Page 12 of The Typo

To: [email protected]

Date: 20 Jan, 10:47

Subject: re: Penguin Passion!

Hi Amy,

Who knew, my spam filter obviously isn’t as strong as I thought it was, because your passionate penguins made it straight through, although maybe they’re the reason that the internet then went kaput for a bit. The subject line did raise a few eyebrows in the crew office where I have to go to check my emails on the ancient computer which sounds like it’s going to explode as it starts up. We’re out of phone range here, so at the moment my device is being used for photography or as a glorified music player, although I have limited choices there. I’m seriously regretting not bringing my old iPod along. Yes, I am one of the few remaining people in the world who still has one, although as a musician yourself, I assume you’ll appreciate the need to have as much music at your fingertips as possible. My phone’s storage normally gets clogged up with all the pictures I find myself taking when I’m out and about and don’t have my proper kit with me. There are some people in the photography world who are very much purists—only film, and only the best lenses will do. I respect their choices, but they are not mine. Of course, it’s a joy to be able to luxuriate in the technical side of things sometimes and obsess over focal points, shutter speeds and the like. But I realise that some of my favourite photos are ones which were more of a spontaneous affair, a serendipitous moment that I was lucky enough to capture. And more often than not, these were taken on my phone. I know you’ll get it.

Your description of the theatre had me picturing it in my mind’s eye immediately. It sounds like exactly the kind of place I’d like to photograph. Although I’m all about nature and wildlife now, I first got into photography when an architect mate asked for my help taking pictures of interesting buildings for a project he was working on. In my naivety, I thought it would be easy—just a matter of pointing and pressing. After all, buildings don’t move, and they’re not unpredictable in the way people and animals are. But I soon realised there was much more to it than that. It taught me so many lessons about the importance of paying careful attention to angles and light. Get it wrong and an award-winning building can look like a hovel. A lot of the structures I photographed were modern ones. Endless panes of glass and shiny steel exteriors. I could admire the feat of them, the way they seemed to defy the laws of gravity. But my favourites were always the older buildings, the ones with character which had been worn and moulded over several centuries of occupation. It’s amazing how often buildings reflect the personalities of those who occupy them. Or maybe it’s the other way round and the people adapt their behaviour to their environment.

Cameron

PS: in answer to your question, I’ll know what the one dream photograph of the trip is once I’ve taken it. Not a helpful answer, I appreciate, but sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know, if that makes any sense. In return may I ask you where is the one place you’d like to perform, and what piece would you play? Or perhaps you’ve already achieved that ambition. In which case, I’d love to hear about how it went. And can you share any tips with me about how to control the nerves in front of an audience? Talking about photography in front of a group isn’t a patch on having to perform in a concert hall I realise, but I still succumb to dry mouth syndrome.

PPS: the penguins say they’re supremely unconcerned by any threat from Eliza and Fraser and reckon they would probably end up being very good friends with each other.

ChapterSeven

Idecided to delay replying to Cameron until after I’d presented my plan to the boss. I had enough on my plate worrying about that without having to think about how to field my correspondent’s somewhat awkward questions.

After Malcolm and I had inspected the cellar, I returned to my office and threw myself into researching similar venues in the city, the prices they charged, the acts they welcomed and the way they marketed themselves. Everyone knew that kind of boutique venue was much in demand during the Fringe, but it seemed that our competitors were doing well with them at other times of the year too. It was about time we got a bite of the cherry and made the Edinburgh Variety a must-visit place, rather than somewhere most people accidentally stumbled upon after taking a wrong turn.

I wrote up a rough plan, telling myself it was just another marketing ploy and that it was no big deal, but I still felt nervous and somewhat underqualified for the challenge I was taking on. I desperately wanted to talk things over with a friend, someone who would be honest with me but without crushing my hopes. Cass had enough on her plate at the moment with the big move rapidly approaching, but perhaps Jodie or Meg might be around. I checked my watch. At least it was lunchtime, so I had a better chance of getting through.

I tried calling Jodie first. She was always more considered in her views than Meg, and given she also worked in the arts sector, she’d probably have a better insight. The phone rang a couple of times, then cut out and went to voicemail. It was too soon for it to have clicked in automatically so I knew she must have rejected my call. Fair enough, maybe she was in a work meeting. I tried Meg next. Exactly the same thing happened, only my call was sent to voicemail a lot more speedily.

Again, it was very possible that she was busy too, but some masochistic instinct compelled me to check their socials. Sure enough, there on Meg’s Instagram stories was a series of photos posted five minutes ago showing the pair of them at lunch together. I recognised the venue instantly – the basement café at the National Gallery, the place where we always used to meet up as a four, despite its popularity with the tourists, because it was roughly equidistant between our workplaces. The pictures were captioned ‘Girlies who lunch’ with a little ‘Besties forever’ sticker in the corner, which really rubbed in the fact that I hadn’t been included. I stared at the pictures and wished I was there with them, carefree and laughing, ordering different desserts to share because that’s what you do when you’re out with friends. It hurt to be excluded. Yes, I knew they were perfectly entitled to go out for lunch together and not invite me, but the fact that both of them had rejected my calls made me feel like I’d been deliberately left out, just like the other night when I’d only been invited along to the bar as an afterthought.

A scroll back through our WhatsApp group and my text messages brought home the realisation that I was the one who always instigated contact with them. On the rare occasion when Jodie and Meg had replied to my messages, it was generally with an emoji or a sticker, an easy couple of taps, and that was it. They had obviously moved on, and upsetting as it was, perhaps I had to acknowledge that our friendship wasn’t any longer of the kind where I could confide in them about work crises and ask their advice. It was probably foolish of me to expect that we could always remain as tight-knit as we had been when we were younger. I knew I should accept that this was part of adult life, growing up and growing apart. But I couldn’t help feeling nostalgic for what had been. Was it something I had done or said? Or was it simply that I wasn’t interesting enough for them to bother with any longer? All the more reason to continue putting a glossy spin on my emails with Cameron.

With no one to confide in, I decided to trust my instincts for once and stayed late at work polishing my proposal until I was satisfied with every sentence. Then I emailed it to Ian and hoped for the best. That weekend I struggled to sleep as I fluctuated between worrying about his reaction to my plan, and thinking about those rejected phone calls to my friends.

By Monday morning, my eyes were gritty and my head was pounding. I wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers and have a duvet day, but the thought of letting down Malcolm and the rest of my colleagues was enough to get me out of bed, even if I did grumble while I was doing it. As I inhaled a bowl of cereal, I refreshed my emails hoping that Cameron had sent me another missive without waiting for my reply, but the only items in my inbox were spam and circulars. Never mind, I told myself. I would try to find the confidence I needed to face the day from within.

Eliza and Fraser were on the landing as I headed out to work, which felt like a good omen. I clicked my tongue to attract their attention. Eliza responded by pouncing on my shoelace and pulling it loose.

‘Thanks, girly. You’re right, I probably should have tied that tighter. Good spot.’

‘Good morning, Amy,’ said Mr McTavish, poking his head around the door and once again catching me mid-conversation with his pets. ‘Do you have time to wait there for one second?’

‘Um, sure,’ I said, figuring that I could still get into work on time if I power walked the whole way.

He disappeared into his flat then emerged a moment later with a wrapped present. ‘This is to say thank you for looking after the cats. They seem to be constantly eager to head across the hallway to visit you, so I know they had a good time.’

‘That’s very kind, but honestly there was no need for this.’ I gestured at the parcel. ‘I’m always happy to help. That’s what neighbours are for.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, indeed. I’ll let you get on with your day.’

He seemed to hesitate, then disappeared back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so Eliza and Fraser could return under their own steam.

‘So, moggies, your secret is out. Even though you played the aloof game with me, it seems that you liked my company really. I’m flattered. But as much as it would be nice to hang out with you, I’m afraid I’m going to have to love you and leave you. Maybe see you later. And wish me luck for facing the big bad wolf today.’

I tucked the present into my rucksack to examine later and went on my way. It was a typical Edinburgh winter morning, a thin film of rain in the air which felt like nothing but which I knew from experience would quickly soak through to the skin. I zipped my waterproof coat up but decided against risking the umbrella. Every so often there was a gust of wind which was undoubtedly strong enough to blow a brolly inside out. Besides, the admin office was small enough as it was, and I couldn’t be bothered with tripping over a drying umbrella all day.

As I turned off Leith Street and merged into the crowd of other commuters pouring out of Waverley station onto Princes Street, I could hear the strains of a piper playing in the distance near the imposing Scott Monument. Someone was enthusiastic. The buskers didn’t normally start until later in the morning when more of the tourists had emerged from their leisurely hotel breakfasts. Still, if you had a prime spot, then it was important to make the most of it, as I knew from experience. I dropped a two-pound coin in his collection box on my way past, hoping it would provide me with some good karma in return.

That hope was soon crushed when I arrived at work and saw Ian waiting for me in the foyer.

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