Page 168 of Playing By Ear

He pulled out his phone and took a picture of his liberated foot, then attached the photo to his message:

Talking of triumphs…

Perry replied immediately with a celebratory-hands emoji, followed by:

John and Ben and I having a quick bite in Stirling. You sure you don’t need me tonight?

Jamie

Positive. Bel’s here and aunties coming later. U earned a night at home my hero

Perry

Phone you later

Pulling himself out of his romantic stupor, Jamie noticed the clock on his phone screen. “Time for your meds.”

Martin took them without grumbling for once, washing them down with the cherry Lucozade he liked. “Been meaning to ask Perry why he’s not got a guide dog.”

“He can’t apply for one until he’s mastered the white cane, which he only started using a few months ago.”

“I’ve always wondered, how do blind people look after their dogs? Like, how do they pick up their shite? Or see to it they don’t invade the rubbish bin like this one?” He patted Layla indulgently.

“Dunno.” Jamie picked up Martin’s tablet, where the Celtic match replay had ended. “Let’s find out.”

They spent the next half-hour watching videos by a charming English blind YouTuber with three million followers and loads of merch featuring her guide dog, Alexa.

They took a break when Martin began to doze off again. As Jamie double-checked the meds schedule, his father asked, “Did Perry know who you were from the start?”

An important phrasing. In a way, Perry had always known the real Jamie. “I telt him about you two weeks ago. He found out the agent I was about to sign with was connected to your firm. I had to tell him the truth.”

Martin nodded. “You’re welcome, by the way, for the agent. They telt me you turned them down.”

“I won’t get tangled up in your business.”

Martin gave a harsh sigh. “Everything I ever done was for this family.”

Jamie looked away, gritting his teeth to bite back the accusations.

“I know you don’t believe it,” Martin continued. “You think it was about money and power. But all I wanted was for you and Belinda to not have a childhood like mine.” When Jamie maintained his stubborn silence, he asked softly, “I was always good to you, wasn’t I?”

“Aye.” Jamie lifted his gaze to meet his father’s. “But that doesn’t make you good.”

Martin’s jaw clenched. “Maybe goodness is too much to ask. Did you ever think of that?” He shifted his head on the pillow. “I brought order to these parts. Folk were afraid to walk the street. But your Uncle Mick and I sorted it.”

Jamie put his face in his hands. He’d had enough.

He spoke each word with care. “Nothing—not bringing order or giving your kids a better life than you had—nothing justifies hurting innocent people. You destroy lives with the things you sell. You’ve nae mercy on anyone who gets in your way.” He lowered his hands. “What will you say when Father Borelli comes for your last confession?”

Martin’s eyes were mere squints now, but his glare was steely as ever. “That’s between me and him and the Man Upstairs.”

No. He couldn’t get off that easy. He couldn’t waltz out of life without confronting the blackness in his own soul.

Jamie got up and went to the bedroom doorway. Belinda’s voice drifted up from the living room, in the cajoling tone she used over the phone with Lucy.

He shut the door and turned to his father. “Let’s talk about Ritchie.”

The air between them seemed to freeze.