Page 66 of Playing By Ear

“Och,” his dad said, “all the strength in the world to him. Mr. Ellsworth up the street—the one who’d shout at all you kids not to play hide-and-seek in his rhododendrons? Poor man’s got lung cancer.”

“Heartbreaking what cancer does to a person,” his mum said. “And it’s so hard on the people caring for them. Your new man’ll need your support.” She touched the side of his arm, first finding it, then giving it a light squeeze. “Notice I said support, not fixing. Remember what happened with Nathan.”

“I remember.” Perry’s ex had had a difficult relationship with his parents, and Perry had pushed him toward reconciliation, wanting his boyfriend to find the sort of familial happiness he’d been blessed with. But some wounds were better left to scar. “I’ll support Jamie the best I can.”

“Sometimes when a person doesn’t want to talk about their past,” she said, “it means there’s serious trauma there. You don’t want to poke at that.”

“I know.” He wasn’t a qualified therapist like his mum, just a nosy journalist, and if he dug too far and too deep, he could damage the man he’d come to care about, just when that man needed him most.

His phone announced another text from Jamie. “Read message?” it asked. He was opening his mouth to say no when the waiter stopped at their table.

“More wine?” The waiter touched Perry’s shoulder to show he was talking to him.

“Yes, please,” he told the waiter.

His phone dinged. “‘Having roast lamb but can’t stop thinking how your cock would make a better meal, aubergine emoji, surprised-face-with-open-mouth emoji.’ Reply to message?”

The waiter froze mid-pour, and the restaurant went suddenly silent. Perry hoped to God the phone had spoken too quickly for sighted people’s untrained ears.

His mum choked back a laugh. Of course she’d understood it.

“Erm, no,” Perry told the phone, his face aflame. Then he picked it up and pressed the home button three times.

“VoiceOver off,” the device announced in a satisfied tone, as if to say My work here is done.

Perry cleared his throat and picked up his fork. “So.” His voice came out unusually high-pitched. “How are Mr. Ellsworth’s rhododendrons? Blooming yet?”

“Fiona, what on earth are you laughing at?” his father asked. “Perry, you’ve made your mother cry.”

“I’ll—” She laughed harder, muffling it with what sounded like her napkin. “I’ll tell you later.”

“You will not,” Perry said.

“It’s hilarious,” she said. “And it’s not fair to shut your father out of the joke.”

“What joke?” his dad asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Perry told him.

“I really do.” His father’s chair slid back from the table, feet rasping the wooden floor. “But you two negotiate terms while I find the loo.”

When his footsteps receded, Perry’s mother snickered. “Funny how sexting takes on a whole new dimension with a screen reader.”

“Oh my God, Mum.” He covered his ears.

“What, did you think you millennials invented that, too?”

“Can we not just forget it?”

“I’ll forget it as soon as it stops amusing me.”

“Great.” He was lucky to have parents who fully accepted his sexuality, but it was poor consolation at the moment.

Perry opened his messaging app, then pinched and pulled the text large enough to read it as he typed a reply to Jamie.

Oddly, the letters appeared blurrier than usual. Perhaps his phone battery was going low and it had altered the display settings to save power. There were never enough places to charge devices on holiday.

“Seriously, though,” his mum said, “people with disabilities are so often regarded as sexless creatures. It’s good you’ve found someone who likes you for more than your wit and intellect.”