Page 31 of Playing By Ear

Oops.

Perry turned away, shoulders hunched and arms akimbo, like he was ready for a street brawl instead of a football match.

Jamie sat down quickly and crammed his hands into his armpits. So much for not calling attention to himself. He had to get Perry alone afterward, try to explain.

A minute later, the halftime whistle blew, so he added his applause to the crowd’s as the teams walked off the pitch.

“Did Perry not know you were coming?” Sarah asked.

“It was meant to be a surprise.”

She laughed and patted him again. “I’m sure he’s glad you’re here.”

Jamie didn’t know Perry well, but he doubted that was his glad-you’re-here face.

The other friends and family members came over to welcome Jamie into their band of loyal Glasgow Blind supporters. Now that they could chat out loud, he asked the torrent of questions he’d saved up in silence.

But only Perry could answer Jamie’s biggest question, the one that dwarfed the rest like a mountain dwarfed a hillock: Will he forgive me?

“About once a month,” said Dennis, the brother of a Glasgow player, regarding the frequency of matches. “Just as well it’s not more frequent, as our VIPs usually come off with more than a few bruises.”

“VIPs?” Jamie asked.

“Visually impaired person,” Dennis said.

“It’s ‘vision-impaired’ now,” said Hazel, another player’s elderly mum. “Because ‘visually impaired’ sounds as though they’re hard to look at.” She gave a girlish giggle. “Which definitely does not apply to your Perry.”

At her last two words, Jamie’s face warmed with pleasure and regret. “I cannae claim him as mine. We’ve had but one date.”

“Yet here you are.” Hazel leaned over and squeezed his shoulder, for the supporters seemed as handsy as their VIPs.

There was a nudge at his knee. Dodger had woken fully and was sending him a wide doggy grin.

“Go on,” Sarah said. “He’s not working at the minute.” She ruffled the fur on the back of his shoulders. “You’re just a dog right now, aye? Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”

Jamie squatted on the floor to bring himself to Dodger’s eye level. The dog responded with a giant sloppy kiss. “I miss living with one since I left home.”

“What sort of dog did you grow up with?”

“Nea—” The word Neapolitan stuck in his throat. One of the things Martin was locally famous for—apart from terrorizing North East Glasgow—was his affection for that breed of mastiff. “Newfoundlands. We had Newfoundlands.”

“They’ve such dear hearts, I’ve heard.”

“What about you? Is Dodger your first dog?”

“He’s our first guide dog, but we’ve also got an ancient cocker spaniel called Wee Bit. That’s short for Weetabix cos she’s the same color as the cereal…”

Jamie nodded along and asked evocative questions about the dogs of her life. He liked people and enjoyed getting to know them, as long as the knowing didn’t go both ways. Luckily, most folk were happiest talking about themselves.

The second half began with Perry back on the bench, which helped Jamie focus on the match itself and the subtle ways this sport was different to his own.

The blind game was as physical as sighted football, and the ball rarely slowed during open play. Anyone attempting a leisurely pass would find an opponent swooping in with a fearless tackle. Constant motion was the only way to prevail.

Perry was subbed in again with five minutes to go. Jamie’s stomach tightened at the sight of him striding onto the pitch, looking more defiant than before, his shoulders back and his chin up.

With any other man he’d been with, Jamie would be focusing on their thighs or arse, reminiscing or fantasizing how they’d feel under his palms and fingers. But now all he could imagine was how Perry’s face had looked when he’d received Jamie’s last text.

The whistle blew, and Perry made a beeline for the ball, his deep-voiced Voy! giving Jamie a thrill of recognition.