The next evening, having politely declined Shep’s invitation to join him at The Canongate Tavern after his seven-thirty show – in a move to reduce my dependence on him – I’m surprised when he arrives back around nine p.m.
‘Hi, you,’ I greet him as I’m coming out of the kitchen on my way back to the living room, where I’ve been camped out watching a drama series I’m not sure I’m that into.
‘Hiya, what’s the craic?’ His usual upbeat tone is distinctly absent, reminding me of the day we first met.
‘Is everything all right? I thought you were staying on at the pub for a bit.’
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he hangs there in the hallway, not saying anything, nor making eye contact. His shoulders are slumped, making him look like a little boy in a grown man’s body.
‘Come on.’ I beckon him to follow me into the living room, which he obediently does.
We sit down on the sofa and, rather than putting pressure on him, I gently take his hand, then wait quietly until he’s ready to share.
‘My show just then – I cocked it up,’ he says eventually.
I take a moment to consider this and how to respond. ‘When you say you “cocked it up”, are we talking a little bit or monumentally?’
‘Big enough to scupper my chances.’
‘Right.’ I chew on my bottom lip. ‘That’s not good. How about you tell me what went down? You might feel better for it. Or you might even realise it’s not as bad as you think.’
He scoffs bitterly. ‘It is that bad.’
‘OK, well—’
‘I got heckled… big time. By some wee shit.’
‘Oh.’ I’m surprised by this. ‘But you’re great at dealing with hecklers. I’ve seen you in action. You normally wipe the floor with them.’
‘Normally, yeah. I thought I could handle anything. He was a real nasty piece of work, you know? Like he and his mate came to the show with the sole intention of causing trouble.’
‘Ah. I think I know the type.’
Having lived this experience with Shep and having become so invested in his success, I find myself taking on some of his pain.
‘What was it about this guy that got to you so much?’ I ask. ‘It won’t change what happened, but maybe if you can figure that out, it’ll help you with similar situations in the future.’
‘I’ve been asking myself that the whole way home.’ Shep puts his head in his hands, making it evident how stressed and spooked he is by this experience. ‘I think it was the intent… maybe the maliciousness of it. Most hecklers do it to appear smart, to one-up you or to look good in front of their mates… that kind of thing. They’re an occupational hazard to some extent, but they can also hand you some of your best lines. This was different. It was… It felt personal.’
I’m appalled to hear this. ‘But you didn’t know him, right? You haven’t come across him anywhere in the city before now?’
Shep shakes his head. ‘No. I think he’s probably nothing more than a bored bloke with a chip on his shoulder and an antisocial behaviour problem. Perhaps he can’t deal with seeing others succeed. It was a constant disruption that I didn’t know how to handle, and it made me look like a total amateur.’
‘Surely not. Your audience must have been annoyed at the guy for ruining their experience rather than thinking you weren’t up to it.’
‘You’d hope, eh?’
He gives me a defeated look, which makes me want to reach across and hug him, but I sense that now is not the right moment for that. He needs to work this through first.
‘Anyway, my biggest concern isn’t the audience… well, not the audience as a whole. It’s about who was in the audience.’
‘You mean that journalist?’
He gives a hopeless shrug. ‘Or other press. Maybe even a talent scout who’s now crossed me off their list.’
‘Of course.’ I grimace. ‘Though you shouldn’t be hanged for the bad behaviour of another person.’
‘That would be the logical view, but you know as well as I do that’s not the kind of headline that sells or gets clicks online.’
‘No, it’s not.’ I squeeze Shep’s hand sympathetically. ‘I guess we just need to cross our fingers that this passes without attracting any negative attention. Twenty-four hours? That’s about the wait we’re in for, right?’
‘We?’ He gives me a puzzled look.
‘You think you’re the only one who’s affected by this?’ I smile at him affectionately. ‘I’m your biggest fan, you know that. Anyway, even if this does create some unfavourable coverage, people quickly forget.’
‘Thanks, Lea. You’re a great listener. Has anyone ever told you that?’ His gorgeous green eyes lock on mine.
I bob my head noncommittally and look away, finding the intensity of the eye contact difficult. ‘Maybe one or two people over the years. I’m also just as good at giving hugs.’
Opening my arms wide, I invite him to cuddle in, and it seems I’ve got my timing right. He scoots across and allows me to give him a big squeezy hug, then I switch my programme back on and stroke his hair while he lies against me quietly, probably still working through the pain of his unpleasant experience.
I’m on tenterhooks all day at work on Wednesday, waiting to hear whether Shep is in the clear. I message him a few times early in the day and he replies with different variations of ‘so far, so good’, which I’m relieved about. I also visit the university shop and look through the newspapers there, but there’s nothing as far as I can see.
By mid-afternoon, I’m quite positive and hopeful that this situation has been less of a storm and more like Scottish drizzle – an annoyance, but unlikely to make a significant dent in anyone’s plans. As Shep is now entering the peak of his day, I decide to leave him in peace and cross my fingers that his performances go well. I sincerely hope the horrible bloke from the evening before doesn’t make a reappearance, and also that Shep’s confidence hasn’t been affected to any great extent.
I consider heading to The Canongate Tavern after work to see how he’s doing, but that decision is taken out of my hands when I receive a WhatsApp message from him between his performances, telling me he’ll see me back at mine later. I’m a little disappointed by this, as I don’t really fancy heading home to an empty flat again this evening. Then I remind myself that in about a week’s time, I’ll be returning to one every night – so I’d better get used to it.
By the time I hear the flat door slam shut, signalling Shep’s arrival, I’m almost climbing the walls with boredom. Having had no further news from him, I call out to him brightly.
‘Twenty-four hours is up. You can relax.’
My words are met with silence, which is odd, so I hop off the sofa and pad through to the hallway to greet him properly – but he’s not there.
‘Shep?’ I call out to him again. ‘I know I didn’t imagine you arriving back. Where are you?’
After checking my own room and the bathroom, I find him lying on the bed in the spare room, staring blankly at the corniced ceiling.
‘There you are. What are you doing in here?’
He closes his eyes for a few moments, then opens them and finally looks at me. ‘I didn’t make it through twenty-four hours.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I think it was about seventeen when Kira came across it.’
I knit my brows together in confusion. ‘When Kira came across what?’
‘This.’ Shep opens a web page on his phone and hands it to me.
I sit down on the bed to look at it properly, but I needn’t have bothered, because staring back at me in big bold letters is the headline: ‘Rising star chokes as Fringe enters its final week’.
‘Oh no, Shep.’ I put my hand to my mouth in disbelief while I read the article in full, which is by some bloke called Jonathan Watts.
It’s vile. It also bears very little resemblance to the situation Shep described to me the previous evening. The fear he shared about becoming a clickbait story has come true. And what’s worse, it finishes on the cruellest of lines:
Like so many hopefuls who come to Edinburgh with the dream of following in the footsteps of comedy royalty, it turns out Shep doesn’t have what it takes to go the distance. I think I’m as disappointed about not finding a diamond in the rough as he must be over his performance. Oh well, there’s always next year – at least for me.
Handing him back his phone, I’m lost for words.
‘I never thought to check that site.’ Shep spares me from having to think of the right thing to say. ‘That was published at eight a.m., but it seems it only surfaced on social media under the Edinburgh festival hashtag in the afternoon.’
‘Which, I’m guessing, is when Kira found it?’ I ask.
‘Correct.’
‘I’m so sorry, Shep. This is so unfair, and… so inaccurate from the sounds of things.’
‘Spinning shit is what it is.’ Shep’s voice is laced with fury. ‘This dickhead… Jason, or whatever his name is. He’s done it in just the right way to bury any possibility of me moving on to bigger things.’
‘He certainly hasn’t held back.’ I agree. ‘Though he is just one—’
‘And needless to say, I haven’t heard a word from that journalist who wanted to do the piece on me,’ Shep talks over me, probably without even realising he’s done so.
‘Maybe she just hasn’t got round to—’
‘Oh come on, Lea,’ he cuts me off again and this time I flinch. ‘Do you really think she hasn’t seen it? It’s her job to keep up with this stuff. She probably saw it hours before I did.’
‘It doesn’t necessarily mean she won’t do the piece at all, though.’ I try once more to bring some optimism to the conversation. ‘Maybe she’s going to let things settle first.’
‘Yeah, and a pink and green unicorn’s gonna fly out of my arse.’ His tone becomes sarcastic. ‘What journalist in their right mind would dedicate a full-page article to someone who’s taken their maiden voyage at the festival and sunk faster than the Titanic.’
‘I was just trying to offer up a possible alternative. One where things haven’t gone completely to shit.’
Shep props himself up on his elbows, his face stony. ‘Why? That’s not really helpful to me right now.’
Feeling his appraising eyes on me, I want to shrink away from him, but at the same time, I’m starting to feel I’m being treated unfairly.
‘I don’t know.’ I fold my arms across my body, raising my voice slightly in a bid to assert myself. ‘I don’t know what else to say.’
‘Then maybe don’t say anything. I know you’re trying to help, but maybe you’ve helped enough.’
‘Wait a minute. What’s that supposed to mean?’
He looks caught out all of a sudden, and I realise he’s said something he wishes he hadn’t. I fix him with an icy look.
‘Come on, Shep. At least show me enough respect to explain what that comment was about.’
‘Look, can we just leave it, Lea? I’m not in the headspace for this.’
‘Uh-uh.’ I shake my head. ‘That comment was about more than you having a crappy article written about you. So, go on, spit it out.’
Shep seems deeply conflicted and like he’s about to try and put me off again, but then he shrugs pathetically.
‘All right, but remember, you insisted that I share this…’
I simply nod and wait for him to continue. Though I’m defiant on the outside, I can feel myself trembling, terrified of what’s about to come out of his mouth.
‘You rescued me at my most vulnerable, Lea, and you helped me to up my numbers at my show, which I’ll always be grateful for, don’t get me wrong. But let’s face it, you’ve also…’ he gives a loaded sigh, ‘…been a distraction that’s made me lose focus.’
‘What… Are you for real?’ I stammer, unable to believe what I’m hearing. ‘All I’ve done is support you.’
Shep groans in frustration and sits up properly. ‘I think we both know that’s not true. Do you think I don’t know where you’re at? Your joke about climbing the stairs when we were at Tanya’s place. It might have been a throwaway comment, but it wasn’t really, was it? The way Tanya spent the whole night trying to help me see that we’re made for each other – she didn’t conjure that up herself. It must have come off the back of a conversation you had. Then there’s the way you’ve been looking at me. Those pained yet hopeful eyes that feel like they’re begging me not to walk away from you at the end of this month.’
‘This is ridiculous.’ I squeeze my eyes shut to try and keep hold of myself.
‘Is it? So, you’re telling me I’m wrong? That you aren’t hoping for more?’
‘I… Oh, for God’s sake, of course I’ve been hoping for more. Why am I the bad one for falling for you?’
His anguished eyes meet mine and he quickly looks away. ‘Because that was never the agreement.’
I’m so incredulous at this statement that I get up and walk out of the room, into my own.
‘Who agrees whether or not they intend to fall in love?’ I shout through the wall, wringing my hands. ‘Tell me. Who?’
‘Look, all I’m saying is that it hasn’t helped.’ Shep appears in the doorway while I lean against the wall as I try to get myself under control. ‘If we hadn’t got involved like this… if I hadn’t been so ripped with guilt about walking away from you next week—’
‘Then what?’ I demand with a shuddering breath. ‘That wee shit from last night wouldn’t have got the better of you?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ He runs his hands through his floppy hair in that ‘stressy’ way he does when he’s struggling. ‘My original plan was to connect with other comedians, learn more about what to expect and how to handle the challenges on stage. But I didn’t do any of that because of… us.’
‘Maybe I should remind you, Shep, that you were the one who wanted to kiss me first. You were the one that put the idea of you and me in my head in the first place.’
‘I know that, and maybe I should never have gone there, but it was supposed to be a casual thing. No strings attached. With an expiry date.’
‘Then maybe you should have drawn up a contract to that effect,’ I spit back and Shep seems to power down.
‘Look,’ he says. ‘All I know is that, psychologically, I should have been 100 per cent focused on my shows, and if I had been—’
‘If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have done your shows at all!’ I finally lose my temper, unable to believe what I’m hearing.
Shep stares at me with defeated eyes. ‘Yeah, well, at least if I’d gone home, I’d still have the chance to come back next year. With that write-up, it’s all over, so I may as well go pack up my stuff.’
‘Well, that’s fine by me.’ I shrug, desperately trying to keep my emotions in check. ‘If I’m such a distraction, then maybe it’s best you move on.’
For a moment he just stands there, then he gives a pained nod and returns to the spare room, where I hear him emptying the wardrobe, before the tears overflow and I slam my door shut.