‘So, what’s your war story?’ Shep hands me my gin cocktail and we commandeer the same standing table where he was moping before, in the outdoor bar.
As it is now Saturday evening, the place is becoming packed out, with a livelier atmosphere, so we have to share the table with a couple who are talking in frustrated-sounding hushed tones and appear to be having a minor tiff.
‘Uh-uh.’ I shake my head. ‘You first.’
‘Thought you might say that.’ He takes a slug from his pint, his floppy hair nearly taking a bath as he does. ‘All right, here goes. But do me a favour and don’t take the piss.’
‘OK.’ I’m slightly bemused by this request.
‘I’m not from here. I’m a stand-up comedian. Came to the festival to try and make it big.’
‘Oh, that’s cool. Say something funny.’
‘Really?’ Shep gives me a withering look. ‘Literally every person I meet does that. I’m a comic, not a performing monkey.’
‘Sorry.’ I chuckle, not sorry at all. ‘Why did you think I would mock you for being a comedian? I think that’s well brave, and you’re in the right place for it. There are some well-known names who got their big breaks from doing the Fringe. Billy Connolly and Stephen Fry spring to mind. And didn’t Graham Norton as well? I’m sure I read that somewhere.’
‘You seem to know your stand-up trivia. There are some greats who have made it, all right, but also many who haven’t.’
‘I’m sure. Trying to make people laugh for a living must be a tough gig, if you excuse the pun.’ I take a deep, satisfying mouthful of my drink, eyeing his grimace, though it’s unclear whether it was a reaction to the pun or to the truth of my words. ‘One miscalculated joke to an unforgiving audience and it’s death by social media. No way I could make myself the sacrificial lamb in that way. I’m a lab rat through and through – more than happy to spend every day with my nose in my research.’
‘You’re a researcher? Like at a university – this one, perchance?’ He jabs his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the University of Edinburgh’s Informatics Forum building.
‘Research assistant,’ I clarify. ‘And no, I work at Edinburgh Simpson University, which is less prestigious than Edinburgh Uni, but our research has a solid reputation. Anyway, back to you. I’m not letting you off the hook with this one, so don’t try to divert my attention.’
‘A researcher and a hard taskmaster by the sounds of it. What have I let myself in for?’ Shep theatrically raises his eyes to the sky, making me smile.
‘So?’ I prompt him.
‘All right, all right. The reason I asked you not to take the piss is because I’m doing free shows.’
‘Oh? Oh.’ Realisation bites as my earlier comment flits through my mind. ‘I called them “hit and miss”… “mostly miss”.’
‘You did. Which is why I had a go at you.’
‘I’m sorry. That was a throwaway comment. I was talking nonsense. I’d also sunk two drinks in about half an hour and I’m a lightweight.’
‘Good to know I won’t have to shell out for another.’ He gives me a cheeky wink.
‘I was only trying to get you to speak to me,’ I continue my apology, cringing with guilt. ‘There was no real substance to what I said. I really am sorry.’
‘Forget it. Anyway, you don’t owe me any apology. I was the one who was out of order. So, cheers, it’s nice to meet you and thank you for caring.’ He raises his plastic pint glass and I tap it with my own.
‘And now we’re at the part where you tell me why you were so down earlier.’ I raise my eyebrows at him expectantly. ‘You’ve explained why you bit my head off, but there’s clearly a considerable chunk of this story still missing.’
‘Because that’s the bit that’s harder to share.’
The lighter mood we’ve enjoyed is chased away by a heavy sigh and a hardening of Shep’s expression. He goes quiet and stares down into his pint like before, which I’m now realising must be his way of trying to escape his current reality. Rather than giving him another prod, I wait patiently for him to continue – not for fear that he’ll turn on me again, but out of respect for him, and the fact that whatever this is, it’s difficult for him to face.
‘I’m broke,’ he says eventually.
‘Ah.’ My mouth pinches sympathetically. ‘How bad is it?’
‘Bad enough that my dream is over. I’m having to cancel my shows and go home. Didn’t even get close to a full week of performances, which is such a kick in the teeth, because the ones I did were actually really well received. I wasn’t getting many people through the door – there are just so many shows to choose from – but word of mouth could have changed that.’
He produces a flyer from his pocket and hands it to me. Unfolding it, I see that it has his name on it and the show itself is called Caught In The Act.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, what changed? I mean, you obviously came here thinking you could do the full month.’
Shep furrows his brow, his expression pained. ‘That’s a matter of interpretation. I certainly came here hoping I could do it. I managed to get accommodation for next to nothing. However, my hosts – through no fault of their own – have had to end my arrangement with them. They’ve had a real harrowing family tragedy.’
‘Oh, that’s awful.’ I put my hand to my mouth with great sadness for these people whom I don’t even know.
‘It is.’ He nods. ‘I could tell they felt terrible about asking me to leave, but it was the right thing to do. They need their space.’
‘Of course. But it obviously means you have nowhere to stay, and if you’re broke, you’re not going to be able to pay for accommodation. I assume you don’t get much by way of donations through your free shows.’
‘Even if I could afford something cheap, I’d be lucky to find a cheap room anywhere in the city at this time of year.’
‘And you have no one you can ask for some financial help?’
‘That’s the best bit.’ Shep looks up from his pint grimly. ‘My family could help me, but they won’t. I come from a family of medics. My brother and sister followed the path to righteousness and got their MDs, whereas I apparently lost my way. They’d happily shell out if I suddenly announced I wanted to do a medical degree, but for this, not a chance. They take every opportunity they can find to ridicule my choice of career and make digs at my lack of success. I’m meant to be the funny guy, but I’m the family joke.’
‘Shep, I’m so sorry.’ I reach out and touch him gently on the arm. ‘That’s really rough. I don’t understand why some people have to be so cruel, especially to their own flesh and blood.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it. That’s why I came after you. With everything that’s happened, I couldn’t allow my last memory of this experience to be upsetting someone who was just trying to be nice. That’s not the person I am. I’m not like my family. It’s gonna be a right bundle of laughs going home with my tail between my legs.’ Shep drinks the last mouthful of his beer glumly.
‘I can imagine.’ I grimace, wishing there was something I could do to help. ‘Can I get you another pint? I know it’s not the answer in these situations, but I’d like to reciprocate, especially as you’ve been so kind as to buy me a drink when you’re skint. I also feel guilty that I made you buy me the most expensive one here.’
‘Not quite. Last girl I offered to buy a drink for asked for a bottle of prosecco and a straw.’
‘What?’ My mouth falls open in astonishment.
‘I’m kidding.’ He gives a weak smile and I chuckle at having been caught out. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Lea. I’m not destitute. I just can’t afford to stay in the city, and having your company right now means it’s a tenner well spent.’
‘That makes me feel a little better, but unless you think having another pint will do you more harm than good, I’d still like to buy you one. Please?’
‘Go for it.’ Shep gives an easy wave of his hand. ‘It’s not like I’m in a rush to get to the airport.’
‘You’re leaving tonight?’ I feel an unexpected rush of disappointment. ‘Where’s all your stuff?’
‘In a luggage locker at Waverley Station. I’m on a late flight, so I thought I’d come up here to drown my sorrows—’
‘And the beer fog would make leaving less painful.’
‘Got it in one.’ Shep gives a sheepish grin. ‘Clever one, you are. Makes sense you’re an academic.’
‘It was hardly a Mensa puzzle.’ I rummage in my bag for my purse then head for the bar.
Relaying my order to the guy who’s serving, my mind ticks over what Shep’s just told me. What a crappy situation to be in. And what rubbish parents he has, unwilling to support him with his dreams. They might not like the path he’s chosen, but to ridicule him for it, that’s another thing altogether. Glancing across at him, I can see how he’s already regressed to the same stance and expression from when I first spotted him, rubbing his face in that ‘stressy’ way that’s reserved for only the biggest and most painful of life’s dilemmas. I’m well aware that it won’t just be returning home that Shep’s dreading; he’ll probably face interrogations about what’s next for him and be pushed even harder towards getting a ‘real job’.
Turning back to pay the barman for the drinks, I’m more grateful than ever for the parents I have. They can be a bit overprotective and stifling at times, but I know they would support me with anything I wanted to do in life. Even after they divorced – reasonably amicably, thankfully – they remained fully aligned on one thing: my safety, wellbeing and career dreams came first. Shep deserves that same support. His parents could bail him out and help him achieve his dream, but they won’t – and probably purely because they want to be right.
Well, if they won’t help him, I will, a voice in my head unexpectedly pipes up.
‘What?’ I accidently vocalise my response to this.
‘Were you speaking to me?’ The barman, who had gone to chat to a colleague, makes his way back across to me. ‘Is everything OK with your drinks?’
‘Eh, yeah, sorry.’ I bite my lip in embarrassment and pick up the two plastic glasses he’s served me. ‘I was… talking to myself.’
‘Right.’ He gives me an odd look. ‘Well, enjoy your drinks.’
Glancing back across at Shep, who’s still lost in his thoughts, I set the drinks down on the bar for a moment to give myself space to think.
It’s not the worst idea in the world, is it? Helping Shep out. He seems like a decent guy, and I’ve got a spare room. I’ve also seen the flyer for his show, so unless he’s made all this up and used some random comedian’s leaflet, he must be genuine. Plus, he didn’t seek me out initially – I approached him and he palmed me off. Would a conman do that? OK, possibly. How would I know? But Shep seems like the real deal. If he’s not, then he’s a bloody good actor and he should consider the big screen as an alternative career path.
Anyway, the point is, I can do some good here. I can give this guy a chance at his big break, and in the process, it would mean I’d have some company for a few weeks. It would certainly be a welcome change not to spend every waking hour outside of work on my own. Not that that’s why I’m doing it. Obviously. I’ve tried having flatmates to fill that gap in my life and it’s never ended well, but this is just temporary. It’s for Shep. And it’s the right thing to do.
My mind made up, I pick up our drinks and head back across to our table.