Chapter 2
Two
Fin was sure only a few seconds passed from Catherine’s announcement to when he first spoke, but time seemed to slow right down in those blips. Slow enough for him to see every owlish gawp and round-mouthed gasp morph into crinkly-eyed expressions of delight and exclamations of joy.
Except on the faces of the two women they’d travelled across the world to see. Apparently, it was possible to wipe the smiles off their faces.
‘Surprise?’ Fin said with a half laugh into the quiet, absently waving their joined hands in the air, unsure what was happening right now but damn sure something was.
‘Oh my god,’ Catherine declared. ‘Rhonda! Constance! It’s the happy couple!’
Fin blinked. The … what now? His hand fell with a thunk to his side as Sweeney dropped it like a hot potato.
But then the crowd surged forward and there was no time to compute anything—not the alarming announcement, not the panic on his mother’s face, not Sweeney’s holy shit what is happening expression—as they were swallowed into a collective town hug, everyone talking, kissing and congratulating all at once.
‘This is brilliant news. We’re so happy for you both.’
‘Have you set a date yet?’
‘Are you getting married in Ballyshannon?’
‘Autumn is such a lovely time for photographs around here.’
‘Congratulations. I knew from the time I saw you side by side in your hospital cribs that you two would end up together.’
By the time their mothers made it through to them, Fin’s head was spinning. But before he even had a chance to ask what kind of wacky they’d just landed in, Connie was dragging them both towards the alcove while laughingly asking everyone to give them some alone time to catch up with their kids.
She was aided by Catherine, who’d never met a crowd she couldn’t control. ‘Give them some space,’ she boomed, appointing herself bodyguard as she stood under the solid beam that separated the alcove from the pub proper.
Finally alone—or as alone as they were going to get for now—Ronnie smiled at them lovingly, drew them into a warm double hug with Connie, and hiss-whispered, ‘What in hell are you two doing here?’
It was fair to say, Fin hadn’t been looking forward to this moment. He and his mother had gone to Ireland a couple of weeks after the funeral to get away from the grief and sadness of Ballyshannon and visit relatives of his father. His mum had returned a month later. Fin had not.
Consequently, he’d been dreading coming home to this place that was so full of memories. Fin’s last conversation with his father, in particular, weighed like a millstone around his neck. Clearly, what with the hullabaloo and distraction of his apparent engagement, he needn’t have worried.
‘Gee, Mum, it’s nice to see you, too.’
Sweeney looked as pissed as Fin felt as she pulled out of the hug, frowning at one mother then the other. ‘What the hell is going on?’ she demanded.
‘Shh,’ Connie whispered, plucking nervously at the short-cropped strands of her salt and pepper fringe as she smiled at someone in the crowd behind. ‘Keep your voice down.’
‘I will not keep my voice down,’ Sweeney whispered. Loudly. ‘Do one of you want to tell us why everyone is under the impression Fin and I are getting married? To each other?’
The women exchanged a long guilty look. ‘Yes … right.’ Ronnie spoke first, giving a shaky little half laugh. ‘It’s quite a funny story, actually. We’re all going to laugh about this one day.’
Fin folded his arms. Somehow, he doubted it.
‘There was some,’ Ronnie admitted, ‘bending of the truth.’
Sweeney sighed. ‘Oh god.’
‘It wasn’t planned,’ Connie hastened to assure them. ‘It just kinda happened. Just kinda … popped out of my mouth.’
‘Mum.’
Fin glanced at Sweeney, her expression aghast as she stared at her mother as though snakes had sprouted from Connie’s hair.
‘Popped out,’ Ronnie confirmed with a nod of her head.
He cocked an eyebrow at his mother. ‘And you just … went along with it?’
‘Well—’ Another sheepish look was traded. ‘The damage was done by then.’
‘Oh my god,’ Sweeney whispered, massaging a temple with her fingers.
Fin looked from one guilty party to the other. ‘Have you both suffered some kind of neurological event in the last couple of days we should know about?’
‘Finley.’
Even said quietly, it was Ronnie’s best I am your mother voice, and two decades ago that tone would have loosened Fin’s bowels for sure. But he was thirty-two years old and standing firmly on the moral high ground. Ignoring the reproach, he continued. ‘Are you both perhaps drunk?’
‘No,’ they dismissed disdainfully in unison.
‘And remind me, it is sixty you’ve both just turned, right? Not six?’
‘Look …’ Connie said, glancing from Fin to Sweeney and back again. ‘We had no idea you were surprising us tonight or, of course, we wouldn’t have told this tiny little fib.’
‘This is not a tiny little fib, Mum.’ Sweeney stared her mother down. ‘Telling your doctor you only drink three alcoholic units a week is a tiny little fib.’
‘Or telling someone their lime-green mohawk really suits them,’ Fin supplied.
‘Telling everyone I’m engaged to Fin is an … epic untruth.’
‘To be fair,’ Ronnie interjected, ‘I was the one who said the bit about you being engaged to each other.’
Fin shook his head. ‘Mum …’
‘Okay, okay. We’re sorry, alright?’ Ronnie tossed her head defiantly, her steely-grey bob swishing around her head.
‘But you have no idea how persistent and wearing a gaggle of Ballyshannon grannies can be. Nor the level of smugness that Marjorie I’m-about-to-be-grandmother-to-triplets Weaver can ooze.
We’ve spent years now—and the last two hours in particular, at our birthday party—looking at baby pictures and wedding photos and listening to pregnancy stories and tooth fairy tales and first word retellings, all while fielding sympathetic hand squeezes over our own woeful state of being grandbaby-less. ’
Ronnie drew in a breath as she smiled and waved at someone over Fin’s shoulder. When she zeroed back in on their conversation, her smile remained fixed in place.
‘It’s a lot,’ she muttered.
‘Yes.’ Connie nodded in solidarity. ‘And I just … snapped.’
Fin shook his head. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Sweeney didn’t look like she could either as she stared in dismay at her mother.
‘I thought you were supposed to be immune to peer pressure at your age,’ she said. ‘To … have your shit together.’
‘Oh, no, darling.’ Connie shook her head. ‘You never really get your shit together.’
‘Well … that’s great,’ Sweeney muttered. ‘Just great.’
In the absence of anything worthy to add to that startlingly honest and, frankly, horrifying pearl of wisdom, Fin did what his father would have done in this situation—damage control.
Michael Murphy had never been one to get angry over spilt milk, he’d always preferred to get out the mop and fix it.
‘Okay, so … How do we walk this back?’
Two women stared at him with crinkled brows. ‘Walk it back?’ his mother asked.
Fin sighed. ‘Yes, Mum. In case it hasn’t escaped your notice, we’re not engaged.’
‘W-w-would we have to? Walk it back?’
‘Yes,’ Fin and Sweeney said in exasperated unison.
‘Okay.’ His mother gestured with her hands in a way he assumed was supposed to be placatory. ‘That’s an option. Or, we could … keep the ruse going.’ She rushed to clarify as Fin opened his mouth. ‘Just while you’re here.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Connie said excitedly, already on board to cloud-cuckoo-land.
Sweeney shook her head. ‘No. Absolutely not.’
‘Definitely not,’ Fin agreed.
For a moment the hope and excitement on the faces of their mothers took a hit, their smiles fading to something much more contemplative as they faced their children. And then there was another of those ominous side eyes, which gave Fin a very bad feeling.
Connie launched the first salvo as she looked at her daughter. ‘Have I ever asked you for anything, Sweeney?’
‘Mum.’
‘I know I leaned on you heavily after your dad died and I shouldn’t have, but then you graduated high school and moved to Melbourne for uni and I was so proud.
And then you moved to New York and you’ve been tripping around the world ever since, taking your pictures, and I’ve been nothing but supportive because I love that you’re living your best life.
It fills my heart with joy to see you so successful and happy.
It’s exactly what your dad and I wanted for you. ’
Fin watched as Sweeney blanched a little. Okay … Connie was clearly not above playing dirty with the dead father card.
‘And I’ve never once asked you to come home for a visit or spend a Christmas.
I’ve been happy to join you wherever you might be in the world.
I’ve never made you feel guilty about infrequent visits, or not being here for any of my birthdays, or that ceremony in Melbourne where the premier honoured Ronnie and I for our service to the public. Or for missing Michael’s funeral.’
Fin blinked. Whoa. Now she was playing Fin’s dead father card.
‘Have I ever nagged or pressured you about a boyfriend or a husband or having babies and making me a grandmother? Have I?’
‘Mum.’
Connie shook her head, her eyes glowing fiercely. ‘Have I, Sweeney?’
Sweeney swallowed. ‘No.’
Fin frowned. ‘I don’t see what this has got to do with—’
‘Oh, don’t you even,’ Ronnie interjected, nailing Fin with an equally fierce look.
‘Half of this town is made of Murphys, and they’re popping out babies like it’s their job to populate the earth.
I’ve been to more Murphy weddings, baby showers and christenings than I’ve pulled beers behind the bar. ’
It was true. The Murphys were particularly proficient at reproduction.