Page 41 of The Typo

We both turned to face her, Cass putting her hands in a prayer position and pleading with her to say yes, and me pulling horrified faces and gesturing no, even though I knew it was a fruitless plea.

‘I’m feeling incredibly powerful all of a sudden,’ said Leonie. ‘Sorry, Amy, I’m afraid my vote is going to be yes to karaoke. Besides, I’d like to point out that I’m a trained technician, so I know how to twiddle the settings on the machine so we sound amazing.’

‘Really?’ asked Cass.

Leonie grinned wickedly.

‘Of course she doesn’t,’ I said. ‘She’s just used to talking up acts so they feel confident before they go on stage. I can guarantee that any karaoke machine would make even Adele sound terrible.’ I threw my hands up in surrender. ‘Oh, screw it, what’s the worst that can happen? Let’s go for it. What’s our tune of choice, ladies?’

We ended up shrieking our way through Taylor Swift’s ‘Anti-Hero’, none of us really needing to follow the little red ball which bounced along the lyrics. It was a tuneless mess, as the best karaoke always is, but I found I didn’t care what I sounded like or how I looked. I was having fun with my friends, a phrase I hadn’t been able to use in a long time. I felt physically lighter.

By the end of the evening, we were standing on Princes Street handing out the rest of the leaflets and still working our way through Taylor Swift’s greatest hits. We definitely weren’t the greatest advert for the Edinburgh Variety, but at least we were attracting attention, and most people were smiling indulgently at us. In the words of Cass, it had been a top night. Now I only hoped that some of the scores of people we’d given the leaflets to would follow through and book tickets for Edinburgh’s Got Talent at the Cellar Bar this coming Friday evening.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 12 Feb, 21:21

Subject: Toilets

Hey Cameron,

There’s been a definite theme to your correspondence so far—penguin poo, a bucket at Port Lockroy, portable toilets at the overnight campsite, I get the picture. Don’t worry, I enjoy that you’re keeping things real! I suppose this would be my opportunity to say that I’m a champion camper and sleeping out under the Antarctic skies alongside you would hold no fear for me, but actually I’ve never been quite the same since a Highland cow broke into my tent in the middle of the night when I was doing my Duke of Edinburgh award. I don’t know which of us was more startled, me by the appearance of the horned beast, or it by the sight of me in my unicorn pyjamas. It mooed, I shrieked, and my teacher had to intervene. Oops, I’ve just let slip my predilection for cartoon nightwear. Yup, I admit, I’m a cosy, comfy kind of gal, and I’m not ashamed of it. But given your comments about long johns, I reckon you’re probably of a similar mindset. In case you were wondering, you’ll be pleased to know that I did eventually get my Bronze Award, despite the best efforts of the Highland cattle, but the tent has sadly gone to the great camping field in the sky, may it rest in ripped peace.

You must be coming towards the end of your expedition ship contract. How are you feeling about that? I’m guessing mixed emotions. I’ve been at the same theatre for a while now and I know I’ll feel strange waving it goodbye when the time comes to move on, which it probably will at some point. After all, I’ve made some very good friends here. But I’m confident that we’ll remain good friends even if we’re not in the same environment, and I’m sure it will be the same for you and your mates on the ship. Are you going to continue travelling once you’ve signed off? Or will you be heading back to England to visit your family? Or perhaps you’ll be needed in London at the Packwood Gallery? Sorry, this is turning into twenty questions, isn’t it? Well, if you ever find yourself needing to visit Edinburgh, I hope you’ll look me up. Actually, I’m hoping you’ll look me up anyway. Besides, if you do get that exhibition at the Packwood, I think you owe me a ticket.

Love,

Amy x

PS: Some of the folk tunes I played while busking include ‘Green Grow the Rashes’ (thank you Mr Rabbie Burns for the lyrics, although I was not singing them while playing, I hasten to add. That kind of multi-tasking is beyond me.) and ‘The Banks of Spey’. And if one of your ship mates has either of them on their device, then they’ve got excellent taste!

PPS: If your ship mates haven’t got those tunes, all the more reason for you to visit Edinburgh and hear them live instead!

ChapterTwenty-Two

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

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.

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