Emma Heatherington - Crazy For You

“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.