Page 143 of Playing By Ear

Then his father cleared his throat. “Perry, I would listen to your mother’s concerns about your, erm, vocation.”

“Hold on,” Perry said, “a minute ago you were in my corner.”

“I’m not sure I’ve the right to an opinion,” his dad said. “As a sighted person, that is.”

Fuck. Mum had made the argument about his blindness, thus shutting Dad out of the conversation.

“You’re my father, and that alone earns you an opinion. And that’s all it is from either of you. An opinion. I live my life the way I see fit.”

There. End of. If he’d been a teenager, Perry would have run to his bedroom and slammed the door. But he was trapped here with his parents until someone could think of another topic.

And then they’d never speak of Perry’s work again.

Chapter 27

For the second time today, Jamie lurched up the walkway to his father’s home, this time laden with a bulging bin bag of clothes and sundries. At least his guitar case provided ballast to keep him upright.

He stopped on the porch and looked over at the door to his childhood home, where he’d stood on New Year’s Day ten years prior, holding this same guitar but a different bin bag. Heading out into the unknown, because at the time, nothing was worse than the known.

The door opened suddenly, giving him a jolt.

“Why so jumpy?” Belinda asked with an devilish grin. Ah, their old game, ambushing each other then calmly reciting that line.

“Classic one,” he told her.

“Say, I need to go next door and see to a few work things.” She lowered her voice. “Can you look after Lucy?”

“Of course. Why are we whispering?”

Belinda joined him on the porch. “Because Dad usually looks after her by himself, and I don’t want him to know he’s not enough anymore.” She stepped past him. “Good luck, and don’t phone me unless someone’s on fire.”

Inside, Jamie found his father and niece at opposite ends of the long sofa, arms crossed over their chests, wearing identical sullen scowls. The television was tuned to the news.

“I wanted to watch the football,” his father said, “and she wanted to watch cartoons. So your sister made us watch something neither of us wanted.”

“A right Solomon, that one,” Jamie said.

Lucy looked up at him, still scowling. Then her gaze dropped to the guitar case in his hand, and her eyes widened.

“Here’s an idea.” He raised the guitar. “Dad, you watch the match while I give Lucy her first lesson.”

She gasped, then covered her smile with both hands just as her mum did as a teenager, shrouding her excitement to avoid looking uncool.

“Cheers.” Martin picked up the remote control. “Now away and gi’e my head peace.”

“We’ll go out on the terrace. It’s a lovely day.” And from there he’d be able to hear his father call for help. As he followed Lucy outside, he left the sliding glass door open behind them. Layla came and sat on the threshold, sniffing the air.

He opened the case and pulled out the scuffed amber guitar. “Wendy, this is Lucy. Lucy, Wendy.”

“Hiya,” Lucy said with only a touch of eyeroll. “Is she called Wendy for the girl in Peter Pan?”

He rubbed at the ache in his chest, then focused on tuning the instrument. “Wendy and Lisa—Lisa’s my other guitar—are musicians who played with my favorite singer, Prince.”

“Oh. He died.”

Jamie nodded, thumbing the low E string and watching the tuner’s screen. “Last Thursday.” Had it been but three days? So much had happened since.

“Are you sad?” she asked.