Page 157 of Playing By Ear

“Gonnae no bother.” His father’s voice was faint and fuzzy. “Bring in her big bed, the brown tartan one by the fireplace.”

Jamie did, and Layla curled up on it, sinking down with a disgruntled sigh.

That evening they watched Leicester City clinch the English Premier League without playing, as Chelsea fought back to draw with second-place Tottenham and destroyed the latter’s title hopes. Seeing the Leicester City players partying their faces off made Jamie’s stomach flutter. Were the Warriors a few weeks away from lifting their own trophy? First they had to win the semifinal at the weekend—without Jamie.

He tried in vain to coax his father to eat, warming bits of six different covered dishes from the prior day’s visitors. Perhaps greeting friends, neighbors, and sycophants had been a sort of finish line for Martin’s life, and now he could only lie splayed on the tarmac like a spent marathoner.

Clean, safe, comfortable. The hospice people had drilled that mantra into Jamie’s mind. It didn’t matter if a dying person ate, drank, danced a jig, or simply slept, as long as they were clean, safe, and comfortable.

At bedtime, Jamie played a few soft tunes on the guitar until Martin fell into what seemed a peaceful slumber. Then he dragged his bone-weary arse to his own room.

He switched on the baby monitor. Despite his plan to leave the video off, he couldn’t help watching the monochrome image of his father sleeping. The slightly grainy quality reminded him of CCTV footage, as though any moment a masked robber might rush onscreen demanding all the cash in the till.

He turned up the volume, enough to hear Martin snoring. It gave a slight echo of the real-life noise coming from down the hall, as if his father were two people separated by an instant of time.

Jamie rolled onto his back and rubbed his face. Two months ago, life was so simple. It was all about playing: music, football, “the field.” Life sure as fuck wasn’t playing anymore.

His phone buzzed with a text from Perry:

OK to FaceTime now?

As the connection went through, Jamie got up and shut his door.

Perry’s face loomed close to the camera. “How is it tonight?”

“Not great. I fear yesterday may have been his grand finale.”

“I’m sorry.” Perry cocked his head. “What’s that noise? Are you near the railway tracks?”

“Just Dad snoring.” Jamie lowered the baby monitor’s volume. “It’s weird, but I’ve always liked that sound. When I was very young, I’d wake in the middle of the night, sometimes from a nightmare about losing my dad. I’d lie there in the dark and imagine awful violence happening to him. You know how thoughts can be after nightmares.”

“Yes, everything is so bleak then.”

“Anyway, then I’d hear him snoring in the next room, and I’d know everything was okay.” He smiled despite the effort it took. “What’s new with you?”

“I’m going to the Warriors’ semifinal Saturday with John and Ben.”

“That’s brilliant.” Jamie felt both joyful and jealous. “But are you sure? The last match was such an ordeal.”

“An ordeal I loved despite the optical strain. It’s important the fans represent at away matches.”

“Mmm, the Rainbow Regiment is a heady cult, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a cult.”

“That’s what cult members always say.”

Perry gave a wistful smile. “You don’t need to be funny if you don’t feel like it.”

“I always feel like it.” Jamie couldn’t suppress a yawn. “Sorry.”

“Go to bed, snatch some sleep while you can.”

“Bel said the same thing. When my niece was born, everyone told her, ‘Sleep when the baby sleeps.’”

“And did she follow that advice?”

“Did she, fuck. She said no mother ever does. You’re afraid to stop thinking about them for a second, and there are so many things to do. It’s not just tasks. Like right now, I want to enjoy these minutes with you when there’s nothing required of me.”