I’d designated my Thursday off work as Busking Day, and thankfully the run up to it was so busy that I didn’t have much time to dwell on my nerves. After reading and re-reading the latest rules about public entertainment on the Edinburgh City Council’s website I’d established that it was surprisingly simple to turn up, claim a pitch and start playing. Surprisingly simple from the logistics point of view of course, but much less easy for a violinist with a history of crippling stage fright and self-doubt.
To help make sure I was as prepared as possible, I scouted out my location on no fewer than three separate occasions, visiting it at different times of day to check that there was the right mix of passing traffic without the potential to attract too large an audience. It would be cheating to deliberately choose a position where nobody would turn up, but equally I didn’t want too many people hanging around and increasing my anxiety. Setting up in Princes Street Gardens in February wasn’t exactly guaranteed to help me rake in the cash, but while I wanted to support my chosen charity (it had a particular focus on tackling climate change and protecting those species most vulnerable to it – I thought the penguins would approve) my primary aim was to get back in the violin saddle in public. Performing for my neighbour was nowhere in the same league, and that had been nerve-wracking enough, although I did end up playing far more than just the one piece I’d initially suggested. Harry had proved to be a supportive audience, gamely clapping along to the folk music and pretending not to notice when I had to stop part way through a Mozart piece and start again having lost my place.
Eliza and Fraser had perhaps been more representative of the type of audience I expected to gather. Eliza had immediately removed herself from the living room after shooting an expressive glance of utter disapproval at the racket I was making, while Fraser had been wrapped up in his own little world, washing his paws with great thoroughness, and then falling promptly asleep, ears pointedly buried beneath a cushion.
An equal amount of care went into selecting my busking repertoire. I picked out old favourites, a mixture of well-known classics and traditional folk tunes, hoping that there would be something among the eclectic mix which would please tourists and locals alike. Rather than subject Harry and my other neighbours to endless repeats of ‘Flower of Scotland’, I took my violin into work and rehearsed in the Cellar Bar, something which was made much easier by the fact that Ian had swanned off for a stint as a guest performer on a Caribbean cruise. When he’d called another all staff meeting to announce he was taking the trip, there had been a collective gasp of shock. I suspected many of us were more surprised that the boss had got the gig, rather than by his decision to abandon us in the middle of the consultation period.
Malcolm had been especially outraged when I rang him to share the news.
‘I don’t know how he can look at himself in the mirror in the morning. I can’t believe he’s disappearing off on a Caribbean jolly while I’m counting every penny and wondering how I’m going to be able to afford to keep the heating on.’
I’d listened sympathetically, making murmurs of agreement wherever required. I hadn’t liked to say that I was actually delighted Ian had left the country. Yes, as Malcolm pointed out, the optics were terrible, but it was very handy having the boss out of the way so I could press ahead with welcoming punters into the Cellar Bar for the first time without his interference. I’d taken advantage of Ian’s giddy distraction immediately following the staff meeting to get him to sign the insurance documents and other paperwork for the new venue so it was all legit. He’d been so swept up in the excitement about treading the boards again, that I was sure he’d not listened to a word I’d said or even read what he was signing. I knew I was pushing my luck, but at least the project was officially approved by the boss. Kind of.
When Busking Day arrived, I was exhausted and longing for a lie in. The cowardly part of me had half hoped for rain, as that would have given me a legitimate excuse to wriggle out of my promise to myself, but when I looked out of my window first thing, the sky was bright with not a cloud on the horizon. The weather app on my phone warned me that it was still pretty chilly outside, despite the sunshine, but I’d take it. Perhaps spring was finally on the way. That had to be a good omen.
I forced myself to swallow some breakfast, which lay heavily in my stomach as I looked through my music one last time. I’d made the probably foolish decision to play everything by heart. From a practical point of view, it meant I wouldn’t have to worry about music blowing off the stand or my iPad dying, but I didn’t completely trust myself to remember all the notes. A lot had happened since the good old days when playing from memory was a given, and I would easily retain a piece, even a long one, after playing it through only a couple of times. I told myself that the focused practice I’d done over the last few days was enough to absorb the music into my fingers, but the irritating negative niggle at the back of my mind still made me worry that it might all disappear under pressure. I couldn’t put it off any longer. I only have to do it for half an hour, I reassured myself as I got ready, pulling on two sets of leggings and a pair of jogging bottoms underneath waterproof trousers, just in case. I had fewer layers on my top half because I needed to retain some movement to actually play the violin, but I knew I was going to rustle with every stroke of the bow regardless. I donned my fingerless gloves, then pulled an oversized pair of men’s gloves on top, with a heat pad tucked between the two layers for the walk to my spot. If my fingers froze mid-performance, it wouldn’t be because they were cold.
Harry was hovering on the landing as I left my flat, apparently absorbed in inspecting the peeling paint on his front door, although as excuses went, it was a pretty poor one.
‘The very best of luck,’ he said quietly to me as I passed, and then disappeared inside. His no fuss good wishes were exactly the confidence boost I needed. Aside from Cameron, who of course was under the wrong impression that I was a regular and carefree busker, Harry was the only friend who was aware that I was venturing back onto this path. I’d decided to wait to see how it went before I said anything to my family or the girls. I knew the former would have made such a big deal of not making a fuss that it would have had the opposite effect, and the latter would probably have ignored the message (Meg and Jodie), or have enough on their plate without needing to bolster me (Cass). Hopefully I wouldn’t end up crying on Harry’s doorstep after it all went horribly wrong.
I walked briskly into town, trying to focus on soaking in my surroundings rather than the churning sensation in my stomach. Edinburgh was showing off today, stone buildings glowing in the low sunlight, the air crisp and fresh. As I arrived at my chosen pitch in Princes Street Gardens I took a moment to enjoy the sight of the sea of snowdrops bobbing in the breeze. Although the branches of the trees were still bare, here and there I thought I could detect the signs of green buds starting to develop. Yes, spring was definitely just around the corner.
There were a few people around, mostly dog walkers meandering along with their pets, patiently waiting as the pooches checked their wee-mail. I felt pretty conspicuous, the odd woman out standing around with a violin case on my back. There was only one thing for it. I’d have to get my instrument out and get busking. After briefly checking the tuning, which had of course slipped a bit due to the contrast in temperature between the relative warmth of my flat and the freshness of the great outdoors, I carefully fixed my cardboard sign in place on my open violin case so that passers-by could read more about the work of the charity I was supporting.
Even though logically I knew that nobody was paying me any attention, I felt as though there were a thousand pairs of eyes fixed on my back. I clenched my fists and relaxed them a few times, hoping to stop the nervous shake my fingers were threatening to develop. There was still time for me to change my mind, to pack everything away and escape. I could tell Harry I’d gone through with it—he’d never find out otherwise. And nobody else would care. As the negative thought intruded, I gave myself a stern talking-to. I would care. I had to do this. Mustering all my courage I stood up straight, lifted my violin and started playing.
I started with the hardest tune first. If I could survive this one, I could do them all. ‘Drowsy Maggie’ was a firm folk favourite, an Irish reel I used to whip out during the impromptu dances we used to enjoy in between youth orchestra rehearsals. The tune gets faster and faster, encouraging dancers to spin ever more rapidly, until everyone collapses in a heap of laughter on the floor. I soon realised it was much harder recreating that carefree atmosphere outside in February when most passers-by wanted to keep their heads down and their headphones on. But I persisted, reminding myself that just because there wasn’t a semicircle of appreciative folk lovers gathered around me clapping their hands and stamping their feet, it didn’t mean this busking venture was a failure. I was out here, and I was playing, and that was more than I would have ever thought possible even a month ago.
Nevertheless, when the first person dropped a pound coin in my violin case, I was so happy I could have hugged them. And once that first donation had been made, others followed in a steady trickle. The takings weren’t going to solve climate change, but it was still an amount to be proud of, every tarnished coin, sterling and other denominations, a mark of personal growth. Even if I hadn’t earned a penny, the sense of achievement in doing this and, more importantly, in beginning to enjoy playing again were worth a limitless fortune.
The half-hour I’d promised myself came and went, and it was only when I realised I’d lost all feeling in my feet that I decided to call it a day and return home to thaw out. Next time I’d have to wear shoes with a thicker sole. I caught myself. I was already thinking about next time and the thought wasn’t sending me into a spiral of anxiety. That had to be the biggest success of all. The first step had been made. If I could do this, I could do anything.
The adrenalin and relief from getting through this personal challenge inspired me to pick up my violin and play one last tune. Only this time it wasn’t for the stragglers in Princes Street Gardens. This one I recorded as a voice note and sent to Cameron’s phone. Who knew when or if he’d actually listen to it, but I liked the idea of him being somewhere in the world and hearing me play one day.
When I finished and hit stop on the recording, someone started applauding. I looked up and recognised Leonie from work.
‘That was amazing. It made me want to start dancing.’
I grinned. ‘Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
‘Looks like you raised a fair bit for charity too, great job,’ she said. ‘Do you want a hand packing up?’
Without waiting for an answer, she started scooping up the change which had accumulated in my violin case. Then she suddenly stopped.
‘Sorry, this is very rude of me, grabbing hold of your cash without permission.’
‘Do go ahead, I’m grateful for the help. I’m suddenly feeling very cold.’ In fact, my teeth had started chattering. It didn’t help that I’d been standing outside for a prolonged period, but I suspected my emotions also had something to do with my wobbliness. As they would say on reality television, it had been an emotional rollercoaster of a day.
‘I could do with a hot chocolate. Do you want to come?’ I issued the invitation without really thinking about it. As soon as the words were out, I wished I could take them back. Leonie had only stopped to be polite because she’d recognised a colleague from work. She probably had much better things to be doing than hanging around with me.
But to my surprise, Leonie smiled. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea. I reckon you’ve earned all the marshmallows in the topping too. I know just the place. It’s a few minutes from here but the cakes are to die for.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
We ended up in a tiny café on the Royal Mile. It was sandwiched between a tartan shop and an ancient-looking pub, the kind of establishment which most people would walk past and not even notice. But beyond the steamy windows was a welcoming little haven, the air scented with a heady mix of coffee, cinnamon and cocoa. We pored over the counter, feasting our eyes on the selection of cakes and pastries, tarts glistening with jam, brownies oozing with caramel. After some deliberation, I went for a generous slice of the chocolate orange cake, my mouth watering at the mere sight of the candied peel and thick chocolate icing.
‘How did I not know this place existed?’ I said as we settled down at a table in the window, hugging our mugs of hot chocolate to us. ‘And they even have a leaflet for the Edinburgh Variety. At least somewhere still displays them.’
‘Never mind that, it’s the café’s sign which always amuses me most.’
Leonie pointed at a chalkboard which had written on it in elaborate cursive: Unaccompanied children will be given a free espresso and a puppy.
‘When I brought my little boy in here, he kept telling me to go away and leave him alone because he was desperate to get the free puppy.’ She laughed. ‘I tried to explain to him that it was a joke, but he was having none of it. It started a prolonged campaign for a dog. In the end, I had to tell him that his dad is allergic to the fur, a little white lie, but easier than explaining that the landlord won’t let us have a pet. Mind you, the espresso would have come in handy for me. I’m always in need of caffeine to help me power on through child-induced exhaustion.’
‘I didn’t realise you had a little boy,’ I said, hastily reassessing the assumptions I’d made about her. No wonder she’d been so upset when Ian had made his announcement about the consultation period.
‘Yes, Seb. He’s a bundle of energy who enjoys keeping me on my toes. His current obsession is becoming a theatre technician like his mum.’ She smiled. ‘He was not best pleased when I had to tell him that five year olds can’t become apprentices, even if they offer to work for free. Although, I wouldn’t put it past Ian to consider it, cheapskate that he is. Anyway, enough about me, here’s to your amazing violin talent.’ She clinked her mug against mine. ‘Cheers. Congratulations on what looks like a very successful busking session.’
‘Thanks. It’s been a while; I was horribly nervous.’
‘You looked very calm and collected, for what it’s worth.’
‘Thank you again. If you could remind me of that next time I get the violin out, I’d appreciate it.’
‘No problem, happy to be of assistance. Speaking of which, are you going to ask for my help with the Cellar Bar project, or what?’
I sat up straight, suddenly on my guard. ‘What do you mean?’ I played for time. Even though Ian had signed off the paperwork, I’d still tried to minimise who else was involved because in my heart of hearts I knew I’d gone much further with the idea than the boss had approved.
Leonie pulled a face. ‘None of us are daft, Amy. We’ve all been talking about it. I’m dying to hear from the horse’s mouth how it’s going. How can I help?’
‘Really? Are you sure? Only you know what Ian is like changing his mind about stuff.’
She waved her arm, dismissing my concern. ‘We’re all practically serving out our notice anyway. It’s about time we had a bit of hope to cling on to.’
And so I told her all my grand plans for the Cellar Bar venue while she nodded with what I hoped was enthusiasm.
‘So, you’ve just got the lighting to sort? I’ll help you with that.’ She held up her hand, halting the interruption I was about to make. ‘Malcolm’s virtual assistance is all well and good, but no offence, I think you’ll probably need some support identifying the different kinds of lights. His storage system is a little random. Now do you mind if I try a mouthful of your chocolate orange cake? Feel free to dig into the lemon slice, it’s quite possibly the nicest thing I’ve ever eaten.’
And with that the conversation moved away from work and on to our favourite podcasts via an enthusiastic debate about dream holiday destinations. It was good to have a laugh and get to know a colleague better. I hoped it wouldn’t be a one off. But before I could spiral too much into the overanalysing—how do you ask somebody to be friends when you’re an adult?—Leonie looked at her watch.
‘Drat, is that the time? I’ve got to run and do the ice hockey pick up. I thought I was onto a winner because Seb isn’t into footy, but he’s chosen something even more demanding and expensive in terms of training, bless him. See you tomorrow.’ She gestured at the empty plates. ‘Let’s do this again. It’s nice having a pal who calls me Leonie and not just Seb’s mum.’
And it was as easy as that.
From: a.cameron@myemail.com
To: cameron.a@myemail.com
Date: 9 Feb, 16:33
Subject: Busking in February
Hi Cam,
Actually, do you mind your name being abbreviated to Cam? Amy is a hard name to shorten. My friend Cass (the one who’s off to Australia) sometimes calls me Ams, which is kind of sweet but also makes me think of the verb ‘to aim’ so feels a bit weird too. So, if you’re not a fan of Cam, I’ll start again with ‘Hi Cameron’. I think I prefer that, although it’s not really my place to have a preference of course.
I see your polar plunge and I raise you busking in Edinburgh city centre in February. Oh yes. Jumping into freezing Antarctic waters sounds like a doddle compared to standing in the wind tunnel of Princes Street Gardens. I fear it’s going to take weeks for me to thaw out, even though I’ve borrowed Harry’s cats to cuddle up with. (Harry = my neighbour. I reckon he must be in his 90s but he’s definitely young at heart.) Anyway, I think I’ve learnt the art of playing the cats at their own game because I made a big deal of pretending that the last thing I wanted was to snuggle up with them, so they of course did the exact opposite of what they thought I wanted. Muhahaha!
Despite the February chill, I actually really enjoyed today’s busking venture, and hopefully the wildlife charity will be pleased with the £76 I’ll be sending them in takings. I don’t think it’s a bad haul given that I could only take cash donations and hardly anyone bothers carrying change around nowadays. At one point, a dog on his walk stopped and started singing along to my playing. The owner was terribly embarrassed and tried to drag him away, but I quickly told her I was delighted to have such a handsome accompanist (he was a black Labrador, is there a more gorgeous breed of pooch? I don’t think so) and so she let him stay for a bit. The poor woman stood there for a good fifteen minutes as he threw his head back and crooned for joy. He was getting properly into it. I think I’ve probably got him to thank for the largest donation of the day: a crisp ten-pound note. Clearly I shall have to enlist a four-legged companion for my next venture out onto the streets. I wonder if Eliza and Fraser would be up for it…
Love,
Amy x
PS: Actually, I’m very impressed by your bravery/foolhardiness in taking the polar plunge, and relieved to hear that you’d had a medical check beforehand. Go, Action Man, go! I’m gradually piecing together your itinerary from the tantalising snippets you tell me—Zodiac trips ashore, polar plunge, lectures on focal lengths, what other delights are keeping you busy while you’re so far from ‘civilisation’?