Page 181 of Playing By Ear

“Your music isn’t rubbish,” Perry said softly. “I wish I hadn’t had to overhear it to hear it.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you about my songs not having words. They weren’t worthy of you yet.”

“That’s not why you didn’t share them.” He put a gentle hand on Jamie’s knee. “Did you think I wouldn’t love you if I knew what you held inside? If so, you don’t understand how well I already understand you.” He tilted his head. “To be fair, I did think ‘Sad Slow B Minor’ was a love song.”

Jamie gave a shaky smile, then leaned in to rest his head on Perry’s shoulder.

Heavy footsteps came up the stairs. Perry tensed.

Jamie straightened up. “Dad’s sleeping,” he called out.

“He’d want me to wake him for this.” Stuart knocked sharply on Martin’s door, then went in without waiting to be beckoned.

“Wonder what that’s all about,” Jamie said as Martin’s door shut behind his brother-in-law.

“Probably me. It turns out you weren’t the only one flagging your name in the football forums.”

“Sorry?”

“My camming career made it to the gangster grapevine. Stuart said one of the family’s rivals is threatening to go public.”

“Fucking hell.” Jamie got up and went to the window. “What are we gonnae do?”

Perry joined him so he could see Jamie’s face. “I’m going to take the bull by the horns and write my way out. Like Hamilton.”

Jamie frowned. “The town or the football club?”

“Alexander Hamilton. From the musical.”

“You like musicals?”

“Some. Anyway, Hamilton’s enemies discover his dodgy accounts and accuse him of embezzling from the Treasury. But actually he’s being blackmailed by his mistress’s husband. So Hamilton writes a pamphlet, telling the world about the whole sordid affair. That way no one can use the scandal to wield power over him.”

“And how did that work out?”

“Erm, not great. I’ll be more careful.”

Jamie adjusted the rollup blind to let in more of the rainy day’s soft light. “By ‘write your way out,’ you mean…”

“I was already planning a piece about camming. I even lined up interviews with fellow models. I wanted to explore how the job both liberates and shackles us, what the tradeoffs are, that sort of thing. But it was going to be anonymous.”

“And now it’s not?” Jamie brightened. “Oh, you’re getting ahead of the story. Blowing your own cover gives you more control.”

“Exactly. But that’s not all it gives me. Revealing my identity means I can write about being a blind sex worker. I can explore so many more dimensions.”

“And the phrase ‘blind sex worker’ will bring all the clicks.” Jamie unlatched the window. “Especially if they use a photo of your gorgeous self.”

“Oh.” Perry hadn’t considered showing his full face to the world. The thought made him feel like he was atop a roller coaster’s first hill. “Part of my piece will discuss why I’m thinking of quitting.”

Jamie paused as he lifted the window sash. “Quitting? Why?”

“At first I thought it was shame, like after I told my parents. Then I realized it’s the money.”

“You’re making bags of it.”

“But the more money I make, the less in-control I feel. I’ve turned myself into a product.” He laid a hand on the window’s chilly glass. “It’s harder to remember there’s a Peregrine beneath the Falcon.”

“You feel you’re losing yourself?”