From: admin@edinburghorch.org
To: a.cameron@myemail.com
Date: 13 Feb, 18:00
Subject: Re: Audition
Dear Ms Cameron,
The Edinburgh Amateur Orchestral Society would like to invite you to an audition on Friday 17th February at 6pm precisely. I have re-attached the required exercises for your perusal, and would like to take this opportunity to remind you that you need to prepare a solo of no more than three minutes in duration. We expect the audition to take no longer than ten minutes in total, after which you will be invited to observe the first half of the orchestra’s rehearsal, until the closed period, which is from 7pm.
If this audition time is not convenient, please reply and we will add you to our list when we re-open for auditions at the beginning of summer.
Regards,
John Markham
Administrator, Edinburgh Amateur Orchestral Society
The email landed when I was in the middle of a rare phone call with Liv. While of course I was concentrating hard on laughing in all the right places at my sister’s tales of life in the Big Apple, I’ll admit I had my laptop open and was occasionally hitting refresh on my inbox in case Cameron replied to my message. After sending him the email making clear my desire to meet him, I’d worried I might have sounded a bit desperate, but had finally come to the conclusion that I’d been following my policy of honesty, and as Cass would advocate, I’d felt the fear and gone for it anyway.
‘It clashes with the Cellar Bar opening, botheration,’ I said.
‘No, not botheration at all. The guy deserved everything he got, including the ice cubes down the back of his designer shirt.’ Liv paused. ‘You weren’t listening to a word I said, were you?’
‘Sorry, Liv. I’m a terrible sister, I know.’
I could almost see her shaking her head in mock anger.
‘My life has never been the same since you came along and stole my thunder, Twinkle Star,’ she said. ‘And that was one of my best New York nightmare dating scene anecdotes as well.’
‘Tell me again?’ I invited.
‘I don’t think it works quite so well on the second telling. Go on then, what are you botherating about? Tell your big sis.’
I conducted a quiet deliberation with myself. On the one hand if I told Liv about the orchestra audition, she’d be bound to blab to my parents and the loving support which I knew would then ensue from my whole family would be overwhelming. On the other hand, I could really do with some advice and reassurance, and who better to offer it than the sibling who’d been there for me since I was a tiny scrap of a thing?
‘I’ve started playing the violin again,’ I said quickly, then held the phone away from my ear as the entirely predictable babble of excitement and questioning was delivered at high pitch. I re-read the entire email from the orchestra administrator while I let Liv work it out of her system.
‘Finished?’ I asked.
‘You’re such a spoilsport, Amy. Do the ’rents know? Where are you playing? Have you quit your job yet? You can’t drop a bombshell like that and not expect to get grilled within an inch of your life about it.’
‘I swear living in New York is bad for you. It’s made you blunter than ever.’ I laughed. ‘Fair enough, I suppose you need to know the context. The answers are as follows: no; anywhere that will take me; and most definitely not. Comprende?’
I could picture her screwing her face up in concentration as she tried to remember the questions she’d asked and in which order.
‘Okay, the only thing I think I’ve got clear is the “anywhere that will take you” part. Would you like to elaborate?’
‘Right. Well, first of all, no, Mum and Dad do not know, and we’re going to keep it that way for the time being, aren’t we?’
I waited for her to agree.
‘Aren’t we?’ I pressed, when the vow of silence was not forthcoming.
‘Fine, be like that.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll promise to try to keep it quiet, but you know what your mum is like. Her talent for sniffing out a secret would put the KGB to shame.’
I suppose that was as close to reassurance as I was going to get from Liv.
‘And I’m definitely not quitting my job,’ I continued. ‘It’s far too early doors for that kind of thing. But I’ve been out busking for charity, which I actually enjoyed, I’ll have you know, and I’ve been given a date to audition for the Edinburgh Amateur Orchestral Society. Don’t be put off by the word “amateur” in their name. They are professionals in all but the pay side of things. In fact, lots of their players have actually gone on to make music their careers.’
‘That’s fab news, Amy. They’ll snap you up. Edinburgh Amateur Orchestral Society today, tomorrow, taking centre stage back at Usher Hall where you belong. Oh, I might even have to do a little happy dance, and you know New York has made me far too cynical to do that kind of thing on a regular basis.’
‘You have a lot of faith in me.’
‘Well, someone has to,’ she retorted. ‘Although I’m hoping that this is an indication you’re starting to regain it in yourself, eh?’
‘Maybe a little,’ I admitted. ‘But before you get too carried away, there’s a problem.’
‘There is no such thing as problems, only growth opportunities with solutions to be found,’ recited Liv.
I pretended to gag down the phone. ‘Really? They actually pay you to spout that kind of nonsense?’
Liv laughed. ‘Yep, that’s how I make the megabucks, baby. I put on my best stern face. That combined with the Scottish accent and they’re putty in my hands. But seriously, it may sound like corporate rubbish, but there is an element of truth in it. I’m sure if we put our heads together, we’ll come up with a solution for your dilemma.’
‘Obviously it’s great news that they’re giving me an audition, but it couldn’t be at a worse time as it clashes with the opening night of the Cellar Bar.’
I quickly filled my sister in on all the hard work we’d been carrying out to create the new venue, and my hopes for how it might turn around the Variety’s fortunes.
‘Very entrepreneurial. I should refer some of my clients to you when they’re struggling to think outside the box,’ she said. It felt good to hear the pride in my sister’s voice.
‘After all that effort, I can’t skip out on the opening night to attend an audition. My colleagues are relying on me.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Liv. ‘Is there any chance you could reply to the orchestra and ask for another audition time? Explain your situation and offer an alternative date?’
‘No.’ I quickly read the email out to her. ‘They’re very clear, aren’t they? It’s this date, or I’m back on the list for some unspecified audition slot in the summer. I can’t wait that long.’
Thankfully she didn’t press me on why.
‘That administrator bloke sounds a bit snooty, doesn’t he? He doesn’t even say they’re looking forward to hearing your audition.’
‘I’m not reading too much into it. I reckon it’s a standard email they send to everyone, just replace the name, that kind of thing. They can’t be seen to be favouring people.’
‘Sure,’ said Liv, in a voice which made clear that she totally disagreed with me. ‘So, the audition is at 6pm, and what time is the open mic night?’
‘The show itself is going to start at 9pm.’
‘I don’t know what you’re worrying about. You’ve got ages. Do the audition and then head back to the theatre, easy.’
‘The show might start at 9pm, but I’ll be spending the entire time up to that point running around and sorting out last minute glitches. Imagine it’s project report day at your job. It’s going to be that kind of frenetic.’
‘I’m not sure I recognise the analogy, oh sister mine. At my firm I can assure you that the situation never gets to the frenetic stage, ahem.” She dropped the corporate act. “Okay, so I totally get where you’re coming from. But the orchestra audition is an amazing opportunity. Amy, I’m serious, after all you’ve been through, you can’t let it slip through your fingers.’
‘But I can’t let my friends at work down, either. There’s Malcolm’s sick pay situation to consider, and my new mate Leonie is hoping she can get a promotion if it’s a success. There’s a lot resting on it.’
‘I get that. Let me think about it, and I’ll get back to you with a solution.’
‘You sound very confident about that,’ I said, wanting to believe that she could sort out all my problems for me.
‘I am. There is definitely a way round this, and I will let you know what it is as soon as I’ve come up with it.’
From: cameron.a@myemail.com
To: a.cameron@myemail.com
Date: 14 Feb, 18:06
Subject: The return journey
Hi Amy,
As you can probably tell from the subject line of this email, while we’re currently still pootling around the peaceful bays of this little corner of Antarctica, it won’t be long before we turn towards the Drake Passage and start making our way back to Ushuaia. I’m going to miss this place. Normally when I go abroad somewhere and get sad about leaving, I can comfort myself with the prospect of returning there again one day, but with Antarctica there are no guarantees. The guest prices are prohibitively expensive, and whether I’ll get another job on board, who knows. Just to clarify that’s not because I’ve been a pain in the arse to work with and they won’t invite me back. I really hope I’ve been the opposite of that. But the company I work for only runs a limited number of trips out here, and I’m not sure they’ll need my specialism on future ones. So, I’ll comfort myself with the memories of everything that these two voyages have given me, and I’ll look ahead with eager anticipation to the next adventure, whatever that might be.
Thanks for your last email by the way. As always, it was so lovely to see your email address popping up in my inbox. Alas, beyond the email address and the subject line ‘Toilets’ that is all that downloaded. I tried restarting the computer (a painful process which takes over an hour) and then the engineer agreed to take a look at the satellite system, but even he couldn’t work out why the email was scrambled and wouldn’t load up. The subject line did make me laugh, although it was rather hard to explain to the engineer when I didn’t actually know the reason for it myself. I suspect it’s because I’ve subjected you to rather too many tales of Antarctic facilities, for which I can only apologise. I very much hope that it wasn’t actually a missive to say you’re horribly ill and having to spend a disproportionate amount of time by the porcelain… Get well soon if it was.
So that was my long-winded way of saying I don’t know what you wrote about in your last email, so I will ramble on it my own way and fill you in on the latest news from the southern hemisphere. We’ve had another mini crisis on board with one of the chefs admitting he never actually graduated from culinary school. The captain has agreed to let this one slide as the guy has proven himself a dozen times over in the galley, but it’s all been rather awkward as formal processes had to be gone through to decide the chef’s fate. Yep, boat bureaucracy strikes again. Anyway, he’s a good bloke, but I’m really hoping it’s the final bit of drama we face on this trip. I could do without the stress of it.
Aside from that, I’m working my way through a collection of ‘lasts’. The last trip ashore to take photographs of the penguins, the last kayaking expedition. To be honest, kayaking is the one thing I probably won’t miss that much. Don’t get me wrong, this is not because I had a traumatic experience while paddling around, but having to think about balancing the kayak while also taking photos was not my favourite, and then one of the guests asked if a whale has ever surfaced beneath a kayak, and once that idea was in my head, I couldn’t get it out. Oh, and the last formal dinner with the guests, although I won’t be sorry to wave goodbye to the dreaded black tie. Thankfully tonight’s meal is a more relaxed affair, despite the date. (Happy Valentine’s Day, by the way.)
What I am hoping will not happen is one last bout of seasickness as we make our way slowly back to the tip of South America. Once I get back ashore there, I was wondering if…
I tried to scroll down further, my pulse reacting to his Valentine’s wishes, but there was nothing more to be seen. I grabbed my laptop and tried checking the email there, but I was still confronted with a blank page. Either Cameron had hit send before he’d finished writing the message, or the weird downloading issue had struck again. It was so frustrating. What had he been wondering? Had he been about to ask me a question? And had his mention of Valentine’s Day meant what I wanted it to? I had no way of knowing. But his casual mention of the chef who’d embellished his CV had once again got me thinking about all the times I had played loose with the truth in my emails. I wanted to keep in touch with Cameron, to meet him in person if he was up for it. But how could I ask that of him if he didn’t know the truth about me? And the longer I held it back, the more difficult it would be to justify.