Page 113 of Playing By Ear

“…wondering if you ever feel nervous?” asked a young person, perhaps a teenager, of indeterminate gender. Perry held back to avoid inserting himself.

“All the time,” Jamie said. “When that happens, I try to just focus on the music and how I want it to move people.”

“Ah, okay. I play keyboards, see, and I’d really like to start busking.”

“But you’re feart of performing?”

“Not performing,” the young person said. “I do piano recitals, but people have to be polite there. On the street, anything could happen. Like that guy harassing you today. I’d cry or boak if somebody did that to me.”

“Busking’s not easy,” Jamie said, “but I think every musician who loves connecting with people should have a go. Knowing you added a wee bit of unexpected joy to someone’s day? Nothing compares. You never know who you might save.” There came a rummaging noise. “Anyway, here’s my card. Drop me a text sometime and we’ll do a set together.”

“What, seriously?” the youngster said.

“Aye, a busker did that for me when I was sixteen. I was ready to quit, and she helped me out.”

“Oh my God, you’re a legend! Wait’ll I tell Dad.” The slap of shoes against paving stones faded into the distance, so Perry resumed his approach.

“That was kind of you,” a woman said. Perry stopped again, pulling out his phone so it wouldn’t look like he was eavesdropping, even though he was totally eavesdropping.

“I mean it,” she continued. “Most artists as gifted as you are selfish gits. I should know, I deal with musicians all day long for my job.”

“Oh, aye?” Jamie asked. “What’s that?”

“I’m a talent agent.”

“Ah. Lovely.” Jamie’s tone turned puzzlingly polite, almost standoffish. “Well, it was good meeting you, but I need to shift⁠—”

“Have you got an agent or a manager? You do, don’t you? I’m probably wasting my time.”

“I don’t, but I’m not currently seeking representation.”

What in God’s name? Perry considered barging in to overrule Jamie, who clearly wasn’t thinking straight.

“Understandable,” she said. “We agents can be so abrasive when we want something, and we always want something. If you change your mind, here’s my card.”

“Thanks.” Jamie’s voice was brighter now that the conversation was ending. “Glad you enjoyed the set.”

They exchanged goodbyes, and Perry hurried over to Jamie. “Why did you brush her off? That could be your big break.”

“The agent? Yeah, I get an offer about once a month.” There came the clink and jangle of coins being scraped up and gathered into Jamie’s loot bag. “Usually they just chuck their cards into my case. At least this one stopped to chat.”

“Why don’t you⁠—”

“Perry, you want to get out of here? Do something else?”

“What? No. If I looked bored during your session, I wasn’t. That’s my hard-listening face.”

“I know. It’s me who wants to stop.” He stood and touched Perry’s arm. “I want to spend this gorgeous day with my gorgeous boyfriend, somewhere no drunken brute can ruin our happiness.”

Perry laughed with relief. “All right, then, let’s do it.”

“Good.” Jamie stepped forward and embraced him with a fervor that robbed Perry’s breath.

“Oh.” Perry hugged him back tentatively. “What’s⁠—”

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” Jamie whispered. “I’d die first, I swear it.” His arms tightened, his heart thumping against Perry’s chest. “I would die.”

“You said you’d sort this,” Jamie told Belinda, using the allegedly secure phone she’d given him. “Then Dad said he would sort it.” He turned the last corner before their father’s house, checking for neighbors who might hear. “He’s had a week—and you’ve had two weeks—while that man is still harassing me. At my job, no less.”