should know, I can’t see a thing at night.” There. Brian would’ve been proud.

“Shall we get a car?” Jamie asked.

“I can walk fine. I know this area like the back of my hand. I just wanted to be candid with you from the start about my abilities.”

“Good. Saves me asking.” Jamie shifted his weight, shoes scuffing the pavement. “Talking of truths…” He pulled in a quick breath, then let it out slowly. “Mind how I said I’ve been a full-time musician for ten years, since I left school?”

“Right.”

“I’m only twenty-six.”

Perry shook his head. Such things shouldn’t matter. “So?”

“You’re obviously clever.” Jamie seemed to be fidgeting with his jacket’s zip, making a light, tinny rattle. “You use words like candid.”

“That’s the writer in me. Anyway, I don’t care you left school at sixteen. I bet there’s a great story behind it.”

Jamie made a hmm noise. “Definitely not one to share on a first date.”

Intriguing. Perry gestured to the nearby corner. “Shall we?”

As they crossed the street, Perry showed Jamie how he used the cane, his hearing, and the feel of the ground to navigate junctions like this one, which lacked an audible crossing alert.

“I never noticed how roads rise in the middle like that,” Jamie said when they reached the other side. “Makes sense, to stop the rain pooling. So, yesterday you said you’d only just started using the cane. How’s that going?”

“Bumpy, but I’m making progress.” Perry turned right on the pavement, making himself use the cane to find his way around the bus shelter, even though he could do it by memory. “It’s taken me out of that purgatory between sighted and blind. I was there for years, trying to pass for sighted.”

“So if that stage was purgatory,” Jamie said, “does that mean you’re now in heaven or hell?”

Perry gave him what he hoped was a saucy glance. “Depends who’s with me.”

“Mmmm,” Jamie purred. “That’s me given a challenge.”

“I bet you’re up to it,” Perry said. “By the way, how was your match today?” In the café the day before, Jamie had mentioned playing for an all-LGBTQ amateur football club.

“Brilliant. We beat the top team in our league. That puts the Warriors in third place, within spitting distance of promotion. But we’ve been here before and bottled it, so I’m afraid to build my hopes up.”

“Which position do you play?”

“Right fullback, occasionally right midfield or even wingback, depending on our formation. Did you ever, erm, play the game yourself?”

Jamie sounded like he wasn’t sure it was an appropriate question. Perry wished he could see his reaction to the answer.

“I did, and I still do.”

Jamie stopped short. “You play football.”

“Blind football.” Perry looked up at the streetlight, the sole break in the surrounding blackness. “We’re almost there. It should be on our left soon.”

“Zio Mario’s?”

“That’s the one.”

Inside, they were greeted warmly by the eponymous Mario, who showed them to Perry’s favorite table. It sat beneath a wall sconce to help him read the menu—and, more importantly, not beneath one of the overhead speakers, currently playing Verdi’s Il trovatore. Perry’s stomach grumbled at the scents of garlic and seafood billowing through the room.

“You’ll be having wine tonight?” Mario asked them, his gravelly voice making him sound older than his fifty-some years.