My plan, such as it was, was to take matters into my own hands and push ahead with reopening the Cellar Bar for use as an extra performing space. It was clear that Creepy Colin had done precisely nothing to follow up on my idea, so I needed to force the issue. There was a high degree of risk to this strategy of going against Ian’s directive, but given the urgency of Malcolm’s situation, I had to try.
I stared at my list of tasks. They were all achievable, but doing them by myself was simply not practical given the time constraints. A lot of performers would already be booked up, but that wouldn’t stop us hosting open mic nights, book readings, and providing rehearsal space for local amateur groups. It wouldn’t generate millions, but if we could start getting punters through the doors several nights a week and they bought tickets and drinks, it could help put some more dosh back into the theatre’s coffers which in turn might force the boss to reassess his hard-line attitude towards supporting Malcolm. I feared I was probably grasping at straws, but I was tired of passively letting things happen. Time to seize the initiative for a change.
I snuck down to the Cellar Bar by the back staircase, going the long way round to lessen the chance of bumping into Ian who had developed a worrying habit of jumping out at staff members when we least expected it. Shutting the door of the bar behind me, I set my phone down on the floor with the torch shining up at the ceiling. First things first, I needed to replace the broken bulbs in the main light fitting so I could see what I was doing.
I grabbed one of the dusty chairs from the centre of the room and gingerly stood on its seat. It let out an ominous creak. I waited, bracing myself for it to break under me. Thankfully it managed to hold. I was glad nobody was around to see how long it took me to change those lightbulbs, but my excuse was that I was doing it in far from ideal circumstances. I was also taking extra care. If I went and broke an ankle like Malcolm had done, it would be extremely problematic, especially as no one knew I was down in the cellar, and my phone was out of reach.
Once I could actually see properly, I realised the full extent of the challenge facing me. When Malcolm had come down here with me, it had seemed like such a simple job—a bit of tidying up, a simple lighting rig, and that was it. But getting this place sorted around my other normal work tasks would take days by myself. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it properly. A half-arsed attempt would be bound to result in failure. But the issue was that if I enlisted anyone else to help with my scheme, then I would be putting them in the firing line too. I sat back on my haunches and sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than I’d thought. Or was I once again using problems as an excuse not to follow through with something? I pushed that thought to the back of my mind.
The bleep of my phone interrupted my reverie.
Drink tonight?
A text from an unfamiliar number. I frowned, trying to think who it could be from. I hadn’t exactly been dishing my number out to anyone of late. I decided the invitation probably wasn’t even intended for me, just the result of someone getting their digits mixed up, a bit like the typo which had led to my correspondence with Cameron. Connecting with one random stranger was quite enough for me.
I deleted the message and then started working on moving the chairs to the corner of the room so there was more space for me to get scrubbing.
My phone bleeped again.
It’s Col btw. Sorry to hear Malcolm’s gone and crocked himself. Drink to cheer you up?
How had Creepy Colin got my number? I shuddered and tapped out a quick message politely but firmly making it very clear I would not be accepting any invitations from him. Before I could block him, another message appeared.
Fair do’s. Box office dead. I’m off.
That was all we needed. Someone not pulling their weight but still getting a wage for it while Malcolm’s years of loyalty and dedication to the business were being rewarded with a big fat nothing. I looked around once again at the grimy basement. Ian had assigned Colin to follow up on my Cellar Bar proposal in a casual way. Perhaps I could reinterpret his order and oversee the project myself, but enlist Colin to do the grunt work. If I spent too long down here, my absence from the admin office would be questioned. And it would make a change for Colin to do actual work for once. I knew I was putting myself in a vulnerable position, but I had to do something to help Malcolm.
I relayed my instructions to Colin by text message, then retreated to a safe distance to see if he actually bothered to follow them. Somewhat to my surprise, five minutes later I observed him swagger down to the Cellar Bar vacuum in hand.
* * *
Over the next few days, I dipped in and out of the Cellar Bar, trying to time my visits for when Colin was taking one of his frequent breaks. But despite my fears about his work ethic, he seemed to be making good progress. And if I was spending every second at work on tenterhooks, fearing that Ian might be about to discover my loose interpretation of his orders, I comforted myself that I was trying to help a friend. Every time I sent Malcolm a text to check in, his replies sounded more and more dejected.
I decided to distract myself from my concern for Malcom by prepping my living room for the Zoom call with Cameron. What better way to fight anxiety than with another dose of it? Because it wasn’t just a simple matter of chatting with a random bloke over the internet. It was chatting with a decent guy who was expecting someone who was way better than me. I needed to transform my environment so it reinforced the impression of Amy the amazing unflappable musician, who would definitely live in effortlessly chic surroundings rather than do what I had actually done, which was read the terms and conditions of my lease and become too fearful to put a single picture up, even with some renter-friendly tape. Well, now it was time to channel Alternative Amy’s better attitude.
I set my laptop up on the kitchen counter and turned the camera on so I could see what would be in the background of the call. The pile of washing next to the sofa would have to go, as would the stack of old newspapers and magazines on the coffee table. Hopefully the camera wouldn’t pick up the fronds of cat hair which seemed to be floating off every soft surface, but it wouldn’t do any harm to tackle them while I was at it. I found another episode of ‘Join Us’ and set to work, methodically vacuuming and dusting every exposed surface. Then I filled a binbag with detritus, straightened up the sofa, and opened the windows to let in some very refreshing Edinburgh air. The room looked better already, and my spirits lifted accordingly. I plumped up the cushions and stood back to admire the result of my hard work.
But something was still off. Although my home was now clean it still felt impersonal, like a show room, rather than a place that was actually lived in. Without allowing myself to think about it too much, I set up my music stand in the corner, and then removed my violin case from the cupboard and propped it up next to it. I checked my laptop screen. Yes, that looked a lot better. And more importantly, it felt better. Maybe one day soon I’d even find the courage to get the violin out of the case. For once, my mind didn’t instantly swerve away from that idea.
I still needed something else to brighten up the place. Perhaps I’d buy a plant, as long as it was non-toxic for cats, of course. And maybe I could print out a few pictures of my favourite local landmarks and put them in the frame on my bookcase which currently still displayed the stock image which it came with. It could prove to be a useful prompt if the conversation with Cameron fell silent at any point.
Speaking of whom… I turned off the camera and clicked on my emails, my stomach flipping with anticipation when I saw he’d sent me a follow-up message.
From: cameron.a@myemail.com
To: a.cameron@myemail.com
Date: 2 Feb, 19:59
Subject: Back in the land of the living
Hello Amy,
Sorry again for the abrupt email I sent before, and then the prolonged radio silence which followed. I won’t get into detail in case you’re in the middle of eating while you read this, but suffice to say, I was not feeling well. I keep telling everyone that this is me getting the seasickness thing out of the way on the first voyage, and that I will be absolutely fine from now on, but judging by the expression on their faces, they did not believe me. The ship’s doctor has written me a prescription for anti-emetics, and I’m going to see if I can source some of those wrist bands which are meant to work on pressure points and make everything okay. I’m prepared to try almost anything to stop this vile sickness.
This is my long-winded way of saying that we are now docked safe and sound back in Ushuaia at the very southernmost tip of South America. We’ve waved the first load of happy guests off and now we have a brief but busy period of restocking and preparation before the next ones arrive. No rest for the wicked.
Ushuaia is nicknamed the ‘End of the World’ but it looks pretty damn good to me, not that there’s enough time for proper exploring unfortunately. Although I’m missing the peace of Antarctica, I’ve been enjoying the opportunity to briefly walk on a surface which isn’t bucking all over the place. I say that, but when I first got off the ship, I swear I could still feel the movement of the waves underneath my feet. It was the same years ago when I went to Australia on a business trip. I could feel the turbulence from the plane for days afterwards, which was quite awkward when I was meant to be concentrating on my meetings.
We’re back on Argentina time from ship time, so you’re not an obscene number of hours ahead of me in Edinburgh. I’m guessing with your job the evening might not be such a good time to meet. How about 3pm your time tomorrow? Would that suit? I’ll put a link at the bottom of this message, but let me know if it doesn’t work, as it can be easily changed. I’m really looking forward to it.
Cameron
I tried to focus on the positives. Cameron was back in internet range, and he was still emailing me. So either he was true to his word and preferred to ask questions rather than googling me, or he’d done a search but not found anything too damaging. I was glad that I’d not let slip that I used to perform as Amy Rose, using my pretty middle name to help me stand out instead of my commonplace surname. Every extra layer of protection had to help.
I was also touched that Cameron had been so thoughtful as to consider my fictional evening performance while arranging when we should meet. He had of course unknowingly picked a time which couldn’t be more inconvenient, smack bang in the middle of my working day, and just half an hour after the scheduled start of yet another consultation catch up with Ian. After all that effort sprucing up my flat, I’d have to take the call in the admin office, even supposing my meeting finished in time, and hope that no-one barged in right in the middle of our chat.
Considering other logistics, I’d have to clear a space in the office as well to make it look like it wasn’t a workplace, as it would be far too early to be in the theatre for my ‘performance’. Unless I set myself up somewhere backstage and said I’d gone in early for a rehearsal? But I was uncomfortable enough with the Alternative Amy fiction I’d spun so far and I had to draw the line somewhere. I recognised my fixation on the practicalities for what it was—a distraction from the emotions which the call was stirring in me. I was torn between anticipation and dread at the prospect of finally speaking to Cameron. Would I be able to live up to the expectations I’d created? And how would I feel about him when I actually got to speak to him rather than just reading his words? I knew that however the call went, things would change. Was I ready to risk losing the virtual friendship which had become so important to me?
From: a.cameron@myemail.com
To: cameron.a@myemail.com
Date: 2 Feb, 20:21
Subject: Re: Back in the land of the living
3pm my time works perfectly. See you tomorrow!
A x
PS: while you’re onshore, don’t forget to stock up on the ginger biscuits! I know I keep harping on about them, but when I went on a school trip to the Farne Islands, our teachers made us eat them beforehand and not a single kid was sick, despite the copious amount of junk everyone had also consumed on the bus on the way there.