Page 147 of Playing By Ear

The tennis ball hit his toes, then an insistent snout nudged his shin. Perry bent over and moved his hand in an S pattern in front of his feet, searching for the ball. Dodger helped by nudging it against his fingertips.

As Perry reared back to throw, Dodger’s paws danced over the grass as the dog spun about with delight.

If only human happiness was so pure and simple. For a while, it had been that way with Jamie. Now, with the revelations about his family, their joy was anything but pure, and their path through this MacKray-shaped ordeal was anything but simple.

After dinner, Belinda took Lucy home, and Jamie unpacked his things in the guest room. Then he took a pillow and a set of pajamas from his dad’s bedroom and thumped down the stairs, holding the railing in case his walking boot tried to reenact his father’s tumble.

In the living room, Martin was kneeling on the floor beside the couch.

“Dad! Did you fall again?”

“Of course not.” Martin grabbed the sofa arm with his right hand and hauled himself back up. “I was just putting in a DVD.”

“I could’ve done that for you.”

“Aye, and I could’ve done it for myself, so I did.” He wouldn’t look at Jamie. “Not used to sharing the house with anyone but Layla and sometimes Gerry.”

So neither of them were thrilled with this situation. “Can I fetch you anything from the kitchen?”

“Glass of whisky wouldnae go amiss. Actually, gonnae bring the bottle of the good Islay stuff and a glass for your own self. We’ll celebrate.”

Then again, maybe the situation had its benefits.

Jamie fetched the whisky and glasses. With his good right hand, Martin twisted out the cork and poured a pair of drams.

“What are we celebrating?” Jamie asked him.

“Being alive.” Martin switched on the TV. “And my twenty-fifth viewing of this film.”

The screen displayed the DVD’s home menu.

Jamie groaned. “I cannae watch The Krays again.”

“C’mon, it’s a classic.”

“I seen it five times, thanks to you.” He raised his glass. “I will drink to being alive, though, and then I’m away upstairs to practice.”

“Practice here.”

“While you’re watching The Krays?”

“Fine, forget the film.” Martin muted the TV and slid the remote control across the coffee table. “Gonnae play for me. Show me what wee Wendy can do now.” He tapped his right temple. “The Terminator’s making my ears ring tonight. Need something to help me tune it out.”

The tinnitus, of course. Jamie couldn’t say no. His mind whirling, he went upstairs and collected his instrument from the guest room—his own room now. He’d imagined this moment a hundred times the last decade.

“Any requests?” he asked as he settled into the living room armchair.

“You know any Springsteen?”

Jamie’s smile felt tight. “Of course. You saw to that when I was first learning guitar.”

“He was me and your mum’s favorite. When we first met he was all the rage.”

“So I’ll play something off Born in the USA? Is that the right era?”

“We already had Belinda by then, but aye, sure. Every song from that album was a banger. Isn’t that the word you young folk use, banger?”

“Sometimes.” Adjusting the guitar in his lap, Jamie noticed his palms had gone damp. Funny, that. He could perform fearlessly in front of strangers—some drunk, high, or just born obnoxious—yet he was nervous playing in front of his father, literally the first person he’d ever played for?