Page 20 of The Typo

Dad appeared from the sitting room, his arm full of newspaper supplements.

‘Hello, poppet. The Variety’s got a glowing review in this.’ He shook the Arts section at me, then infuriatingly held it out of my reach.

‘No way, not for the crappy memoir show? Give it here,’ I said, trying to grab it from his arms.

‘Surely you have time for your tea first? It’s the weekend. No need to be thinking about work now.’

‘I told you not to mention it, Bill,’ said my mum, bustling in with the teapot. ‘Your dad’s made a cake, too.’

‘Don’t try to distract me. Okay, what flavour is it?’

‘Lemon drizzle, my lovely daughter’s favourite. Or have I accidentally exposed that I’ve got a secret other family, because you actually prefer chocolate?’ He clutched his hand to his chest in mock horror.

‘Nice try, Dad. Don’t worry, you haven’t got me muddled with Liv, as you know perfectly well. How is she by the way?’

My older sister, well, half-sister from my dad’s first marriage, was very far from being a secret, although her busy existence as a management consultant in New York meant I generally found out more about what was happening in her life from her socials than from actual phone calls.

‘Still hoping you’ll visit her soon. Her firm’s got a couple of season tickets now at the Lincoln Center and she says she’d be happy to take you any time.’

‘Maybe next year,’ I said. ‘The boss isn’t looking too kindly on leave requests at the moment, and the promised pay increase is obviously never going to happen.’

‘If it’s a matter of money…’ My mum’s voice tailed off. We both knew that it was a convenient excuse. I didn’t go to concerts any more.

We sat down in the kitchen and I waited until Dad was busy slicing the cake to seize the newspaper.

I flicked quickly to the reviews section and scanned through until I spotted Ottilie Havers’ byline picture.

‘“A sensitive and nuanced portrayal of the trials and tribulations of modern life. This young man is one to watch.”’

The newspaper crumpled as I lowered it to pull a face at my parents.

‘Sensitive and nuanced? Did she actually watch the show? He literally spends half of it screaming, not actual words, just weird guttural roars. The whole thing is an uncomfortable misery fest that’s about two hours too long.’ I checked the name of the play again. ‘Nope, it’s not a mistake, she is talking about the Crap Show.’

‘Maybe she’s not such a discerning critic after all?’ said Mum in an affectedly casual voice. I knew exactly what she was trying to get at.

‘Or maybe it’s me, and I’m not clever enough to understand it.’

Dad cleared his throat. ‘I think we all of us know that’s not true. You’ve always been a bright button, my Amy. It’s the self-belief you’re lacking in.’

I frowned. I came home for the weekend to get some R&R, not to submit to my parents’ apparent new hobby as amateur psychologists.

‘Well, maybe her review is a bit flawed, but that’ll be because she’s new to doing theatrical stuff. She pretty much told me it was the first time she’d been assigned to review a play.’

‘If you ask me, it goes to show that she’s not the be-all and end-all. Reviews are always only one person’s opinions. She’s paid to express hers, but it doesn’t mean that her opinion is more valid than anyone else’s. Have you considered that she keeps herself in her position by deliberately coming out with controversial takes?’

I wanted this conversation to end. My decision to stop with music wasn’t only about the bad review, and it never had been, but there was no point in raking over all that again.

‘Thanks for the cake. I’ll go and put my stuff in my room, if that’s okay. I need to check my emails.’

I didn’t hang around to wait for their response.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 28 Jan, 14:04

Subject: It’s the weekend!!!

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