Page 42 of Playing By Ear

“Why don’t we have to wait our turn like everybody else?” Jamie had asked as Belinda helped him onto the swing—one of the big-kid swings, not the basket-shaped ones for babies who couldn’t hold the chains.

“Just cos,” she replied with a grunt, giving him that first massive push.

“Cos why?”

She sighed, as ever when he asked too many questions. “Cos their parents are scared of Dad.”

“Why?”

“‘Why?’ Aren’t you scared of him?”

“Naw, I love Daddy.”

She’d laughed then, and pushed him harder. “You can do both at the same time, ya silly wee arse.”

Jamie marveled at the state of his old play area. Instead of dingy tarmac, rusty swings, and plain gray bollards to stop people dumping stolen cars on the grass, there were wee bridges, benches, and modern-art sculptures, all in primary colors. Today the area was chockablock with young mums—plus one young dad—watching their kids spin on the roundabout, soar in the swings, and scuttle like beetles over the climbing frame.

The sun peeped out from behind mountainous clouds, and he pushed his hood back to soak it in while it lasted. With his ears out, he noticed the sound, or lack thereof. Compared to the high-octane bustle of City Centre or even the West End, the suburban-ish silence here was its own dull roar.

He walked on through the wee park on the road behind his dad’s house. Twice during Jamie’s childhood, developers had tried to buy this land for new housing, and twice they’d been discouraged by the combined forces of good folk (who wanted open spaces where youth could play) and bad folk (who wanted open spaces where youth could buy and sell drugs).

Perhaps the playground’s changes meant Provanpark as a whole was entering a new era, one that would match Belinda’s dreams of legitimacy and respectability.

Jamie assumed his dad’s gang still trafficked in drugs, weapons, and stolen goods. Had they added humans to the mix in the last decade? The thought made his gut leaden with guilt. His departure at sixteen had protected only himself, not his family’s victims, and certainly not society at large.

But he was only one man. He couldn’t stop the corruption endemic to this city, to this world. It was hard enough keeping himself—and now Perry—as safe as possible.

His thoughts drifted back to the previous night, how desperately he’d wanted to impress Perry, and how gobsmackingly impressed he’d been by Perry. It wasn’t only his celestial body and the fact he’d sucked Jamie speechless. It wasn’t even the fact Perry lived successfully on his own despite his disability—it seemed patronizing to be impressed by that.

It was the thing between them, a thing that felt right in every moment, not just the ones with music and sex and football, moments he’d excelled at with other men who had drifted through his existence. It felt right simply hanging out, like he fitted into Perry’s life and vice versa.

He reached the front porch of his boyhood home. The door’s paint looked fresh, but the color was the same pine green of Royal Bank of Scotland one-pound notes, back when those were still a thing.

He lifted his hand to knock.

“What are you doing?” came a sharp voice from next door.

Jamie yelped and pulled his hand back. “Christ, Dad.” He glared at his father, who had come round from the other side of the semi-detached villa. Layla was on lead beside him, her great gray jowls swaying. “Forgot you live in the other part now,” Jamie added, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“Maybe you’re the one should have his brain scanned.” Martin beckoned Jamie to meet him on the pavement outside the villa’s twin gates. “Gonnae let’s take a walk.”

Jamie moved to his dad’s right side to give Layla space. Like all Neapolitan mastiffs, she appeared placid, like a dormant volcano that could erupt under the right conditions. Her grandfather, Sterling—as in pound sterling—had handled a few of Jamie’s would-be bullies. It was said that since the death of Martin’s twin brother, the mastiffs were his only true and equal partners.

“Where are we going?” Jamie asked.

“To the park.” When Jamie made to turn at the corner, Martin said, “Not that wee shite park. The big one, with the loch and the swans.”

“That’s, like, a mile away. What if you get tired?”

Martin looked insulted. “I willnae.”

Jamie hesitated. His dad’s physio had recommended long walks to maintain his physical balance and mental health. But what if Martin faltered? If anyone saw his weakness, the whole family could be in danger.

“Gerry’ll follow us,” Martin added, “so if I start to fade—which I won’t—he can phone a driver. ’Mon, now.” He started walking without checking if Jamie was coming.

“I’ve done the dangerous bit,” Belinda had said. “Now it’s your turn.”

Jamie looked back at the house, where Gerry was ducking through the doorframe to avoid hitting his head. Then he hurried to match his father’s brisk pace.