She nodded slowly then, as though she finally realised how deeply personal coaching this team was to Fin, even if she didn’t fully understand all the demons chasing him.
‘Okay. I get that. You don’t want to let Michael down.’
Yeah, that was part of it, too.
‘But you know the secret to your father’s coaching success?’
Fin frowned. Of course he did, but … how did she? Sweeney might have seen a lot of games but she’d hardly been a footy fan. ‘Because he was a brilliant strategist and knew how to break it down in a way that kids understood.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I mean, I’m sure it was some of that as well, but the biggest reason he was a great coach was because the kidslikedhim. They liked him so much they would have done anything for him.’
Fin blinked at the insight. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because it was the same with me. And others. He was generous and caring and giving, and he always had time to listen to people. After my dad died he’d often drop by and we’d go out into the back yard and he’d water the grass—because he knew how much my dad prided himself on a well-kept lawn and that my mum wasn’t up to much at that point in time—and we’d chat about Dad. So many people went out of their way tonottalk about Dad in front of me, but Michael always had a story about him that I didn’t know and I loved hearing them and I loved your dad for that.’
Stupidly, a lump rose and lodged in Fin’s throat. He knew this story. Sweeney had told him back in the day that his father dropped by every now and then, but he hadn’t realised they’d talked that much during his father’s visits or that it had obviously meant so much to Sweeney. The achy, guilt-ridden love he felt for his father surged in his chest.
‘Peoplelikedyour father,’ she reiterated.
Swallowing the lump, Fin attempted to lighten the mood. ‘So, you’re saying that bunch of little kids doesn’t likeme?’
She shook her head. ‘They don’tknowyou. Fin. Maybe if you stopped trying to be your dad and just beyou. And also maybe … loosen up a little? You’re so uptight about getting it right you’ve forgotten how much you love this game. Show themthat. And have some fun with them. Tell them poo jokes. Make them laugh. They’rekids. And this isn’t a grand final at Croke Park. It’s an Easter gymkhana at the Gold Coast playing against other five- and six-year-olds. Take a breath.’
Fin shot her a quick look before he put his eyes back on the road. She was right. He’d never felt going onto the footy field was a chore until three days ago. That day by the lake, everyone from his family had looked at him as though he was going to step into his father’s shoes, and the pressure had been building ever since.
But the truth was, it wasn’t coming from them. It was coming from inside. From a much darker place where his unresolved guilt roiled and simmered. ‘You’re right.’ His shoulders slumped a little as he sucked in a ragged breath.
Fun.He knew fun. He was a fun guy, damn it!
‘I’m sorry, Murph,’ she said, a smile in her voice at the old nickname, ‘can you say that a little louder?’ She cupped a hand around her ear. ‘I didn’t hear you?’
Fin laughed. It felt good to laugh after the unexpectedly heavy conversation. ‘You heard me perfectly fine, Bailes.’
‘No, no.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t hear you over the radio.’
He rolled his eyes. The music was background at best. ‘You’re right,’ he repeated.
Her grin was puredamn rightbut she sobered quickly. ‘If it’s any consolation, I kinda know how you feel.’
‘The photography thing?’
‘Yup.’ She nodded. ‘I honestly thought I’d pick it up pretty quickly and I expected last night’s pictures would be much better than the first night, but they weren’t.’
Fin shook his head. They made a fine pair. ‘Sweeney … They were great.’ The photos had been popular locally and the GoFundMe had received a bit of a boost.
‘No. They weren’t.’ She looked out her window. ‘They were…fine, but they were, I don’t know… missing something. When I look at them I feel … removed from them. Like they could have been taken from a drone. Like an adult taking picturesofchildren instead of being right in the action. If that makes sense.’
‘Well, what about … getting down lower? Crouching or even lying on the ground. So you’re more at their level?’
It took a beat or two but her head slowly turned to look at him. ‘You know what?’ She tapped her index finger absently against her closed mouth and stared at a point beyond him somewhere, her brow furrowed in concentration. ‘That’s a good idea.’
Her gaze came back into focus as Fin cocked an eyebrow and cupped his ear. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say, Bailes?’ His mouth twitched. ‘A little louder, please. I didn’t hear you.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Touché.’
*
Fin was invigorated as the training session drew to a close. Sweeney’s advice had been just what he’d needed, and for the first time in three days he felt like he was swimming instead of sinking. He’d started the hour with a getting-to-know-you game with the ball. He’d made his team all stand in a circle then, when he lobbed the ball to each player—fifty per cent of whom didn’t manage to catch it, but that was an issue for another day—he asked them to tell him their name, how old they were, whether they had any brothers and sisters, and one silly thing about themselves.
