His suggestion was gentle, tentative, and Sweeney took it as intended. ‘Yeah, she probably did. But she didn’t want to see one and I was desperately afraid if a doctor knew how she was neglecting herself, neglecting—’ Sweeney cut off abruptly. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
‘You?’
She swallowed at the starkness of the word, averting her gaze to the window for long moments. ‘I was twelve years old,’ she said, focused on the traffic lights changing outside. ‘I was fine with looking after myself.’
‘But you were worried a doctor might think differently?’
Sweeney returned her gaze to meet his. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was husky, her throat thick. ‘I knew enough from books and the news and stories around school to know that I didn’t want to end up in’—she performed air quotes—‘the system.’
He reached across the table and placed his palms on top of hers. ‘Do you think my parents would have let you go into a foster home?’
She bugged her eyes. ‘I wastwelve.’
‘Why didn’t you…’ He sighed. ‘Say something? I mean, you weren’t around as much for a while and when you did start coming over again, I knew you were sad and I didn’t know what to do or say. Mum told me to just be there for you and when you were ready to talk, be supportive, give you time. But I had no idea all of this was going on.’
‘It’s okay.’ Sweeney gave him a small smile. ‘No one did. I got very good at covering for her and’—she waggled her eyebrows—‘forging her signature on school documents. And she got better slowly. But it took three years—’
‘Three years?’
‘She was pretty much functional again after a couple and she finally saw a doctor and got on some antidepressants, but she still cried a lot. It took another year for that to stop and for her to start really looking after herself again, to feel like she was really back to her old self.’
‘Sweeney …’ His hands shifted, grabbing hers in a light hold. ‘All that time and you couldn’t tell me?’
It wasn’t a whiny, butt-hurt, let’s-make-this-all-about-me question—it was a genuine enquiry and Sweeney understood. Hadn’t she thought the same when she’d found out that Fin hadn’t confided in her about the argument with his father?
‘Those times at your place, they were such a relief, a break from all the dark rooms and sadness. Mostly I just wanted to think about anything else. To be normal. Act normal.Feelnormal, if only for a couple of hours.’
Sweeney vividly remembered the lightening of her load as she’d trekked to Fin’s house and entered without knocking, stealing an apple from the bowl on her way to his room. The relief had been overwhelming then and she blinked back the hot spike of tears as it gut-punched her now.
‘But also I was a little scared you’d tell your mother,’ she admitted, clearing her throat. ‘And then she’d try to help and things might start spinning out of control.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, giving her hands a squeeze. ‘I understand why you didn’t say anything, I just wish it had been different.’
Sweeney squeezed back. ‘Me too.’
He blew out a breath as he released her hands, lounging back in the seat. ‘That explains why you were so eager to hightail it out of Ballyshannon when school was done.’
His tone was light and teasing, and Sweeney smiled gratefully for the change in mood. ‘Uh huh. For so long I thought I was going to be… trapped at home fretting over my mother forever.’
‘It probably also explains why you don’t stick around any place or with any guy too long either. Didn’t want to feeltrapped?’
Sweeney grinned as he hit the nail on the head. ‘Look at the maths nerd going all psychology on me.’
‘Right?’ His eyes danced as he teased.
She laughed. ‘Well, thank you, but I’m pretty sure I was supposed to be makingyoufeel better, not the other way around.’
‘I made you feel better, huh?’ He narrowed his eyes, his gaze roving over her face as if he was doing a little more psychoanalysis, a smile flirting with his mouth. ‘Maybe I’ve missed my calling?’
Sweeney rolled her eyes and tossed her balled-up serviette at his face. It bounced off his forehead and she laughed. ‘As a kids’ footy coach, maybe. Come on.’ She grabbed her bag and slid out of the booth. ‘I’ve got photos to cull and you’ve got a zillion unanswered texts to return.’
‘Back to reality,’ Fin said on a sigh as he also slid out.
Yes.Reality.A very strange reality. Dominated by a fake engagement and, currently, a very real, very big bed.
*
They streamedLoston Fin’s laptop, sitting side by side in bed pretending that wasn’t still weird AF as they half watched the screen and she sorted photos while Fin ran several text conversations, getting back to everyone who had texted while they’d been at the diner. Donny offered to come over with a bottle of whiskey and drink a birthday toast to Michael but Fin thankfully declined.
