Maria had been queen of the cool/mean girls. Not a group Sweeney had ever belonged to or one Fin had ever had a hope of infiltrating had he been so inclined. She’d been the prettiest girl in their grade and scored the lead role in every school musical. Not satisfied with that, she’d gone the full cliché, dating—then marrying—the captain of the Aussie rules team.
Maths nerds hadn’t been on her radar.
‘People change, Fin.’
God knew she had. On the inside anyway. And Fin too, although only, she suspected, on the outside—he was obviously still that guy who valued character over cool.
‘I’m not here looking for a wife. I’m here foronemonth then it’s back to Dublin.’
They turned into Kildare Avenue, lined with its crepe myrtles that would shortly be a blaze of reds, oranges and golds. Flags flapped from the light poles on either side of the street, proudly advertising Ballyshannon’s Irish festival that kicked off next week. Cars were parked bumper-to-bumper as they passed Murphy’s,the Irish pub owned by Fin’s parents and still going strong despite the death of his father two and a half years ago.
Tonight, like many nights in its sixty-year history, Murphy’s was party central.
Eventually Fin found a park at the end of the block and they exited the car, walking side by side towards the bar. The evening was unseasonably warm and Sweeney was glad she’d bought the summery maxi dress on impulse at the airport while she was waiting for Fin’s plane to arrive. She’d changed into it straight away and had been exceptionally pleased by the way it hugged her good bits and skimmed the rest.
Fin’s playful wolf-whistle had confirmed the miracle.
The drift of loud chatter and the occasional waft of soft music greeted them as they neared the heavy wooden door.Murphy’s Irish Bar est. 1962was stamped in faded gold print on the frosted glass panel that occupied the top third.
‘Sounds like it’s jumping in there,’ Sweeney murmured on a surge of trepidation. ‘Ugh. There’s going to be that horrible needle-scratching moment where the talking cuts out and people will look at us like we’re aliens from outer space. I don’t get people who like making an entrance. I mean, good for them, but…’
Reaching for the handle, Sweeney turned for the confirmation she knew she’d find in Fin, who’d never been one much for spectacle, either. But he wasn’t hot on her heels as she’d thought. He’d stopped a few metres away and was staring at the façade of his family’s bar as though he’d been punched in the gut.
Well, crap…Here she was prattling on when this was the first time Fin had been home since his father’s funeral.
‘Oh god, Fin, I’m so sorry.’ She hurried to his side, hugging him without a second thought. ‘I am so sorry about your dad.’
Sweeney had called him as soon as she’d heard the news, which had been the morning of the funeral. She’d been up a mountain in Latvia for ten days at an exclusive technology-free retreat when a massive heart attack had claimed Michael Murphy in the blink of an eye.
‘Your father was the kindest man who didn’t deserve to die so young.’
He’d been like a second father to Sweeney after her father—who also didn’t deserve an early demise—had died. He’d been there for her birthdays and for Christmases, and taken her out at all hours of the day and night to photograph natural phenomena like meteor showers and cabbage moth swarms. He’d cheered in the crowd at her netball games and clapped the loudest at both her high school and uni graduations.
‘I’m fine,’ Fin said huskily, his warm breath caressing her temple. ‘It’s just… I can’t imagine walking in there and not seeing him behind the bar.’
‘Yeah.’ Sweeney was suddenly very glad that Fin had persuaded her into coming back to Ballyshannon. To be here for him right now, if for nothing else.
They lingered for a beat or two before Fin stirred, shifting out of the embrace and eyeing the door. ‘Well, there’s only one way through this.’
Sweeney nodded, her hand reaching for his, their fingers intertwining. Fin smiled at her, delivering a squeeze as he tugged her towards the door.
He pushed on the solid wood and they stepped inside, walking through the small alcove, festooned with Irish festival posters, to the edge of the packed gathering. Sweeney had hoped they’d be able to meld in with the crowd and find their mums without too much fuss, but the universe had decided otherwise.
It could be a real bitch like that.
Fin’s Aunt Catherine—whose voice increased in ten-decibel increments with every glass of wine consumed—spotted him first.‘Finley!’
And that was the needle-scratch moment. As predicted, the entire room hushed and every head swivelled in their direction. Including their mothers, who were holding court in the centre of the room, their smiling expressions dying a quick, horrified death as they staredaghastat their children.
Definitelynotas predicted.
Two
Fin was sure only a few seconds passed from Catherine’s announcement to when he first spoke, but time seemed to slow right down in those blips. Slow enough for him to see every owlish gawp and round-mouthed gasp morph into crinkly-eyed expressions of delight and exclamations of joy.
Except on the faces of the two women they’d travelled across the world to see. Apparently, itwaspossible to wipe the smiles off their faces.
‘Surprise?’ Fin said with a half laugh into the quiet, absently waving their joined hands in the air, unsure what was happening right now but damn suresomethingwas.
