Chapter 30
Thirty
A month later, Sweeney dialled her mother’s number.
She felt guilty that she hadn’t spoken to her since the day she’d left and had replied to her messages only briefly.
Part of her wondered if she wasn’t being a little passive aggressive because she was still mad at her mother for putting her and Fin in an impossible situation.
Or because every time a message from her mother popped onto her screen it was a reminder of those crazy, amazing, confusing four weeks in Ballyshannon with Fin and her chest would ache all over again.
But also, it had been a hectic four weeks since she’d left Australia, with back-to-back jobs keeping her busy.
Which had been a godsend. It had kept her from dwelling too long on Fin and what had happened between them and their infrequent stilted messages since.
It was as if neither of them knew how to locate their old bantery mojo now they’d been naked together, and neither had the nerve to try to find it again.
Because now there was time and distance and living in the real world, not the bubble of Ballyshannon. And with that came perspective and practicality.
And that made her chest ache, too.
‘Sweeney!’
A sudden wave of emotion at her mother’s obvious delight swamped Sweeney’s chest. It welled to her throat and prickled at her eyes and nose. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice.’
‘It’s good to hear yours, too.’
Sweeney cleared her throat, alarmed at the slight wobble in her voice, but after their heart-to-heart in Ballyshannon all her old angst and resentments had fluttered away like a kid letting go of the tail of a balloon.
Instead of ducking conversations with her mother, doling them out in limited amounts—possibly also passive aggressive—Sweeney realised she actually yearned to hear her voice again.
‘Darling?’ There was a long pause. ‘Are you … okay?’
‘Of course.’ Except she wasn’t.
Nothing felt right anymore. Not since she’d left. Her restless feet may have been satisfied with all the travel she’d accomplished this past month, but now there was an itch under her skin that no amount of air miles seemed to be able to scratch.
She was … unfulfilled. Which was an entirely new thing for Sweeney.
And she had this damn pain in her chest again. Clearly she was going to have to book in and get an ECG.
Her mother didn’t push, changing the subject instead. ‘I saw pics you posted from Germany a couple of days ago. Still there?’
‘I’m in Nuuk.’
‘That’s … Greenland, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Is it cold?’
‘It’s three degrees right now. But it’s … very beautiful.’ She’d been out on a whale watching boat in the fjord a few hours ago and the scenery was so spectacular it had brought tears to her eyes.
Which was ridiculous. But she seemed to always be on the edge of tears, lately.
‘I’ll be posting some pics to my Insta later.’
‘Oh, lovely. I can’t wait to see them.’
‘What’s happening with you?’
Sweeney figured her mother would talk for fifteen minutes on all the local news and it would be amusing and distracting and she’d feel better. Except she didn’t. She just felt homesick, which was another mountain of WTF.
Faulty tear ducts and fondness for Ballyshannon. Was she having some kind of midlife crisis? At thirty-two?
‘Have you told everyone yet that the engagement is off?’
‘We’re … going to give it a bit more time.’
Uh oh. Sweeney didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Mum.’
‘I know, I know. It’s okay. We’ll do it. We still have a couple of weeks before Fin comes home.’
Sweeney blinked, unsure she’d heard right. Because what the what? ‘Fin’s … going back to Ballyshannon?’
‘Oh. Yes. Sorry.’ Her mother sounded flustered. ‘I thought you guys talked. I thought you … already knew.’
They used to talk. Before they got fake engaged and real naked. ‘No, he never mentioned anything.’
So what the hell did that mean? That was a big move, and they might not have been super chatty in their FRG WhatsApp but she’d have thought he’d mention something that significant. Frankly, the fact he hadn’t kinda hurt.
Not that it was any of her business, of course, but … it hurt anyway. The dull ache in her chest picked up to a throb.
Was he waiting until he got back to Australia before he told her? Or maybe until he got his ducks in a row? Until he was sure of all the details? He was a details kinda guy. Or maybe he’d just assumed her mother would tell her.
‘That’s a … big move.’
‘It is. But there’s more.’
Her mother filled her in on Fin’s plans for a career change.
Sweeney was both surprised and yet not surprised at all.
He’d grown up in a household where signing was as natural as speaking, and she’d watched him through the lens of her camera during every training session, revelling in being able to communicate to Winnie on her terms.
Revelling in being able to teach the other kids on the team ways to communicate with Winnie so she’d felt welcome and included. He’d absolutely loved it and, after seeing him with the kids both on and off the pitch, she had no doubt he’d make an excellent educator.
‘That’s great,’ she enthused with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
The news had added to her feelings of dissatisfaction.
Fin had clearly decided to completely overhaul his life and just gone for it.
He was doing exactly what she’d been toying with when she left Australia.
Reinventing herself. Tapping into the joy that photographing the kids had brought her and becoming a different kind of photographer.
Sure, she had been taking more shots of people on her jobs, but squeezing it in around her main brief, not focusing solely on that or really taking her time to get the photos perfect.
She had presented some of the better ones in her final portfolio of pictures to the clients, hoping they might choose a couple, but none had been interested.
And that had been dispiriting.
Then the doubts had crept in. To do it well she’d need to focus exclusively on portraiture, give herself a period of time to get really good at it, build up a portfolio, figure out if there was even a market for this kind of work.
But then where would the money come from?
No company paying her airfares. No commission money.
How would she pay her exorbitant New York city rent? There was just her. No second income to be a buffer while she went out and played.
But they were just excuses, right? Because she could move dozens of places cheaper than New York, and she could find part-time work in the travel space to cover her bills while she worked part-time on her passion.
She was moping around as though she didn’t have any options, which was patently false.
She’d just chickened out because she’d been busy and in demand, which felt great, especially when the leap felt scary. But she could still do it. Reinvent herself.
Like Fin.
‘Sweeney, darling?’ Her mother broke the lengthening silence. ‘Is … everything okay? Did something happen between you and Fin?’
The pain niggled again and Sweeney absently rubbed her chest. She opened her mouth to brush her mother off, but the overwhelming urge to confide in her, as she’d done so often before her father had died, drowned out the brush-off.
She couldn’t physically lay her head on her mother’s shoulder and snuggle like she used to when she was a kid, but she could open up.
And, even knowing her mother could very possibly jump to the wrong conclusion, Sweeney suddenly, desperately, wanted to spill to the person who loved her most in the world.
‘We …’ She cleared her throat. ‘We slept together.’
There were several long beats of silence, then, ‘Oh. Kay.’
‘And now everything is ruined,’ Sweeney continued.
‘Nothing feels … right anymore. Everything is stilted and … weird between us and … the thought of getting on another plane and going somewhere else tomorrow makes me want to … throw up. But I love travelling and going new places, so what the hell is that all about? And … I almost cried sailing around in the fjord today and I have no idea why.’
By the time she got to the end of her diatribe, Sweeney’s chest was so tight she thought she actually might be having a panic attack.
Her mother didn’t answer straight away. As if she knew her daughter needed time to catch her breath. ‘Darling …’ she said eventually, her voice very tentative. ‘Are you in love with Fin?’
‘What?’ Sweeney spluttered, rejecting the idea immediately.
This was exactly what she’d feared would happen. She knew her mother was going to jump to ridiculous conclusions.
‘Absolutely not. He’s my oldest friend.’ Like that somehow explained the impossibility of it all.
‘Love? Nope. Do you seriously think I would ever voluntarily put myself in a position to one day potentially go through the kind of heartbreak you went through when Dad died? Destroyed, catatonic, nonfunctioning. From grief. Because the man you loved your whole life was gone?’ Sweeney shuddered. ‘No way.’
‘Ohh, darling, no.’ Her mother made a kind of humming noise in her throat, like she was distressed. ‘No, no, no. You have that all wrong.’
‘Do I?’ Sweeney suppressed a snort. She begged to differ. ‘I was there, Mum.’
‘I don’t deny the desolation of my grief.
Or how it impacted you. And I’m so sorry it’s damaged you this deeply.
That’s probably the worst of this for me.
Because you know what? I would do it all again.
Fall in love with your father, marry him, move to Ballyshannon with him, make a baby with him. Everything.’
‘Even if you knew he was going to die at the age of forty?’
‘Yes, darling. Yes. One hundred per cent yes. Because the joy and fulfilment I got from loving your father the years that I had him has been worth every single day without him since. What’s more, I’d do it again with somebody else.’