Page 49 of One Night in Edinburgh

‘Great stuff. Enjoy. Sounds way better than what’s on my to-do list.’ She holds up her notepad and waggles it unenthusiastically. ‘Oh, and think about what I said before about Jamie. I’m just looking out for you.’

I have absolutely no intention of entertaining any of the claptrap Anna was spouting earlier, but now is not the time to voice that. Instead, I give her a little salute and follow Lizzie out of the office.

By the end of the day, I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted. After an intense, but very interesting, morning with Lizzie, I had to endure an afternoon of Anna grilling me about Jamie again. And despite making every effort to ignore her emerging conspiracy theories about him, she’s well and truly got in my head. She may have my best interests at heart as she claims, but all I have from our conversation is a growing anxiety over the fact I haven’t yet heard from him. On a rational level, I’m confident Jamie will be in touch, because he said he would. What reason do I really have not to trust him? But the thing about rational thought is that it tends to disappear at the most inopportune moments, allowing your mind to bend in directions you’d never normally allow it to go.

At one point earlier, I even caved and called Jamie’s landline number, only to discover – when a ballsy teenager answered and gave me a load of arrogant backchat – that it was, in fact, a payphone. That didn’t help at all. With Anna’s words echoing in my head, it led me to wonder why Jamie would call me from a payphone, and if I would ever hear from him again.

What is wrong with me? What does it matter how Jamie called me? The point is, he called. I’ve never once felt insecure over a guy. Not that there have been many. Before Connor, I had a couple of boyfriends, but those ‘relationships’ – apart from the teenage fumble in the woods I previously told Anna about – mainly consisted of claiming a patch of school corridor to hang out in, making awkward small talk, and a quick three-second snog when the bell rang. None of them lasted more than a few weeks and I did the dumping both times. I never had to worry about Connor either. He never so much as looked at the other girls in my year. Of course, I realise now there was probably a reason for that.

So, this feeling of insecurity is new for me, and I don’t like it one bit. It’s like a bug has crawled into my brain and hit ‘turbo niggle mode’. When will he be in touch?When?I need some reassurance, and I certainly can’t deal with another indefinite wait.

I’m working myself into such a lather on the bottom deck of the number ten bus I’m taking home – almost convincing myself that Jamie has in fact disappeared from my life once again – that I almost miss the message on my phone. Only when the follow-up alert comes through do I feel the buzz from my coat pocket and frantically snatch it out, praying it’s not a message from Anna, Connor or any of my family.

Illuminating the screen, I see that it’s a text message from a number I don’t recognise, which is a good sign. I hungrily gobble up the words.

Hi, beautiful. Hope you had a good Monday. How are you fixed for Saturday? Wondered if you fancied a walk and a bag of chips together? Jamie. X

I’m so elated that he’s finally made contact, nothing else registers other than I’m going to see him again. Then, as I eagerly type out a response, a couple of things dawn on me. Firstly, there’s no flirty banter; nothing that invites me to start a conversation with him. Secondly, Saturday is alongway away. This stops me in my tracks.

The timing I guess I’ll have to put up with. Though I don’t have much experience, I’m guessing that’s a reasonable interval, given we’re both probably working during the days in between, and we’ve only had two ‘dates’ so far (if you even count New Year). It’s still very early days. The lack of invitation for an interaction flummoxes me though. He’s straight to the point: a perfectly functional text in that it achieves what it sets out to do, but it’s so different to Jamie’s natural banter. Where’s his humour and chat?

I attempt to shoehorn some light-hearted flirting into my response in a blatant fishing expedition – trying to get him to bite and give me something to get excited about – but all the responses I try out (‘my Monday’s better now you’ve been in touch’, ‘I’ll happily share a bag of anything with you’) seem a bit forced-slash-desperate-slash-cheesy. Which isn’t a surprise – the guy asked me a direct question. The only way to respond is to answer it.

After agonising over this for the rest of my short journey home, including the walk from the bus stop back to my apartment – of which I have no memory by the time I unlock the door – I eventually hit send on a pretty basic response.

Hi, Jamie. Great to hear from you. My Monday was long! Hope yours wasn’t as slow as mine. A walk and a bag of chips on Saturday would be lovely. What time and where? xx

As I’m slipping off my coat and boots, my phone alerts me to his reply, which is quick, at least.

Brill. 2 p.m. outside Custom House at The Shore. See you then. X

I stare at the message, perplexed. It doesn’t even ask me to confirm this as an acceptable time and location. I can’t help feeling a little deflated by the whole exchange, but if I can access my rational brain, I trust it will show me this is a perfectly acceptable interaction. We’ve arranged another date, I’m seeing Jamie again in a few days and he called me beautiful. What more do I need? Maybe he’s not into messaging back and forth. Some people aren’t, and that’s fine. I’m sure Connor will agree with that; he’s a rationally minded person.

‘That does sound a bit strange.’ Connor looks thoughtful as he spears the sorry-looking, over-boiled piece of broccoli on his plate.

‘I was hoping you were going to tell me I’m overthinking it.’ I push my almost untouched plate aside and rest my elbows on the table, propping up my face with my hands glumly.

‘It’s always a possibility, but I’ve seen this guy. He’s a charmer – and sociable from the looks of things. The first impression I got of him doesn’t match the message exchange you’ve described.’

‘So, what do you think could be going on?’

‘Honestly? I’ve no idea.’ He adds salt to the broccoli in a bid to make it taste more appealing. ‘The only person who knows what’s going on in Jamie’s head is Jamie. It’s odd, but I wouldn’t freak out about it.’

‘I suppose.’ I tap the table with my index finger, thinking this over. ‘Anna thinks he’s hiding something because he didn’t give me his number when he left yesterday. But I have it now, so she was wrong about that.’

‘Well, there you go. Let things play out and I’m sure it will all be fine.’

‘You’re right. I’ll do that.’

I pull my plate back towards me and push my own portion of soggy broccoli around it absently. ‘You don’t think a walk and a bag of chips is a bit “teen movie”, do you?’

Connor pauses on a forkful of mushroom stroganoff and sets it down on his plate.

‘You obviously do.’ His eyes show the slightest hint of amusement.

‘I’m not saying that exactly… but was it unreasonable of me to think a meal out might have been on the cards? It will be the third time we’ve spent time together.’

‘Is there a rule book on this stuff?’

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