Page 140 of Playing By Ear

At the sight of Lucy, Martin’s face lost all its stubborn misery. “There’s my wee lassie!”

With a burst of laughter, Lucy skipped over and plopped onto the couch, bumping Martin’s left arm. Jamie tensed, but Martin barely winced at the collision with his bruises. Layla joined in the reunion, sending a joyous shower of slobber over both of them.

“Lucy, Mummy needs to chat to Uncle Jamie for a minute. Don’t let Grandda feed Layla from his plate, okay?” Belinda pulled Jamie up onto the stairs to sit down. “Were you here when he fell?”

“No, it happened last night when he was alone. Gerry’s got the weekend off.”

“He hates for Gerry or any of the staff to see him like this.” She looked at Jamie’s walking boot. “What happened to you?”

“Football. By the way, what’s this thing called?” He tapped the post at the bottom of the stair railing.

“A newel, I think. Why?”

“Never mind.”

“Tell me.”

“Dad called it that. I thought the brain tumor was inventing words.”

Belinda covered her mouth just in time to muffle her laughter.

“Shut it,” he said. “Not to be Mr. Brightside, but at least now we can stop worrying about him grabbing a pistol to play Suicide by Rival.” Hopefully that would end one of Jamie’s newest recurring nightmares. “How long can you stay today?”

She scowled. “You’re still going to your boyfriend’s match after what happened?”

“No, I’m going home so I can pack a bag for staying here until…from now on.”

“Oh.” Her face softened. “I never expected you to do that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I suppose I thought”—Belinda twisted her hands in her lap—“I never thought that far ahead. The hospice nurses and doctors and care assistants will be here more often as things progress.”

“But not round the clock.”

“No.” She swept back her unusually lifeless blond hair. Jamie wondered whether he had the same dark-purple half-moons under his own eyes. “I’m sorry this is falling on you,” she said.

“You’ve got Lucy and the business to look after. It should be me.” He nudged his shoulder against hers. “After all, I’m the doting daughter.”

She managed a smile. “That is true.” Her smile faded. “I need to meet with Valerie about his personal finances. Insurance and securities and various assets. Put everything in order.” Her lower jaw tucked under, giving her the appearance of an overbite. “Thank God Stuart’s got most of the firm in hand. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Jamie thought of Perry, how instead of turning his back, he was more supportive than ever. Once Martin was gone, perhaps Jamie and Perry would have a right stooshie over the secret he’d kept.

But for now there was grace, and Jamie needed all he could get.

In Perry’s Sunday afternoon away match, Glasgow beat Edinburgh 1-4, with Perry scoring on a free kick. Afterward, he and his parents joined his teammates and their friends and family for a victory supper and pints.

So by the car ride home—Perry sitting up front to avoid the motion sickness that struck him on longer journeys—the three of them were in the best of spirits. It was a stark change from the morning’s trip to Edinburgh, when Perry had been too nervous about the match—and still processing Jamie’s big secret—to carry much conversation.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” his father said, “how’s your writing? Still receiving enough assignments?”

“Not as many as when I was a sportswriter, but enough to keep me busy. I’ve a new assignment for a piece on Eurovision’s accessibility accommodations.”

“Oh, will the final be audio-described this year?” his mum asked.

“No, sadly, only close-captioned,” Perry told her. “I suppose they think hearing the music is enough for vision-impaired people.”

“But the visuals are half the spectacle,” his dad said. “Often they’re beyond any words I can find.”