Emma Heatherington - Crazy For You

Emma Heatherington

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Emma Heatherington 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.

Dedication 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

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 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

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.”