Page 27 of Playing By Ear

“Nae bother.” Jamie wasn’t usually the sort who called out others’ language. But he was on edge tonight, and the penalties were the least of it.

By the time every player had taken three shots in turn, all but Jamie had scored at least twice. He scored exactly fuck-all. His last attempt went so wide of the goal that Terence, Heather’s backup at goalkeeper, just stood and watched its sad, slow journey to the wall.

At the end of training session, Charlotte beckoned him and Heather. “This needs seen to before the quarterfinal,” she said to them, pulling off her whistle and disentangling it from her long, stick-straight, light-brown hair. “Can both of youse come a half hour early next Tuesday?”

“Aye, nae bother,” Heather said.

Jamie nodded. “Whatever it takes.”

“Brilliant.” Heather gave him a fist bump, her bulky yellow goalkeeper’s glove dwarfing his hand. “We’ll get you sorted!” she called out as she trotted away.

“I won’t let the team down,” he told his manager.

“I know. We’ve all got faith in you. Now you need to have faith in yourself.” Charlotte examined his face with her pale-blue eyes, and for the first time ever, he noticed small lines around their edges. “Something on your mind besides penalties?” she asked.

He wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I saw my dad yesterday.”

She did a double-take. “Is he dead?”

Jamie almost laughed at Charlotte jumping to the same conclusion as he’d done when Belinda had first approached him. “Not yet.” He explained the situation, and Charlotte’s face fell as she listened.

“I’m so sorry, lad,” she said. “My partner’s father had brain cancer, and it was hell on the family. Is there anything I can do?”

“Keep it a secret.” A Provanpark native herself and more than ten years his senior, Charlotte was Jamie’s only friend who knew his real name and background. “If word gets out Dad’s in a weak position, my family could be in danger.”

“I’ll keep my gob shut.” Charlotte stepped closer and spoke under the din of rowdy footballers. “Have you got anyone else to confide in?”

“You mean, somebody who knows…” he waved his hand in a circle “…everything?”

“Not necessarily everything.” Her thick, tawny eyebrows pinched together. “I understand why your family background makes you feel you cannae get close to anyone, but you’ll need support. I’m always here if you need it, lad.”

“Thanks.”

“And maybe now’s a good time to start opening up to more people, show them who you really are.” Charlotte patted his cheek. “You’re good for a lot more than a laugh and a tune.”

“How was your date Saturday night?” Brian asked as he and Perry kitted up with their teammates in the Woodside Football Complex changing room.

Perry paused halfway into his jersey top. “Great. Great.” Thank God Brian couldn’t see his face. “Yeah, great.”

Brian hesitated, maybe waiting for Perry to expound on that word. “Okaaaay. So you’re seeing him again?”

“Maybe. Possibly.” Why couldn’t he tell his best mate at least an abridged version? Something like, We had a nice time but there wasn’t much of a spark. No, that would be a much bigger lie than Great, yeah, great.

“That bad, eh?” Brian said. “Did you minimize your vision loss? I told you not to minimize.”

“I didn’t minimize.” He slipped a shin guard inside one of his long socks, shimmying it into place. “It was a really good evening. I thought we had a connection.”

“But…”

“But I’m not sure the feeling was mutual.”

“Got it.” Brian taped gauze over his own right eye, creating a stark white patch against his dark skin. His RP was further advanced than Perry’s. While they’d met playing for a partially sighted team, Brian had graduated to blind football three years prior, two years before Perry. In so many big and small ways, Perry’s best mate was his trailblazer, a glimpse into a future full of challenges and triumphs.

Brian handed him the gauze and tape. Perry made his own patches and adhered them to his face, musing how odd it felt to deliberately make himself see less. Then he slipped on his black, mask-shaped eyeshade. The neoprene exterior protected his forehead and most of his nose, while the foam lining kept it comfortable.

In the full darkness, his eyes finally relaxed, no longer straining to glimpse his surroundings. Now his other senses could come to the fore.

Perry’s real-life blindness would likely never approach the total darkness of this eyeshade. Even his mum could discern light and shadow. Still, knowing he could function without any sight at all gave Perry confidence about his potentially dim future.