Crazy For You. Emma Heatherington

       Chapter 1

       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