Chapter 29 #2
It was the best feeling. The best feeling. Coaching these kids—most of them with two left feet—had been an absolute privilege. Had felt important.
Maybe that’s what he should be doing?
*
His mother was up waiting for him when he got home. She was in her pyjamas, in the kitchen making a cup of tea, beneath the clocks ticking away the hour in their separate time zones. Obviously Sweeney had talked with Connie and his mother had moved back home.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, in that way she had of putting his soul through the CT scanner inbuilt into the brains of mothers to instantly know something was wrong.
No how was the comp, how was the Gold Coast, how was the flight? Just honing straight in to the raw spot. ‘I’m fine,’ he said irritably as he accepted a quick hug.
He was tired and everything in his life was upending and he felt shitty being short with her, considering he only had two more days with her before he flew back to Ireland. But, damn it, he was in this confusing period of flux because of her. And Connie.
Because of the mothers.
Pressing her lips together as if she was biting her tongue, she turned back to the electric jug. ‘Tea?’
No, he did not want a goddamn cup of tea. He wanted his father still alive and for them never to have argued and for his mother to have never told a little white lie and for there never to have been a Feeney. Except his brain was calling vehement bullshit on the last one.
Liar, liar, pants on fire. Stupid brain.
‘No. Thank you. I’m going to hit the sack.’
She nodded calmly. ‘Of course.’ It was the same soothing tone she’d used when he was little and she’d known it was pointless talking to a tired toddler, which only pissed Fin off even more. ‘You can take your old bedroom. I changed the sheets.’
Fin’s chest cramped. He would rather risk death by mountain of wool than sleep in the bed where Sweeney had been—new sheets or not. ‘It’s fine. I’ll take the futon.’
‘Okay.’
Then she picked up her cup of tea, patted him on the arm as she passed him by and left him alone in the kitchen feeling like a truly terrible son.
Fuck. Fuuuuuuck!
He stomped to the futon in the shadow of Mt Woolly, expecting to stew all night, but surprisingly—or maybe not, considering how little sleep he’d had these past few nights—Fin slept like the dead. He shut his eyes and was out like a light and didn’t stir until nine the next morning.
And something miraculous happened while he slept. It was as if powering down had allowed the frazzled pathways in his heated, throbbing, over-tired brain to recharge and reconnect, and the things he hadn’t been able to fathom were suddenly fathomable.
He knew what he wanted to do. He knew it as clear as the crisp, clear day out his window. Picking up his phone, he set about taking the first steps.
*
An hour later, Fin was freshly showered and his bags were packed and by the door. Following the sound of conversation to the back patio, he found Connie and his mother sprawled in their activewear in the squatter’s chairs, cups of tea balancing on the arms.
Part of him wanted to ask Connie if she’d heard from Sweeney.
He’d set up the WhatsApp group—called the Feeney Recovery Group (FRG) because he thought it’d make her laugh—and invited her to join about five minutes after she’d shut the door on their hotel room.
Except she hadn’t responded yet so he didn’t know what to read into that.
And he sure as hell wasn’t going to drag her mother into their business.
Not when he had something much bigger to say—to both of them.
‘Morning, darling.’ Another quick mum scan and she was smiling at him, obviously pleased at what she saw. ‘You want tea?’
She went to stand but Fin waved her back. ‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ Pulling a chair out from the small table where his parents used to often eat their dinner on long summer evenings, he placed it in front of them and plonked his ass down. ‘I have an announcement.’
His mother glanced sideways at Connie and their gazes met briefly before they flicked back to him. ‘Okay,’ his mother said, squaring her shoulders. ‘We’re all ears.’
‘I’m coming back to Australia. To live. For good.’
It was rare that Fin ever got to shock his own mother, let alone someone else’s, but their combined moment of stunned silence said it all.
His mother recovered first. ‘Really?’ Her voice was breathy with excitement, her eyes literally glowing. ‘You’re coming home?’
‘Not to Ballyshannon. No.’
‘Where?’
‘Melbourne.’
‘Darling …’ His mother shook her head, staring at him with ill-confined glee. ‘That’s … that’s wonderful.’
‘It will be great to have you so close again.’ Connie nodded enthusiastically.
Fin switched his attention to Connie. He could see she was genuinely happy for her bestie, but if he wasn’t mistaken he could see a sheen of moisture in her eyes.
He smiled at her because he realised it must be hard for her, knowing—owning—that her debilitating grief had played a role in driving Sweeney away.
‘I’m applying to do teaching at Monash University,’ he continued, his gaze returning to meet his mother’s. ‘I want to teach non-hearing and non-verbal kids.’
Even saying it out loud, it fit like a second skin.
Signing with Winnie and teaching the other kids on the team to sign had sparked a passion he’d let go when his granny died, but when he’d woken this morning with this fully formed plan in his head, he’d known this was where his entire life had been leading.
He’d been able to sign before he could properly talk.
Frankly, he couldn’t believe this epiphany hadn’t happened earlier.
‘Oh, Fin.’ His mother sat forward in the chair, her eyes glassy now. ‘Your dad would be so proud.’
‘Yeah.’ Fin nodded. He would.
But he wasn’t doing it for his dad. He wasn’t even doing it for his granny. He was doing it for himself because it spoke to him. It slotted into some place deep inside he hadn’t known was empty until now.
Doing this would fill his soul.
‘So I’m heading back to Dublin. Today. I have to give a month’s notice so I expect it’ll take me maybe six weeks to wind everything up there. I’m sorry—’ He reached across the gap between them and squeezed his mother’s hand. ‘I know I was supposed to stay for another two days.’
She squeezed back and shook her head. ‘It’s fine. Go.’ She grinned. ‘The sooner you get there, the sooner you’ll be home.’
Fin returned the grin. He hadn’t thought his mother would object too much.
‘But … here’s the deal. You need to tell everyone’—he glanced between his mother and Connie and back again—‘before I come back that Feeney is over. I’m not stepping foot back in Ballyshannon unless everyone knows the engagement is off.’
That stopped the grin dead in its tracks and the two women exchanged glances again. Fin withdrew his hand as a veritable dictionary of words was telepathically communicated between them, before, as if they’d rehearsed it, they turned pleading gazes on him.
He shook his head before either could speak. ‘Nope. That was the deal,’ he reiterated. ‘After we left, you were going to tell the town we’d split.’
‘Well, yes,’ his mother blustered. ‘But we thought we’d be able to leave it for a few months at least.’
‘Six months would be ideal,’ Connie added.
Fin almost rolled his eyes as he wondered how many more cake tastings they’d set up. ‘You’ve got six weeks,’ he said, his tone brooking no argument.
‘But …’ Connie’s brow scrunched. ‘How does Sweeney feel about this?’
‘Sweeney feels exactly the same.’
Okay, they hadn’t talked about it specifically, but he didn’t have to ask her to know she wanted this farce over, too. And he wasn’t going to let either of the mothers divide and conquer. They had to know he and Sweeney were simpatico on this point.
‘Oh dear.’ His mother sighed as she reached out and took Connie’s hand. ‘What are we going to tell them, Con?’
Fin did roll his eyes this time at his mother’s sudden feebleness. He wasn’t picking up what she was putting down. ‘I think you both have a track record in telling whoppers. I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
Although perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea. Knowing their sudden penchant for drama, he and Sweeney could well end up with a debilitating illness or fucking consumption. ‘Tell them we realised we should never have made the leap from friends to lovers.’
Because god knew that was the truth. A good night’s sleep might have done wonders for his occupational clarity but, given his invitation to the FRG had not been accepted, he was feeling less positive about his and Sweeney’s ability to come out of this with anything close to the friendship they had a month ago.
And that might have been on them, but the mothers had set the wheels in motion.
‘God.’ Connie’s hand fluttered over her chest. ‘The wave of sympathy, the pitying looks.’ She sighed. ‘Marjorie Weaver. It’ll be unbearable.’
‘Indeed,’ his mother agreed. ‘Quite inconvenient.’
Fin snorted. Good. Maybe they deserved a little discomfort for their part in the charade.
‘Be that as it may.’ He stood and fished the ring out of his pocket, placing it on the arm of his mother’s chair.
‘Do it before I’m back, or I’ll tell everyone the truth.
The whole truth and nothing but the truth. ’
His mother picked up the ring and she and Connie stared at it as though it was one of their chickens come home to roost.
‘Now.’ He leaned over and kissed his mother on the head. ‘I gotta go or I’ll miss my flight. Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’ He kissed Connie on the head, too. ‘See you both in six weeks.’
Then he strode out of the house, his stomach a bag of mixed emotions. Excited to start the newest chapter of his life, worried that he might just have lost his oldest friend.