Page 3 of One Night in Edinburgh

This time Anna’s face is the embodiment of a crying-with-laughter emoji, while I have to fight hard to stifle a giggle.

‘That’s brilliant, Mrs Carmichael. Thank you again. When’s convenient for me to come and collect the items?’

‘You can swing by anytime this afternoon if that suits?’

Anna waves her hands forcefully signalling for me to decline.

‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’

I end the call with further expressions of gratitude and turn to Anna. ‘What?’

‘Why did you agree to go over there? That old crow just wants some company, and you fell for it. You’ll be held to ransom with mince pies and shortbread, and I doubt you’ll get out without having to sing Christmas carols by the piano.’

‘That’s fine. I don’t mind giving her some company. She’s a very generous donor, and she’s probably spent most of Christmas on her own. Why shouldn’t she get something in return?’

‘You’re too bloody nice, you are.’ Anna shakes her head at me reprovingly. ‘She’s that blinking rich, she could probably keep twenty of our kids off the streets for life. And live out her days in a life of luxury. If shereallywants to help, why doesn’t she do that?’

This comment makes me smile. Anna and I have been best friends almost since the minute we started volunteering for Edinburgh Youth Kickstart on the same day several years ago – and later being lucky enough to each secure a permanent job with the charity. We’re aligned in many ways, except for her tolerance levels and lack of tact, which might just be the things I love most about her. Oh, and she’s a bit of a man-eater, whereas I’m still with the guy I got together with in high school.

‘I know how you feel, and I get it.’ I pat her on the arm as I join her in the doorway, and we leave the office together. ‘But that’s not how life works. Mrs Carmichael’s still making a generous contribution, whether you think it’s big enough or not.’

‘Hmm…’ Anna purses her lips in protest at my statement, but she doesn’t say anything.

‘Well, have a good one,’ I say to her as we stand opposite each other on the pavement of Great Junction Street, our breath billowing in front of us. ‘Maybe I’ll bump into you at the street party.’

‘Let’s message and meet up if the networks don’t get jammed.’

‘Sure, but if I don’t end up seeing you, have a great night.’

‘You too. Say hi to Connor from me.’

We part, and I quickly head to my car to drive to Mrs Carmichael’s house, shivering as I go. It’s a lovely clear, calm day, which means perfect conditions for the fireworks later, but it’s going to be damn cold, too. As I walk, I pull my phone out of my handbag and see a WhatsApp message from Connor.

Will you be back soon? Need to talk to you about something.

There are no kisses at the end of his message, which in itself doesn’t bother me. He sometimes forgets. But the bluntness of the message sends a ripple of unease through me. Connor is easy-going. So much so, he’s almost horizontal: a trait that has bothered my family no end since we got together in high school, but which I love about him. He’s the complete opposite of my highly strung, high-performing parents. He doesn’t hurry me on anything, and heneversays we need to talk. What can he suddenly need to discuss so urgently? Either something’s happened, or something’s about to happen. And it doesn’t sound like it’s good news.

Chapter 2

Anna’s pretty much spot on about my visit to Mrs Carmichael. After almost two hours, I finally manage to escape, brandishing the goodies she’s donated. But not before she’s force-fed me a sugar shock-inducing ‘snack’ of shortbread and mince pies, washed down with three cups of her most recent local purchase: ‘top quality, ethically sourced and one hundred per cent arabica’ coffee from El Salvador. Apart from feeling completely wired, I consider it a win; especially as I caught her poised with a bottle, ready to ‘garnish’ my drink with her extortionate brandy. So thankfully I’m still able to drive.

Only as I pull into my parking space in the underground garage of my apartment block in Newhaven do I remember Connor’s text. I had completely forgotten to reply because I was so focused on getting to Mrs Carmichael’s house. Pulling my phone from my bag, relief washes over me as I see that he hasn’t followed up with any further calls or messages. It can’t be that urgent then.

My focus shifts to the notifications that are showing on my screen: a bunch of new chat messages in my family’s WhatsApp group. I quickly scroll through them, seeing that they’re about our plans for the New Year’s Day dinner together the next day. My dad is asking what kinds of drinks we’d like as he’s nipping to the supermarket. These requests have been met with humorous retorts (Jägerbombs, vodka shots…) from my brother, Mikey. Meanwhile, my sister, Kayleigh, has warbled on in about eight messages informing Mum about the dessert she’s preparing, and exactly how it will need to be stored when she arrives.

I pay the exchange little attention until my eyes zone in on Connor’s name, and I let out a gasp of annoyance as I read the words on the screen.

Mum:

Steph, is Connor joining us? I know you said he was a maybe, but it would be nice if he would commit either way.

Kayleigh:

Does Connor commit to anything?? LOL.

Dad:

Sweetheart, if Connor is coming, please ask him to park his car on the street, not in the driveway. We’ll need to keep the drive free in case I need to pop out for any last-minute supplies.

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