I decided 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.
‘Can we have a little chat, please?’
Without letting me respond, he turned on his heel and marched towards his office. I didn’t need to be an expert in body language to realise that this conversation was not going to be a pleasant one.
I’d never expected Ian to jump in the air and declare I’d single-handedly saved the theatre with my proposal to re-open the Cellar Bar. But I had hoped for a more positive reception than not even being invited to sit down, and instead having to stand awkwardly dripping in his office doorway while he delivered his scathing verdict.
‘Amy, don’t misunderstand this, I welcome your enthusiasm, but I think we need to channel it in more productive areas, don’t you?’ Ian said in his most condescending tone of voice, settling behind his desk and looking over his glasses at me. ‘I can see that you’ve put a lot of effort into this idea, but perhaps it’s better to play to your strengths such as sending out lovely press releases, and leave the complexities of strategising to those who understand it.’
Sending out lovely press releases? Could he not even give me the credit for writing the things?
‘I … uh…’ I knew I’d probably wake up in the middle of the night with the perfect response to his patronising treatment, but for now I couldn’t even get my words out.
‘Now don’t get me wrong,’ he continued, ‘I appreciate that you’ve done some blue-sky thinking. And perhaps, somewhere among this,’ he waved his arm vaguely in the direction of the computer screen, ‘there might be a nugget of something we could work on. But I need you to stay in your lane, especially during this consultation period. It’s not the time for big changes.’
‘But I really think…’ I wanted to argue that it should be.
‘We’ve discussed this enough,’ said Ian. ‘But as you’re so insistent, I’ll ask Colin to take a look at your little document in his capacity as box office manager, and if there’s an element within it which could work, he will have my blessing to explore it further.’
Marvellous. There was zero chance that Creepy Colin, the world’s least proactive employee, would even read my carefully prepared plan. The boss seemed to take my continued silence as agreement.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Now why don’t you head off and start work on the brochure for the autumn season?’
I bit back the question which immediately sprang to my mind. Was there any point? At this rate, it was highly unlikely that the Variety would still be open. I knew I should get mad, speak up, make him realise that I had something to offer, and that my voice was worth listening to, but the words got stuck in my throat. I seemed to have exhausted my quota of courage. I’d tried, and I’d failed. Again. I accepted my dismissal and slunk to the staff toilets so I could make a private phone call to the two people I knew I could rely on.
‘I don’t understand why he wouldn’t even listen to me,’ I said plaintively to my parents. I’d taken the precaution of putting my rucksack against the door so if anyone tried to come in, I’d get a warning. ‘All he did was spout meaningless corporate speak. I know my plan could work. It wouldn’t cost anything beyond the cleaning products to get the place spick and span. And yes, there would be a bit of paperwork to fill out for the council, but nothing too taxing or complicated. I could easily take care of that. But he basically rejected my idea out of hand. Sure, he said Colin could follow it up, but frankly Cass’s baby is more likely to do that than Mr Can’t-Be-Arsed.’
Mum sighed. ‘I’m sorry Ian was so dismissive of you. He’s a fool to overlook your talent. But perhaps the problem isn’t with the idea itself. Maybe the issue is that he wasn’t the one who came up with it.’
‘That would be plain stupid. He said himself that we’ve only got four months left to save the Variety. Surely the priority is that, rather than who comes up with what plan.’
‘The male ego can be a fragile thing,’ said Mum. I heard a throat being cleared. ‘Let me correct myself. It can be a fragile thing for some men, as your father points out. Hashtag not all men and all that. As you know, your father’s very happy for me to take the credit for all the good ideas in our marriage.’
‘That’s because you’re the one responsible for them. I merely provide the decorative aspect of our partnership,’ I heard my dad saying. I could picture him playfully nudging Mum as they sat side by side, listening to me on loudspeaker.
‘Whatever you like to think, pet,’ replied my mum. I could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Now Amy, don’t take it to heart. I am a great believer in things working out the way they’re meant to. I know it probably doesn’t help to hear it now, but if your idea’s meant to come to fruition, it will do in spite of Ian’s terrible attitude. And if it doesn’t happen, that’s because there’s another opportunity waiting around the corner for you. Don’t write yourself off. You’re young. You have many exciting adventures ahead of you.’
‘People keep on saying that to me, but “exciting adventures” sound terrifying.’
Mum thankfully ignored my pessimistic viewpoint.
‘Give yourself this evening to lick your wounds, then tomorrow will be a brighter day. Don’t underestimate yourself. You can achieve whatever you want to, if you put your mind to it.’
She made it sound so easy, but it felt like anything but.
From: a.cameron@myemail.com
To: cameron.a@myemail.com
Date: 23 Jan, 19:14
Subject: Busking!
Hey Cameron,
Just a brief message to say I haven’t forgotten about you and I promise I’ll send you a proper email soon but my fingers are like blocks of ice at the mo so I’m struggling to type properly. I’ve been out busking to raise money for a local charity and it being Edinburgh and winter and all, I got chilled to the bone. I managed to keep playing, but as soon as I stopped my hands turned blue in some kind of delayed reaction. I was going to borrow Eliza and Fraser to see if they’d do the honours of snuggling up and thawing me out, but wisely they were conspicuous in their absence when I got back home. Anyway, the important thing is that I’ve done my bit for the charity, plus it was great fun to play ceilidh tunes again – got to cater to the tourists who can’t get enough of the traditional folk stuff. Mind you, neither can I. Right, I’m off to run myself a hot bath!
Amy x
PS: here I am wittering on about being cold and you’re in Antarctica. Sorry, that’s very tone deaf of me. Where did you get your long johns from?! I could probably do with some for my next busking foray.
I stuck a twenty-pound note in a charity collecting bucket on my way home to assuage my guilty conscience.