Page 39 of The Typo

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 10 Feb, 12:49

Subject: Re: Busking in February

Hi Amy,

As you asked, I also prefer Cameron. That’s not to say I hate being called Cam at all, but it’s not an abbreviation I actively introduce myself with because it reminds me of the name of a river rather than my own name. I shall take it as a sign of friendship (affection?) that you’ve used it.

You’re absolutely right. A polar plunge has nothing on busking in Edinburgh in February. Just thinking about it has made me shiver with dread. But surely it was worth it to do the duet with the dog? This is another thing on which we clearly agree—black Labradors are the best, although Springer Spaniels could give them a run for their money. I grew up with a gaggle of both varieties, a pack of slobbery, hairy beasts, the softest and kindest creatures imaginable. I often think of the Labs when I spot seals on our Zodiac trips here. They have the same kind of sleek head in the water and eyes which are interested in everything. Although having said that, the seals here are much chunkier than any Labrador should be, despite them all being eating machines in my experience.

What pieces did you play? I’m asking purely so I can pester all my colleagues to see if they have any of them on their various music devices. Of course, it won’t be the same as hearing you perform them, but it’s the closest thing to it.

You asked about the itinerary on this expedition, so I shall gladly take the excuse to tell you about something very exciting. I’m never quite sure how much to talk about what I’m getting up to because I’m acutely aware that I don’t want to come across as showing off. I do keep having to pinch myself that I’m getting to do all the things that I am. I may be working, but I’d happily do the job for free (if only I could afford it!) to be able to do everything that I am. Last night was another of those once in a lifetime experiences. We camped out for the night on the Antarctic continent. I know! Now I’m the kind of person who would normally avoid camping at all costs. I went to Glastonbury under duress and although the music was incredible, staying in a flooded tent and wading through mud to get everywhere was not exactly in my comfort zone. Call me a snowflake, but I enjoy the comfort of my own bed. But if you’re offered the chance to sleep under the stars in Antarctica, then you’d be a fool to say no.

I say sleep under the stars, but it being the summer here, it stays light for most of the night. No matter, I went fully prepared not to sleep a wink. Crew and passengers all had to attend a very serious briefing at which we were issued with our kit: sleeping bags which are cosy up to minus forty degrees centigrade, and the thickest mats to lie on which you could imagine. You’ll note that tents were not provided. However, there was a portable toilet—a loo with a view if you will, set up away from the sleeping bags and hidden by virtue of being down a slope. Instead of an engaged sign, there was a little flag at a discreet distance. If it was raised, the toilet was occupied; down, then you’re free to proceed. I realise I’ve devoted more description to the toilet situation than the lack of tent, but it’s the kind of practical consideration that had got all the guests talking and proved pivotal for many of them in deciding whether or not they were going to take part in the excursion. (You’re going to regret having asked about the itinerary, aren’t you?!)

Every time we go ashore, it takes a lot of preparation with all the dipping in disinfectant etc so we don’t take any contaminants with us, but this was something else. The Zodiacs did dozens of shuttle runs ferrying everyone and everything to our chosen campsite. The first few hours I was really busy. I was involved with a session on mobile phone photography, and then we did some work on how to take close focus images and knock out the background in an artistically blurred manner. Then of course I couldn’t resist getting lots of snaps of everyone setting up their sleeping bags and bedding down for the night. Actually, I think it was a good thing that I was kept busy until much later as it meant there was less time for me to get cold.

I felt pretty nervous getting into my sleeping bag. I was still fully dressed, the only items removed were the heavy duty insulated wellington boots which we all wear for the landings. I buried down in that sleeping bag so barely any of my face was exposed and then I tried to get to sleep. In truth, I don’t think anyone really slept a wink at all. It was like being a kid again having a mass sleepover, whispers going back and forth, somebody giggling, and then somebody else attempting to shush them. And then someone started humming, and another person joined in and then another, and before we knew it, the whole encampment was quietly singing ‘Thank you for the music’ by ABBA. I know it sounds terribly twee, but it was pretty magical. And then I’ll admit I felt a little sad, because I couldn’t help thinking that I knew somebody who might enjoy being here and singing along with the rest of us. Wish you were here.

C x

PS: We’re heading off to Port Lockroy again tomorrow. I wonder if any of the postcards I sent last time we were there have reached their destination yet. Thankfully we’re lacking in attention-seeking influencers on this trip so I’m hoping it will be a less dramatic visit.

ChapterTwenty-One

Iread Cameron’s email several times over, wondering if I had misinterpreted what he was saying. But I kept coming back to his wish that I was there with him. Was it a standard ‘wish you were here’, the kind of sentiment dashed off on postcards all the world over? Or did he actually mean it? And did he long for my company as a friend, or was there something more to it? Before allowing myself to get carried away with dreams of the latter, I gave myself a cold, hard dose of reality. We didn’t really know each other at all. I’d been far from honest with him, and whatever his feelings were towards me, they were based on lies and deception. The versions of ourselves we had shared on the page sparked off each other and revelled in each other’s company. But there was no guarantee the real versions would do the same, however much I wanted them to. Besides, the man had been away from home for weeks by now. It was only natural that he was leaning towards sentimentality and searching for connections.

But despite these logical arguments, I couldn’t help glowing at the emotion his email inspired in me, welcoming the sensation of being missed, even though we’d never met. I wondered what would happen at the end of his contract, what his plans were, and whether keeping in touch with me was part of them. I hoped so.

I started several replies to Cameron’s email, but kept deleting them in disgust as I struggled to find the right words to express what was going through my mind. I was overthinking, once again. Instead, I threw myself into the final preparations for the opening of the Cellar Bar. The sign-off from the council had come through; the lighting was all set up, and I’d done all I could from a logistics perspective. But the Edinburgh Variety was a performance venue, and what I urgently needed to do now was to find the performers for our new, intimate gig space. While I’d received a few responses from my posts on social media—thankfully none of which were angry ones from Ian asking what the heck I was playing at—I knew I didn’t yet have enough people signed up to create a full set list.

I hoped the evening of leaflet distribution would remedy that issue. While it was technically a work-related activity, I was mostly looking forward to it as an opportunity to have a much-needed fun night out with friends. I took an extra outfit into the theatre, nothing too fancy, but something which I hoped would give the right vibe of on trend yet approachable, exactly the kind of atmosphere I wanted to create in the Cellar Bar itself. I was thrilled that Cass and Leonie were going to be joining me on my mission. Alas, Meg and Jodie had said they were busy again—what a surprise!—but they had at least made vague comments about arranging something else on another occasion.

I put the final touches to my eyeliner, then went downstairs to the foyer where my companions were waiting for me, standing slightly apart but occasionally glancing at each other, as if wondering whether they were here for the same reason.

‘Cass, you’re looking really well! How’s the big adventure going, or shouldn’t I ask? Let me know if you need a hand, I’m always happy to help.’ I gave her a hug, then stepped back to make the introductions. ‘Cass, this is Leonie, who also works here. She’s one of our technical supremos and is going to make the shows in the Cellar Bar look spectacular. Leonie, this is Cass, one of my oldest friends, who’s about to move to the other side of the world.’

‘Oldest friends in terms of duration of friendship, not age, just to clarify,’ said Cass with a smile. ‘And my aim for tonight is to try not to think of the move. The house is a packing bomb site, and I’m seriously regretting my life choices.’

Leonie grinned. ‘Nice to meet you, Cass, and I get how you feel about the chaos. If it’s any comfort, my home always looks like a bomb site, and I don’t even have the very valid excuse of being in the middle of preparing for a big move. I’m glad that you could escape for a bit to help us out tonight. The Variety needs all the help it can get, as I expect you already know.’ Leonie rubbed her hands together. ‘Right, where are we hitting up first? I want a drink to celebrate being off the leash for once. I mean obviously it’s all in aid of us gathering a decent audience to appreciate my lighting genius, but I don’t see why we can’t have a laugh along the way.’

‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘Let’s get this leafleting crawl started, and hunt down Edinburgh’s hottest talent.’

Cass wolf-whistled, deliberately misunderstanding me. I laughed along with her, deciding it was easier than trying to explain something I was unclear of myself. As much as I’d like to confide in my friend about my growing dreams of Cameron, I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear someone voice the concerns which were already quietly niggling me.

If there’s one thing that Edinburgh is not short of, it’s performers. We focused our efforts in the Old Town, visiting bars where bands were playing, pubs where a solitary singer was crooning in the corner, and even a bookshop which had stayed open late for a poetry slam. The city was buzzing with life, laughter echoing down the wynds, happy chatter reverberating along the streets as crowds of friends, new and old, made their way between hot spots. If I could make the Cellar Bar anywhere near as popular as some of these venues, then we’d have a huge success. It was good to be soaking up the atmosphere and feeling part of the action once again.

Nevertheless, in the first pub we visited, Cass and Leonie practically had to push me forward before I dared introduce myself to the manager and ask their permission to distribute the leaflets. But by venue three, I’d got into my stride, bolstered by the warm welcome we were receiving and the enthusiasm being expressed for the Cellar Bar’s planned open mic night. I started collecting names and numbers, determined to follow up with anyone who’d even hinted that they might be up for performing. If half the people who said they were interested actually followed through, we’d have a full roster of artistes playing to a packed house every night.

By the time we landed at the fifth venue, my feet were starting to ache from the gorgeous but impractical shoes I’d forced them into, and we made an executive decision to sit down for a rest and a drink.

‘It’s going terribly, by the way,’ said Cass suddenly, as the DJ broke into a pumped-up version of ‘Stand By Me’.

I looked blankly at her.

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