Page 41 of One Night in Edinburgh

‘Huh?’ He’s understandably confused.

‘He emailed me. I thought it was another prankster, but it was him.’

‘Oh wow. That’s incredible. And a bit… unbelievable. You’re sure it was him? You did vet him properly?’

‘Yes, silly.’ I chuckle at Connor’s overprotectiveness. ‘So… um…’ I focus my attention on wiping away a mark on the doorframe.

‘You want to go meet him now.’

‘Yes. I’m so sorry.’

‘After you made me get out of my comfy spot?’ Connor fixes me with an appraising look.

‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

‘I’m kidding.’ He nudges me affectionately. ‘You know I didn’t really want to go out anyway. Go and see Jamie.’

‘Oh thanks, Connor. You’re the best.’ I pull him into a big squeezy hug, then grab my things and rush out of the apartment to meet Jamie, my body coursing with adrenaline as I imagine ten different versions of how our eyes will meet for the first time after so long.

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing at the bar waiting for Jamie to walk through the door. My stomach is in my throat: part excitement and part fear that he either won’t show – or he won’t find me attractive any more. I’m so jittery, I feel like a pneumatic drill. I even consider ordering a shot of tequila to take the edge off, but decide that being caught downing it as he arrives probably wouldn’t look the best.

I force myself to remain facing the bar each time the door opens. This is almost unbearable, because I’ve already counted seven people walking through it, most of whom – judging by the smell – have been smokers coming and going.

When the door opens and closes for the eighth time, I sense someone behind me.

‘Steph?’

Biting my lip to keep my composure, I turn, and my smile instantly dissolves. The man standing in front of me isn’t Jamie. Not even close. I feel the nervous excitement that had built up inside me drop like a stone as I take in the fifty-odd-year-old man standing in front of me. He’s short and plump with facial hair that would pass for a novel species of wildcat.

‘Oh, you are kidding me,’ I wail, forgetting myself. ‘I’ve beencatfished?’

Then I remember the email and the phone call.

‘No!’ I point my finger at him accusingly. ‘There’s no way you’d know all that stuff, there’s no way you’d know where I live or Anna’s flirting habits or our morning after breakfast. Right?Right?’

The man caresses his beard self-consciously and looks quite intimidated by my outburst. This ignites a spark of regret in me. But I’m so wound up, I appear to have forgotten my standards, as well as my manners.

‘Come on. Seriously.What’s going on?’ I demand of him. ‘And what is with that beard?’

‘I… uh…’ His eyes dart all over the place in avoidance of my accusatory stare. ‘I’m just the… um… Jamie – the guy I assume you’re here to meet – asked me to come in here and tell you he’s outside at your table from New Year.’

Having completed his task, the man shuffles off in the direction of the toilets – and the realisation hits. Jamie’s really here, and I’ve just yelled at and insulted a total stranger who was nothing more than a messenger.

I hesitate, unsure what to do. The part of me that’s waited nearly two months for this moment wants to forget that unfortunate interaction and dash straight outside into Jamie’s arms; while the real me – who’s thankfully now made a reappearance – is appalled by my behaviour, and feels an urgency to go and fix the situation. Of course, nice Steph wins, because that’s who I am.

‘Excuse me? Sir?’ I rush after the man, who looks terrified as he discovers I’m following him and dashes into the toilets.

I wait impatiently outside dance around outside the door for him to do his business, until it dawns on me that he’s probably hiding out in there. Sighing with frustration, I tentatively open the door a crack, my nostrils immediately engulfed by the stale smell of urine that seems to lurk in every male pub toilet. Not that I’ve been in many – and only when I’ve been bursting and the queue for the ladies is longer than my bladder’s ability to hold out.

‘Eh… sir? I’m sorry to do this, and I hope I’m not interrupting…’ I cringe, sincerely hoping he wasn’t going in there for a number two and I’m now hounding a man sitting with his trousers round his ankles. ‘I wanted to apologise for the mix up and for how I reacted. You see, I’ve been trying to contact Jamie for some time, and I did it in a way that made me a bit vulnerable and… well… I’ve had to deal with a lot of jokers and chancers, so I jumped to the wrong conclusion and assumed you were another one of them.’

I stop talking and listen, but the man doesn’t reply. The toilets are completely silent.

‘Anyway…’ I decide to continue because I know he can hear me. ‘I’m so sorry… I was just frustrated and—’

‘Steph?’

I freeze. Nowthatvoice I do recognise. Turning slowly, I lock eyes with a grinning Jamie. He’s wearing the same puffer jacket as when I last saw him, and is holding two cans of Serve Minus Pigs. It’s almost as if I’ve been transported back to New Year, except for the excruciating situation I find myself in.

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