Page 78 of Playing By Ear

“I’m sorry it’s such hell—and because of my overly long match, too.”

“The match was worth any headache,” Perry said, and it was true. “I loved every moment.”

Jamie moved close and slid a soothing hand over the back of Perry’s shoulder. “We won’t stay late, just long enough for you to meet my teammates and book their interviews for your piece.”

All these logical reasons felt a mockery. “I told you I’m not good at parties. It’s hard to follow conversations, and I end up looking rude.”

“No one’ll think you’re rude,” Jamie said. “These are good folk. The best.”

Perry sighed. Why did there need to be an argument?

He took Jamie’s hand. “If you’re to be with me, you need to accept my limitations. It’s not just about what I can’t see, it’s about the toll a so-called normal day takes. It’s like someone shoved a tap into my head, then turned it on so all my energy drips out.”

Jamie made a sympathetic noise, but his face wasn’t close enough to read. “I should’ve realized how much strain the match would be. We can just chill here tonight.”

“You deserve to celebrate with your team.”

“But I’d rather be with you.”

“And I’d rather be alone.” Perry blanched at his own words. They were the utter truth, but they would cut deep to someone like Jamie, who’d been discarded by inexplicably indifferent men.

“Oh.” Jamie’s voice was small. “Okay.” He went to pull away, but Perry held on tight.

“It’s nothing personal.” Christ, that’s what people always said when it was personal. But he was growing desperate for solitude. “I just need time to recharge.” And to find out how dire today’s vision loss really was.

“I get it,” Jamie said, and the empathy in his tone made Perry want to punch himself.

“Do you?”

“Sure. Everyone’s got things that drain their batteries. For you, it’s crowds and sunlight. For me, it’s reading books.” He gave a light laugh, then kissed Perry quickly. “I’ll put some clothes on and be out of your road, pronto.” He scooted out of the kitchen and across the hall.

Perry dug his fingernails into his palms. Jamie had no idea how much his jocular dismissal of reading books hurt. Not everyone was like Perry, who’d sooner live on bread and water than surrender the joy of losing himself in a good story.

Barely a minute later, Jamie swept back into the kitchen. “I need to work tomorrow during the day, but I could come here after? Maybe bring us a curry?” He slipped on his jacket. “If you’re not sick to the back teeth of me, that is.”

Perry was sick to the back teeth of the entire universe, but Jamie least of all. “Sounds lovely.”

He walked Jamie to the front door and saw him off with a kiss. Then he closed the door and stood in his flat’s unlit entryway, hands over his eyes, absorbing the relief of privacy. Alone, he could face the fact his world had shrunk, could stop pretending he wasn’t spiraling into grief.

From his jacket pocket he took his lighted magnifier and best pair of specs. If he couldn’t see with these…

Perry put on the glasses and returned to the kitchen. He picked up the takeaway menu from the worktop, then switched on the magnifier light.

Through his burning eyes, he could see…that there were words. Some words were long, and some were short. Some were small and black, and some were large and murky brown.

These words had many qualities, but meaning was not one of them.

Perry. Couldn’t. Read.

He tried to inhale deeply to calm himself, to stop the freight train of panic running him down, but his lungs wouldn’t allow it. His breastbone seemed to flinch away from the sobs it was trying to contain.

He had to think. Think. Think! What had he done before when his vision took a nosedive?

Brian. Of course. Perry had always phoned his best mate, who’d been through it all before him. But Brian and Sarah were away on holiday. He couldn’t interrupt the final night of their romantic Mediterranean cruise.

A ding came from his shirt pocket. “Message from Mum. ‘How was the match?’ Reply to message?”

“No.” Perry pried his fingers off the edge of the worktop and pulled out his phone. “Call Mum.”