“What am I doing inside looking at myself?” She turned from the image and with impatient hands pulled her shoulder-length hair up into a ponytail. She didn’t want to examine her hair. Patrick had been strongly reminding her for ages to get her roots touched up. She hadn’t taken the time. There had been so much dirty, dusty work to be done around the house when those men were putting in the computer system. You couldn’t keep your hair in a glamorous style when it was pressed under a hard hat most of the day. It was all she could do some days to keep her hair clean.
Back in the kitchen it didn’t take her long to squeeze oranges into a tall glass jug. She pulled the bottle of champagne she’d kept on ice for this special day out of the fridge. She pressed a tall glass against the lip of the icemaker and watched the ice cubes fall into the glass.
“Mimosas in the garden!” She made a generous glass of the drink for herself then placed the champagne and juice back in the fridge and began to return order to the kitchen. “What more could you want?”
“Finn, Finn Brennan, where are you?”
The female voice calling her name jerked Finn from the light doze she had fallen into – the sunshine and buzzing bees had relaxed her. She sat up in the chair, used her bare feet to search for her shoes on the grass and reached for the multi-coloured filmy cover-up. She stood when her feet were in her shoes, pushed her hands into the floating material of the cover-up and started to walk across the lawn.
“I’m here, Angie!” she called out, stepping onto the paved patio as her long-time friend and cleaning lady appeared around the corner of the house.
“Happy Birthday, Finn!” Angie Lawrence, a whirling dervish of a woman, threw her arms wide open. “Isn’t this day too gorgeous for words? Happy Birthday!” She hugged the much taller Finn close to her ample figure.
“What are you doing here, Angie? Today isn’t one of your days, is it?” She didn’t think she would have made a cleaning date on her birthday.
“I couldn’t let the day pass without wishing you a Happy Birthday.” Angie was looking around her. “Where is that son of mine?” She turned her head and shouted, “Diarmuid Lawrence, where are you in the name of God?”
“I’m coming, Ma, keep your hair on!” a male voice barked.
“Diarmuid is with you?” Finn touched her hair and wondered if she was all sweaty.
“I had to have someone push your present – your new wheelbarrow!”
“You didn’t!” said Finn, delighted.
Angie’s son appeared around the corner of the house pushing a fire-engine-red wheelbarrow. “I don’t know why we couldn’t have just loaded all of this into my van,” he grumbled.
“I don’t want you getting fat and lazy,” Angie said with a grin. “Besides, calling that wheeled palace you drive a van is ridiculous. I’d be terrified of scratching the paintwork.”
“Hello, Finn.” Diarmuid stood upright, groaning and pressing his hands to his back in mock pain. “Happy Birthday.”
She tried not to let her eyes devour his long-muscled figure, clad in tight jeans and a T-shirt that hugged his abs. She felt heat rush to her face. It would seem she wasn’t dead from the neck down after all as Patrick claimed. “Thanks, Diarmuid, long time no see.” She gestured to the table and chairs set out on the patio. “I thought you were in America.”
“The big fella is coming home to live!” Angie almost bounced with excitement.
“I was sorry to hear about Jane, Diarmuid,” Finn said softly. “She was a lovely woman and much too young to die.” He had lost his wife of many years to breast cancer.
“Thank you.” Diarmuid looked at his feet. “Yes, she was.” He looked around him for a moment. “Where do you want this stuff?” He pointed to the wheelbarrow and the misshapen wrapped goods it held.
“Leave it there and sit down a minute,” Finn invited. “I can have a pitcher of mimosas and nibbles out here in minutes.”
Diarmuid looked as if he was going to refuse but Angie slyly kicked his ankles while Finn wasn’t looking.
“That would be lovely.” Angie didn’t think it was right to spend your birthday all alone in your garden. “I have the two da’s’ birthday gift too. Those two men never know where they’re going to be from one day to the next – well for them. They sent your present to my place ages ago so you’d be sure to get it on your birthday.”
“Lovely!” Finn almost clapped her hands with glee. The da’s always sent something wonderful. “Look, sit down.” She pulled out one of the heavy wrought-iron chairs that surrounded the circular table. “I won’t be a minute.”
She stepped into the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind her. She did it automatically after years of trying to keep a dirty dog outdoors.
“Jesus, Ma,” Diarmuid joined his mother at the table, looking around the expanse of lawn, “I had no idea houses like this still existed in Rathmines.” He gave a nod of his head to the rows of houses and towering blocks of flats, not quite hidden by the high curtain wall that surrounded this oasis. “A big house like this sitting in its own grounds – the place must be worth millions. I can’t believe developers haven’t snapped it up years ago.” He admired the view of the old house and the well-tended lawns and garden. It was like stepping into a slice of the past.
Before Angie could comment, Finn returned carrying a tray.
Diarmuid jumped to his feet to take the tray and carry it to the table.
“Thanks, Diarmuid.” Finn looked around, wondering what else was needed. She had arranged a selection of cheese and crackers to nibble with the pitcher of mimosas. The tall glasses were filled with ice cubes.
“Could you call me Dare, please?” he said with a smile. “After listening to the Americans calling me ‘Dear Mud’ for a while I had to settle on a name that didn’t hurt my ears. So ‘Dare’ I became and I’m used to it now.”
“Fine, Dare.” Finn was on her knees, examining the wheelbarrow with delight. She was longing to tear open the packages sitting in its belly. “Thank you for wheeling my barrow around from your mother’s house.”
“Strange kind of birthday present if you ask me.” Dare looked at the thing. “I thought me aul’ ma had run mad.”
“Less of the aul’ if you don’t mind, son of mine, and besides no one asked yeh.” Angie gave her son a gentle cuff. “It’s ideal for this one.” She gave a jerk of her head towards Finn.
“If you say so, Ma.”
“The wheel fell off my old barrow!” Finn’s laughter pealed out. “I was desperate for a new one. I love it. I can’t imagine where you found an old-fashioned heavy barrow and not one of those new lightweight fibreglass things.” She had searched for one herself. She hated the new thin barrows which were all that seemed to be in the shops. She turned away from the wrapped packets reluctantly and joined them at the table, accepting a glass from Dare.
“I was just saying to me ma that I didn’t know places like this existed anymore.”
“As you see, they do.”
Dare spread Boursin thickly on a cracker and popped it into his mouth. He chewed before saying, “Your husband was lucky to find something like this untouched. I can’t imagine how you’ve escaped the developers but I’m glad you did. This place is wonderful.” Radio presenters must earn a lot more than he’d ever believed, he thought, looking at the prime real estate.
“That’s just from the outside,” Angie said. “You should see what Finn has done with the inside. The woman is a maniac when it comes to pulling down stuff and building it back up again.”
Dare would have loved a look around the inside but didn’t like to ask – not today anyway. “I hear you have joined me in the big Four-Oh Club – although I’ve been a member for a while.” He let his glance travel down her long lean legs in admiration. She was an attractive woman – and not one of the surgically enhanced types he had become accustomed to seeing.
“I have,” Finn beamed. “I am forty today.” She picked up her glass and saluted him with it. “I have to
say – it feels a bit strange – almost like being a grown-up for the first time.”
Angie sat back and sipped at her drink, enjoying watching two people she loved getting on like a house on fire.
“Turning forty is a shock to the system.” Dare laughed. “I stood on the veranda of our home in Malibu, wondering how the heck it had happened. I didn’t feel much older than sixteen.” He shrugged, inviting her to enjoy the joke on himself.
“Try turning sixty-five,” Angie put in.
“We’ve a while yet for that, Ma.” Dare took his eyes from a smiling Finn. She was married, he reminded himself.
Angie watched Finn slice into a wheel of Camembert and started to giggle. “Do you remember the time you gave me a snack with that cheese, Finn?” Her eyes were brimming with laughter at her own expense. She didn’t wait for Finn to respond but turned to share the joke with her son. “It was on my very first days here.” She gestured over her shoulder at the house. “Ronan was only a few days old.” She closed her eyes and her generous belly shook with laughter. “I kept telling your one here that the baby needed to be changed.” She roared with laughter.
“I remember,” Finn said when Angie was almost choking on her own glee. “We were in the kitchen.” She turned to explain to Dare and felt a shock almost like electricity run through her. She forced her eyes away from his. She smiled widely. “It seems to your mother Camembert smells very much like something a baby would dump in its nappy.”
“It may well stink, Ma, but you can’t deny it’s delicious.” Dare cut a triangle of the cheese under discussion to put on his cracker. He stared around the garden while the two women calmed down.
Then he pushed to his feet suddenly and walked over to examine a metal figurine almost hidden in a niche in the long wall that surrounded the garden.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.” He realised he’d left the table without a word. His mother would box his ears. “I needed a closer look at this little gem. It’s been calling to me ever since we sat down.” He spotted another and walked over to admire it too. “Me ma has something like this over the taps in her kitchen.” He’d admired it but she’d refused to say where she got it. “I love steampunk art – it appeals to the child in me.” He noticed a metal face peeking through the branches of an apple tree and walked over to have a closer look.
“Leave them alone!” Angie shouted but inwardly she was bouncing with happiness. She’d been hoping he would notice the charming metal figures that were dotted around the lawn and garden.
“It’s a little wonderland.” Dare turned to smile back at the women watching his every move. “My kids would love these – where did you get them? I must have some.” He strolled back over to join them, his face alight with pleasure.
“Meet the artist!” Angie gestured towards Finn.
“They’re just a little pastime,” she protested. Patrick would kill her. He hated her figures – didn’t want anyone to know his wife passed her time beating metal like some kind of unstable hippie. He had tried for years to stop her making them – she couldn’t. “I’ve always made little fantasy figures out of discards. I started with cardboard, feathers, fluff, anything I could find really and gallons of glue.” She didn’t meet their eyes. “Comes from being an only child, I suppose.” It used to pass the time on long journeys in the camper van. Then she started working with metal when the boys were little, and turned one of the garden sheds into a workshop.
“Finn,” Dare couldn’t believe that this woman was embarrassed by her talent – all signs to the contrary, “those figures are works of art. The humour you captured on the face of that little boy,” he pointed to the first figure he’d admired, “the way you used a broken branch of that tree to place a winged figure. There is magic in your garden, Finn. I love everything I’ve seen and I know many people who would want to own one of these figures – more than one.”
“Don’t be silly!” Finn was sure he was pulling her leg.
“Finn –”
“Do you want to see the present from your da’s?” Angie felt they had pushed Finn enough for one day. Her son had planted the seed. Maybe now the woman would believe the figures were genius. God knows she had been trying to tell her that for years.
“I’d love to.” Finn was glad of the change of subject. She was mortified that someone had paid attention to her little ‘doodles’ as Patrick called them. She put her empty glass back on the table. She would have to switch to tea for a while. She felt lightheaded.
Dare opened his mouth to continue asking about the figures. He really did want to see more of her artwork. A swift kick under the table and a shake of his ma’s head shut him up. He had time. He’d question her when they got home. He wasn’t going to let this go – he wanted to own some of those delightful whimsical figures – price no object.
“This is my contribution to your artwork.” Angie walked over to the wheelbarrow and pulled a well-filled hessian sack from its bed. “Pots and pans!” She held the sack up and shook it – discarded kitchen utensils rattled loudly. She ignored Finn’s embarrassment. The woman needed to stop hiding her head in the sand. She had talent. She seemed to be the only one who didn’t know it. Her bloody husband did, for all he put her down constantly – it wouldn’t do for his wife to become more successful than him – that wouldn’t suit the man at all. He liked to keep her under his thumb.
“This,” Angie bent and took a wrapped rectangular object out of the barrow, “is from the two da’s.”
Dare wondered again what she meant by ‘your da’s’ but didn’t ask. His mother had her own way of expressing things. Better to keep his mouth shut. He would watch and listen.
Finn pushed to her feet and took the package from Angie’s hands. She removed the brown paper, revealing a painting. Putting the painting onto one of the chairs, she stepped back to see it more clearly. She stood for a moment, staring at the image. She sensed the other two coming to stand by her side and stare.
“That’s powerful.” Dare looked from one woman to the other, wondering if he was reading the message in the painting correctly.
“If that had come to me, I’d say that black umbrella represented my old man.” Angie pointed at the large colourful canvas.
The scene depicted was of a crowd of laughing people on a sandy beach. The colours almost hurt your eyes – sunlight blazed from the canvas. Except for one little figure in the foreground. The beige figure looked burdened down by troubles. A large black umbrella covered the cowering figure. The vibrant colours in the painting splashed in a rainbow against the black umbrella but failed to touch the figure. She alone remained outside of all the joy in the painting.
“My da-ma painted this.” Finn wanted to clutch her stomach and bend over to ease the pain. She understood the message being sent. It couldn’t be true. She wasn’t like that. She had everything she had ever wanted.
Dare wondered what the hell a ‘da-ma’ was and opened his mouth to ask. A glare from his mother stopped him. Jesus, it seemed this woman his mother thought so much of was crippled by secrets and questions that couldn’t be asked.
“They say a picture paints a thousand words,” he said. “I’d say that painting was screaming its message to the world.” It was a bloody uncomfortable image – brilliant – but he wouldn’t hang it.
“We need to be going.” Angie prayed that Finn would spend some time studying the image. She needed to wake up before it was too late.
“Thanks for my presents.” Finn tore her eyes away from the painting. “It was lovely to see you again, Dare.” She sucked in a breath, turning on her hostess self. She had to hide how much that painting had upset her. “I will probably see more of you if you really are returning to live here. Will you live with your mother?” She wasn’t really aware of what she was saying. She needed them to leave.
“I’m a bit old to live with me mammy.” Dare got the distinct impression it was ‘here’s your hat, what’s your hurry’ so in the spirit of good neighbourlines
s he took his mother by the elbow and began to walk towards the gap in the curtain wall at the end of the driveway.
“We would kill each other.” Angie laughed over her shoulder. “Besides, your man here made his fortune in America. My house wouldn’t be fancy enough for him and his kids.”
“Now, Ma,” Dare towed her along with him, “my kids would drive you around the bend and you know it.”
Finn stood listening to them laugh and joke as they walked away. She stood alone for a moment in the sunshine – surrounded by the beauty of her garden – reluctant to return and look at that painting again.
She returned to the patio and stood over the painting for uncounted moments, unable to tear her eyes away. Her da-ma – her father’s long-time partner Rolf – had painted a powerful image. Last year’s painting had been a science-fiction image of an ostrich. Her da likened Finn to an ostrich often enough – head in sand – arse in air – positioned for kicking. She tried to smile and dismiss the painting, carry on with her private celebration, but she didn’t quite manage it. That painting seemed to mock her belief in her secure little world. She imagined she was bleeding from the wounds that poor beige figure in the painting had inflicted on herself. She wasn’t like that – she insisted over and over to herself – she wasn’t.
Finn turned away from the disturbing image. She put the sack back in the barrow and, with tears dripping unnoticed down her ashen face, she pushed the wheelbarrow towards her little hideaway. The long high cement block building hidden in her garden housed her little metal figures and workshop. She would think about the message in that painting – she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
Chapter 3
“I am not doing it,” Finn bit out through throbbing teeth when her alarm sounded. “This is the first day of the rest of my life and all that other horseshit I ranted and raved about last night. It’s time to stand up and be counted. I have to start sometime and today is ‘D’ day.” She turned over in the king-size bed. She had slept alone again. What a surprise.
Her Revolution Page 2