Page 163 of Playing By Ear

“I’m told it’s a security risk. That, and my dad will never allow a stranger to wipe his arse.” Jamie unfurled a towel with a snap. “Sorry for the imagery.”

“Sounds like caring for a baby.”

“That’s what makes it bearable.” Jamie set aside a stack of something white. “He did all these things for me when I was wee, after my mum died. The whole family helped, the aunties and uncles, Belinda, and Ritchie. But mostly it was my dad who looked after me. With me and Bel, he was always kind, even gentle. In his own weird way, of course. That’s why when I heard him—” Jamie swallowed. “What he did to Ritchie, that’s why it was so shattering.”

A cough came from the baby monitor on the kitchen table.

“That’s one-way audio, right?” Perry whispered.

“Aye, I keep a sticky note over the two-way switch to be sure I never turn it on accidentally.”

Perry instinctively looked over his shoulder, not that he could see much. For the first time since losing his sight, he was staying in another person’s home. And what a home to be unmoored in!

“What about his bodyguard, the big guy who patted me down when I arrived?”

“Gerry’s to stay next door unless called upon. Dad said the house was too crowded to have him ‘hulking about.’ I think it’s more like, Gerry’s a reminder of my dad’s life as a powerful man. Och, these towels are still damp.” He went to the washer/dryer combo and tossed them in with a dull metallic thud. “You know what’s the worst?” Jamie asked, returning to the table. “I’d feel so much less lost if Ritchie were here to tell me what to do.”

Perry laid a comforting hand on Jamie’s back. “He’d be, what, thirty-eight?”

Jamie nodded. “Aye, a proper adult.”

“You’re a proper adult.”

“I’m working on it.” Jamie took the stack of pajamas Perry had made and set them in the washing basket. “Staying here in this mirror-image house, I think about Ritchie all the time.”

“What’s your best memory of him?”

“We used to play football in the wee park up the road. Mostly practicing skills and that, Ritchie reminding me how lucky I was to play on grass. He grew up using a blaes pitch, and he was always banging on about getting bits of red ash embedded in his skin like it was a badge of honor. My uncles, too.”

Perry remembered riding past those coral-colored pitches as a child, wondering how anyone could play on shredded shale without flaying themselves alive.

“I’ll never forget my first successful poke tackle on him,” Jamie said. “I stole the ball, sped off, left him totally flat-footed. On our way home he said that one day I’d make a great defender.”

“Prophetic,” Perry said.

“But no kid wants to hear that. Back then we all dreamt of scoring bags of goals, becoming the next Shearer or Romário. So I got all sulky, and Ritchie, he says to me, ‘Offense wins games, but defense wins championships.’ I hadn’t heard that cliché before, so it kinda blew my mind.”

“That’s a great memory.” Perry hoped it would dispel some of his partner’s gloom.

But Jamie gave a profound sigh as he sat down and set his booted foot on the next chair with a thud. “I been thinking about Prince a lot too. How he died alone, lying in that lift at home, maybe going for help, knowing something was wrong inside him.” His voice held that hollow tone again. “And…it feels like my heart can’t hold so much pain, like it’ll split open any minute.”

Perry sat beside him. “No one should face the end alone.”

“Right? And then I come back to Ritchie’s last seconds. I wish he’d known I was there.” Jamie sniffled and ran a hand through his hair. “Am I betraying him by caring for Dad? Does that man deserve our love after what he’s done?”

Perry mulled the matter for a long moment. “Loving or not loving a person doesn’t make us good or bad. Life’s not a game, and there’s no clear-cut rule for every circumstance. It’s something I have to remind myself now and again.”

“Fair.” Jamie sounded dubious, so Perry tried again.

“Maybe it’s not about deserving or betraying or any such judgments. Maybe there’s only one question that matters: Does condemning yourself help you get through the day?”

“No. It does stop me going numb, though.” Jamie sighed again. “Talking of numbness, let’s celebrate finishing the washing. Would you mind fetching the whisky from the cupboard over the microwave?”

“Gladly. And don’t remind me where the glasses are. I need to orientate myself.” He found them on the first try and brought them and the bottle to the table.

“How are you getting on here?” Jamie asked. “Have the first six hours put the frighteners on you?”

“I got on well with Belinda and Lucy, and even your dad.” To steel his will, Perry took a sip of whisky, a thirty-year-old Bunnahabhain. “About Stuart.”