Page 3 of The Typo

Amy

ChapterTwo

Unlike so many others around the city, when Monday morning finally arrived, I felt relieved it was time to return to work. I’d spent the weekend bingeing on yet more episodes of ‘Join Us’ and forcing myself to go out for walks until the combination of January sleet and tourists clogging up the pavements sent me fleeing back to my too-quiet flat. I knew I was lucky to be living in such a vibrant place with so many exciting opportunities on my doorstep, but somehow, even though I was surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people, I felt disconnected and alone. When I’d first arrived in the city as an eager music student, making friends had been so simple. Everyone was in the same boat, keen to hang out and bond over shared passions. I had taken it for granted that there would always be someone around to go out or stay in with. Now I missed that comfortable vibe, and battled to ignore the growing fear I was getting left behind while everyone else moved on with apparent ease. I wanted things to be different, but without the straightforward friendship-making structures provided by school and uni, I didn’t know how to make that happen. My loneliness seemed like a shameful thing to admit, a condition normally associated with frail pensioners, not a woman about town who should have had everything going for her.

Over the weekend I’d even toyed with the idea of re-installing the dating apps, but exchanging superficial messages with either bored or boring blokes, or having a random hook-up wasn’t exactly the kind of connection I was after at the moment. Besides, it was much more fun swiping when friends were on standby to gossip about the options and cheer you on, suggesting appropriate (or, more likely, inappropriate) opening lines, and carrying out the necessary background research, aka stalking. I suspected if I mentioned dating apps to the girls, their responses, probably several days later than I’d wish for, would be along the lines of how relieved they were not to have to be involved in ‘that scene’ anymore.

When I greeted the team on my punctual 9am arrival at work, eager to once again connect with actual human beings, my voice was slightly raspy from being underused over the last forty-eight hours.

‘Another one who’s obviously had a very good weekend,’ said Malcolm, misinterpreting my hoarseness. He gestured at his assistant Leonie who was gulping down a large espresso with the pained expression of someone who was debating whether the two-day hangover was worth the price of the night out. I grinned, much preferring that take to my colleagues instantly recognising my croakiness as the result of my unwanted hermit-like existence. I imagined Leonie, with her tattoos and incredible streaky pink hair, never sat alone at home on a Saturday evening willing her phone to ping. I mentally kicked myself. I was meant to be a grown up, not some teenager getting envious of the cool kid at school.

‘It was great, thanks, I had a good gossip with the gang,’ I replied, thinking of the podcast I’d listened to, ‘and then I had the neighbours around too.’ No need to mention that the neighbours I was referring to were of the four-legged hairy variety whose only interest in me was as an occasional provider of treats and scratches.

‘Excellent, an old fogey such as myself likes to hear that you young ones are continuing the proud Scottish tradition of living life to the full.’ Although his words were cheerful, something in Malcom’s tone didn’t match. But before I could ask what was on his mind, he lowered his voice and beckoned me closer, his expression serious. ‘Now, any idea why Ian has summoned us all into a full staff meeting? He’s even insisted the apprentices come in, and poor Leonie had to cancel plans as she doesn’t normally work Mondays. I can’t remember the last time he got everyone together like this. I’m not trying to be the workplace doom-monger, but it’s not a good sign.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s an announcement of some sort, and I can’t imagine it’s going to be that we’re all getting a bonus this year. Do you think I should call the union and ask for a rep to attend?’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. You know the boss, he loves an audience. Maybe he’s decided to try reviving his stand-up career yet again and wants to test out his routine on everyone.’ I tried to keep things light-hearted—my boss Ian Sibley’s obsession with attempting to prove he wasn’t a comedy one-hit wonder was a long-standing joke in theatre circles—but it landed flat. Despite my attempt at humour, my own apprehension was growing, and I couldn’t help wondering if Malcolm’s pessimism might actually turn out to be realism. There had always been whispers that the theatre might have to close if the audiences didn’t improve, but in recent times those rumours had grown louder. I pictured the graph on the box office wall which proved in bright primary colours how dramatically sales had fallen. Perhaps we’d finally reached the reckoning point. I very much hoped not. If I lost my job, my calendar really would be empty, never mind the other terrifying, more practical concerns it would raise.

Malcolm, Leonie and I filed into the auditorium and made nervous small talk while everyone waited to find out why we’d been summoned. I looked around, trying to tell from my other colleagues’ expressions if anyone knew what was going on. They all appeared as clueless as I was, which increased my concern. If the meeting was about something ordinary, at least one other person in the team would have known about it. But everyone seemed tense, already bracing themselves for the worst, as the whispered rumours danced around and grew in intensity.

Eventually Ian strode onto the stage, wearing the least shabby of his power suits from his 1980s heyday, and glancing around with affected nonchalance, raised his hand in anticipated acknowledgement of a round of applause which was never going to come from his employees. The low mutterings from the staff in the auditorium fell silent. I tried to read Ian’s body language to see if it gave anything away, but as far as I could tell, his confident swagger wasn’t any different from his normal manner.

‘We are gathered here today,’ he boomed, taking on the demeanour of the parody vicar from one of the in-your-face comedy sketches he was briefly famous for.

The seats in the auditorium creaked as people sat up straighter, bracing themselves for what he was about to say. The noise seemed to bring the boss back to reality and he shuffled his notes, then started speaking again in a much more normal voice. I wondered if anyone else found that as unnerving as I did.

‘First of all, I’ve gathered you all together to say a heartfelt thank you for everything that you do. You consistently go above and beyond what your contracts require of you, and for that, I cannot express how grateful I am.’

He looked around the room, trying to catch everyone’s gaze as if to impress us with his sincerity. It made me feel even more uneasy.

‘It would be good if those thanks were reflected in a more tangible way than empty words,’ said Malcolm in a bad stage whisper.

Ian pretended to be absorbed by adjusting his gold cufflinks, although it was clear to everyone that he must have heard the comment.

‘There’s definitely a but coming,’ I muttered.

Right on cue, the boss continued.

‘But, as I’m sure you’ll all be acutely aware, we work in a challenging industry, one which has faced great financial hardship over the last few years. While the audiences have returned,’ Malcolm and I exchanged glances, holding a silent conversation which questioned the last time Ian had actually sat in the auditorium on a show night and seen how empty it normally was, ‘we operate in a saturated market, one in which we must innovate and adapt in order to stay at fighting weight. Which is why I wanted to cascade some information to you.’

He’d definitely been on a course somewhere learning to spout all this insincere management speak. I forced myself to concentrate on the meaning behind his words, while the growing anxiety twisted my stomach. I’d thrown everything at this job. Yes, it had very much been my Plan B, but once I’d accepted that it was the most sensible option for me, I had invested a lot of time and energy into making a success out of this career. I’d worked the long, anti-social shifts willingly, accepting the sacrifices I had to make in other areas of my life in order to achieve what was needed, toiling until I had the role of manager, even if it was only a glorified job title rather than a genuine reflection of a pay grade. If Ian turned around and announced that it had all been in vain, I didn’t know what I would do.

Fortunately, it seemed that my worst fears were not being realised. The theatre wasn’t going to shut. Yet. But we were entering a period of what the boss euphemistically called ‘consultation’, during which every aspect of the venue’s business would be analysed.

‘Any potential savings which can be made, will be, and if there aren’t enough areas to cut back, then…’ Ian let the silence speak for itself. We could all fill in the blanks of what he wasn’t saying. Although it wasn’t a complete surprise, I could tell I wasn’t the only one feeling shocked. Leonie was one of several teary-eyed members of staff to flee the auditorium as soon as we were finally dismissed with an entreaty to carry on with our day as normal. As if that was going to happen.

‘Should I go after her, and see if she’s okay?’ I asked Malcolm, gesturing at Leonie’s departing back. He knew her much better than I did, and I wasn’t sure if she was the kind of person who’d appreciate a near stranger seeing her in a vulnerable moment.

‘Leave her be, hen. Don’t worry, I’ll check on her in a bit, but I think we all need some time to get our heads around the situation,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It’s a lot to take on board. I reckon I’d better start looking for other opportunities. Not that there will be many around for an old codger like me. I never thought I’d have to go freelance at my age.’ He fiddled with the worn velvet on the back of the row of seats in front of us.

‘It’s not come to that yet. As long as there are performers on the stage, there’s hope for us all. Ian would be a fool to get rid of you, Malc,’ I tried to reassure him. ‘You’re the best lighting technician in Edinburgh, everyone knows it.’

‘That’s kind of you to say, but I’m too close to retirement age to be a sensible hire, and frustratingly not close enough to be able to take my pension now and dance off into the sunset with the missus. It’s different for bright young things like you and Leonie. You’ve got your whole lives ahead of you. There’ll be plenty of other options for you to explore.’

I wished I shared his confidence. While I had a steady job, I could at least maintain the illusion of having my life sorted. If that was taken away, there wasn’t really much else going for me in terms of normal adult achievements. Being forced to start over from scratch was a terrifying prospect.

‘Amy, can I have a little chat in private?’ Ian called across before I could respond to Malcolm, and gestured for me to follow him.

‘This doesn’t bode well, wish me luck,’ I said under my breath, wondering if I was about to get my marching orders straightaway. Everyone knew that ‘a little chat’ was Ian Sibley speak for a talking-to. It would be all too easy to blame our low audience numbers on a bad marketing strategy, even though half the time I was merely following orders because the boss always had such strong opinions on what should or shouldn’t be done to promote the theatre.

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