Crazy for You

Emma Heatherington

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Contents

Emma Heatherington

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

About HarperImpulse

Copyright

About the Publisher

Emma Heatherington

Emma Heatherington lives in Donaghmore, Co Tyrone, Northern Ireland with her three children – Jordyn, Jade and Adam. She loves country music, red wine, bubble baths and cosy nights in by the fire. Find Emma on Twitter @emmalou13 and on Facebook emmaheatheringtonwriter.

For my mum, Geraldine Mc Crory (1954 – 1991)

Your creativity and love for life lives on through us all

Missing you always xxx

Chapter 1

Good Things Come To Those Who Can’t Wait

Daisy Anderson scowled at her suitcase as she scurried barefoot through the hallway of her first-floor apartment. Moving towards the bathroom door in a fit of bad temper, she turned on her heels and firmly kicked the giant case for the fourth time that morning.

“Who wants to go on holiday anyway?” she shouted as she kicked it once more for luck, then howled in pain as she realised that repeat attacks were hurting her own toes more than the huge lump of green canvas that lay sprawled across her floor.

On its opened surface, a red and white-striped bikini with the label still attached stretched across two pairs of pastel-coloured flip-flops that would now never see the light of day. Unopened bottles of sun-tan lotion in descending factors were squashed among handy-pack facial wipes and bite-size shampoo bottles, and to add insult to injury, her brand-new passport sat as neat as a pin in the case’s netted pocket, sadly surplus to requirements.

Daisy hobbled away miserably on her injured foot and plunged herself into a pathetic lukewarm bath.

I should be in Spain now, she thought sorrowfully. I should be lying on a sun-drenched beach, smothered in delicious coconut sun-tan lotion, with hot white sand sticking between my toes.

In the glorious heat of the Costa Dorada, she and Lorna had planned to rise at dawn to bag two of the best sun-beds by the pool. They were to go Dutch on evening meals and then starve on sunlight during the day as they nursed multi-coloured cocktail hangovers. Scuba-diving lessons had been considered, even though they were both petrified of deep water, as had salsa lessons even though they both had two left feet.

Instead, back in the dismal excuse of a Belfast summer, where disaster seemed to be her middle name, the only thing gripping Daisy’s sore toes were the chilly chrome bath taps she kept turning on and off in hope of some warm water.

“Come on. Please warm up, just a little. Don’t you feel sorry for me?” she asked, spotting her warped reflection in the taps. Sinking her shoulders beneath the gloomy water, she let out a shiver. It was only Monday and so far this was panning out to be the worst week of her life. Failing her last twelve theatre auditions, being dumped by her agent and watching women with chubby ankles force their feet into discount-priced shoes had done little to cheer her up.

Lorna, on the other hand, had come out of the whole failed holiday saga smelling of roses, or seaweed, or some fancy treatment at a posh hideaway in southern County Down. When the online holiday company crashed into cyberspace, her latest boyfriend whisked her away on a luxury last-minute spa break to make up for her ‘dreadful disappointment.’

So while Lorna had bagged herself a mid-week ‘dirty weekend’ out of the disaster, Daisy faced seven days of pure misery in her cramped apartment without even her best friend to bitch with. She could always unpack the darned suitcase, she supposed. Or she could go back to work in Super Shoes and save her holidays for later in the month. That would be the sensible thing to do. She could always slice off her sore big toe, for that matter.

Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to imagine that the limp, bubble-free bath water was the dazzling blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea but despite her most concentrated efforts, it wasn’t working.

“Saved by the bell,” she mumbled when the phone sang from the hallway. She tugged out the bath plug and wrapped herself in her favourite fluffy red robe. Frantically tying it at the waist, she shuffled along the tiled floor, dodging puddles and trying not to slip under her damp feet.

“Hello… shit!” said Daisy as the phone bounced off the wall. She picked up the receiver again. “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “I dropped the phone.”

“Whoops-a-Daisy,” said the voice on the other end, which wasn’t instantly recognisable.

Not distinctly male or female for that matter.

“Hello?’ she replied, desperately trying to place the mystery person on the other end. He or she sounded a bit dodgy, or American, or both.

“It’s me. Like, hello. Jeez, has it been so long that you don’t even recognise my voice?”

Daisy’s mind was blank. She was stuck. Really stuck. She was useless with names, but normally caught voices straight away. If Lorna had given that freaky Ricardo dude from the video store her number, she was dead meat. It sounded a bit like him, but she was only in there yesterday hiring out Titanic as an excuse to cry her lamps out, so what would he be phoning her for?

“Of course I do,” she said in her chirpiest voice trying to buy a few more seconds. “What’s the craic…?”

“Jack?”

“Jack, of course. Hi Jack. How’s tricks?” she said, pulling her wet hair back and making faces at herself in the mirror.

She didn’t know any Jacks.

“We used to say that all the time, remember? What’s the craic, Jack? And then, you’d say, not much…”

“Not much, Butch!” squealed Daisy. “Omigod is that..?”

“It’s me, you dimwit.”

“Gay Eddie? How the hell are you? Wow! This is a blast from the past.”

The caller didn’t reply and Daisy’s excitement was marred by a two-second pause that seemed to last a lifetime. She could feel her face go hot.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I must have picked you up wrong. I thought you were an old friend of mine, Eddie Eastwood? We used to have this really weird rhyming slang when we were younger and…”

“It is me, stupid,” he sniffled. “I’m just a bit emotional at hearing your voice. God, Daisy, it’s been way, way too long.”

Daisy dabbed the black mascara rings under her eyes with a facial wipe from her suitcase and made a mental note to remind Eddie he was from Donegal, not downtown L.A. The wipe smelt funny and she realised it was one for warning off mosquito bites. Chance would be a fine thing.

“Hey, Ed. Come on. Don’t be like that. We do catch up from time to time. I only emailed you last week, didn’t I?”

“Forwarding jokes to me in San Francisco doesn’t count for correspondence, Daisy. I haven’t seen you in almost four goddamn years and I desperately need to talk to you. Is it OK if I come over?”

Daisy plonked herself down on top of the bulky suitcase, ignoring the discomfort of the bulging bag of toiletries she threatened to destroy under her posterior. To give him his dues, Eddie always had amateur dramatics down to a fine art. But Eddie couldn’t just ‘come over’. He lived a million miles away, for goodness sake. This was serious. Or was it? With Eddie, most of the time, it was very hard to tell.

“Sure. Fly over right away. Ed. I’ll see you in about ten or twenty hours’ time. At least I’ll be dressed by then.”

Eddie gave out a dramatic deep sigh.

“Em, well, you see I’m sort of… I’m, I’m actually outside your apartment.”

“What???!”

“I’m in the car park. Sorry, Daisy. I can come back later if now doesn’t suit…”

Daisy raced to the window. She couldn’t see any desperado loners lurking about, and as usual the quiet suburban apartment block was as silent as a graveyard. Everyone else in the world was at work after all.

Or on holiday.

“Very funny. You really had me there, Mr America. I am actually standing here like a prat, looking out of my window for you. Good one.”

“I know you are. I can see you. You’re wearing what looks like a huge red, fuzzy blanket. Look over here. I’m in the yellow car.”

Daisy gulped. Was he serious? A canary-coloured Mini Cooper convertible shone boldly like a beacon among the scattered vehicles in the cobbled Stranmillis car park. It had to be his.

Small, brassy and as gay as Christmas.

A long arm waved out of the driver’s side window, which even from a height and through pouring rain was noticeably perma-tanned and laden with bling.

“I don’t believe it! When did you get home? Come on, come on up quickly.”

“You’re a darling, Daisy Anderson,” said Eddie with new rigour. “I’ll be with you in two shakes and all will be revealed.”

Daisy flicked the switch on the kettle and then immediately changed her mind. This wasn’t a tea or coffee moment. This was an occasion. It wasn’t every day an old friend like Eddie turned up unexpectedly like this. She would treat him to a slap-up brunch at Deane’s Brasserie and pretend she was as lively and sophisticated as the place itself. Plus, she once snogged one of the waiters and she wouldn’t mind another glimpse of him while she was there.

She quickly grabbed a bottle of sparkling white wine from the fridge and set out two of her finest champagne flutes – her only champagne flutes, and uncorked the bottle with a feeling of teenage rebellion.

Fumbling through her own and then Lorna’s CD collection, she quickly settled on a George Michael compilation. That should make him feel at home, she thought, congratulating herself at how considerate she’d become in her late twenties.

The doorbell finally buzzed and Daisy ran towards it, laden with celebratory drinks to welcome her childhood neighbour into her humble abode.

“Come in if you’re good looking,’” she shouted into the intercom and sat the drinks on the phone table. She then bounded towards the doorway and wrapped her arms and legs around Eddie’s muscular frame as soon as he crossed the threshold.

“You have been working out, my boy. What an unbelievable hunk!” She smothered his cheek in kisses knowing it would turn his guts. “And a real Californian tan to match. Yum.”

Eddie almost buckled under Daisy’s tight grasp and lifted a glass of wine from behind her back.

“You could at least have got dressed,” he said jokingly in a transatlantic drone. “You weren’t going to go on holiday like that, were you?”

Daisy let go of Eddie’s brown neck and took a gulp of her wine. She tugged him eagerly by his snow-white t-shirt into her living room before answering.

“Actually, I was due to fly out to Salou today for a week in the sun with my room-mate Lorna, but then the damn holiday company went bust at the last-minute and now…”

“I know.”

“Oh, “she said. “Duh, I suppose the sullen suitcase is a bit of a give-away…”

Eddie sat down and flicked through a glossy magazine before eventually meeting Daisy’s eye.

“No, I know about your holiday plans falling apart.”

“How?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have all day. It’s not like I have a plane to catch or anything.”

Daisy curled her feet underneath her and watched as Eddie flung the magazine into a chrome rack by the television and braced himself.

“Well, you see…” He cleared his throat, as Daisy thought, for added effect. He never could tell a story and get straight to the point.

“I see…,” nodded Daisy.

“It’s…well, it’s my Mum,” he said, avoiding her eye. “By the way, what is this wine? It’s quite good.”

“It’s white and cold, that’s all I know. What about your mum? Don’t tell me it’s…”

Eddie took his time to answer and drained back the dregs of his glass like he was swallowing nails.

“It’s come back, Daisy,” he murmured, and stared out of the window onto the roof of the opposite apartment block. “The cancer’s back.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. She felt her heart hit the floor, bounce back up into her mouth, then settle to form a huge lump in her throat.

“Oh, Eddie, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t know. When?” Daisy moved towards her friend and draped her arm around his shoulder. He smelled flowery and fresh. Not manly in the slightest, but nice and clean all the same.

“She’s riddled with the bastard. I just found out yesterday. She, er, she doesn’t have very long.”

Daisy watched Eddie’s eyes fill up with tears and she felt the same overwhelming urge to comfort and protect him as she did when they were at high school and the other kids taunted him for his feminine ways. She hugged him tightly, letting his hot tears fall onto her face, his sun-bleached hair brushing softly against her cheek.

“Is she at home?” asked Daisy when his gentle sobbing subsided.

“Yes. She’s at home for the rest of her time, whatever that means. We wouldn’t have it any other way and your mum has agreed to help nurse her through it. She told me about your non-holiday.”

Eddie fought within him to hold back tears.

“This is awful,” said Daisy. “Were you still in America when you found out?”

He shook his head.

“Well, it’s was a bit of a fluke, really,” he said. “I wanted to surprise our Jonathan for his birthday and got a great last-minute deal on a flight home yesterday, but instead I arrived, full of Happy Birthdays, only to hear the worst news possible.”

Daisy retraced the events of the past few days. She had been so wrapped up in her own self pity that she just about managed to text her own mother the day before to inform her of her ruined holiday after the holiday company had crashed at the eleventh hour. If she’d bothered to phone home more often she would have known all about this and would have raced there straight away, instead of worrying about a lack of warm water or a range of wasted bikinis and flip-flops with the labels still on them.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Daisy, ditching the empty champagne flutes into the sink and pouring two goldfish bowl-sized glasses of wine instead. She hated that silly question used so often in such horrible circumstances. What would be the perfect answer? Find a cure for cancer?

“Actually, yes. There is something you can do,” said Eddie, taking another gulp of wine. “You see, Daisy, that’s why I’m here.”

“It is? Oh, great.” She’d walk over hot coals right now if it meant easing Eddie’s pain.

“But you haven’t heard what it is yet.”

Daisy slung an arm around Eddie and rested her head on his broad shoulder.

“I said I’ll do anything. Even help Jon, if need be, and you know how much I can’t stand your big brother. No offense.”

Eddie threw up his eyes in disbelief. “Yeah, yeah. Well, you know the way I’ve never actually got around to telling Mum of my, er, of my…you know.”

“That you’re gay? You still haven’t told your mum you’re gay? Oh, come on, Eddie! I thought you told her ages ago…”

Daisy bounced away from his side and Eddie stared back, his faced stern with determination.

“No. I haven’t told her and I won’t tell her. Ever. She has enough on her plate.”

Daisy felt an urge to shake him but felt sorry for him at the same time.

“Christ, Eddie. I don’t bloody well believe this. It’s who you are. You can’t deny it forever and let’s face it, you’re as camp as a row of tents and all that. I mean, it’s so bloody obvious.” Daisy heard her voice raise a notch in disbelief. “She’s bound to know. You should be honest with her. Tell her the truth. We’re almost twenty-seven and not getting any younger, unfortunately.”

Eddie pursed his lips and looked again out of the window.

“OK, so that’s not going to happen,” continued Daisy in an uncharacteristic flap. “Tell me then. Where do I come into the equation? Do you want me to tell her the truth? I thought I’d quit being your minder years ago. Oh, hello Isobel. Long time no see. I just called to say that your youngest son has decided to come out of a very cobwebbed closet.”

Eddie looked directly into Daisy’s eyes. “Don’t be like that. I just want you to come home with me for a few days, that’s all, and … ”

“Oh.” Daisy retracted and sat down. She felt guilty now. “I’m so sorry. Is that it? Of course I’ll come home with you. It’s about time I bit the bullet and spent a few days in Killshannon and if it helps you get through all of this…”

Eddie looked stunned and it dawned on Daisy that she was missing a vital component of his plans.

“There was an ‘and’ in there, wasn’t there?”

He nodded slowly.

“So what else would I have to do?” She sat up straight in her chair, poised and ready to take the challenge.

“Well, it’s just… You see, I told Mum…” Eddie looked away again.

“Go on…”

“Well, I sort of told Mum I had a girlfriend.”

“You what?”

Eddie knew he had only one chance at selling this fantastic, but crazy idea to Daisy so he just spat the rest of it out.

“…and she was delighted. Over the moon. In fact, it made her day. It made the rest of her life, to be honest. Daisy, I told her that you… are my girlfriend.”

Daisy’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t speak. She should be in Spain now, but instead she was here in Belfast listening to the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She should be on the beach drinking sangria with Lorna and eyeing up gorgeous lifeguards and meeting ugly sea creatures face to face under water. Not putting on a façade for her gay friend and his poor dying mother.

“And…,” said Eddie, quickening the pace of his speech into a wild gallop. “I sort of told her, that we were… that I was going to ask you to marry me.”

Daisy sunk into the sofa and stared dizzily at the blond bombshell in front of her, whose eyes were shut tightly in preparation for her response.

“Oh, this is crazy. Get me another glass of wine, you absolute shit,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Anything you say, Daisy. I swear. If you do this for me I’ll be your slave forever.”

Eddie fumbled around the tiny kitchen until he found the fridge and then glugged some more wine into Daisy’s glass.

“You see,” he continued as Daisy stared at the floor. “Mum really wants me and Jonathan to each settle down with a wife and children and it would make her so happy if she thought I was at least going in the right direction.”

Daisy tried her best to let Eddie’s crazy notion sink in. She’d imagined being asked to accompany himself and his mother on a luxurious weekend at a health spa, or asked to take her swimming with dolphins, or go skydiving just so he could try it out himself, but this? This was downright mental. Could they really pull it off?

Her own mum would be admitted to a nearby clinic with shock. And Lorna would think she’d finally lost her marbles, with no hope of ever retrieving them. As for Jonathan? Well, his reaction could go any which way but it wouldn’t be pretty. It would look like she was deliberately driving that final nail into the coffin of their dead and buried relationship.

Eddie paced the apartment’s shiny floor in anticipation of Daisy’s response. She sat there in silence, her face twitching in thought, so obviously weighing up the pros, if there were any, and cons of the situation. Anything was better than an outright no, he supposed.

“Well?” he asked eventually. “It’s quite simple really, isn’t it? You are a trained actress after all.’

“Simple? Is it now, Einstein? For your information I gave up acting two months ago in order to enter the real world and sell shoes so I can pay my bills. It’s about time you stood on planet Earth yourself.”

Eddie wasn’t listening. “So, so simple,” he said. “And from what I can see, you’re all packed and ready to go. Say something, Daisy. Say yes.”

Daisy smirked back at him and her suitcase caught her eye from the hallway. It was smirking too. She stuck out her tongue at it.

Minus the bikinis and plus a few woolly jumpers, she was just about ready to go. Somehow, she didn’t think she’d have any need for skimpy swimwear in the back end of Donegal.

“I must be crazy. I must be stark-raving mental to even contemplate this…”

“You beauty! I knew you would. I just knew it…”

“Just for one week, though. After that, we’re finished. Split up. Over forever. Deal?” she said in a muffled voice as Eddie hugged her with delight on the sofa.

“Deal!” said Eddie. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take you on a super-duper holiday, all expenses paid…”

“Now you’re talking.”

“And shopping! I’ll take you shopping till you drop.”

“I hate shopping.”

“That’s right. No shopping then. Eating then. Lots of eating out, every single night for as long as you want.”

The grin on Eddie’s face would have made anyone smile.

But Daisy didn’t smile. She burst into hysterical laughter at the thought of the sheer madness she was about to allow into her life. Going home to village life in Donegal as the girlfriend of a man that everyone, apart from his mother, knew was gay. Facing sniggers from nosy neighbours and country cousins who had never ventured out of their comfortable village boundaries. Had she totally lost the plot?

Sod it. It would be fun, if nothing else. It wasn’t as if she lived there anymore, and her mother would understand. She would have to tell her the truth from the outset, of course.

“Can I just make one teeny weeny suggestion?”

“OMG, what is it now?”

“That, er, red thing you’re wearing … ”

“Yes? It’s my favourite dressing gown. I’m going to change out of it now, don’t worry. Why?

Eddie fingered the bally, fleecy texture of the robe and then let go in mock disgust.

“It’s just that, I don’t think there’s too much room left in your suitcase for it,” he said. “And my hired car is very small. You’re just going to have to leave it behind.”

Daisy sashayed along the narrow corridor and back towards him, swinging the fabric so that it brushed across his designer stubble.

“Christ, you’re naked underneath!” squealed Eddie. “Don’t do that! Get dressed!”

“I could turn you yet, my boy,” said Daisy, raising an eyebrow seductively.

“Never,” he shouted, covering his whole face with his hands.

Daisy leaned over, lifted his chin with her finger and looked right into his eyes.

“Remember, sunshine. In this relationship, I wear the trousers. Me. Not you. So no more bossiness or slagging out of you, OK? Got it?”

Eddie playfully got down on his knees and hugged Daisy’s legs tight.

“Got it. Totally.”

“Now what were you saying about my dressing gown?”

“The dressing gown comes to Killshannon. Long live the dressing gown. I’d wear it myself if you asked, and I will love you forever and ever more.”

“A week,” she said, unclasping his arms from around her calves. “I’ll pretend to love you for a week. And then we’re finished. Forever. In the meantime, get up off that sofa. You’re coming with me to Deane’s for dinner. It’s not every day my best friend comes to town.”

Chapter 2

You Can’t Bury Love…

If this were a movie, there would be slow, pulsating, romantic music playing softly in the background, thought Jonathan Eastwood as he watched his best friend Christian Devine wave off the love of his life at the terminal of George Best Belfast City Airport. Yes, a big, soppy love song that would tear the heart from a stone should be belting out over the sound system right now.

Nobody else seemed to notice Christian’s torment and Jonathan found it so out of character that he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry for his buddy.

Holiday-makers brushed and pushed past them, the smell of stale tobacco mixed with sun-tan lotion and a hazy mixture of different perfumes and colognes filled the stuffy June air.

“She’ll turn around,” said Jonathan, knowing what Christian was hoping for.

They waited for Anna to turn around and blow Christian a last farewell kiss as she reached the boarding gate. They watched closely, Jonathan hoping now as desperately as his friend was, as her dark curly hair bobbed further and further into the distance. Even a quick wave would do, but an air kiss would be spot on.

“Let’s go, mate,” said Jonathan. “Come on. We’ll go.”

“God, I am missing her already,” whispered Christian. “How is this possible? You guys are right. I am turning into a sop.”

“She isn’t going to turn around,” said Jonathan. “She’s gone.”

They walked away and Christian continued to mumble, craning his neck so he wouldn’t miss it when she turned to wave one last goodbye.

But she didn’t wave. Or blow a kiss.

Anna Harrison disappeared out of his life as quickly and as easily as she had come into it eight weeks ago. Now she was gone for six whole months without the blink of an eye or the shed of a solitary tear.

What a bitch.

What a totally gorgeous, funny, intelligent, bitch she was.

Two months was as good as a lifelong commitment in the Christian Devine relationship record books, and after all his good behaviour and fine efforts, he hadn’t even been granted a last glance before she’d boarded the plane to Copenhagen. She wouldn’t be home for six months at least.

“What goes around comes around,” sniggered Jonathan Eastwood later that evening as the two friends jointly drowned their sorrows at The Chocolate Bar in Donegal. “And one thing’s for sure, Mr Devine, you have certainly come around this town in style.”

The Chocolate Bar was Donegal’s latest effort at keeping up with tourists’ demands and it was a far cry from the traditional smoky village pubs the boys had been brought up beside. The smell of fresh leather and alcohol gave an enticing mix, and a delicious waft of fried steak and onions spilled from the grill bar. Here in the midst of all the after-work revellers, Christian sat miserably, demented as to how he was to fill the next six months until Anna came home.

Jonathan was demented too. How was he going to listen to Christian for six more minutes, never mind six months?

“How can you say that? You know I’m mad about Anna,” said Christian in disgust, almost choking on his pint.

“Ha!” spat Jonathan. “Just because you have suddenly decided to ditch the Casanova lifestyle, doesn’t mean the first woman you’re serious about should fall hopelessly at your feet.”

Christian mulled over this comment. It was always going to be the same between him and Jonathan. It always reverted back to the stupid High School dance story.

What goes around comes around. Jonathan had told him that back then and now he was finally enjoying Christian’s pain.

“I cannot believe you are still living so much in the past, Jon.” There, thought Christian. He’d said it. This would open a crazy can of worms. “It’s about time you got over that rubbish. We were kids for goodness sake.”

Jonathan ignored his friend. He wasn’t in the mood for a row.

“I was talking about how you’ve wined, dined and done whatever else to every woman you set your lusting eyes on, then left them hanging out to dry while you moved on to your next conquest. Now that Anna isn’t playing ball and has left you for six months, you don’t know what to do with yourself. The tables have turned, like I always said they would.”

Christian twisted a beer mat into a cone shape. He would kill now to be able to light up a cigarette. He was stressed out and upset, for God’s sake. He needed a smoke.

“Fair enough. I get your point. It’s just, when the shoe is on the other foot, it’s not so easy to deal with. And I know how much you are enjoying your little ‘I told you so’ moment. But she didn’t even look back. Surely if she cared, she would have looked back. I read somewhere that if someone doesn’t look back after a goodbye, they don’t really give a toss.”

Jonathan wondered how long this anguish would last with Christian. Probably another day or two, and then the weekend would come and he’d be out on the prowl again. Christian had changed though. He had changed a lot over the past few months since he’d met Anna Harrison in this very same bar in Donegal town. Maybe he was being too harsh on his friend.

“Tell me this, Christian,” he said gently, trying to reach some closure on the subject. “If you’d known from the start that Anna was planning on jetting off for six months, would you still have continued seeing her for so long?”

Christian took an imaginary puff from his rolled-up beer mat. Part of his on-off smoking habit was purely psychological and surprisingly this was working a treat. Maybe he should invest in one of those electronic fake cigarettes. Or maybe not. They looked a bit geeky. Christian Devine didn’t do geeky.

“Yes. Absolutely, I would!”

“There you go.”

“What?”

Jonathan was going to allow the moping a maximum of ten more minutes’ airtime and then he was going to talk about horse racing or darts or cricket. Anything to take Christian’s mind off his newfound heartbreak.

“Anna only dropped this bombshell on you last week. Maybe she was afraid to tell you earlier in case you backed off on her. She’ll be home in no time. So, stick it out, Christian. Keep yourself busy. Play squash. Go to bingo.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Learn how to play the guitar. Or the spoons. There are lots of things you can do to put the time in until Anna comes home.”

“Yeah. Lots of things. You’re right, Jonathan. I knew you’d cheer me up. That bingo idea has definitely got me excited already.”

Jonathan nudged Christian’s arm so that he spilled some of his drink.

“You know what I mean. There is one thing I bet you can’t do till she comes home, though.”

“Oh, no way. Not another bet,” laughed Christian. “You always lose at this! Haven’t you learned your sorry lesson by now?”

Jonathan had learned the hard way, but he couldn’t resist throwing this little challenge onto his friend’s lap. This was a cert. A real winner for him.

“I bet…are you ready?”

“Go for it.”

“Nah, it doesn’t matter. You’re right, I always lose…”

“You started so you’ll finish. Place your bet. Go on.”

“OK, then.” Jonathan pulled his bar stool closer to the table. “I bet you a hundred euros that you can’t stay faithful to Anna until she comes home.”

Christian went to protest but Jonathan continued.

“Ah-ah! Six long months. Twenty-four weeks. One hundred and eighty-something days without a leg over. Can you do it, Christian? Can you?”

Christian slammed his empty glass on the table and took another puff on his imaginary cigarette. He would rise to this challenge, not that it would be a challenge at all. He really liked Anna. He definitely did and he would wait until she came home, just like he’d told her at the airport, even though she hadn’t heard him.

“Not even a problem, my friend. The bet is on. Now, I do believe it’s your round. I’m going outside for a well-deserved cigarette. I’m already four hours into my task, with a hundred percent success rate so far. A walk in the park.”

Jonathan laughed and made his way to the bar. No doubt Christian would spot a few eligible ladies on his way. He’d be twiddling his thumbs, fidgeting with his cigarette and eyeing up every woman who walked past the pub. It was summertime now, and that meant tourists. Lots and lots of tourists from all over the world would descend on Donegal town and its surrounding seaside villages over the next few weeks. With the slightest glimpse of sunshine, girls would strip down to short skirts and tight tops and the heat would bring out an overpowering lust from Irish men. If Christian thought he would escape all of this, he was kidding himself.

“Two pints of the black stuff please, Gerry,” said Jonathan with a smug smile. This was going to be so easy.

“Coming up,” said Gerry, the barman whose family was from the same fishing village; a place where everyone knew everyone else’s business at broadband speed. At almost fifty-two years old, Gerry O’Donnell had a quick way with words and a slick eye for business. He had transformed The Chocolate Bar into a haven for young executives who had grown tired of the clubbing scene. “Tell me this, how’s your mum? I just heard the news.”

“Not so good, Gerry. Not so good at all.”

Gerry tutted and shook his head. “You boys have had a tough time over the years. Your dad would be very proud of you both.”

“Yeah, he would,” said Jonathan. His enthusiasm over his bet with Christian now seemed utterly futile and childish. Cheers, Gerry, he thought. But he knew the man meant well.

“Young Eddie’s doing well for himself, too, isn’t he? I was speaking to him in here this morning. He’s a good-looking lad. The spittin’ image of your mum.”

Jonathan noticed Gerry’s trademark smirk and did a double take.

“Eddie was in here this morning? I didn’t know that,” he said with a frown. Killshannon was a good forty-minute drive from Donegal town.

Gerry wondered whether he had said the wrong thing. There was something edgy about Jonathan, and Eddie had been in the same sort of mood earlier.

“Em, he just mentioned that he was off to Belfast to pick up his girlfriend?”

Jonathan did a double take.

“His girlfriend? Are you sure it was our Eddie?”

“Of course I’m sure. He was telling me all about San Francisco, about coming home for your birthday and your mother’s terrible news with the big C. Then he said he was off to Belfast to pick up his girlfriend. Funny, that, eh?” Gerry tittered to himself and wiped the shiny counter with a damp cloth. “I always got the impression that young Ed preferred the boys.”

Jonathan paid for the drinks and nodded in acknowledgement to Gerry the know-it-all-and-the-price-of-it barman. He must have got it wrong. Eddie was here today on his way to Belfast? To pick up a woman? Belfast wasn’t exactly around the corner. Eddie wasn’t exactly straight. This was strange and Jonathan couldn’t wait to find out what was going on.

He made his way over to Christian, who was now seated back at the table, full of energy, following his nicotine fix and drumming his fingers in anticipation of another pint.

“It’s so great to be off work for eight whole weeks,” said Christian, eyeing up the drinks. “A teacher’s life is for me. And you can set that pint down in front of me whenever you’re ready. My mouth is as dry as the Sahara.”

“Christian. There’s something really weird going on here.”

“My God, I was just trying to be more positive. A bit of fresh air around my lungs mixed with a bit of nicotine has given me a new lease of life. I thought you’d be delighted.”

“I’m not talking about you. It’s Eddie.”

Christian could normally read Jonathan’s facial expressions like a book. Better than a book, sometimes, despite both of them being English teachers at the same high school. This time, however, he was baffled. He didn’t know whether to expect good news or bad news, such was the confusion on Jonathan’s face.

“What about Eddie? I was talking to him yesterday and he seemed fine to me. Bronzed, blond and still walking like a girl. What’s up?”

“According to Gerry, he’s gone to Belfast to pick up his, wait for it…girlfriend?”

Christian spurted a mouthful of Guinness around himself in shock.

“Jesus Jonathan, as if Eddie has a woman! He’s as gay as a maypole!”

Jonathan sipped his pint and then licked the creamy white froth from his upper lip. Christian was right. None of it added up. He’d have to phone Eddie and find out what he was playing at.

“Maybe it’s just a friend. A female friend, as opposed to a girlfriend, eh?” he said hopefully.

“I suppose. Most of his friends are fag hags,” agreed Christian. “It’s probably some American chick who wants to use his visit over here as an excuse for a free holiday. It almost happened to me when I first came home from Australia. You think you’re escaping from the place and the next minute everyone and their granny wants to follow you here to trace imaginary Irish roots that probably went down with the Titanic.”

Jonathan nodded. That sounded likely enough. But it was hardly good timing for an influx of extras around the Eastwood kitchen table, though.

“Nah, I’d doubt it. Eddie’s way too gutted over Mum’s bad news. If he’d invited a guest from the States, he would have cancelled once he heard Mum’s news. I’m sure Gerry’s made a mistake.”

“Probably.”

They supped their pints in a comfortable silence. The subject was closed. Jonathan tried desperately to think of a soccer conundrum to throw Christian’s way. It was the perfect conversation stirrer after the third pint. Then he remembered his bet.

“So, any word from Anna, then?”

Christian sat his glass down on the table and raised an eyebrow.

“Very funny. She wouldn’t even have arrived yet, you smart-ass. So much for trying to take my mind off her. It did work for a while. Good one with the Eddie story. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Eddie with a girlfriend. As if!”

“No, no, I was serious about that. It’s what Gerry told me. I swear.”

“Gerry’s a liar. He makes up stories to make his life sound more exotic than it really is. He once told me that this place used to be a secret brothel in the seventies and that’s where he met his ex-wife. I mean, a brothel in Donegal? Gerry with a wife? Now if you believe that, you’d believe anything,” said Christian with a smug grin.

Jonathan squinted and looked at his friend for a second. Then he leaned forward and whispered.

“That was true, actually. Da told me that a few weeks before he died. Gerry’s wife was a Spanish prostitute and he met her here in 1977. They have a daughter too.”

“Swear!”

Jonathan held up his hand. “On my life.”

Christian stared back at him in disbelief. Gerry had a wife? And this place used to be an illegal whorehouse? He didn’t think he could handle any more excitement in one day.

“Cheers,” said Jonathan with a smile, raising his glass. “To Gerry, the liar, who seems to tell the truth after all?”

Christian shook his head. This was turning into an eventful day. If every day was to be like this, the six months till Anna came home would go by in a flash.

“And to that old dark horse, Eddie,” he said, clinking his pint with his friend’s. “Cheers to the bold Eddie who, despite all the rumours and all his absolutely fabulous ways, has gone and bagged himself a woman!”

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