Page 39 of One Night in Edinburgh

‘Funny you say that…’ Connor does the same but without the phone-throwing tantrum. ‘Because that description sounds remarkably similar to how you described Jamie to me. Didn’t you mention that his friend predicts he’ll be a billionaire one day? And I definitely heard you talking about his perfect teeth.’

‘That was different.’

‘How?’

‘Jamie was lovely. He taught football to kids to keep them out of drugs. He was… the exception, you know? And he was an entrepreneur. I guarantee you this bloke will have some high-flying top-level management role, an ego the size of Calton Hill, and banter that revolves around how much richer and more successful he is than everyone else.’

‘That’s not judgemental at all.’ Connor raises an eyebrow at me. ‘You’re not that person, Stephy.’

‘Seems I am when it comes to my sister.’ I trace a pattern on the sofa cushion with my finger, feeling ever so slightly ashamed. ‘Look, I’ve lived with her all my life: she’s all of that and more. It’s reasonable to expect that her crowd will be too.’

‘If you think so. I’m just not sure you should attach that label to all of them without knowing what they’re like.’

‘You mean you think I should go on the date.’

‘It’s your choice.’

‘It is.’ I nod. ‘And there’s no way I’m going; if I do, this thing will snowball. I’ll never get my family to stay out of my business. That’s so not happening. I need to meet someone who shares my moral compass, even if it means my family hates them.’

‘Like they hate me?’ Connor sips at his tea reflectively.

I wince as I realise what I’ve said. ‘They don’t hate you, Connor. They just don’t understand you. I’d take that as a compliment.’

‘Is Sean starting to seem like not so bad an option now?’

‘Maybe…’ I make a pained expression, grab my phone and start typing a semi-polite thanks but no thanks to Kayleigh.

At the same time, another message pops up in my family WhatsApp group.

Mikey:

Kayleigh, you’re about as qualified to find Steph a bloke as I am teaching women how to use tampons. Steph, I know loads of top blokes. No pressure, but I reckon they’d be more your thing. I’ll message you some photos from their Facebook profiles.

‘Oh man,’ I groan, casting my phone aside as Connor laughs loudly. ‘I need to find myself a boyfriend – fast. Even if it’s a fake one to keep the wolves at bay.’

As the evening rolls in, I find myself distracted and twitchy. It’s partly cabin fever from having not left the apartment all day, combined with a lingering lack of enthusiasm over my interactions with Sean. I know Connor’s right: that I should give the guy a chance, but surely if there was going to be any chemistry between us, I’d at least have seen a glimmer of it by now. And I know I shouldn’t be comparing him to Jamie, but it’s almost impossible not to.

Sighing, I pick up my phone and start tapping out a response to Sean’s most recent message about possible places to meet for a drink on our second date (it feels like we’ve been discussing this for way too long), when an email alert flashes up on my screen. Frowning at it for interrupting my flow – especially because it’s clearly another joker using my beer-can appeal as the source of their Saturday night entertainment – I swipe it away and finish my message to Sean.

‘Want to go out for a drink?’ I ask Connor, who’s barely moved from his position on the sofa since this afternoon. And who, unlike me, looks remarkably relaxed and content.

‘Hmm?’ is all I get as a reply.

‘I’m bored. I feel like the whole world is out having fun and I’m just sitting here in my own stink.’

This time Connor sits up and looks at me. ‘What’s up, Stephy? It’s not like you to get all FOMO.’

‘I don’t know. I’m restless. Will you come for a drink with me? Please?’

‘OK, sure, if it will make you feel better. But you owe me. I was well comfy there.’

‘Thanks Connor. It will.’ I leap off the sofa, giving him a grateful peck on the forehead as I do, and head for my bedroom to get ready.

After changing into suitable Saturday night attire and putting on some makeup, I’m zipping my lip stain into the inside pocket of my handbag when my phone buzzes on the bed. Picking it up, I see an email notification that appears to be a forwarded message. Curious, I open it and see that it’s a forwarded version of the email I received earlier when I was messaging Sean. The one I haven’t read yet. All it contains is a short message.

Sorry, forgot to say, it’s Jamie!

‘Ha, not so clever, are you.’ I scoff at the screen. ‘If you’re going to prank me, at least remember to include all the necessary information.’

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