Page 44 of The Typo

She’d also sent me a good luck gif of someone playing the violin. I only hoped the fact that it was one of the musicians on the sinking deck of the ship from the movie ‘Titanic’ wasn’t an omen.

As I was checking my makeup, my phone pinged again, this time with a message from Cass.

Can’t wait for the show tonight (and not just because it’s getting me out of moving hell for an evening!) Looking forward to being able to boast to others that I was there when Edinburgh’s hottest new venue opened xx

I sent a blushing emoji in return, hoping that she was right. Then after a moment’s hesitation, I tapped out a follow up message telling her about the audition. My oldest friend had been there for me in the fallout when I gave up the violin. She deserved to know that I was trying to get back on track with that aspect of my life.

Her reply came within seconds.

So proud of you xx

I didn’t feel like I deserved her praise, but it gave me another much-needed confidence boost.

After a final check that I had everything, I locked my flat and quickly slipped a VIP ticket to the open mic night under Harry’s door on my way out. He’d seemed interested when I’d met him on the stairs at the beginning of the week, but I’d got the impression that he was unsure about attending by himself, despite his enjoyment of solo meals out. I hoped the special invitation would change his mind. I was going to be very busy tonight, but not so busy I couldn’t keep an eye on my neighbour and make sure he enjoyed himself.

The logistics of this evening were going to be full on, but I now had a team of supporters determined to help me get through it. My sister’s big plan for me to attend my audition at the Edinburgh Amateur Orchestral Society had involved enlisting the backing of my parents and my colleagues at the Variety. So much for her promise to be discreet about my return to playing. To give her credit, she’d obviously briefed Mum and Dad very carefully, so when they’d rung to offer their services as a taxi to whisk me between the Variety and the audition venue, they were so nonchalant and understated about the whole thing that they sounded quite unlike themselves.

‘I’ve been on a mapping app and put in the time of day we’ll be travelling, and according to that, it will only take us thirteen minutes to drive between the two venues,’ Mum had said. ‘Your dad is naturally muttering about not needing a sat nav but it’s been a little while since we’ve driven into the city, and I think for such a momentous—’ I’d heard a throat being cleared in the background, ‘Sorry, I think given that it’s a very normal Friday evening, we would be better off having the extra help.’

I also felt a huge debt of gratitude to Malcolm and Leonie, the former for volunteering to keep an eye on the box office during the hour and a half I anticipated being out of the building (‘You forget, young Amy, I’ve worked nearly every job in the Variety. The box office will be a piece of cake,’ was what he’d had to say on the matter), and the latter for promising to entertain any critics who might turn up earlier than the invitations stated.

‘I don’t know how I will ever be able to repay you guys for doing this for me,’ I said, as we sat in the Cellar Bar late in the afternoon going through my checklist for about the fiftieth time.

‘Amy, it’s the least we could do. You’re the one who came up with the idea for transforming this place. You’re the one who’s driven the whole project through. We’d probably be sitting around waiting for Ian to return from his jollies with our P45s if you hadn’t seized the initiative,’ said Leonie.

‘Please don’t get your hopes up too much. That scenario could still happen,’ I said, nervously twisting a loose thread from my jumper around my fingers. At least my growing concern about the success of the scheme was overshadowing my anxiety about the audition.

‘But it’s a much less likely scenario,’ insisted Malcolm. ‘The phone’s been ringing off the hook with people wondering when the next open mic night is because this one booked up so quickly. And did I tell you that an old mate of mine at the Lyceum dropped me a line to say that she’s been hearing great things, and would it be okay to pass on your contact details to some up-and-coming performers she knows?’

‘Really? I suppose that’s promising, although it’s really too early to tell,’ I said, not wanting to jinx things.

Malcolm clicked his tongue. ‘Eh, will you not have some faith in yourself for once? Look at the evidence of your determination right here in front of you.’

He gestured at the room and I forced myself to examine my surroundings dispassionately. The venue was gleaming under the lights, the vintage décor giving it a laid back, friendly atmosphere. If I was a punter, or indeed a performer, I’d feel welcome here.

‘You’re right. I’ll focus on the bright side and admit that I’m proud of what we’ve achieved. Things are looking on the up.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Leonie. ‘Now, what are you still doing hanging around here? Shouldn’t you be heading off to the audition venue so you can have a quick run through beforehand? Not that you need to practise, of course. You’re going to storm it,’ she added hastily.

‘Yes, I am,’ I said. And for once, I actually believed my words.

* * *

My parental taxi service delivered me at the audition venue a good twenty minutes early, and I tried to distract myself from my growing nerves by pretending I was here to suss out the competition. I surveyed the paint-chipped walls of the rehearsal rooms with professional curiosity and noted that while they beat the Cellar Bar for space, they certainly didn’t in terms of character.

The members of the orchestra arrived in dribs and drabs. I tried to smile at them, but for some reason, most of them avoided eye contact with me. Maybe they didn’t want to be seen to be favouring one audition candidate over the others. I ran my fingers over the surface of my violin, as if I was stroking Eliza or Fraser, and reminded myself that everything was going to be ok.

The conductor strode into the room and everyone got hastily to their feet. I followed suit a few seconds later, the scraping noise of my chair unbearably loud in the otherwise quiet room. His gaze landed on me and he frowned.

‘Cameron Amy?’ he said, his intonation making it sound like he thought my surname was my first name.

‘That’s me. Only it’s Amy, Amy Cameron,’ I stammered.

‘Yes, I am aware of that. We use surnames only in this orchestra,’ he said, looking irritated that he had to bother explaining this to me.

I was somewhat taken aback. That was the kind of thing you’d expect to happen in the military, not in an amateur orchestra in Edinburgh. It didn’t exactly make me feel welcome.

‘Okay,’ I said, although I wasn’t sure it was.

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