Chapter 13
Thirteen
Fin answered his phone the next morning to a hyper-excited Mai, who was calling to let Fin know an ABC news crew would be at the Banshees club house at three-thirty this afternoon for a pre-record set to go out tomorrow morning.
‘The national news breakfast programme, Fin! This is the kind of publicity you just can’t buy. ’
She was pumped.
Also, she informed him in a rapid-fire prattle, they wanted Sweeney and a couple of kids in Banshees jerseys, who would, naturally, be Tori and Nellie, and they were beside themselves at the thought of being famous.
Yeah, Mai really knew how to turn the screw.
If it had been Donny calling, Fin would have told him exactly what he could do with his news crew, but he’d never been able to say no to Mai and she knew it.
In fact, despite her petite stature, no one said no to Mai.
And so, later that afternoon, he found himself ball under arm—as requested—standing in front of a camera man and a reporter.
Sweeney stood beside him—her camera around her neck also as requested—and his two goddaughters standing in front of them in their green Banshees jerseys, beaming like they’d each swallowed a swarm of fireflies.
Mai, Donny, the mothers, most of the Murphy clan, all the team parents and grandparents and anyone else with a club association were gathered behind the camera in club colours and with various hand-scrawled banners, grinning like loons. He also saw a beret lurking there somewhere in the back.
Courtney Barrington, the reporter, efficient and clearly ambitious if how seriously she was taking this fluff piece was anything to go by, held a large furry microphone in hand as she ran through the usual questions.
About the town and the team and the comp and the photo and the craziness of it all going viral.
She’d also asked the girls what they liked about Gaelic football and whether they were going to win at the Gold Coast.
Then shit got real.
‘Fin, we understand that the decision to go into the competition was to honour your late father, who was the driving force behind establishing Gaelic football in this area and who almost singlehandedly built this club from the ground up.’
Fin wasn’t prepared for it. He hadn’t expected an emotionally charged question—he thought it was supposed to be a human interest piece that was going to be shoved in somewhere as a filler in tomorrow morning’s programme. So it smacked him hard and, for several beats, rendered him speechless.
It was impossible in this moment not to remember just how much his father had loved this club.
Oh, not as much as he’d loved his family or the bar or Ballyshannon, but probably next in line.
He’d been passionate about it and proud of it and Fin swore he could feel his father standing beside him telling him for the thousandth time that the club was the green heart of town.
Fingers interlacing between his brought him back from the memory and, for a confusing moment, Fin thought his dad had taken his hand. Wished desperately it was the case, so he could touch him one last time.
So he could apologise for his angry words.
When he looked down, though, he realised it was Sweeney holding his hand.
With the girls in front of them, it wasn’t visible to anyone but it was welcome.
He met her eyes as she gave a little squeeze, a small empathetic smile touching her mouth.
Fin squeezed back before tearing his eyes away and forcing himself to concentrate on the journalist.
‘Yes. My grandfather was a Kerry man, and although my father was born in Australia a month after my grandparents emigrated here, he was born with the blood of the most successful Gaelic football county in Ireland flowing through his veins. And he believed—’
Fin faltered, his feelings surprisingly raw as he caught his mother’s eye. Her eyes were bright with brimming tears despite the five or so metres between them. Another squeeze of the hand was delivered and he continued on autopilot.
‘He believed that sport played a vital role in small towns. That it gave the community something to root for and rally around. That it could be a vehicle for friendship and fellowship because it crosses all cultural divides.’
‘It sounds like he was a great man.’
‘Yeah.’ Fin gave his mother a small smile before returning his attention to the reporter. ‘He was one of a kind.’
Changing tack, Courtney shot him a coquettish smile before her gaze shifted to address Sweeney.
‘A little birdie also told me that congratulations are in order. I understand the two of you have not only been best friends since the cradle but you recently discovered there was more to it than that and you’re now engaged, Sweeney? ’
It was Sweeney’s turn for a lack of words as she pulled her hand out of his more quickly than she had that first night at the bar. Fin’s gaze cut to the mothers, who were emphatically shaking their heads in the gathered crowd, desperately conveying their non-involvement with their eyes.
For what it was worth, he believed them. Anyone in this goddamn blabbermouth town could have given the journalist a heads-up. Hell, all she’d needed to do was ask around and she’d have found out the skinny in record time.
The journalist’s bright smile slipped a little at Sweeney’s continued silence.
Fin glanced at Sweeney, noting her almost preternatural stillness, as if the unexpected question had broken her or somehow returned her to factory settings.
At the same time he was hyper-aware of everyone waiting expectantly for Sweeney’s response, and of one person in particular towards the back, whose rapier-like gaze felt like a claw closing around his throat.
Thankfully, Tori, who had never met a silence she couldn’t fill, came to the rescue. Bless her. Squinting into the sun that had come out from behind a cloud to form a halo around the reporter’s head, she announced, ‘I’s going to be a flower girl.’
Nellie, clearly not wanting to miss out on the wedding action, piled on. ‘Me too.’
Fin blinked. What the hell? Sure, it had bought Sweeney some time, but where had they got that from? His gaze cut to Donny this time, who looked quickly away.
Fucking Donny.
‘Will you be wearing your jerseys?’
Nellie, also squinting now, looked at the reporter as though maybe she didn’t quite understand how weddings worked. But she very politely said, ‘No.’
‘Daddy says we gots to wear dresses and have flowers in our hair,’ Tori supplied, kicking at the ground as though she didn’t particularly relish the idea.
Fin narrowed his eyes at his cousin as the reporter cooed a response to Tori before throwing the next question at Sweeney.
‘So I guess thanks to your photo stirring up interest in your hunky boyfriend, oops, sorry’—she gave a tinkly laugh—‘ fiancé, what the women of Australia are really dying to know is, does the man kiss as good as he coaches?’
Holy Mary mother of god. What was even happening now? Why had Courtney bloody Barrington suddenly morphed into Bridget freaking Jones?
He barked out a fake laugh because he couldn’t believe how this interview about a small town, a kids’ Gaelic football team and that photograph had somehow become about him and Sweeney. What would she ask next? Did he have chest hair? Did he go down?
Did his size twelve shoes accurately reflect what he was packing in his pants?
As if the question’s impertinence had tripped a switch, Sweeney thankfully came back online with an equally coquettish, super fake smile. ‘Oh, you know, Courtney, I’m not someone who likes to kiss and tell.’
The reporter laughed and winked. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
She turned then to throw to the studio, as she had told them she would when the interview was at an end.
Her pretty face was front and centre of the frame now while the four of them were in the background of the shot.
‘Well, guys, looks like we not only have an underdog story in the making out here in country Victoria but a friends to lovers romance as well. Over to you on the couch.’
As instructed earlier, none of them moved as Courtney held her smile and expression for the count of ten. The camera man finally called time as he lowered the lens of the large contraption he was balancing on his shoulder. ‘That’s a wrap.’
Courtney turned back to them, lowering the microphone, the fakeness of her television smile fading to a more genuine one that reached all the way to her eyes as their little Ballyshannon audience all clapped and cheered.
‘Thanks so much,’ she said, stepping closer.
‘That was excellent. And you two.’ She beamed at Tori and Nellie.
‘You were amazing. Naturals. The camera adored you. Here, I got you this.’ She shoved a hand into the pocket of her tailored slacks and pulled out two lapel badges that boasted Superstar in sparkly letters imposed over the top of the ABC logo. ‘Shall I put them on for you?’
The girls nodded eagerly and the crowd milled around, all talking at once, as Courtney spoke with Mai about the airing details and the camera guy moved his gear to their vehicle.
None of them appeared to notice, amongst all the back slapping and congratulating of a job well done, that neither he nor Sweeney were saying terribly much.
But he knew what she was thinking because he was thinking it too.
A story about a kids’ footy team had become a story about them.
Which meant that, far from keeping a lid on their fake relationship, it would blow it wide open.
And it wasn’t like they could make a fuss and demand Courtney edit those bits out.
Not without the entire town and an ambitious young journalist as well as Marjorie becoming suspicious.
‘That went well,’ Sweeney said out of the corner of her mouth as the news crew drove away and the adults turned their attention to corralling kids onto the field for the start of the training session.
‘I thought so.’ Fin nodded grimly.