‘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.
Nohow 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 ofthe 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.’
