Page 36 of The Typo

‘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.

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