Page 97 of Playing By Ear

“It wouldn’t be this business.” She secured the lid back on her coffee, pressing it hard. “It wouldn’t be Dad’s.”

“But it would be yours.” He touched the back of her shoulder. “That’s even better.”

She squirmed away. “Fuck’s sake, Jamie, why are you so handsy all of a sudden?”

He drew back, his face heating. “Am I?”

“Yes! What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m—” He folded his hands in his lap, intertwining his fingers so they couldn’t move. “I’m seeing someone who’s blind.” He focused on the ground in front of him, shifting a cigarette end between his toes as he spoke. “Blind people use touch to communicate more than sighted people do. It’s a way to emphasize a point, sometimes even a substitute for a smile or a frown. When you can’t see facial expressions clearly anymore, you tend to stop using them. He tries to react with his face, but I sometimes see a delay, like he’s reminding himself, ‘This is when I smile.’ He tries so hard to be normal, because that’s how his mum raised him—she’s blind too—and I want to tell him he doesn’t have to be normal with me, that normal is overrated, but I’m pretty sure he’d be insulted if⁠—”

“Hold on,” Belinda said, slapping the bench between them. “Rewind to the part where you’re seeing someone.”

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Is this the pure fit guy Valerie saw a picture of at Easter? The one you said wasn’t your boyfriend?”

He had said that, hadn’t he? “Aye.”

“Is it serious?”

“For me it is.” He glanced at her face, and maybe Perry’s inability to read expressions was contagious, because Jamie couldn’t tell whether his sister was happy-shocked or dismayed-shocked. “I didn’t lie last month when I said I wasn’t with anyone. It was true at the time.”

“What changed your mind?”

Jamie thought back to that night at the blind football match. “At the time, I just needed someone.” He fidgeted with his sleeve. “Now I need him.”

“Does he know…” When Jamie shook his head, she asked, “And he’s okay with your secrecy?”

“He’s patient. Which is enough for now.” He turned to her. “I hope you approve, because if you didn’t, I’d tell you to get tae fuck.”

“Jamie.” She turned to him, pulling up her knees and hugging them like she was a teen girl hearing the latest gossip instead of a grown woman taking over a sprawling criminal enterprise. “You’ve as much right to be happy as everyone else. More than everyone else.”

His shoulders sank in relief. “Thanks.”

“Just one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

She smacked his arm, once with each word. “Stop. Fucking. Touching. Me.”

Perry was having his arse handed to him.

He’d done reasonably well in last month’s match against Dundee Blind, and here at today’s training he’d sailed through all the drills—toe touches, dribbling in space, maintaining control against defenders—all of which had boosted his confidence.

But as soon as the five-a-side scrimmage began, Perry lost his way. Tripping over his own feet. Colliding with other players. Losing the ball at first touch. He said, I’m so sorry so many times, he sounded like a talking doll with only one line.

As they sat on the damp grass for their cool-down stretches, Brian said, “I assume things with Jamie are going well,” possibly hoping to distract Perry from his incompetence.

“Brilliant.” Perry grasped his toes to stretch his tired hamstrings. “It feels good to be close with someone again.”

“I’ll bet,” Brian said with a pinch of innuendo.

“Not like that—well, not only like that,” he said, smirking. “When we first met, Jamie was shut down about so many things. His family, his music, his feelings. But ever since the night I couldn’t read anymore, he’s really opened up.” He briefly described Jamie’s account of his mum’s tragic accident.

“That’s brutal,” Brian said, “having your mother ripped away like that. Even if he was too young to consciously remember, surely part of him does. Maybe he opened up cos you did first, about losing reading.”

“Didn’t have much choice that night.” He gave his friend a jesting poke in the side. “You were off gallivanting in the Mediterranean.”