Page 13 of Playing By Ear

Perry adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, though they seemed straight already. “Like not recognizing faces or knowing when people were talking to me. I’d go to a party and one of my mates would wave at me to come over. I wouldn’t see them, of course, and they’d think me an antisocial dickhead. I hadn’t started using the cane yet, which was part of the problem. It really is a heroic tool for avoiding misunderstandings.”

“Sure,” Jamie said, to show he was still listening. Perry’s semi-posh accent was Glaswegian but with the rough edges sanded off, in the way the city’s Victorian tenement houses had been almost but not totally scrubbed of soot. Like a lot of West Enders, he also did that uptalking thing, as though every statement was a question. Jamie usually found this and other American-ish verbal tics annoying, but on Perry it was cute.

“And all those subtle, subconscious facial expressions people use when they’re reacting to what others are saying? I don’t see them anymore, so I have to remind myself to do them.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Jamie said.

“It is! And if I forget to make my face do things because I’m so focused on the conversation, then I can appear aloof or cold.”

It didn’t take an elastic imagination to see how Perry’s good looks and cleverness could make him seem a snob.

“Anyway,” Perry continued, spearing another bite of pasta, “Nathan was extremely supportive.”

“But…”

“But things went pear-shaped anyway,” Perry said, “because I was more than just a low-vision guy who needed a little support. I was still me, the me who wasn’t happy. I stayed with him because I was afraid to take a chance, afraid no one else would ever love me for who I was.” He pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “God, that sounds pathetic now I’m saying it out loud.”

“It’s not pathetic. I can relate.” Jamie straightened the edge of the white tablecloth, working out what he could reveal. “Not about the staying, but the other bit. It must’ve been hard to walk away.”

“It was.” Perry sipped his wine, his face growing pensive. “Breaking up with Nathan was the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Then it was also the bravest thing.”

“Oh.” Perry’s lips parted. “I never thought of it that way before.” He scratched his head, ruffling the lustrous, chocolate-brown waves of hair and reminding Jamie how much he wanted to touch them too.

“Why weren’t you happy?” Jamie asked. “Was he bad to you?”

“No, Nathan was never unkind. We just…fell out of love, which sometimes happens, no one’s fault.”

“Ah.” What did fell out of love even mean? It sounded accidental and surprising, like stubbing a toe.

“What about you?” Perry asked. “Let’s hear a tale from your sordid romantic backstory.”

Jamie could make something up, but then he’d have to remember the details later. “I’ve never been in love.” Full honesty was always best, when there was no cost to it. “Never even been with anyone longer than a month.”

“You’re kidding.” Perry’s dark-eyed regard intensified. Jamie hoped it was mere curiosity, not an attempt to scan him for defects.

“See, a lot of people are attracted by the music or the football. And that’s great, because it means I have loads of, erm, experiences.”

“Loads of sex,” Perry said with a smirk that heated Jamie’s face.

“Basically. But once I step off the pitch or put down the guitar, guys lose interest. They realize there’s just not that much to me.”

Perry’s forehead furrowed. “You really think there’s not much to you? Or do you simply not let people see what is there?”

Well. Jamie sat back in his chair, fumbling not just for words but for breath itself.

In the last decade, he’d mastered the art of appearing inconsequential. Every action, every expression was calibrated to maintain the mask of a shallow, harmless dolt worth barely a passing thought.

But he’d never kept his true self out of his voice. How could he, when it was his livelihood? And now here he was, sitting across the table from someone who couldn’t read his face, who understood him from voice alone.

Jamie couldn’t hide from someone like this.

“It’s complicated,” he said.

Perry arched an eyebrow. “Being complicated is the most interesting thing of all.” He tucked into his meal again, locating the remaining pasta with his fork.

Jamie’s phone burbled his sister’s message tone. Belinda was no doubt raging after he’d ignored yesterday’s texts.