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.”
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
