LIZ JONES’S DIARY

Valentine’s Weekend, Edinburgh, part one: Cardigangate

SO, ON FRIDAY morning, I drove to Edinburgh. I picked up my sister at the airport–I was late due to sheet ice on the moor; not good in a Mercedes convertible – and we drove to the B&B in Leith. I hadn’t heard from David, so I wondered whether he was still coming. We checked in, I unpacked and had a shower, and then I got a text. ‘Hi, sitting in Terminal 5. See you soon. Just saw a promotion for Valentine’s Day by Moonpig.com. It says, “Get it right this year, guaranteed.” I bet I prove them wrong! x’

I bet he will. I got changed – into the Helmut Lang tuxedo trousers I’d bought in the Matches sale in 1998, when I got my editorship; they used to be tight, but now they swamp me – and waited for my sister downstairs. David appeared. He was wearing his blue checked shirt, like a lumberjack, jeans with holes in, and his ancient leather jacket. You could smell the smoke on him.

My sister and I were drinking champagne, as it was her birthday. ‘Here is the key, you can go and unpack,’ I said. I like to unpack mere milliseconds after I have checked in anywhere: my cosmetics are unleashed on to a white towel, placed with the same precision that Mr Carson employs at Downton Abbey. But David said he would have a drink first. I could feel my stress levels rising.

We got a taxi to the restaurant to meet my two nieces and their boyfriends. David told me he had got on the plane with no money. I gave him £200 and told him to surreptitiously pay for dinner. The next day, I went shopping with my sister, and left David loose in the B&B. When we got back, he was trying to get in the front door, a single red rose secreted in his leather jacket. ‘That’s awful,’ I said, looking at the rose. ‘It looks half dead. It cost £5!’

‘I couldn’t find anything else. I almost bought you a mug with hearts on but thought better of it.’

‘I hate joke presents. They are passive aggressive.’

That night, we went for a curry. This called for smart-casual attire. ‘Where is your N Peal cardigan in Turner blue that I gave you for Christmas?’ I asked him as he put on an awful cream sweater in a cotton knit. ‘I didn’t bring it. I was waiting for a special occasion.’

‘What is more special than Valentine’s Weekend on a mini break in Edinburgh?’ ‘I didn’t want it to get crushed.’ So, instead, I’m crushed. We got to the restaurant where my beautiful niece, Sophie, announced she is getting married, in October 2017. ‘Why such a long wait?’ I asked her. ‘We need that long to save up.’

On Sunday, after breakfast, we went back to bed. I put on the black Myla underwear he had (sort of; I upgraded it) given me for Christmas. ‘You see? I’m wearing your gift. You are like those awful mums you give Brora cashmere to when they give birth, and you never get to see the dreadful infant in anything other than Next.’

I had a discussion about David with my sister in her room. ‘Don’t you think he’s a bit odd?’

‘He only has eyes for you. He’s not interested in anyone else.’

On our last morning, over porridge, I was moaning to my sister about our brother, who had joined us for high tea at the Dome. ‘He is so wrapped up in his own world. He never asked me one question about my life. He never said, “Shame your horse died” or, “How was your trip to India?” He’s a typical monosyllabic man who is only interested in himself.’

David mumbled, ‘He probably couldn’t get a word in edgeways.’ ‘What did you say?’ ‘Oh, you heard that OK then.’ I really hate it when people are rude about my hearing disability. He carried my case to the car. ‘Didn’t you realise not wearing your cardigan would upset me? Look, you have curry down your sweater, which is more a summer knit than a winter one.’ ‘No, I didn’t think it would upset you.’ He has just got home. ‘Thank you for a really good weekend [Good! Good???!!!! What does he mean by that?] Let me know if you are free for dinner this week. I’d like to treat you…’

I haven’t yet sent a reply.

‘That’s awful,’ I said, looking at the rose. ‘It looks half dead. It cost £5!’