Page 129 of Playing By Ear

Perry’s fingers began to ache, he was gripping the glass bottle so hard.

“I could tell it was my dad from the shouting,” Jamie said, “but he wasn’t alone. Him and Ritchie were coming upstairs.”

Perry found his voice. “How old was Ritchie then?”

“Twenty-three. Too fucking young.” Jamie massaged his forehead. “I had just enough time to put the gun back in the drawer. It made an awful squeak, that drawer. No, more of a squonk, like a goose. Anyway, that’s when I noticed the silencer. It hadn’t been in there when Dad first showed me the gun.”

“What did you do?”

“Hid in the wardrobe—it was one of those huge antiques—and sat in the back corner atop his shoes, behind his hanging trousers. I shut the wardrobe door as much as I could, but there was still a crack.”

Perry rubbed his own arms to smooth the goose bumps.

“They came in,” Jamie continued, “Dad yelling, calling Ritchie a traitor. Arguing about people I’d never heard of, with names I couldn’t pronounce.”

“Like foreign names, or Gaelic names?”

“Eastern European, I think. Their gangs have been moving into the UK for ages. Sometimes they partner with British firms, and sometimes they just take over.”

Firms. Perry almost shuddered at Jamie’s casual use of the word. Did anyone apart from gangsters call criminal organizations firms, as though they were accountants or solicitors?

“I wasn’t surprised they were fighting,” Jamie said. “Ritchie had been weird lately.”

“Weird how?”

“Like, erratic. Tetchy. He’d always been hot-blooded—they say he got it from his dad, my Uncle Mick—but that last year, Ritchie had turned pure mean, even to me, like he’d never been before.”

Perry wanted to urge him to drop the background and get on with the story. More precisely, get it over with.

“I was afraid they’d hear me breathing in the wardrobe.” Jamie took the ice pack from his nape and pressed it to the side of his face, as though he had a toothache. “So I shoved one of Dad’s socks in my mouth. He always tucked a pair into his shoes to save, like, ten seconds in his morning routine.”

Perry took Jamie’s other hand, needing to touch him for both their sakes. “Did you feel you were in danger?”

“I was mostly afraid of being caught out. You know how kids think.” Jamie set down the ice pack and rubbed his face, rustling his beard. “Ritchie came up right next to the wardrobe, shouting so loud I would’ve covered my ears if I could move. Denying everything, but in that over-the-top way people do when someone’s got them bang to rights. Then I heard the squonk.”

Perry’s breath hitched. “The gun drawer?”

“Aye.” Jamie wiped his mouth. “I keep going back to that moment in my mind. Wondering if I’d only done something—anything—Ritchie would still be alive. But I froze, and before I could unfreeze, it happened.”

“Jamie…” Sorrow swamped Perry’s anger, and he slid an arm around Jamie’s shoulders to pull him close. “It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Jamie’s voice came muffled against Perry’s neck. “Dad wouldn’t have killed Ritchie if he’d known I was there.”

“Maybe not that day. But from what I’ve heard, Martin MacKray does whatever he wants.” He kissed Jamie’s hair, as soft as ever but salty with sweat. “And if you’d shouted, it would’ve startled your father, and he might’ve shot you by accident.”

“I never thought of that. Dad never hurt me or my sister. Not even a wee skelp when we misbehaved.”

Maybe Martin MacKray had never physically hurt his kids, but a man like that would surely leave emotional wounds. “Has that stopped you being afraid of him?”

Jamie shook his head. “Anyone would be mad not to fear him.”

Perry rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles on Jamie’s back. It was all he could think to do.

“The gunshots.” Jamie’s body quaked. “It’s like they slammed a door in my mind. Not a solid door, but one with a smudgy window. Things got fuzzy for a while. I only vaguely remember Dad’s guys coming in to take out the—to take Ritchie out.”

“Sometimes our minds find a way to protect us from the worst.”

“Maybe, but it’s frustrating as fuck.” Jamie sat back, wiping his damp face. “I waited a long time before coming out of the wardrobe. By then my feet were so numb, I fell over, nearly cracked my skull on the windowsill. That’s when I noticed the curtains were gone, those long, mint-green curtains.” He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his lids. “The curtains, Per.”