Chapter 3 #2
Unfortunately, her mother’s look of disappointment from last night when she found out that Sweeney was in Ballyshannon for such a short time chose that moment to rear its ugly head.
Worse still had been the way her mother had quickly hidden it behind reassuring words of understanding and acceptance.
That had truly hollowed Sweeney out.
‘For you, maybe,’ Fin grumbled, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’ll still be here facing the nosy interrogations.’
‘Yeah.’ Sweeney forced a grin, banishing the spike of guilt she felt over the scant days she had allotted her mother in her busy schedule. ‘I’m less concerned about that.’
He honked out a laugh. ‘I’ll bet you are.’
‘Look on the bright side. At least your mum won’t be able to do any matchmaking.’
‘Huh.’ Fin’s features brightened as the realisation dawned. He tapped his temple and smiled at her. ‘I like the way you think.’
‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes as Sweeney finished her apple and Fin drank his tea and the sun crept higher over the yard.
She tossed the core into a nearby garden bed just like they’d always done as kids and breathed deeply, wondering what kind of trickery it was that Ballyshannon always seemed to smell the same and yet different to any other small town she’d ever visited on her travels.
‘There’s the parade and the lake, day after tomorrow,’ Fin said finally. ‘For St Patrick’s Day. We’ll have to show our faces there.’
‘Of course.’
After the last Irish dancer had twirled down the main street to the pipe band, Lake Corrib was the only place to be on St Patrick’s Day.
Thankfully most local businesses and employers had historical Irish connections and usually shut for the day so everyone could enjoy the start of the area’s much-vaunted annual Irish festival.
Ballyshannon and the towns nestled into the surrounding hills and valleys—Ballyhale, Ballymoe, Ballyferriter and Ballyduff—had been a haven for the Irish escaping hunger and oppression in the old country in the mid-eighteen hundreds.
They were mostly farmers back in the day but then the railway had come to town, opening up broader employment opportunities in the city.
Not everyone was of Irish descent in the area but, on St Pat’s Day, everyone felt Irish.
‘At least with all your family there, avoiding each other should be easy.’
As a kid, Sweeney had envied Fin his big family.
He might have been an only child, as had she, but he’d been surrounded by a veritable village of relatives.
Sweeney had grown up with no extended family.
Her parents had been implants, moving from Western Australia to Ballyshannon a month after they’d married.
Her father had worked on the docks in Geelong and the Ballyshannon area had offered more affordable housing within an easy commute.
She had three cousins, all in Perth. Fin had thirty first cousins—all in Ballyshannon.
‘Doesn’t mean we’re going to be able to avoid questions, though.’
‘True. We might have to talk to the mums so we can get our stories straight.’
She’d been in such a state of shock last night, Sweeney couldn’t remember exactly what had been said about her and Fin’s miraculous relationship, although it had seemed vague.
‘Good plan,’ he agreed.
A thought occurred to Sweeney then. ‘Is there anyone back in Dublin who might be unpleasantly surprised to learn of our engagement?’
They hadn’t talked about their love lives in the car last night, and Fin hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend as a possible stumbling block to their mothers’ harebrained scheme.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t seeing someone who might object to the news that would probably be on every Ballyshannon resident’s Facebook feed by the end of the day—if it wasn’t already.
He didn’t say anything for a long beat before finally saying, ‘No.’
Sweeney quirked an eyebrow as she half turned in her chair to face him. ‘Are you not sure? Or is there an it’s complicated thing going on?’
‘Nope. I’m thoroughly single.’
There was a flatness to his voice and something stirred inside of Sweeney.
As a boy, Fin hadn’t been much of a Casanova.
He’d been shy around girls who weren’t either his cousins or her, and it had always seemed short-sighted to Sweeney that her peers—girls like Maria Jennings—hadn’t been able to see beyond the wild hair, big head and geeky glasses to the great guy underneath.
Which had made her very protective of him.
Fin had long outgrown his social awkwardness with the opposite sex. There’d been a lot of dating in his life from uni onwards, if his social media was any indication, although he hadn’t put much on his Insta grid since moving overseas.
‘What the hell’s wrong with women in Ireland?’ she joked lightly. ‘I mean, I have it on good authority you know how to ruin a woman’s vagina but good.’
Fin snort-laughed, a hand on his chest drawing her attention yet again to the broad set of his shoulders. ‘Oh god …’ He groaned. ‘How am I ever going to unhear that?’
‘Sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s not enough ear bleach in the world.’
He also half turned in his chair. ‘I’ve dated a little over there.
I just …’ He hesitated, seemingly grappling with what to say.
‘I don’t know.’ Clearly giving up the struggle, he shrugged.
‘It took a while to be interested after Dad passed. And ever since, it seems like every woman I go out with is mentally run through the Michael Murphy approval framework and, well … that’s not sexy. ’
Sweeney laughed. ‘No. I imagine not. Although I reckon he’d be thrilled with having an Irish girl in the family.’ Michael might have been born in Ballyshannon and proud of his first-generation Australian roots, but his affinity for Ireland had been deep and abiding.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, his voice wistful. ‘He’d have been crazy about that.’ Shooting her a small smile, he asked, ‘What about you? Is there some guy out there who’s going to ride into Ballyshannon and challenge me to a duel?’
Sweeney laughed. ‘Hell no.’ She straightened in the chair, bringing the mug from her lap to the armrest, her gaze fixing on the rays of sunlight penetrating the hedge between the Murphy house and the back neighbour.
‘Still avoiding entanglements?’
‘I’m never in one place for long. What would be the point?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Fin also straightened in the chair. ‘Connection. Companionship. Someone who knows you better than anybody else in the world. Love.’
Yeah, except whenever Sweeney thought about love—romantic love—she thought about the flip side.
About her mother barely able to get out of bed for three years after her father passed.
About that permanent ball of anxiety coiled in her gut, desperately afraid for her mum while trying to take care of them both and keep it all quiet because what if her mother was taken away, too?
Nope. If that’s where love got you, she’d take a big fat pass.
‘I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Finley Murphy.’
‘I blame it on Ireland.’
‘Me too.’
They laughed until Ronnie interrupted them a few moments later. ‘Morning,’ she said chirpily, settling herself into a regular chair beside Fin. ‘Did you both sleep well?’
Sweeney grinned behind her mug as Fin shot his mother a don’t think you’re off the hook because it’s a brand new day look. ‘Not particularly. You?’
‘Oh, I slept like a baby.’
Fin gave a quiet, derisive snort. ‘I bet.’
Ignoring him, Ronnie glanced at Sweeney. ‘It’s so lovely hearing you both out here laughing. Just like old times.’
Yeah, except it wasn’t. They weren’t kids anymore, when a popper and a plate of Ronnie’s chocolate chip biscuits made them feel like kings. A lot had happened between then and now. Not least their fake engagement.
‘Your mum’s coming over at eight, Sweeney. I’m cooking pancakes. It’ll be so nice for all of us to catch up together without a crowd of people milling around.’
Ronnie beamed at them—she really had slept like a baby.
Fin frowned. ‘Won’t that make you both late for church?’
Her smile slipped a little as she glanced away, suddenly fascinated by something in the garden. ‘We’re going to give it a miss this morning.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Worried it’ll fall down around your heads?’
Ronnie had the good grace to blush before she turned her attention to Fin. ‘Is there anything wrong with wanting to spend time with our children?’
Sweeney, who was still royally pissed off at her own mother, could afford to be more lenient with Fin’s. It was Connie who had started it, after all. ‘It sounds lovely, Rhonda. You know how much I love your pancakes.’
Ronnie beamed again at the compliment and Fin gave an eye roll, his gaze leaving Sweeney in no doubt that he thought she was a total suck-up.
‘I guess it will give us a chance to discuss things,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Like, what exactly you’ve told everyone about our engagement.’
‘Ooh, good idea.’ Ronnie sat forward a little. ‘We’ll need to get our stories straight.’
Fin shook his head at his mother, but Sweeney could see it was exasperation rather than anger. ‘I think you’re enjoying this too much.’
Ronnie shrugged. ‘If it helps, we kept things vague.’
‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘So, how long ago did this happen?’
‘A few weeks ago. A spontaneous proposal when you were in Hawaii together.’
Fin blinked. ‘Hawaii is vague?’
‘I saw a post on Sweeney’s Instagram about her being in Hawaii recently and it just …’
‘Popped out?’
‘It was logical,’ Ronnie said defensively.
‘And have we set a date yet?’ Sweeney asked.
‘Not yet. And you’re not in a hurry.’
‘How wise of us,’ Fin murmured derisively. ‘Did you say how, after thirty-two years of friendship, we suddenly ended up romantically involved?’
‘Just that you finally both woke up and realised you’d been in love all along.’
It was Sweeney’s turn to blink. Apart from a publicly clumsy kiss when they’d been twelve, and a definitely-not-clumsy-but-just-as-public kiss last night, she and Fin hadn’t ever thought of each other like that.
It was true, she did love Fin. But not like that.
‘Oh, and Sweeney doesn’t have a ring because you wanted her to have your granny’s Claddagh ring.’
Ronnie reached for the fine gold necklace around her neck that displayed Grandma Murphy’s ring. Michael had worn it on his little finger after his mother’s death twelve years prior, and Ronnie had taken to wearing it on her chain after Michael’s death.
Sweeney shook her head. ‘Oh no, Rhonda … I couldn’t.’
‘Nonsense,’ Rhonda insisted as she whipped off her necklace. ‘Of course Fin would want his fiancée to have it.’
In the real world, Sweeney didn’t doubt that was probably true, but this was not the real world. In fact, she was beginning to think they’d entered a completely alternate reality.
Ronnie handed him the ring. ‘It’s only for a week.’
Sweeney watched as Fin stared at the ring sitting in his palm.
‘People will be expecting to see it,’ his mother reminded him gently as she, too, watched her son stare at the ring.
‘I guess,’ Fin said eventually. He glanced at Sweeney. ‘It’ll only cause more questions if it’s not on. You good with that?’
Feeling not good about it but wanting to avoid as much town gossip as possible, Sweeney nodded. ‘Yeah … okay.’
Fin passed the ring over and it sat warm and surprisingly solid in her palm.
As a child, Sweeney had found the two hands clasped around a crowned heart endlessly fascinating.
Maybe it was because Fin’s granny had communicated via sign language—measles had robbed her of hearing at the age of two—that Sweeney had noticed it so much, the rapid-fire hand gestures turning it into a golden blur.
Or maybe it was that it was so very different to her mother’s and Ronnie’s solitaire diamonds and the rings she’d seen in magazines and jewellery shop windows.
Whatever the reason, placing the ring on her finger felt portentous and Sweeney was acutely conscious of its weight—its actual weight and the weight of Murphy family history.
Fin’s grandparents had been married for over fifty years.
It symbolised something that hadn’t been entered into lightly. Or frivolously.
Or on a lie.
Her throat thickened and she swallowed as one thumb absently caressed the thinning band at the back of her finger. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured, glancing across at Rhonda.
Ronnie nodded and Sweeney swore she saw a glimmer of moisture in her eyes before she rose, busying herself with collecting their empty mugs. ‘I’ll get started on the pancake batter,’ she announced briskly before disappearing.
They watched her go before turning their attention to the ring again. ‘I suppose it’s too early to drink?’ Sweeney murmured.
Fin shrugged. ‘Pubs are open in Ireland.’
‘Excellent. Mimosas it is.’