Crazy For You

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Chapter 2 (#uad231978-1f56-5576-be0b-50d3ae731031)

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!”