“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