Crazy For You

He let go of the steering wheel and made a big-boob gesture with his hands. Daisy threw her eyes up towards the heavens, or at least the roof of the car, but the effect was lost.

“I knew it,” she said in a higher pitch than she intended.

“Boy, you do have good intuition. I wish I’d inherited that particular feminine quality when God decided to make me gay. She’s very intelligent too. A teacher, like Jonathan. A science teacher at St Benedict’s.”

“Does she have a name?” Probably Sophie or Susannah or Samantha, thought Daisy, going by her description so far.

“Shannon.”

“I knew it again.”

Why was she talking like she’d inhaled a balloon full of helium? She couldn’t help it.

“How?”

“I knew she was an ‘S’. He always goes for girls with ‘S’ names. So bloody predictable.”

Eddie thought for a minute. Actually, now that he thought about it, Daisy was right. His brother did seem to have a thing about girls with names beginning with S.

“Do you remember Sinead from Strabane?” she spat.

“How could I forget?” Eddie laughed out loud at the memory of his mother’s face when she caught Jonathan snogging Sinead from Strabane on the new living room sofa with her skinny ankles wrapped around his waist.

“I thought he would never live that down,” said Daisy. “Or what about Sarah, the slapper? Do you remember the time you took a garden trowel to her make-up and then rubbed it onto your own face when no one was looking? And when your mother caught you, you said it was for me.”

“You wanted some too.”

“Just because I wasn’t allowed any of my own. I was thirteen, after all. I was supposed to do those things growing up. You, on the other hand…”

“Shut it, girlfriend.”

Eddie indicated left at the sign for Killshannon, its lettering almost hidden in the overgrown bushes so that it read ‘Kill Shannon’. Daisy hadn’t even met Jonathan’s girl but she was tempted, for some reason, to do exactly what it said on the tin, or steel, or wood, or whatever the sign was made of.

Kill Shannon. Slowly.

“I’m sure she’s lovely,” she said, as if she was spitting out nails. “Really lovely.”

She managed a faint smile when they drove past the poky, ivy-clad post office of her home village. Rebellious schoolgirls with skirts that could have passed for belts skipped past, celebrating the last day of the term by drawing over each other’s polyester shirts with permanent marker. Old Jackie still stood in the shelter waiting for the bus that seldom came, and the smell of freshly baked soda bread smothered the car’s interior, making Daisy’s stomach growl for some home cooking.

“Right,” said Eddie, slowing the car into a crawl and then pulling the handbrake firmly when they finally reached the entrance to Ivy Cottages. “Here we are in the grand old hamlet of Killshannon. We have driven approximately one hundred and thirty miles and hardly shut up the whole way. However we still haven’t figured out how to tell people how we miraculously became involved after not seeing each other for four years.”

“Three and a half.”

“Whatever. You’re missing the point.”

Eddie was starting to fear his abilities as an actor and was merely seeking reassurance from the more experienced Daisy.

“Oh, so now you’re starting to panic, Mr I’ve-got-a-great idea-but-haven’t-thought-it-through.’ Don’t start trying to come up with a plan now. We’re here and it’s too late to stage anything.”

Eddie gasped and clasped a tanned hand over his mouth in despair.

“Who or what rattled your cage? Don’t you dare back out on me now, Daisy.” He dramatically ran his fingers through his hair and Daisy was astounded they didn’t break off midway in a battle with all the wax and gel.

“I’m just saying, it’s way too late. If you hadn’t bored me to tears all the way home with tales of your pathetic love triangle with a Hollywood screen writer and his juvenile son, I might have been able to think of something. You snooze, you lose.”

Eddie bit his lip. If this backfired he would eventually have to tell his mother the truth, but the only problem was that she didn’t believe there was any other meaning to the word ‘gay’ than ‘happy’. It would kill her quicker than the cancer would.

“For the record, the son – Brad was his name – was not a juvenile. He was twenty-one years old,” said Eddie with an ever- so-slight American accent.

“Brad. Of course. I should have remembered that one.”

“Perfectly legal. So there. And if I recall properly, a lot of the conversation was dominated by Jonathan’s love life. Not that that you care one tiny bit, of course.”

Why was he taunting her like this? If anything he should be complimenting her and trying to win her over. He wasn’t doing himself any favours at all.

“Well, anyway,” said Daisy, reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the free ride home. Good to see you again and all that. I’ll be over later to see your mother.”

“Daisy, don’t be like that!”

She stuck her nose in the air, knowing she was acting like a six-year-old. She didn’t care. The whole idea was bloody ridiculous anyway.

“I’ll just pop across and see my Mum, say hi to your Mum and then it’ll be back to Belfast for me. You come up with some other crazy scheme to convince your poor mother that marriage and babies are on the horizon…”

“But Daisy, we can still do this. Please. I’m begging.”

“Maybe sexy Shannon has a sister called Simone or Sorcha who would play along with you. That really would be keeping it in the family.”

Daisy opened the car door and stormed out, stomping across the cobbled road of her childhood. She then turned on her heels back to the car where Eddie was sitting with his mouth open, catching flies.

“Did, er, did you change your mind, Daisy?”

He reminded himself of Bambi. Pathetic, weak and unable to stand on his own two feet.

“Not a hope,” said Daisy, reaching into her car. “I just forgot my bloody shoes.”

She slipped on her new pink flip-flops, which felt horrible and squidgy under her feet that were wet from the rain and marched towards her mother’s house with an air of vengeance. She could hear the engine running in Eddie’s car and the wipers beginning to squeal as the rain subsided. She looked a mess. Her make-up was running, her feet were soaked and she looked rough from the two-hour drive, but she didn’t care.

She didn’t care one bit how she looked…until she glanced up at the house on the end of the row and saw Jonathan Eastwood staring at her from his old bedroom window as if he’d seen a ghost. Her heart hit the floor. Now she really did care how she looked. A lot.

Chapter 4 (#uad231978-1f56-5576-be0b-50d3ae731031)

Hell Knows No Fury Like A Woman With Runny Make-Up

Even from the steamy windows of the Mini and the giant splodges of rain that bounced, seconds apart on the windscreen, Eddie could see the shock on his brother’s face. In the middle of the street, Daisy also stood like a pillar, frozen to the spot.

She couldn’t believe he was at home. If only it wasn’t raining. If only they had stopped the car up the road to freshen up. Maybe then she could have fixed her hair that had looked so glorious this morning and touched up her make-up. A spray of perfume wouldn’t have gone amiss either. She’d kill for a generous spray of the stuff now. She had a massive bottle of it in her suitcase but that wasn’t much use. Anyway, it was too late to be thinking of dolling herself up now, she thought. Jonathan had already seen her and there was nothing she could do about it.

With her head spinning, Daisy turned on her heel and marched back towards the car. Eddie turned down the automatic window, fearful as she came bounding towards him, all wild, wet hair and streaky make-up. This wasn’t what he’d planned at all.