Page 11 of Playing By Ear

“Erm…” Jamie opened his menu. “I don’t really know much about…”

“There’s just a house red and a house white,” Perry told him.

“Oh. Great. Red’s good, thanks.”

“We’ll share a carafe,” Perry told Mario.

“Bene.” The proprietor shifted the lit candle out of Perry’s reach, then left them alone. A few moments later, the music volume went down a notch. Their early arrival tonight meant Zio Mario’s had few other customers to create a din. Ideal conditions for hearing Jamie’s every word.

“You must come here a lot,” Jamie said.

“About once a month with my parents. Sometimes I pop in for a takeaway calzone.” Perry pulled out his glasses and lighted magnifier. “Also, when my ex still lived with me, he and I would often eat here. So if Mario and his sister Yolanda are giving you the once-over, that’s why.”

Jamie’s chair creaked. “Aye, they are. Probably thinking you’ve had a bit of a relegation.”

Perry frowned. Jamie had run himself down twice tonight already. What was behind this sudden insecurity? He’d been so confident yesterday afternoon when playing or talking about his music. Perry’s mention of Nathan ten minutes into their date probably hadn’t helped.

“If they’re thinking that,” he said, “then they’re the ones who should worry about their vision.”

“Ooh, a pure charmer, so you are,” Jamie said, but the pleasure in his voice sounded genuine.

Mario returned with their wine and a basket of bread, then took their orders.

As the restaurateur retreated, Jamie lifted the basket into Perry’s line of sight. “Take some now. I cannae promise not to shove the rest of it down my neck.”

Perry took a warm bread roll. “I’m all too familiar with insatiable post-game hunger.”

“Fortunately, match-day calories don’t count.” Jamie set down the basket. “Now tell me all about blind football.”

“It’s five a side, usually played outdoors to avoid a disorientating echo, though sometimes scheduling or weather forces our matches indoors. Also, the players wear eye coverings.”

“Mmmph?” Jamie exclaimed through a mouthful of bread. “Why?”

“To make it fair on those who can’t see light or movement like I can.”

“But how do you know where anything is? Like the ball, or the other players?”

Perry loved telling people this part. “The ball has a metal disc inside that holds several ball bearings, so the football rattles when it moves.”

“Ah, like a big cat toy.”

“Exactly.” The image of his teammates dressed as giant furry tabbies made Perry smile. “The players have to yell ‘voy’—Spanish for ‘I go’—whenever we make a play on the ball, like a defender looking to tackle. Spectators must be totally silent.”

“That sounds proper cool.” Jamie made a wee slurp as he sipped his wine. “How do the goalkeepers make saves?”

“They’re sighted, as are the managers. And the referees, of course.”

“So it’s the opposite of regular football, where the players are sighted but the refs are blind.” Jamie paused. “God, I’m such an arse. You must have heard that joke hunners of times.”

“More like thousands.” Again Perry wished he could see Jamie’s expression when he said, “The funniest bit is, I was once a professional referee.”

Jamie’s laughter cut short. “Wait. Seriously?”

“I couldn’t make it as a pro player. I was at Partick Thistle Youth Academy in their Under-11 side but didn’t go further. Still, I loved the game, so I started referee training when I was eighteen and worked as an official for five years. Part-time, obviously.”

Jamie let out a whooshing breath. “Wow. Which league?”

“All the Scottish leagues. Even did a Premiership game once as a fourth official.”