Page 38 of The Typo

Malcolm grinned. ‘If I can manage the stairs at home, I can cope with the steps down to the Cellar Bar. Did you track down everything on my list?’

‘Kind of. In the end I had to get some help.’

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Leonie insisted on getting involved, even though I warned her off so she can have plausible deniability if the boss throws his toys out of the pram when he discovers how far I’ve pushed the plans. It turns out the transformation of the Cellar Bar is an open secret around these parts, despite my best efforts to keep it on the down low. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I’m glad everyone seems to be getting behind the idea. For now at least.’

Malcolm nodded approvingly. ‘That woman will go far. She deserves promotion to a more senior role. It’s outrageous that Ian has kept her on apprentice wages for so long.’

‘Another outrage to add to the long list. Anyway, she’s insisted that she’ll do the lighting for the opening night, and I know she’s going to do a fab job.’

‘And what is the opening night going to comprise of? No, actually, let me concentrate on getting down these stairs, hen, and then you can tell me all about it. No need to fuss over me. I’d prefer it if you walked behind me, if you don’t mind. I’d rather not take you out in the process if I tumble down.’

‘Way to make me feel confident about your crutch-wielding abilities, Malc,’ I said, keeping a close eye on him as he made slow but steady progress down the stairs.

I had a chair set up ready for him at the bottom, but he ignored it in favour of doing a careful inspection lap. He paused every so often to examine the old posters which I’d framed, and to flick through the programmes from each period of the Variety’s history which I’d put in a display stand. When he reached the top of the room, he looked back to suss out how the chairs were arranged, before peering closely at the lights which Leonie had set up on discreet stands in each corner.

‘What’s the verdict?’ I asked. Malcolm’s opinion really mattered to me.

‘It’ll do,’ he said. ‘In fact, it’ll more than do. It’s a good performing space and this rig will work grand for illuminating it.’

‘Leonie did the preliminary setting up. She sends her apologies—she had to go and pick up her little boy from school—otherwise she’d have been here. But she assures me that there are still a few tweaks in the system which need to be finalised by the master.’

‘I’m sure Leonie could do it in her sleep,’ he said, but he looked pleased to be included. It was important to me that Malcolm felt part of this. After all, he was the one who’d inspired me to take the plunge and go for it.

He settled down in the chair I’d readied for him by one of the lighting stands, and then directed me how to do the final adjustments of the lamps.

‘I could get used to this bossing people around,’ he said, as I moved the faders up on the control panel and stood back to assess our work.

‘You’re very good at it. In a nice way,’ I added hastily.

Malcolm smiled. ‘Actually, I think you’re the one who’s demonstrated the real leadership capabilities sorting out all this. You seem to have found your calling.’

I pursed my lips. ‘Let’s see how the grand opening goes before getting too carried away.’

In truth, calling it a grand opening was rather overstating it. I preferred to think of it as a soft launch, a trial run to see how the night went and iron out any issues before we went big the following week. Or at least, that had been my plan. But flush with the success of busking, I’d somehow found myself dropping Ottilie Havers a line to tell her about the opening event, and now instead of having an understated open mic night, the event I’d named ‘Edinburgh’s Got Talent’ was going to be a significantly bigger deal. And so far, I had precisely zero people signed up to take part in it.

‘I shall look forward to taking my seat in the audience,’ said Malcolm.

‘You’re going to be dazzled by the range of talent on display,’ I promised, once again setting myself up for a challenge.

‘I’d expect nothing less. And what will you be performing at the event?’ asked Malcolm. ‘Because a little birdie told me you’ve been out playing that violin of yours again. This would be the perfect stage for you.’

I shot him a glance. Was he being serious? I’d never spoken to Malcolm about my musical history, but I wasn’t surprised that he was aware of it anyway. Not much that happened in Edinburgh’s arts scene passed him by.

‘I’ll be far too busy running around making sure the thing goes smoothly,’ I said.

‘But—’

‘No buts, that’s my final word on it. Now as you’re here, would you mind proofreading my social media posts before I hit publish on them. I’d hate for a typo to slip through and make the whole thing look amateurish.’

It was a calculated gamble advertising the event on the Variety’s social media pages. There was always the risk that Ian would see the posts and ring up demanding that the whole thing be shut down. But I hoped he’d be too busy enjoying being a minor celebrity on his cruise ship to be paying attention to anything that was going on back at home.

The other part of my strategy was a bit more old-fashioned. I’d produced a load of flyers which I intended to personally deliver around the city, targeting other open mic nights in particular. I wasn’t trying to steal their business—I was sure there was more than enough of it to go around—but I wanted to let those on the scene know that there was a new venue on the circuit. But I didn’t intend to deliver them alone. As Malcolm did a final check of the lighting desk, I tapped out a quick text.

Hey, I’m planning to do a bar crawl on Saturday night. Before you get too excited, it’s a work thing. I’m going to be delivering leaflets to entice performers to sign up for our open mic night. But I’d love it if you could join me. Let me know!

I hit send before I could change my mind. With a whoosh the message sped off to my chosen recipients: Cass, Meg, Jodie, and a new addition, Leonie.

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