Page 68 of Playing By Ear

“Does this happen a lot?” he whispered to Rosemary.

She shrugged. “Not too often. I wouldn’t worry. This guy’s probably just lost.”

“What guy?”

“Gerry said there was a Pakistani man with a bottle of wine trying to get through the front gate. He’s probably got the wrong house. Anyway, Gerry and Stuart’ll make sure he never comes back.”

A Pakistani man… “Did you say a bottle of wine?”

“Mm-hm.” Rosie jabbed her fork into a potato wedge. “Belinda should’ve let these roast a wee bit long—oi, where are you going?”

“To the gate,” Jamie said as he lurched to his feet, catching one on Miranda’s chair leg. “I think I know that guy.”

This got everyone’s attention, and as he ran for the door, he heard the family clomping behind him on the hardwood floor.

Out in the front garden, Gerry was pressing Jamie’s Uber driver up against the fence as Stuart barreled through the gate.

“I swear, I was bringing back this lost bottle!” Aziz sputtered at the bodyguard towering over him. “I was coming this way at the end of my shift. I was doing him a favor!”

Stuart reached into his jacket. Jamie froze on the doorstep, his legs gone stiff and fragile as toothpicks.

Not again. Not. Again.

He wasn’t a child now. He could stop this.

“Wait!” Jamie waved his arms as he dashed toward them. “He’s telling the truth.”

Stuart pulled his hand from his jacket—empty, thank God. “You’re sure this was your driver?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Jamie took the bottle from the driver as Gerry let him go. “Thank you for this,” he told Aziz. “Sorry about them.”

“Nae bother,” the driver said reflexively. He straightened his jacket, looked at Gerry and Stuart, then at Jamie. “You all right?”

“I’m fine. This is my family.”

“Ohhh,” Aziz said with a grimace. He started backing up toward his car. “You’ve not rated your trip yet, by the way.”

“Sorry.” Jamie pulled out his phone and brought up the app. “Five stars, obviously, and I’ll make a note of this in my review. Not this, of course.” He gestured to Gerry and Stuart, then raised the wine bottle. “But this. It was kind of you.”

“Right.” Aziz slipped into his car, locked the doors, and drove off, tires squealing.

Jamie gave him the five stars, then added a note of appreciation plus £20 to the tip. As he put his phone away, he realized he meant the extra money not only as an apology but also to assure Aziz’s silence. A pure MacKray instinct if there ever was one.

His heart grew leaden at the thought of what had almost happened to Aziz. If Jamie could bring such danger to an Uber driver, what could he do to Perry?

Chapter 13

“John’ll look after you,” Jamie said. “Not that you need looking after,” he added quickly. “I mean, he’ll tell you what’s happening on the pitch so you can follow along.”

“Cool.” Forcing himself not to clutch Jamie’s elbow too hard, Perry held his cane close to his body as they approached the shouty blur that was the spectators’ stand beside the Warriors’ home pitch. He wasn’t keen on crowds these days, and meeting several of Jamie’s mates all at once—working out which voice was whose without appearing rude or oblivious—would be a challenge. “John looks like Podric from Game of Thrones, right?” To help Perry picture the people he’d be hanging out with, Jamie had given him celebrity equivalents.

“That’s the man. John’ll be the least clueless, as one of his coworkers is vision-impaired.”

All at once, a kaleidoscopic riot of rainbow flags broke through the mist. “That’s incredible.”

“Best supporters in the world,” Jamie said.

It was hard to believe the Warriors were merely an amateur team. Many lower-tier pro clubs would’ve killed for such large, vociferous, and colorful support.