Chapter 6
Six
Sweeney and Fin managed to lie low in the house until training the following afternoon.
She had to admit she was glad their mothers had decided the two of them should be in Fin’s home and not hers.
The memories at her place were too oppressive, and she hadn’t been looking forward to going back to her old bedroom.
At least the two meddling mamas were both at work, giving them something else to focus on other than cooking up plans for her and Fin. Although, given they worked at the same library, that wasn’t a sure thing.
Fin, who had qualified for a blue card exemption due to passing an equivalent check in Ireland, had spent the day on YouTube watching how-to-coach-kids videos.
After a couple of hours editing the pictures she’d taken while in Peru, Sweeney had also resorted to some online advice about how best to photograph people.
She had studied it all those years ago at university, but naked babies in flowerpots or brides or even busy streetscapes had never been her jam.
She’d much preferred scenery. There were no half-shut eyes to worry about when photographing landscapes.
And even though it was for a kids’ footy team in a tiny town, Sweeney was a perfectionist and had a reputation to uphold.
Also a responsibility. If her photographs were going to help stimulate donations to an online fundraising page, they had to be more than just good.
She had no doubt she could take perfectly adequate photographs of a bunch of kids having fun on a field.
Anyone with an iPhone could do that.
They had to be emotive. To make someone, in this fiscally difficult time, put their hand in their pocket and donate. Sweeney knew how to move someone to put their hand in their pocket to book a holiday—she just wasn’t sure she could do this.
Or why she’d even let herself be talked into it.
No, that wasn’t true. She knew. It had been the plea. The silent, tentative one in her mother’s eyes that she’d hidden behind her bold, brash outward certainty that Sweeney would acquiesce. Like she was holding her breath waiting to be rejected.
Which had poked at the big bruise deep inside, and part of Sweeney had wanted to blurt out, ‘Haven’t I done enough for you?’ But there was a hopefulness in her mother’s expression as well that had reached inside Sweeney and squeezed.
So she said yes. And here she was, with only three training sessions to get the best shots she was able to before she had to leave Ballyshannon on Friday evening to catch a flight to Indonesia for her next gig.
No pressure, then.
But, as had been drummed into her at university and reiterated in her research today, all good pictures told stories. So … she just had to find the stories. Right?
It was a relief to reach the field that afternoon and get out of her head because, more than anything, practice made perfect. She just had to trust that, like Michelangelo, if she kept snapping she’d eventually see the angel in the marble and give it a conduit to shine.
‘Jesus, how many kids are in the team?’ Fin said as he cut the engine and stared through the windshield at the grounds that looked almost as crowded as the lake yesterday.
Adults milled around in groups. Kids, some of them in the green jersey of the Banshees, ran around playing tag or kicking balls.
‘I guess there’s not a lot to do on a Wednesday afternoon in Ballyshannon.’
‘Or—’ He turned to her with a grim set to his mouth. ‘They’re here for more Feeney.’
Well, crap. Sweeney blew out a breath as she stared at the crowd. Only three more days.
Neither of them moved for long moments. Afternoon sunshine spilled around the car, increasing the temperature inside, and Sweeney became aware of the coconut rum aroma of Fin’s cologne.
Like a lit scented candle, the heat had diffused the fragrance into a warm vapour that wafted towards her from the open neck of his t-shirt.
Suppressing the urge to bury her face against his throat—because WTF?—she drew in a deep, steady breath, filling her lungs with it instead. When had Fin smelled this good?
‘It’s been such a long time,’ he said eventually, as he stared out over the grounds. ‘I don’t know how many hours I spent here with Dad.’
Oh god, of course. She was sitting here analysing Fin’s scent as though she was applying for a job as a ‘nose’ in some posh French perfumery, while he was struggling with feelings that were clearly still raw.
The Banshees had been his father’s baby.
His pride and joy. To Michael Murphy, the club had been at the heart of the Ballyshannon community.
Sweeney would hazard a guess that there were as many memories here as neatly mowed blades of grass and, just like walking up to the pub on Saturday night, this had to be a minefield for Fin.
She had memories, too. She’d been a Banshee only very briefly but she’d watched countless games throughout the years and had often volunteered in the canteen serving sausage rolls and hot pies with mushy peas during weekend carnivals.
Her first kiss—proper, non-bottle determined—had been here too, under the trees at the far end of the grounds.
Sliding both hands around the wheel until they touched at the top, Fin leaned forward and propped his chin on his knuckles, staring out over the grounds.
‘I scored my first ever goal on this field. I broke my collarbone on this field. My father taught me to drive in this car park on a deserted Sunday afternoon and how not to bunny hop the start.’
Sweeney gave a rueful laugh. ‘Same.’
The corners of his mouth rose slightly but he kept his eyes trained straight ahead.
‘I’ve watched my dad coach here hundreds of times.
So many teams. He was really good at it.
’ He turned his head then, resting his cheek where his chin had been, a lock of his hair falling forward across his forehead as his gaze captured hers. ‘What if I suck?’
She blinked. That’s what Fin had been worrying about as he’d obsessively clicked from one YouTube clip to the next today?
Fin the maths brain, computer nerd, astronomy nut who was living his best life on the other side of the world.
Fin, who had never sucked at anything. Except maybe girls. And he’d sure as hell made up for that.
‘You won’t.’
‘Oh yeah?’ An eyebrow lifted, giving him a certain rakishness he would have killed for as a teenager. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘The fact that you’re thinking about it? Second guessing yourself? That you actually care that you might? It’s been my experience in life that people who really do suck have very little self-awareness of the fact.’
He laughed. ‘True.’
‘And seriously, you couldn’t suck any worse than Donny. At least you can run without falling on your face.’
Another laugh. More of a chuckle, really, all deep and low, resonating around the confines of the car in a rumble that raised all the fine hairs on her body.
‘So what you’re saying is, just don’t fall over and I’ll already be ahead.’
Sweeney smiled. ‘Leaps and bounds.’
‘That’s a pretty low bar, don’t you think?’
She shrugged. ‘They’re five and six, Fin. Half of them probably can’t even wipe their own butts.’
‘True.’ He returned his attention to the windscreen. ‘Uh oh.’ He sat back in his seat. ‘They’ve discovered us.’
Sweeney frowned as she, too, turned her attention to the grounds. People were looking in their direction. Some were pointing. Others were nudging. FFS. ‘Guess that’s our cue,’ she said, unclicking her seatbelt. ‘If we don’t get out there now, they’re going to wonder what we’ve been doing in here.’
‘You think they’re going to think we’ve been making out?’ He quirked that eyebrow again. ‘Isn’t that what engaged couples are supposed to do?’
The thought of making out with Fin made her itchy under her skin so she didn’t give it any oxygen inside her fertile imagination. She did, after all, think in pictures. Always had.
‘Sure, but it’ll get back to our mothers and—’
In a flash, Fin unclicked his seatbelt. ‘Say no more. We don’t need to give those two any more ideas.’
Sweeney grinned. It was ridiculous that at the age of thirty-two they were both still a little afraid of the loose cannons that were their mothers.
But they were.
*
Mai greeted Sweeney with a hug when she arrived at the sideline. Fin had made a beeline for Donny, who had proudly announced he was going to be Fin’s second. Clearly more practised with children, Donny made a game out of performing the introductions between Fin and his new little charges.
Sweeney only vaguely registered any of it as she set up her camera gear.
She never travelled anywhere without a full kit, so she had everything on hand she would need.
As she erected the tripod, Mai prattled about Instagram and Facebook access.
‘You free for a drink after or tomorrow night? Before you leave. I’d like to pick your brain about social media strategy.
You have so many followers and your posts always seem to go viral. ’
‘Um, sure,’ she said, distracted, as she snapped off a couple of test shots of the kids in the middle, huddled around Fin and Donny.
Satisfied with them, she asked, ‘How many in the team?’ as she deleted the images.
It had been a long while since Sweeney had anything to do with the AFL/soccer hybrid that ran green through the veins and arteries of all the locals, so the details were hazy.
She remembered some things, though. The field was bigger than a soccer pitch—Michael had always boasted about that.
But it was smaller than an AFL one. The ball was round but could be carried and hand passed as well as kicked.
And the goal was a football/soccer net combo, allowing goals to be either kicked between the posts or slammed into the net below.