Passing over her laptop, he didn’t bother to answer, just turned back to the television and started watching. Sweeney smiled to herself as she attached the three photographs to an email and sent them to Mai.
Nine
As far as Fin was concerned, the second night of training was even worse than the first. It had been a long time since he’d doubted himself and his abilities, but it was as though his time away from Ballyshannon had reset the clock on his relationship with the town and he was back to being the skinny nerdy kid, feeling completely inept and out of his depth.
And he hated it.
The worst part was, he felt like he was letting his father down. The town was doing this to honour Michael Murphy and Fin had come to think of it as his way to atone for the way things had ended between him and his father. And he was fucking that up, too.
The only bright spot was that Winnie had turned up again. Even though he’d invited her to join the training and Tori and Nellie had introduced themselves with some basic but very cute signing, she declined, shaking her head as she clung to her grandfather’s leg.
Still, Fin was encouraged that she’d returned. As a kid who had been chronically shy, he related to the little girl. Not that he was comparing. His had been a run-of-the-mill childhood thing whereas he suspected, from the way her grandfather was so protective, hers was related to something much more serious.
Whatever the source, he didn’t want to exacerbate it by rushing in with gusto. It was clear she needed a gentle approach, and the fact she’d come back boded well—he hoped.
Who knew, maybe she’d be at the grounds again today and feel a little less shy?
At least it was something to look forward to as he motored to the ground with Sweeney riding shotgun. Neither of them had said anything since he’d started the car and he couldn’t shake the sense of impending doom. And not just because he had no clue how to turn his little rabble of overexcited players into some semblance of order where the team took precedence over individual glory. But also because after training he and Sweeney were having dinner with the mothers one last time, then he was driving her to Melbourne to catch her plane.
It was a good thing she was going as far as the engagement charade went but, perversely, he wished she wasn’t. Despite the circumstances it had been fabulous to see her again. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed her, and he’d forgotten how easy she was to be around.
And god knew when he’d see her again. At their mothers’ seventieth birthdays, maybe? The thought made his blood itch.
‘You look like you lost a shilling and found a penny.’
Fin smiled as he flicked a glance at Sweeney. ‘God, I haven’t heard that in years.’
‘Your grandfather made it sound much more romantic in his lovely Kerry accent.’
His grandfather had always been quick with an Irish expression. Fin’s favourite had always beenthe tide wouldn’t take him out.
‘Okay, let’s have it.’ She tugged on the seatbelt and turned in her seat to face him. ‘What’s on your mind?’
Fin didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. Sweeney always had known him best. ‘I guess I never thought I’d suck as a coach.’
She laughed. ‘You don’t suck.’
‘They don’t listen to me.’
‘They’re five and six. I don’t know much about kids but I think that’s pretty typical.’
Except every single kid on a Michael Murphy team had listened to him like he was fucking Moses coming down from the mount. He shook his head. ‘I should never have let my mother talk me into this.’
‘Fin…’ She laughed again. ‘It’s beentwodays. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself.’
His fingers tightened around the wheel. ‘My dad knew how to do this.’
‘Your dad was used to hanging around with kids. He had eight siblings. And dozens and dozens of cousins. And you. And Gaelic football was his thing.’
‘It’s my thing, too.’
‘No.’ Sweeney shook her head. ‘Not like it was for your father.’
Okay, Fin would give her that. He loved playing and watching the sport, but his father had been obsessed. His mother had often joked about being a footy widow during the season.
‘Is this about winning, because I don’t think—’
‘Absolutely not,’ he interrupted with a vehement shake of his head. His father had liked to win, of course, but what he’d cared most about was that every single person on the team had tried their hardest. ‘It’s…’ He searched around for the right words but it really just came down to three. ‘It’s for Dad.’
