Page 61 of Playing By Ear

“He’s called Jamie now.” Lucy wriggled free onto the floor, then pointed to the bright-green tie hanging undone around Martin’s neck, a tie featuring Grampy Rabbit from Peppa Pig. “It’s the one I gave you!”

“That’s right, doll.” He shrugged at Jamie. “She said I need to lighten up. Cannae imagine why.”

“Mm.” Jamie stared, tongue-tied, into the depths of the wardrobe. He could still see the light leaking through the crack between the doors, could still smell the mix of shoe leather, sweat, and dry-cleaning fluid, could still hear⁠—

“What you gawpin’ at?”

Jamie jerked his gaze up to the face in the mirror beside his. “Nothing.”

Martin focused on his own reflection again. Other than the tie, he was fully dressed in black—suit and shirt alike—because even on Easter he sported gangster chic. His thick auburn hair and beard finished the larger-than-life portrait of a man no one dared challenge.

But when he touched the ends of his tie, his fingers trembled, and his slate-blue eyes lost their default glower.

“Want some help with that?” Jamie asked, then wished he’d phrased it differently.

His dad started to shake his head, then looked at Lucy, who was bending her knees and twisting her hips, admiring the twirl of her yellow pleated skirt but also subtly urging them to hurry up. If only adults were half as easy to read.

“Fine.” Martin practically swallowed the word before it could leave his mouth. “Get on with it.”

Jamie grasped the ends of his father’s tie. “Half-Windsor okay?”

“Aye, it’s only Easter, not a wedding.”

Jamie wound the wide end of the tie around the narrow end. He had to get this right on the first try.

“Mind that one Easter,” Martin said, “when you put a suit on by yourself the first time? What were you, six, seven?”

“Something like that. Chin up.” Jamie slid the wide end through the neck loop. “But you still had to tie my tie.” He’d stood on a chair while his father walked him through the steps with uncharacteristic patience.

“And once I taught you, you never needed help again.”

Jamie threaded the wide end through the knot. “Let me get the last button before I pull this tight.”

“I can do it,” Martin said, but let Jamie fasten it anyway.

The collar was so loose, the shirt seemed a size too big. “Have you got a collar pin we can use to⁠—”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Martin brushed Jamie’s hands away and turned to the mirror to tug the knot tight. “What do you think, Lucy?” He spread his hands. “Your tie look all right?”

“It looks brilliant,” she declared, enunciating each word.

“You are dead right.” Martin examined the knot in the mirror. “Your uncle got the wee dimple all centered and everything.”

Jamie tamped down the flare of pride as he picked up Martin’s suit jacket.

Martin slipped his arms into the jacket sleeves. “It’s like having a valet. A man could get used to this.” He tugged his jacket closed. “Well, what are we waiting for? Party time.” His smile for Lucy was softer than any Jamie had ever seen him wear.

As his niece led the way out of the bedroom, Jamie said, “Ritchie helped me.”

Martin paused on the threshold. “What did you say?”

“With my tie, when I was a wean. I forgot what you’d taught me, and I was scared to ask you again.”

“Why?” The word was almost a bark.

“Because you warned me not to ask. You said, ‘Pay attention, cos I’m only showing you once.’”

His father’s left hand twitched, fingers rubbing against his thumb. “Hm.” He moved forward again, talking to Lucy. “I’m pure starving, doll. Tell me all about the scran your mum and dad put out.”