Fin had found Sweeney’s assertion—that it was him, not the photo, that was going off—ridiculous. And those DMs she’d read out calling him fine and asking about his availability were some kind of aberration. But the number of friend requests wasstaggering. In the hundreds. Considering he usually got about a dozen a year, it was alot.
‘How have all these people even found me?’ he bitched to Sweeney as he waded through the list, denying them all. His Instagram was set to private, so any new followers had to request access—which, considering this onslaught, was just as well.
Sweeney laughed as she sat opposite. ‘Women with a hot man in their sights can be very good at internet sleuthing.’
‘But my grid is supremely uninteresting. I mainly have it so Mum and the rest of the Murphy clan and my friends can see what I’m up to and keep in touch that way.’
Most of it chronicled his daily and rather mundane life in Dublin. Pubs, public transport views, weekend road trips, footy. No one was going to turn his life into a movie.
Poets were not going to write odes to his existence.
‘They’re not interested in yourgrid,’ Sweeney said, wiggling her eyebrows.
This whole thing seemed way too amusing for her and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. She was used to her posts going viral, but this washislife and he didn’t want to become an internet sensation or, god forbid, ameme.
And couldn’t Sweeney at least be fake annoyed that hundreds of women suddenly wanted to friend her fake fiancé? Which was such a weird thought he didn’t even want to give it space in his head.
Thankfully his mother chose that moment to call, ‘Yoohoo,’ as the screech of the front screen door being opened echoed down the hallway. Fin was glad for the distraction, even if she was half the reason he was having really fucked-up thoughts about his oldest friend in the world.
In they wandered, the two of them, looking cool as cucumbers as they smiled at their offspring. ‘We’re just out for a bit,’ Connie announced after the perfunctoryhellosandwhat have you been up to’s. ‘Thought we’d go to the bakery for an afternoon pastry.’
‘They have such great coffee there since Maeve brought in that barista from Footscray,’ Ronnie added.
‘Thought you might like to join us.’ Connie smiled. ‘Our shout.’
Fin glanced at Sweeney, who raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I hear they do wedding cakes,’ he said as he returned his attention to the mothers. They traded a guilty look and he narrowed his eyes. ‘Mum.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re supposed to be helping keep this contained and you’re going to a cake tasting?’
‘It’s Marjorie’s fault,’ Connie jumped in, defending her bestie. ‘She did one for her daughter’s wedding last year and said it was the thing to do. She arranged it as a surprise for us. And with Sweeney supposed to be gone, there didn’t seem to be any harm. We could hardly say no. She’s suspicious enough.’
‘Yes, Mum, you could have.’ It was Sweeney’s turn to shake her head. ‘No thanks, Marjorie.See? Easy. Or, if you wanted to be a bit vague,Let’s make it for another time, Marjorie, when we have an official date.’
Connie and Ronnie appeared suitably chastened. For a moment, anyway.
‘I know.’ Connie sighed as her gaze swept between Sweeney and Fin. ‘It’s just… it’ll probably be our only ever chance to do something like this. Maeve really does do excellent cakes. They’ve won ribbons for the last five years at the Royal Melbourne Show.’
‘Andshe serves champagne with the tasting,’ Rhonda added. ‘Not prosecco. The proper French stuff.’
‘Mum, you own abar,’ Fin said, exasperated. ‘If you want French champagne, you can just get it in.’
‘Well.’ Rhonda huffed out a breath. ‘We can’t back out now—Marjorie paid for it and Maeve is expecting us.’
‘Fine. You guys go do what you gotta do. But you’re not dragging us into this.’
The mothers looked at them with a veritable gamut of emotions flashing across their faces, from frustration to exasperation to pleading.
‘It’ll be strange if we go without at least one of you,’ Connie said, her gaze morphing from pleading to begging as she fixed it firmly on her daughter. ‘What will Marjorie think?’
Several long beats of silence passed between mother and daughter, and Fin thought Sweeney was going to cave. There seemed to be a lot of unspokensomethinggoing down between them in this loaded moment that Fin didn’t really understand. Then, suddenly, Sweeney folded her arms and said, ‘Who cares what Marjorie bloody Weaver thinks?’
‘Seriously, you two.’ Rhonda’s eyebrows drew together in a cranky frown as she shoved her hand on her hip. Fin half expected her to stamp her foot. ‘You do know all the Murphys are gossiping about your lack of presence around town on the WhatsApp group.’
No, he did not. Fin hadthankfullynot accepted the invitation to the family chat.
As if to demonstrate her point, his mother produced her phone, her thumbs sliding across the screen. Fin shuddered thinking about what was coming next. Clearly finding what she wanted, Connie started to read. ‘Anyone seen Feeney about? And another one. Who’s spotted the happy couple? Oh, and this one. Fin and Sweeney are engaged, right, we didn’t all have a collective fever dream?’
‘Well,somebodyhad a fever dream,’ Fin muttered, staring at them mutinously.
‘Darlings,’ Rhonda said on a sigh that sounded as if it had been drawn from the very dregs of her patience. ‘You’ve been here for a week and, apart from that one time at the lake and the footy grounds, no one’s seen you anywhere.’
