Page 40 of One Night in Edinburgh

Feeling like I have the upper hand for the first time, I scroll down to the original message, hoping to triumph further over this idiot. Scanning the text, I automatically roll my eyes at the predictability of the opening line – ‘Hi Steph, I got your message…’ – and I’m about to shove my phone in my bag, when something catches my eye. It’s subtle: just a turn of phrase in a random sentence that might otherwise have had no specific meaning. But it triggers something in me, transporting me back to that night at New Year. I catch my breath, realising it could mean something or nothing at all. I’ve been here before.

I quickly draft a response:

How do I know you’re really Jamie? I’ve had dozens of emails that go exactly like this. I’m not taking any more crap, so either prove it or stay out of my inbox.

The moment I hit send, I instantly regret my choice of words. If it is Jamie then they don’t exactly show me in a great light. But as it’s most likely not him, and having been the butt of people’s jokes for weeks now, who can blame me?

As with all the other messages I’ve received, the response is swift, which triggers a feeling of disappointment as I picture a gaggle of friends sitting round a pub table, snickering and eagerly anticipating my response. Despite this, I still read it.

I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that nonsense. Would anyone but the real Jamie know that you live at Western Harbour? Or that your friend is a top-class flirt called Anna? They certainly wouldn’t know that we enjoyed hot buttered toast together on New Year’s morning – and that’s not some seedy innuendo, as you well know.

A feeling of shock and disbelief washes over me as I read the words over and over, almost not trusting what I’m reading. Then a shivery tingle runs through my spine and my heart starts to pound in my chest as realisation dawns. This time it’s him.It’s really him.

Chapter 13

‘Jamie… oh my goodness. I didn’t think that I’d see you again.’ I’m still stupefied that, after replying to Jamie’s email with my phone number, I’m now taking to him.TheJamie. Not some arsehole who gets his kicks out of pretending to be him.

‘Me neither,’ he replies. ‘Until I saw that beer can. Very creative approach, I must say.’

I cringe as I imagine him reading the cheesy poem I wrote. At the time, when I was desperate to find him, it seemed perfect; now, knowing he’s read it, I feel insecure and a bit daft.

‘I’ve experienced a level of piss-taking I never knew possible for that,’ I mutter.

‘Is that right?’ He chuckles. ‘Well, as they say… what doesn’t kill you—’

‘Makes you die a little more inside every day.’ My face contorts into a grimace. ‘A painful way to go, I assure you. Think I’d prefer a quick death to this.’

‘Aww, Steph. I really am sorry for what you’ve been through.’

‘It’s OK. Wasn’t your fault. I’m kind of kidding anyway. Exaggerating at the very least. Although… you knew where I lived but you never got in touch…’ I leave this statement hanging as more of a question.

Jamie goes silent again. I can hear his breathing at the other end of the line then he lets out a short sigh.

‘I didn’t know what the situation was,’ he says eventually. ‘When I legged it out of your apartment, I was back at The Shore before I realised we hadn’t swapped numbers. It was too late. You were at home with your ex, who I figured, by his unexpected return, had realised he’d made a mistake. For all I knew, the two of you were back together. I didn’t want to risk turning up at your apartment not knowing how you – or he – would react.’

‘But I told you I thought it was for the best. You helped me reach that very conclusion.’

Jamie sighs again. ‘I know. And that was wrong. It was Hogmanay. We were drinking, got carried away. I was all too aware that once your ex came home, you could forget me in an instant.’

‘That’s what I said to Anna!’ I’m jubilant as it dawns on me that I was right all along; I had predicted this. ‘That’s why I did the stupid beer can thing.’

‘It wasn’t stupid at all. It was genius. I… um… was going to ask if you wanted to come and meet me for a drink at The Shore, but—’

‘Absolutely. I can be there in half an hour.’

‘Great, I thought you might be busy. It is Saturday night after all.’ He sounds surprised but also pleased at my sudden availability.

Shit.Connor. In the excitement of Jamie finally making contact, I’ve forgotten that I just cajoled Connor into coming out with me, and he’s in the next room getting ready. I also feel an additional but less significant sense of guilt over Sean, whom I’ll definitely not be seeing on that second date now. But who am I kidding? He’s not Jamie. He could never come close. I can make my excuses in a delicate way.

‘I’m not doing anything I can’t easily rearrange,’ I say. ‘See you in the same pub as New Year?’

‘Can’t wait.’

Ending the call, I knock on Connor’s bedroom door and dance around impatiently as I wait for him to answer.

‘What’s up?’ He pulls it open and a waft of eau de toilette hits me square in the nostrils, accentuating my feeling of discomfort over what I’m about to do.

‘I just spoke to Jamie.’

---