Page 5 of Playing By Ear

“Youse all need to hear Jamie play guitar,” Emmett told the shoppers in front of him. “He’s brilliant.”

“Thanks.” Jamie tugged the edge of his tarp over his amp to protect it from the light but steady rain. “Have you seen a man come by here with a cane?”

“The old yin with the Rangers slouchy beanie?” Emmett whipped the yo-yos round his head like helicopter rotors. “Looked a wee bit lost. He your da?”

“Not that sort of cane. A long white cane, for blind people.”

“I saw him,” said one of the shoppers, a middle-aged ginger woman wearing a heavy layer of makeup and holding a Gap carrier bag. “Sunglasses, dark hair, potentially gorgeous?”

Jamie grinned at her. “Aye, that’s him.”

“He came out of Forbidden Planet not five minutes ago, going that way.” She pointed south.

So he’d not taken the subway. “Thanks,” Jamie told her as he moved off. “Later, Emmett!”

“Good luck!” the yo-yo master called, then returned to his rapid-fire show patter.

Jamie quickened his pace as much as he dared, given the trolley’s instability. The right front wheel had grown a bit shoogly of late and now seemed keen to wobble off the trolley and roll away on its own. He had no screwdriver to put it back together if it fell apart now.

The pedestrian street ahead was packed with what looked like a Catholic girls’ school trip. Jamie veered back to the pavement, wondering what could be educational about overpriced cafés and chain shops.

The rain fell harder, but Jamie didn’t stop to pull out his umbrella. It would only slow him down. He strengthened his resolve with the memory of his first glimpse of Perry: carefully styled waves of brown hair that seem to defy gravity, a set of broad shoulders beneath a light, fashionable leather jacket.

And that soft smile, quivering at the corners, the smile that had made him miss a chord.

The past merged into present as he saw the man himself on the next corner, reaching for the door of a taxi.

“Perry!” Jamie took off, clutching the trolley handle to keep control as he sped downhill, veering around pedestrians, chanting, “Sorry sorry sorry,” like some rom-com hero chasing his beloved through an airport.

Perry stood beside the open door of the taxi, folding up his cane. Jamie shouted his name again into the downpour.

The man paused, half in and half out of the car. Jamie made one last push.

“Perry, wait!”

Perry took a step away from the taxi. “Who’s there?” he called out.

“Jamie.” He slowed the trolley, fighting gravity to avoid mowing Perry down. “The guitarist.”

“Oh. Hello.” That smile again.

“The note you left.” Jamie came to a halt a few feet away, panting hard, fingers aching from the trolley handle. “It was better than money.”

“Compliments are a form of currency, I suppose,” Perry said, “though they don’t exactly pay the rent.”

“They kinda do.” Jamie came around the trolley to step closer to Perry. “Cos they inspire me to keep doing the thing which does pay the rent.”

Perry took off his sunglasses and looked straight at him. Like his hair, his eyes were soft and brown, with a touch of whimsy (“Potentially gorgeous,” the prophetic ginger lady had said). “I meant what I said in the note. You’re tremendous.”

“Oh.” Jamie’s face warmed, defying the drenching rain. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Is there somewhere you need to be just now?”

“Indoors, for starters.” A lock of damp hair flopped over Perry’s forehead. “You as well, I should think.”

“How about a coffee?” Jamie pulled the loyalty card from his pocket. “Apparently I’ve got a free one coming.”

Trekking up to the coffee shop had seemed a grand idea to Jamie five minutes ago, before his trolley had battered the ankles of three pedestrians in his attempt to avoid running over Perry’s cane, and before they’d both got soaked to the skin.

“We can do better.” Perry handed back the umbrella, then folded his cane with a series of deft moves that made Jamie think of gunslingers. “Are you right- or left-handed?”