Page 4 of One Night in Edinburgh

Yeah, right. I’m sure that’s why Connor is to park his car on the street. Nothing to do with the fact that it’s a ten-year-old Vauxhall Astra that doesn’t match the tone of the estate. Smarting with irritation at my family’s unjustified jibes at Connor, I quickly tap out a response.

Steph:

He is coming as far as I know. Just arriving home now so I’ll double check. Do you have something for him to eat? You can’t keep serving him meat when you know fine-well he’s vegetarian.

My mum’s reply is almost immediate.

Mum:

I have cheese and some vegetables so I can rustle something up for him.

I shake my head, seething at the way Connor is treated like a second-class citizen by my family: all because they think he’s not good enough for me. The only one who’s even slightly accepting of him is Mikey, but that’s more because he’s protective of me rather than that he particularly likes Connor. The fact that Connor never went to university and works as an assistant manager in a supermarket, means that he is labelled as lazy and worthless in my family’s eyes. Their measure of a person is by what they do and what they’ve achieved in life (in particular, how much money they make). Connor doesn’t fit the mould.

It frustrates the hell out of me because none of that stuff really matters. What’s important is who the person is on the inside. If they made a bit more effort to accept and welcome Connor, maybe he’d be more willing to commit to joining their social gatherings. Then they’d get to know the amazing man I’ve loved with all my heart almost since the first day I laid eyes on him.

I fire back another message to suggest a nice vegetarian quiche instead, then get out of the car and carefully bundle the boxes into the lift one at a time. Minutes later, I arrive in the hallway of our two-bedroom apartment, huffing and puffing.

Connor emerges from the living room to meet me.

‘What’s all this?’

‘Hi to you, too.’ I step forward to greet him with a kiss. But, unless I’m imagining it, he dodges this, picks up the box with the mixer in it instead, and carries it into the spare room.

‘Just as well no one was planning to stay over here tonight,’ he says. ‘They wouldn’t be able to find the bed.’

‘It’s not that bad.’ I follow him into the room carrying the television and wince as I register the piles of items strewn across the bed and stacked on the floor, almost to windowsill height. ‘OK, maybe it is, but it’s only till my work’s storage unit opens up again in a few days. Then I can shift it all along there.’

‘Did you get my text?’ Connor asks, and I note for the first time that he’s looking a bit shifty.

‘I did, yes. Sorry I didn’t reply. Mrs Carmichael was trying to ply me with booze. I had to keep a hawk’s eye on her. What’s up?’

I return to the hallway to hang up my coat before he has a chance to answer. He follows, staying silent. Curious as to his behaviour, I turn to him to ask what’s going on, and nearly trip over a suitcase and a rucksack that I hadn’t noticed were there before.

‘What the… what’s this stuff doing here?’

Connor’s face reddens.

‘Oh, my goodness, Connor. Have you booked us a night away as a surprise? I wondered why you wanted it to be just you and me at the street party tonight. You were plotting this all along, weren’t you?’

Connor’s shiftiness reaches a whole new level.

‘You’re such a sweetheart. Oh, no…’ I put a hand to my mouth in realisation. ‘I haven’t ruined your plans, have I? If I’d known I needed to be back by a certain time—’

‘Steph, stop. Please.’

Taken aback by his uncharacteristically stressed tone, I do as he asks and look at him properly for the first time since I walked through the door.Shit. Somethingiswrong.

‘Connor, what’s going on? Has something happened to one of our family? Is that what the bags are for?’

‘No… Steph… uh, hell… I don’t know how to do this.’

‘You don’t know how to do what? What’s going on, Connor?’ I’m asking because I’m genuinely confused, but my subconscious is already starting to catch up: a slightly sick feeling gurgles in my stomach.

Connor looks more pained than I’ve ever seen him; than I ever could imagine he could feel. He’s not one to let anything get to him.

‘Steph. The luggage… it’s mine. I’m… leaving.’

‘You’re leaving? Leaving…me?’

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