Page 60 of One Night in Edinburgh

Kayleigh smirks with satisfaction, knowing I’m going to have to engage this time. Dad has me over a barrel with this one because it’s his birthday. If I try to fob him off or tell him it’s none of his business, my mum and Kayleigh will be on me like a pack of wolves. I can already see they’re poised to pounce.

‘Right… um… OK.’ I take a sip of wine and clear my throat, stalling for time so that I can formulate a response that satisfies their curiosity, while telling them absolutely nothing of any use. ‘He’s a guy… obviously… around my age…’ I realise this is another key piece of information I don’t know about Jamie and resolve to find this out. ‘He’s smart and funny… we’ve been out a few times now, and it’s going well.’

‘And what does he do?’ My dad goes straight for the jugular.

‘He’s an entrepreneur.’

‘Which means?’

‘Anything from being a millennial Richard Branson to a Just-Eat delivery rider,’ Mickey unhelpfully pitches in.

I see my parents and Kayleigh recoil at this possibility, and I feel myself start to seethe.

‘What does it matter what he does?’ I challenge them. ‘Wouldn’t you rather I end up with a great guy who treats me well, over a rich arsehole who cheats on me and knocks me around a bit?’

‘Steph.’ My mother scolds me, glancing around her once more.

‘They’re not mutually exclusive, Steph,’ says my dad. ‘You could just as easily end up being knocked around by someone on the bread line. In fact, it’s perhaps more likely if financial stressors are an issue.’

‘Oh yeah, because money and materialist crap solve everything in life, don’t they?’ I throw back.

‘OK, that’s enough,’ snaps my mum. ‘Your father was trying to show an interest. There’s no need for this overly defensive behaviour.’

‘Whatever.’ I plonk my cutlery down on my plate with a loud clatter that does attract attention from our fellow diners, causing my mum to sink down in her seat.

‘Hey, did you not say this guy’s gonna be a billionaire?’ Mikey tries to rescue the situation he has inadvertently stirred up.

‘That’s what his friend said,’ I grumble. ‘I don’t know how true it is. Jamie seemed embarrassed by the comment.’

‘If his friend said it and your man got uncomfortable, it’s probably got some truth behind it.’

‘Possibly. Look, can we move the conversation on? I’m not comfortable with either Jamie or I being under the microscope.’

‘I like the name “Jamie”. It sounds like a name that belongs to a strong and successful young man,’ my mum philosophises, completely ignoring my request. ‘How about you bring him home for a meal? That way, we can all stop imagining the worst and meet the boy in person.’

‘That’s a good idea, Marjory,’ says my dad. ‘We’ll get a date scheduled in.’

And as usual, I have no say in the matter.

‘I’m going to the loo.’ I get up and grab my handbag. ‘Back soon.’

The highly attentive waiter shows me the way to the ladies, where I take refuge from the friendly fire at our table. Being in a Michelin-star restaurant, the toilets are naturally very plush, and a nicer place to hang out in than some bars I’ve been in. There’s a beautiful aroma that I can’t quite put my finger on, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say jasmine, lime and… freshly cut grass? Is that a thing? The communal area has very modern and expensive-looking sinks with freshly laundered mini-handtowels perfectly arranged in gorgeous little baskets beside them. There’s even a chaise longue to complete the luxurious ambience.

Checking the cubicles to make sure I’m alone, I take a seat on the chaise longue, lean back against the wall, and let out a long, exhausted sigh. It takes everything I’ve got to resist the urge to stretch out and have a catnap. After my late night with Jamie, the stress of this morning’s ‘conference call’ with Anna, and the subsequent verbal beating I received for being late to lunch, I’m feeling quite done in. The Champagne is also making me a little sleepy. To keep myself from nodding off, I pull my phone out of my bag, and to my delight, I see that there’s a message from Jamie on my home screen.

Hi Steph. Really enjoyed our time together yesterday. Are you free for a coffee this afternoon? I’m just grabbing a sandwich for lunch from the supermarket, but could meet in half an hour X

It’s another straight to the point message, but once again it does give some indication of where Jamie’s head is at. Thank goodness. Because if he hadn’t led with the fact that he enjoyed our date the day before, I’d be panicking that I’m about to be dumped.

While drafting a response to let him know that I’m unfortunately tied up at the most ‘unfun’ birthday party I’ve ever attended, I decide that I should just call him. Who knows what kind of text response I’ll get by having to put him off? And I’m already dying to see him again – preferably this evening once this familial torture is over.

I put my phone to my ear and wait for him to answer.

‘Steph, hi.’ His voice comes clearly down the line after a few rings. ‘How you doing?’

‘I’m good thanks, you?’

‘Can’t complain. Or maybe I can. Since when does a BLT sandwich include cucumber? I hate the stuff and it’s made the bread all soggy and… “cucumber-y”.’

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