Her Revolution

by Gemma Jackson

  “This is a fabulous space you have here,” the unknown male said as Patrick made much of showing the pair around the downstairs rooms. “How many bedrooms do you have?”

  Ha, Finn thought – answer that if you can – she’d bet he didn’t know.

  “I have ten doubles and eight bathrooms that are finished and fit for habitation.” Patrick astonished her with his knowledge. “In a house this big the work of keeping up with repairs and such is a full-time job.” He smiled winningly and led the way upstairs. “I sometimes think I’ll never finish all the work needed.”

  Finn watched and listened open-mouthed as Patrick quoted facts and figures. She’d have paid good money to bet he knew nothing of the work she’d carried out on the house.

  She waited for him to say that the house belonged to his father-in-law. The house was Finn’s ancestral home. Patrick only rented the property from her father, at a reduced rent. The longer she listened the more confused she became. She took her eyes away from the small screen for a moment – her brain felt as if it were going to explode. What was going on here? Patrick never did a tap of work in the house – that was always Finn’s domain.

  “Wow, this must belong to the Queen of Beige!”

  Finn returned her attention to the screen and watched in horror as the Morticia wannabe stood in front of the open doors of her wardrobe and stared.

  “My wife doesn’t like to draw attention to herself.”

  Patrick gave the girl a smile Finn recognised. He was on the hunt. This young woman had not yet shared his bed.

  “This place is a real hidden gem. The way you have managed to meld the old with the new is stunning.” The man stood looking around with interest. “If you should ever divorce,” he looked at the young woman and gave Patrick a man-to-man smirk, “your wife could take you to the cleaners on the value of this place.”

  “Will never happen.” Patrick laughed and led the way out of the master suite. “Nuala is an excellent housekeeper and social secretary. She is content to deal with the day-to-day matters that would bore me. My wife is devoted to me.” He admired his own smug image in the nearby screen. “This place was an old wreck when I took it on. The previous owners had let it go to rack and ruin.” He shook his head sadly.

  Finn looked at the image on the screen, wondering why she had never noticed how much Patrick enjoyed looking at himself.

  “I have details of the amount of sheer slog it took me to turn this house into the desired modern residence you see now,” he said.

  “It’s a real shame you didn’t call me in sooner.” The other man continued to examine the details of the updates that had been carried out. “The television programme I make likes to follow people who bring these old houses back to life. I can tell you have done a great job here, Patrick, and hats off to you. But my programme can’t make use of your house, I’m afraid. The work has all been carried out. We would have no programme content. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Finn leaned against the wall, shocked at hearing her husband make it sound as if every inch of the house was a result of work carried out by him alone. What was he up to? She didn’t turn off her phone until Patrick and company had left the house.

  It was a while before she began to pay attention to her surroundings. She couldn’t remain standing in this alley. Where was she anyway? She looked around for landmarks. Then she saw where she was – it seemed the Universe was trying to send her a message. She used her shoulders to push her shaking body upright and began to walk towards a set of traffic lights. She needed to cross the road. If they were home, she would take it as a sign.

  “Finn Brennan, as I live and breathe! What in the name of God are you doing at my door?” The laughing figure of Scott Halpin stood in the open doorway staring down at her.

  “I know your salon is closed today – but will you cut my hair anyway?”

  “Come in!” Scott held the door open and stepped back to allow her entrance.

  “I need a radical new haircut and my stylist refused to do it.”

  Finn had known Scott and his partner Paul for years.

  “I was hoping you were coming to have your eyebrows tattooed on.” He’d suggested at their first meeting that she have her eyebrows and eyeliner tattooed on. As a natural redhead Finn had very light-coloured eyebrows and lashes.

  “I could be persuaded.” Finn followed him inside and up the stairs.

  Chapter 5

  “Take a deep breath.” Scott had refused to allow Finn see what he was doing. He’d turned her back to the mirror in his salon and ignored the panicked sounds she made as long strands of hair fell to the floor at her feet.

  “Would you like a cup of tea, love?” Paul put his head into the salon to ask.

  The two men lived in the flat on the top floor of the lovely old building. They ran a tattoo parlour and hairdressing salon on the lower floors.

  “I think I need it intravenously at this stage.”

  “Looking good, love.” Paul walked over to stand by Scott’s shoulder and stare down at the work he himself had done. “I used a special paint for your eyebrows and eyeliner. It will wash off – eventually.” He laughed at the look she sent him and grabbed at his heart. “Oh, shot through the heart with arrows of green fire!” He staggered back.

  “Go make the tea you offered her, you fool!” Scott hid a smile.

  Poor Finn looked terrified, he thought. She’d been a brave soldier, allowing them to do whatever they wanted to her face and hair. The poor woman must be desperate for change – not that he blamed her. The style, colour and shape of her old hairstyle did nothing for her. He’d been itching to get his hands on her hair ever since he met her.

  “You look stunning,” Paul leaned down to say in all seriousness. “A new Finn – ready to take on the world.”

  “That’s what we were trying for,” Scott said.

  As Paul left to fetch the tea, Scott spun the chair around and allowed Finn to get a first look at her new image.

  “Dear God!” She leaned forward, unable to believe that the woman in the mirror was her.

  “I couldn’t cut away all of the beige hair as you wanted. You’d have been bald. I had to dye your hair as close as I could get to your natural colour.” Scott held his breath. Was she going to cry? The change was extreme. He ran his hands through the boyishly short red cap that fluttered around Finn’s face. “The dye job for your lashes and Paul’s artwork on your eyebrows and eyeliner look amazing with this new style. What do you think?”

  There was silence in the salon while Finn simply sat and stared at the woman in the mirror. She was vaguely aware of Paul returning with a cup of tea which he put on the workstation in front of her. He stood back and the two men waited. They exchanged uneasy glances when the silence continued.

  “Hello, Finn Emerson.” Tears flowed freely down Finn’s face. The woman in the mirror was vaguely familiar. “Welcome back – it’s been a while.”

  The wide smile she turned on the two men had them clutching at each other in relief.

  “Thank God the salon is closed today.” Paul gave her trembling hands a quick squeeze. “Poor Scott will need a lie-down after this.”

  “It’s going to take me a while to get used to the new me.” Finn, for perhaps the first time in her life, ignored the tea and stood up to join the two men. “I can’t thank you two enough for all of the attention you gave me at a moment’s notice. I don’t think I’d have been brave enough to make an appointment for this work.” She gestured towards her head. “I’d have chickened out if you hadn’t taken me straight away – so – thank you.” She pushed up onto her toes and gave each man a kiss on the cheek.

  “You’re going to need a new wardrobe, love.” Paul had a camera in his hand and was recording the change in image. He’d already taken a great number of photographs before they started work on her. The before and after images would be a great advertisement for their business – thank God Finn had agreed to record the change.

  �
��That will come.” Finn opened her purse to pay.

  “We really shouldn’t charge you.” Scott looked at Paul. The pictures of this woman in their street front windows would excite interest and bring in clients.

  “I insist.” Finn knew these two were struggling to get established.

  The thought of Patrick’s absolute horror at the idea of his wife’s pictures appearing on a tattoo-parlour storefront gave her a moment’s pause. She raised her chin and reminded herself that she was done with pleasing everyone else in her life.

  Finn walked along the busy streets of Rathmines village almost unnoticed. The feel of the warm air blowing around her head surprised her – catching sight of her image in the shop windows she passed gave her another shock.

  Back at the house she didn’t stop to examine her new image. There was something she had to do. She hurried into her office and grabbed her laptop off her desk.

  She glared at the painting featured prominently on the wall facing her desk. “I am no longer that beige figure!” she practically roared. “I can and will change!”

  With the laptop under her arm, she turned towards the door. She hurried back to collect several blank DVDs from her desk drawer. She would need them.

  In the garage she plugged her laptop into the house-computer control system. She simply could not understand why Patrick insisted on turning on all of the security screens every time he was in the house. Surely the man knew he was being recorded. He had been the one to insist on the installation of the system and smart-house hardware. Patrick wasn’t a great fan of computers, true – but he must be aware of how the system worked. One of the boys would have explained it to him. She needed to clear the memory of the old Finn but only after she had made a copy of his visit to the house with those two strangers.

  She pressed a control on her laptop and prepared to be bored rigid as she checked to be certain she was not erasing anything worth keeping.

  As the first image appeared on screen Finn lost the use of her legs. She slid down the breeze-block wall and with a thump landed on the floor, still holding the laptop. She watched in frozen horror as her husband – the man she had given her all to – led one of his young floozies up the servants’ stairway. She froze the screen and examined the woman’s face – her hair-stylist Eve.

  Finn clapped a hand to her mouth as her stomach tried to empty the little she had eaten today from her system.

  The images continued to scroll across her screen – she had shut off the sound. She didn’t want to hear as well as see her husband betray her. The man was lost to every shred of decency. How could he? He had turned their home into his own knocking shop.

  She folded over in pain when an image of Patrick – leading yet another one of his young things – out this time – passed their son Oisín on the stairs. Finn froze that image. Oisín didn’t seem surprised to see his father with a woman not his wife. In fact, the boy gave a nod of recognition to the girl. How could he?

  She sat on the floor of the garage until her butt almost froze. She sat bleeding from wounds that would never heal. She watched her husband and sons betray everything she held dear. She checked the dates on screen. She’d made it so easy for them. Tuesday and Thursday, the evenings she spent with Paul and Scott. Paul was a skilled welder – he’d trained in the trade. She had spent years studying with him improving her imaging and welding skills.

  “No! Enough.” The word was forced through numb lips as Patrick and a woman Finn had thought was her friend appeared on screen – fornicating in the garage no less. Patrick had the stupidity to smile into the computer screen. Had he no sense? The women surely didn’t know they were being filmed.

  Finn put the first of the DVDs into the port and with a heart hardened by the pain of betrayal she started to record. She tried not to put a name to the many faces that passed through her house and her husband’s bed – well, at least he had the decency to take the women to one of the guest bedrooms.

  “I don’t understand.” Finn pushed to her feet suddenly, feeling a thousand years old. She ached in every limb. “He insisted on putting in the bloody system. Why would he do that? Surely he knows that unless you command it otherwise the system records the comings and goings in the house?” She stumbled towards the door leading out of the garage and into the house. She was glad she didn’t have to step out of the concealment of the house. She couldn’t bear to face anyone right now.

  She put the laptop carefully onto the desktop and almost fell into her office chair. Her eyes once more went to the painting her two da’s had sent to her. Did they know? Was she the only unsuspecting fool left on the planet?

  Her eyes dropped away from the painting to the desktop – it was too uncomfortable to look at that colourful scene right now. She noticed her copy of the report she had compiled for Patrick. She had given him a copy – was it only yesterday? Surely that morning was a lifetime away.

  “They say life begins at forty – it would appear mine ended.” She hated the sob that shook her voice. “I have to think.” She absentmindedly patted the folder cover. “I interviewed those women and children. I listened to their horror stories.” She closed her eyes against the tears that continued to stream down her face. “He was betraying me even while I did his work for him.”

  She couldn’t take any more. She put her head onto her folded arms on the desktop and wailed her despair to an uncaring world.

  “Enough!” After what felt like aeons later Finn pushed herself into a sitting position. She pulled the folder towards her and prepared to read it with new eyes – eyes forced open. She couldn’t react in a kneejerk fashion. She had to think, plan. All of the women she had talked to regretted walking away from their marriage with nothing. She had no income of her own. She had never worked outside the home. What would she do for money? A bitter laugh rang around the office. Who would believe that Finn Brennan in her fancy house was worried about money?

  “Dear God, what am I going to do?” She was sick of her own misery. She needed to think – not sit around beating her breast. She pushed her hands through her hair, shocked to feel the short strands – so much for a new image.

  She stood, avoiding any surfaces that might reflect her image back to her. She needed to allow herself to absorb the shocks that had been delivered to her body that day.

  Chapter 6

  Finn walked around her home, trying to see it as others saw it. The work on updating it had begun in the early days of her marriage. She’d loved every dirty dusty minute of it. She walked through the four reception rooms, admiring what she had revealed hidden behind the dread plasterboard. The plasterboard walls had been ugly but they had protected the beautiful panels hidden behind their bland surface.

  She pushed open the beautiful stained-glass doors that separated two of the reception rooms. She stood remembering all of the parties she had hosted. She had gone out of her way to impress Patrick’s work colleagues – an invitation to one of Patrick Brennan’s bashes was much sought after.

  She made her way to the back of the house, pushing open doors that led into bathrooms. She had kept many of the original features – to save money – but also because she found the outdated fixtures and fittings beautiful. She had endured the disdain of some people but the laugh was on them – these old features were bang up-to-date now and worth a fortune. She continued to examine her home, remembering the work she’d put into every inch of the place. The delight when she completed one room and the sheer joy of beginning the next.

  She had been so happy with the boys running around her feet getting into everything – the dog causing mayhem – Patrick’s voice in her ear from the radio.

  She stood in the mudroom she’d turned into a wet room to wash down boys and dog. She could almost hear the giggles of her sons and the frantic barking of the dog as she’d tried to get them all clean and dry. She pushed away from the wall and closed the door gently at her back.

  Her kitchen – her pride and joy – the place where she loved to w
ork creating tempting meals and titbits for her menfolk.

  The ring of the front doorbell gave her an excuse to turn away from the stabbing pain in her heart.

  “Flowers, missus.” A grinning delivery boy stood behind an enormous bouquet of flowers.

  Finn accepted them from his arms with a smile she had to force to her lips. She stepped back into the house, closing the door at her back. She examined the card – her sons it seemed – no apology – no belated birthday greetings – simply ‘From your sons’. Too little too late, she thought, carrying the bouquet towards the kitchen. The flowers needed to be put in water. She filled a vase with water and left the beautiful arrangement sitting in the middle of the kitchen island before walking out of the room.

  She went back upstairs.

  “My sons still don’t seem to understand that fairies no longer pick up after them and make the bed.”

  She closed the two doors, having to practically force herself not to jump into action and restore order.

  “I wonder if I should have a sign posted on this door?” She stood in the open doorway of the green guest room, staring at the rumpled bed.

  There were no sheets on the bed. She’d watched Patrick cover it with one of her expensive thick bath towels before lowering his woman of the moment down onto it. To add insult to injury she’d laundered those bloody towels. She pressed trembling fingers against the pain in her stomach.

  “Patrick’s love nest,” she sobbed on a laugh. “I should have it printed up and framed and put it on the door.”

  She wandered dazed around the rooms and hallways of what she had thought was her home. It wasn’t – it hadn’t been for some time. She’d been too blind to see – it was a way station – somewhere to wait for her men to return.