Page 49 of The Typo

Hi Cameron,

It’s another email from Amy with an odd subject line. No actual stripping involved. And no trees harmed, fear not. Strip the Willow is a sequence in ceilidh dancing. Basically, it involves a lot of linking arms and spinning, changing dance partners along the way until you end up whirling around with pretty much everyone in the room. It’s a good way of getting to know other people at a party, and quickly finding out who you need to avoid if you want your toes to remain unbroken.

This is my long-winded way of telling you that tonight I played at my first ceilidh in years. It was a pretty spontaneous affair. After my big audition (by the way, they offered me a place in the orchestra, but I turned it down because it didn’t feel right, I’ll tell you more about it some time, if you want) I invited some of the members of the orchestra to come to the Edinburgh Variety whenever they liked. To my surprise, a decent gaggle turned up a few hours after the audition. There were two violinists, including me, a percussionist with a bodhran (woman-splaining alert, that’s a kind of Irish drum), a double bass player who was wielding a guitar instead, and a flautist who enjoys dabbling in the penny whistle. I couldn’t have created a better folk line-up if I’d picked them myself, plus they were all super nice people, which is of course the most important thing of all.

As there were still audience members milling around from the talent night which had been on earlier in the evening, we decided to dive into the deep end and have a public improv session, starting off with playing folk tunes and then adapting them and riffing for fun. It’s been way too long since I messed around like that, and I loved every minute of it. We had such a laugh and the audience from the talent night enjoyed it too. The long and the short of it is that I think I’ve now founded a ceilidh band. We’re a motley crew and our working name for the moment is the Drowsy Maggies, but as that is inspired by an Irish reel, I feel in deference to my homeland we should probably consider some other options. Any suggestions very welcome, please send them my way.

Have you ever danced at a ceilidh? Don’t worry, it’s not one of those things that you need to have attended a gazillion lessons to be able to do. In fact, the only criteria are enthusiasm and a willingness to throw yourself into proceedings. There’s always a caller who shouts out the name of the moves and is happy to describe them in civilian terms too. If you can keep your footing on a rolling ship in the middle of the Southern Ocean, you’ll have no problem spinning around the room in a ceilidh. Consider this your virtual invitation to come to a dance. I promise I’ll put down the fiddle and show you how to strip the willow. Gah, why does folk terminology make things sound unintentionally sleazy?!

Dance with me?

Love,

Amy x

PS: It’s the next morning and I realised that I didn’t hit send on this email so I thought I’d add a little bit which isn’t as heavily influenced by the post-ceilidh adrenalin. How are you feeling about your succession of lasts on the ship? And what’s coming next? You may have already explained that in your previous email, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t download properly so I was left in suspense. I wonder if it said what I hoped it did. Anyway, I’m sending you good wishes for fair seas and safe travelling. Hope I hear from you soon. And maybe even see you soon. x

ChapterTwenty-Five

Ottilie Havers must have typed in a frenzy because her review of the Edinburgh’s Got Talent night appeared in the Saturday edition of theExaminer, which I hurried out to my local corner shop to buy half a dozen copies of. This time, I wasn’t worried when I opened the paper because I’d already seen her article online, the link to which had been sent to me by at least half a dozen people in the early hours, along with an imaginative collection of celebratory gifs and emojis. While the reviewer was a little sniffy about the washing up bowl method of selecting the running order, she declared the Cellar Bar to be a ‘dynamic new venue which looks set to nurture the next generation of Edinburgh’s performers.’ I was seriously considering cutting the article out and framing some copies, one to go up on the wall in the admin office for personal motivational reasons, and another for Ian’s desk as a gentle reminder to have faith in his staff.

An unexpected bonus was that Ottilie Havers had even gone on to write a few lines about how much she’d enjoyed what she’d seen of the impromptu ceilidh before she’d had to leave to file her copy. The new ‘Drowsy Maggies’ – working title – WhatsApp group was buzzing with excitement at her admiration of our ‘vibrant style’.

I was gratified by her praise, but I didn’t need her opinion to endorse my own review of the night, which was that it had been a huge success. I was part of something once again, and I was full of hope and excitement for my future, eager to continue making positive changes.

A little after midday, there was a knock on the door. I looked up from the set list which I’d started dreamily compiling. It was still very early days for my little ceilidh group, if it was even appropriate to call it that yet, but I was fired up with enthusiasm and keen to keep the momentum building.

Harry was standing in the hallway with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other.

‘I believe congratulations are in order,’ he said.

Eliza and Fraser padded across the landing and made their way into my flat, casually curling up on the sofa.

‘Come on in. And thank you so much, that’s really lovely of you. How did you know that daffodils are my favourite? These will really brighten up the flat.’

‘I took an educated guess. Sunny flowers for a sunny person.’

‘It takes one to know one.’ I smiled back at him. ‘Now can I offer you a tea or a coffee? Excuse the mess with the newspapers. I couldn’t resist getting a few copies for posterity.’

‘I don’t blame you. I’ll have a coffee, if you’re making one.’ Harry carefully lowered himself onto the sofa, squeezing into the few inches of space which weren’t occupied by the two relaxing cats. ‘You did a wonderful job, Amy. I cannot remember when I last laughed so much. Those comedians were very observant, and as for the musicians, well, they were nearly as good as you.’

I hoped the steam from the boiling kettle would help explain away the warmth of my cheeks.

‘You’re too kind, Harry. And I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to speak to you as much as I wanted last night.’

‘Don’t worry, my dear. I didn’t wish to distract you while you were working, and besides, I had a very enjoyable conversation with your colleague Malcolm. Anyway, it was good to see you in your element. You’ve created something very special.’

‘Thanks. It was great to see the theatre full of life again.’

I carried the cafetière across and settled down on a bean bag, shaking my head at Harry’s offer to cede his position on the sofa to me.

‘I have no doubt,’ he said. ‘But it wasn’t the Variety I was referring to, although admittedly the Cellar Bar is going to be a wonderful addition to Edinburgh’s cultural scene. Thank you, but no, they were a treat for you,’ he added, as I offered the box of chocolates to him. ‘No, it was the supportive atmosphere I was referring to. I have a feeling a lot of performers will be grateful to you for giving them that confidence-boosting leg up into a challenging industry.’

‘I hope it has made a difference to them. And as long as they keep wanting to perform at the Variety, that’s good enough for me,’ I said, although even as I said the words out loud, I realised that they weren’t completely true. I was delighted with the success of the opening night and what it could mean for the future of the theatre and the job security of those who worked there. But while I’d enjoyed the challenge of reviving the venue, the satisfaction it had given me was nothing compared to the thrill I’d experienced while playing my violin in the scratch ceilidh afterwards. Creating music made my heart soar. It was time to stop settling for good enough, and continue pushing myself to take risks in order to find the true happiness I knew I deserved.

Somehow Harry seemed to know what I was thinking about.

‘And has it made a difference to you?’ he asked.

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