‘Yup.’ She laughed. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself. It’s going to take quite a bit to sort through.’
‘Anything special?’
‘A few. I sent about a dozen to Mai throughout the day so she could use them on the grid and stories straight away but I reckon most will get deleted.’
Dolly stopped beside their table, tray in hand. ‘I presume you’re the two sugars?’ she said, directing her enquiry to Fin.
‘I am. I keep trying to cut it out’—he patted his belly—‘but I just can’t seem to kick the habit.’
‘Pfft,’ Dolly said, so dismissively it ruffled the hair of her starched fringe. ‘If I had a belly like that, young man, I’d be eating sugar straight from the packet.’
She handed Fin his coffee and placed the other in front of Sweeney. ‘And here’s your hummingbird muffin.’
Fin blinked as Dolly placed the plate in the centre of the table, equidistant between them. It was huge, its walnut-topped, cream-cheese icing forming a thick snowy cap, dripping down the sides as if it were a chimney on the rooftop of some wintery, fairy-tale town. In the centre was a green candle, the flame tall and still in the climate-controlled diner.
Two long-handled teaspoons were placed on serviettes next to their elbows. ‘Enjoy,’ she said and departed.
Deeply touched, Fin cleared his throat as he lifted his gaze from the centre of the table. ‘Hummingbird, huh?’
She met his gaze with a shrug. ‘It was there when I came in this morning and I thought… it’s a sign.’
Fin glanced back at the frosted delight for long moments, mesmerised by the flame. ‘Dad always did like pineapple in his cake,’ he murmured eventually.
‘On his pizza too,’ she reminded him with a grin.
Fin laughed. ‘Oh god, don’t remind me.’ His father being the only one in favour of fruit on a savoury pizza had been a running joke in the Murphy family.
The memory was fun but man, ithurt, too. Fin’s smile slowly faded.
‘You know,’ Sweeney said, as if she knew he needed some space to feel all the feels, ‘maybe my favourite memory of your dad is that time we were all out at the lake and he and my father hired that tinnie to do a spot of fishing not far offshore and Michael caught that really big fish.’
Fin’s eyes sought hers as he nodded. ‘And he stood up to wrangle it and your dad stood up to help and he slipped and took out my father’s legs and they both fell overboard.’
The two families had watched the unfolding saga from the beach. Fin and Sweeney, both secure in their fathers’ abilities to swim, had thought it hysterical as their dads had gone ass over teakettle into the lake.
‘Yes.’ Sweeney grinned, her eyes bright. ‘And Michael refused to let go of the rod and still managed to reel the fish in once they got themselves back in the boat.’
Fin hooted out a laugh, the hurt lifting its grip around his heart. ‘It was like watching old Laurel and Hardy reruns.’ He shook his head at the comical turn of events all those years ago. ‘Mine’s that time when I was about ten and he came into my room and shut the door and looked at me like he’d rather be anywhere else and said’—Fin deepened his voice—‘your mother wants me to talk to you about pubic hair and masturbation.’
Sweeney laughed and Fin remembered how he’d recounted the story to her after it had happened and they had collapsed into horrified giggles at the embarrassment of it all.
‘I don’t know why because, thanks to her, I already had a stack of library books on puberty almost toppling right off my bedside table. But I must have looked like I’d rather set fire to my hair because he patted me on the leg and said, don’t worry, I’m not going to do that but I’m going to pretend I did, so you better get reading those books in case she subjects you to one of her pop quizzes.’
Laughing again, Sweeney shook her head. ‘Your mum loved a good pop quiz.’
‘I think Dad secretly did, too. Or at least he liked the way she’d launch them in those sneak attacks when you were least expecting them. He used to call her the pop quiz ninja.’
They smiled at each other and Fin felt good. They hadn’t done this—reminisced—since Michael had died. Sweeney hadn’t been at the funeral and he hadn’t seen her since so he was glad they were doing it now, on his dad’s birthday.
Placing one finger on the edge of the plate, Sweeney pushed it in his direction. ‘Blow it out.’
Obliging her, Fin leaned in a little and whispered, ‘Happy birthday, Dad,’ before snuffing out the flame with one tiny puff.
He watched as a thin plume of smoke rose in a straight line above the charcoaled wick. ‘Thank you for this,’ he murmured as he flicked his gaze to Sweeney. ‘It was very thoughtful.’
She just shrugged and picked up her spoon and said, ‘Let’s eat.’
*
