Page 60 of Playing By Ear

The six-year-old was sitting alone on the sofa, tuning her instrument.

Belinda sat beside her. “Lucy, this is your Uncle Jamie.”

Lucy frowned. “Not Jimmy, like the song?”

“Jimmy and Jamie are both short for James,” Belinda said. “He was called Jimmy when everyone here knew him, but he calls himself Jamie now, so we’ll use that, okay?”

Jamie leaned over and spoke behind his hand to Lucy. “You can call me Uncle WhatsHisName.”

She smiled but pushed her face into her mum’s arm.

Belinda smoothed Lucy’s long, almond-gold hair. “We’re a bit shy when we’re not making music, aren’t we?”

“You play a belter of a ukulele,” Jamie said as he sat beside his niece. “Your ma says you want to learn guitar?”

Lucy nodded without looking at him.

“We’ve watched all of Uncle Jamie’s videos, haven’t we?” Belinda said. “Can you tell him which one’s your favorite?”

Lucy thumbed her lower lip for a moment. “Get Better.”

Jamie gasped. “That’s my favorite too! Frank Turner is the man.” He held up a hand for a high five.

The girl tapped her palm against his, but tentatively, like she might break him. Then she looked up at Belinda. “Where’s Grandda?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Jamie said. “Of course, he never was a fan of the kazoo.”

“He’s up in his room, still dressing,” Belinda said with an inscrutable expression.

“It’s been forever,” Lucy said.

Jamie’s sister looked at him. “Maybe you could pop in and see how he’s doing? Sometimes he gets a bit, you know, stuck.”

“Can I go too, Mum?”

Jamie added his own plea. “I could do with a fierce bodyguard like her.”

Belinda looked at her watch. “Och, I need to start the potatoes. Just make sure Dad’s decent before you let her in.”

“When was he ever decent?” Jamie muttered.

As he and Lucy climbed the stairs, the ruckus below faded only a fraction. “Loud party, int’it?” he asked her.

“Yeah.” She gave a sigh that could’ve come out of someone five times her age. “It’s too much.”

Near the top of the stairs, the master bedroom door was half open. Jamie knocked, then spoke before Martin could shout Fuck off! “Dad, it’s Lucy and her special guest.”

A deep woof sounded, then Martin said, “Well, then, ’mon in.”

Lucy gave the door a cautious push, perhaps as wary of Layla’s protectiveness and Martin’s moods as Jamie was.

His father stood in front of a full-length mirror that hung on the door of a heavy oak wardrobe. That heavy oak wardrobe, the one he’d owned for decades, the one that still made Jamie’s heart lurch like it had been sideswiped in a hit-and-run.

“Happy Easter, Grandda!”

He turned from the mirror. “Wa-hey! Gie’s a hug.” Lucy darted over and leapt into his arms. Layla bounced around them, her tail actually wagging, which Jamie hadn’t thought possible.

Martin offered a muted smile over Lucy’s shoulder. “Happy Easter, Jimmy.”