Page 137 of Playing By Ear

At the barest nod of reply, Jamie turned the TV on. Martin picked up the media player console’s remote control and waved Jamie off like a master dismissing a servant.

A quick peek in the fridge showed eggs and square sausage but no rolls. Not an ideal breakfast, but it would suffice.

As he shut the refrigerator door, Layla appeared behind it, ears perked, eyes hopeful.

While the sausage cooked, Jamie fed the dog her special mix of dry food and fancy tinned stew. Her tail waved placidly as she ate, her velvety ear flaps folding against the rim of the stainless-steel bowl.

Jamie brought his father’s food out on a tray and set it on the coffee table.

Martin took hold of the sofa arm with his right hand and clumsily pulled himself to sit on the edge. “First I need the toilet.”

“Okay.” Jamie put the cane in his father’s right hand, then moved to his left side, ready to steady him while he stood. But after an instant it was clear Martin needed more than steadying. Jamie wrapped an arm around his back to help hoist him up.

“Aaagh!” Martin cried out and pulled away. “Watch what you’re doing.”

“What did I do? Are you hurt?”

His father grimaced. “Just a wee bruise.”

“Where?”

“Hereabouts.” He touched the outside of his left shoulder. “It’s not bad.”

“Can I have a look?” When Martin’s lips formed a tight line, Jamie added, “The sooner I see what we’re dealing with, the sooner you can go to the toilet and then back here to eat your eggs and sausage, which I guarantee are on the good side of mediocre.”

Martin sighed, then started to unbutton his shirt with his right hand only.

“I got it.” Jamie undid the buttons, then slid the shirt off his left shoulder. “Christ.” The bruise on his deltoid, just past where his white sleeveless vest ended, was the size and color of a plum.

“You need to learn how to not make that face,” Martin said. “You’re gonnae see a lot worse than this in the near future.”

“Sorry.” Jamie carefully slipped the sleeve down farther, revealing another bruise just above the elbow. “These’ll need ice. Let me check to see nothing’s broken. Please be honest about how much it hurts.” He took Martin’s shoulder and elbow slowly through their normal range of motion the way the nurses had taught him. Apart from another frown, there were no further signs of pain. “I think it’s only a bruise, but I’ll phone the nurse just in case. First let’s get you to the loo.”

Avoiding pressure on the shoulder and elbow, he supported Martin’s left side and got him standing. Though the left foot dragged, his father was able to walk using the cane with Jamie on the other side in support. He entered the toilet in the hall and slammed the door shut.

Jamie stood in the living room doorway to guard his dad’s breakfast from Layla. He scrutinized the blanketed couch, the shoes beneath the coffee table, then the spot in the hall where he’d found the cane.

Oh no. Oh God. Fuck.

When his father was finished, Jamie guided him back to the couch and helped him sit.

As Martin started to eat, Jamie asked, “Did you fall down the stairs?”

His father paused with his fork above his plate, looking like a child caught out misbehaving. Then he shrugged and popped the bite of eggs in his mouth. “Not all of them.”

“You’ve got to be checked out, make sure you’ve no concussion or broken⁠—”

“It was only a few stairs. That’s as far as I—you know.” He took another bite.

As far as he got before falling. “Did you black out?”

“I never blacked out. It’d take more than that wee tumble to crack this skull.” He knocked on his head. “Quality eggs and sausage, by the way.”

“Please tell me exactly what happened.” Jamie glanced at the TV. “Pretend you’re recapping a goal scored.”

Martin chewed his bite of sausage, giving Jamie the side-eye. Then he wiped his mouth. “I was going up to bed, holding the banister with my left hand, my cane in my right. Then I think it was on the third stair, my hand slipped off the railing, and I pitched over into the newel.”

“The what?”