Page 136 of Playing By Ear

Perry thought of The Little Prince, how Jamie had reacted to his copy of it the night they’d cleared out his bookshelf. Was there still a lost and lonely child inside this man, a child who would always be trapped in that dark wardrobe?

He found Jamie’s hand and answered honestly. “I think so.”

Chapter 26

Far too early the next morning, Jamie hobbled up the walkway to his father’s front door. After what had gone down yesterday with Perry, he felt too raw for the usual Sunday visit to his mum’s grave. But Belinda had rearranged her commitments to spend the day with their dad so Jamie could go to Perry’s match. A quick trip to Riddrie Cemetery was the least he could do.

He used the passcode to let himself in. As the door creaked open, he called out a cautious hello and was greeted with Layla’s friendly-ish woof. Yaaas, he was finally in the elephant dog’s good books.

The television blared from the living room. Crossing the entrance hall, Jamie bashed an object with his walking boot, an object that rattled as it hit the bottom of the staircase.

His father’s cane. On the floor.

Jamie snatched up the cane and lurched into the living room. “Dad, are you⁠—”

Martin looked up from the couch. “Jimmy!” He looked at the walking boot. “The fuck happened? Was it Coyle’s men?” His face reddened with rage. “Knew I should’ve massacred them in their beds.”

“It wasn’t foul play.” Jamie took a deep breath to calm his stuttering heart. “More like, fool play.”

“Eh?”

“Football injury.” Technically this was true. “Grade one sprain, they think. Should be brand new in a couple of weeks.”

“What about the semifinal?”

Jamie quenched the spark of pleasure he felt at the fact his father had remembered. “I won’t play in that. But if we reach the final, I might sub in.” He brought the cane over to his dad, who was wearing a rumpled dress shirt and trousers. “Why the smart clothes? Did you go to early Mass?”

“Oh. Nah, it’s…” Martin waved his hand and said no more, as if the gesture gave the sentence a satisfactory end.

Jamie looked around the living room. Though the morning was warm, the blanket that usually lay folded on the back of the armchair was crumpled at one end of the couch. Martin’s beloved Italian leather shoes sat beneath the coffee table rather than in their rightful place in the bedroom wardrobe.

“Did you sleep here last night?” Jamie asked.

“Mm.” His father fixed an intent gaze on the television, which was playing what looked like last night’s Match of the Day.

“I’ll make tea,” Jamie said, at a loss for what else to do.

In the kitchen, there were no signs breakfast had been made for Martin or Layla. Even the kettle was cold and empty.

Jamie stepped back into the living room and blocked the TV. “What’s going on? Where’s Gerry?”

“Weekend off.” Martin leaned to peer around him. “He’s earned it.”

“Isn’t there meant to be a backup security guy for when Gerry’s not here?” When his father didn’t respond, Jamie grabbed the remote from the coffee table and shut off the telly.

Martin’s eyes flashed at this imposition, but not as hotly as they once would have done. “I’ve got Layla. Besides…” He looked up wearily. “What’s the point of security when there’s nae life to protect?”

Jamie rubbed his brows, trying to keep the head. However bad today was, it was no doubt better than all the days to come.

He sat beside his father. “What can I do for you?”

“Put the match back on, for starters.”

“It’s just a replay, not a match.”

“Can I not fucking watch what I want to watch in my own house?”

“If I switch it back on, will you eat and drink something?”