Her Revolution

by Gemma Jackson

  Finn removed the large lock from the door of a long cement-block building that was partially hidden by the fruit trees in the garden.

  She pushed open the well-oiled door and pulled a cord to turn on the overhead lights. The interior of the room was suddenly exposed.

  Dare staggered into the workshop, staring around him at the walls of human figures made out of odd-shaped pieces of metal. There were a great many of them, even some up under the exposed beams of the roof.

  “These are my ‘nutjobs’.” Finn pointed around at the stacked figures.

  “How long have you been making these little beauties?” Dare stood in front of what was obviously a female figure. The body was made out of two large silver-coloured metal cooking pots – the lids, he noticed when he tipped the figure forward, had been soldered on making a well-rounded bottom and top for the figure. A smaller pot with the handle split to resemble a hair-bow was the head. If he wasn’t mistaken empty baked-bean cans formed the neck and the female breasts. Two long legs, with one foot stamping, were made out of some kind of piping. It was bloody brilliant and this woman had it hidden away.

  “I started making my nutjobs out here when the boys were little. I’m not overly fond of television and I couldn’t work on renovating the house when the boys were in bed.” She smiled, remembering. “They woke at every little sound.” Besides, Patrick had complained at the smell of paint and sealant wafting around. “And, since it gets bright early in summer and I’m always up before everyone else, I’d come out here.” She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. It was difficult to stand here while he strolled around her hidden world – touching things.

  She waited for him to say something and, when he didn’t, she rushed into speech.

  “I used a baby monitor.” She didn’t want anyone to think she neglected her children. “I was always close if the boys needed me.” She stood just inside the door, almost twitching with nerves.

  “Why do you call them ‘nutjobs’?” Dare moved to a smaller figure, a little boy. He didn’t want Finn to see his face. She had created whole families out of metal. He wanted to curse Patrick Brennan to the sky and back. How many lonely nights had she spent in this room creating metal people?

  “I use bolt nuts for the mouth and eyes,” she shrugged, “so I call them ‘nutjobs’.”

  “Why don’t you allow anyone to see these, Finn?” Dare had moved to yet another figure, this one a man. She’d used an old-fashioned black kettle for the bottom half of the male figure. The spout stood to attention in a rather eye-catching way. He didn’t compliment her work, sensing that she would be uncomfortable with any suggestion that she was a gifted artist.

  “I don’t work on these when I have company.” Finn waved her hands around. “Tinkering is a way to pass time, beat out my frustrations.”

  Dare was impossibly moved by all that he saw. Finn hadn’t a clue how revealing her work was. She’d used kitchen utensils almost exclusively. Fingers, eyelashes, hair, were all fashioned out of knives, forks and spoons. The bodies were pots and pans. They were devilishly clever. The staggering amount of hours this woman had spent alone was clearly outlined in the volume of work on show.

  “Who in the name of God ate all the cans of beans?” Dare could safely turn to face Finn now he had his emotions under control.

  “Patrick and the boys, mostly Patrick.” Finn laughed. “I’d prepare some terribly exotic dish for Patrick and me to share when he came home in the evening. I don’t know why I bothered – more than half the time Patrick would take one look at what I’d prepared and ask for beans on toast. He is not an adventurous eater but I couldn’t stop trying to change his mind.”

  “So you’d come out here and turn the empty cans into necks and breasts. You made them into sleeves for shirts and dresses. You even made seaside buckets for little boys to carry.” Dare wanted to find Patrick Brennan and kick the ever-lovin’ shit out of the man.

  “It seemed to me I should do something with all the empty cans. I had so many of them.” Finn walked over to stand with Dare. It felt strange to talk about the world she had created out here. Dare was admiring the seaside buckets she’d made for several of her little figures to carry. “I played around with those bloody cans, making fun items for the boys. It grew from there. I started to use old pots and pans I’d find abandoned or in charity shops.” She looked around her at the room filled with a metal world. “Your mother brings me any metal she finds around the place.”

  “I want to buy some of these figures.” Dare had friends in the art world. These figures needed to be shown to people who would appreciate them. He was suddenly determined to see that the figures went on show. If he had to rent an art gallery himself they were going to be shown because that’s what they were. Art.

  “I wouldn’t know what to charge you for them.” She gestured around. “Take what you want. I can make more.”

  Dare wanted to take Finn by the shoulders and shake her until her bones rattled. The woman had an amazing gift for seeing the ridiculous in the everyday. He’d pay good money for any one of these figures.

  Dare stopped before the figure of a small boy hanging upside down from a rail.

  “I modelled that on my son Oisín. I’m afraid he didn’t like having all of his bits on display like that.” Finn gestured towards the bolt and nuts she’d used to model childish sexual equipment.

  “We need to think about shipping,” Dare said. He’d consult his friends about pricing – no way was she giving this stuff away.

  Chapter 9

  “Yoo hoo! It’s only me!” a bright cheerful voice called after the ringing of the doorbell and the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  “Angie, thanks for coming. I’m in the kitchen! I have the kettle on and a quiche made.”

  “Oh my God!” Angie stared at the woman in front of her.

  Finn hadn’t seen Angie for a few weeks. She’d been hiding from the world in her workshop. Angie knew not to disturb her there. She and her crew had done the twice-weekly cleaning and left without seeing or talking to Finn.

  “I love it. Let me look at you. You’ve had a haircut obviously – but what else have you had done?” Angie lowered her overweight body into a chair.

  “I went to my usual hairdresser, but the stylist refused to cut my hair. I had to go elsewhere.” Finn still found herself from time to time during the day wanting to put her hand to the back of her neck. She felt naked with all of her hair gone – exposed.

  “She did not – the cheek of her!” Angie gasped. “Although – looking at you – it’s just as well. That cut is fabulous – trés gamine, as yer da would say. It really brings out the bones of your face and the green of your eyes.” She stared intently for a moment. “You’ve had something else done though … what?” She couldn’t put her finger on the change.

  “I had my eyelashes dyed and my eyebrows and eyeliner tattooed on.”

  “Tattoo! Jesus, you’re turning into a wild woman.” Angie pushed to her feet and stepped closer. “G’is a look – that’s fab. I might go in for that meself.” She stared into her friend’s face a moment before asking, “What’s brought this on then?”

  “Angie, I think I’m losing my mind. I’ve taken a good long look at my life and I don’t like what I’m seeing. I want to kick my own arse … run through the streets screaming …”

  Angie listened to her younger friend’s tale of woe while enjoying the excellent quiche and garden salad Finn had prepared. None of what she heard was a surprise to her. She’d often longed to give Finn a swift kick herself and tell her to ‘wake up’. Still, she hated to see her so upset.

  “Do you think it has anything to do with turning forty?” Finn looked at Angie as if the older woman held all the answers.

  “Well, to speak the God’s honest truth, this reminds me of a time in my own life.” She helped herself to another slice of the quiche sitting on the table in front of her. It would be a shame to waste it and Finn was only pickin
g at her food. “I was past forty – my children had left home and my husband was out the door with a one twenty years his junior behind them.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I went for a job interview. I had to earn money. The job was close to my house. I was willing to accept anything. I was shaking in me shoes, I can tell yeh – me knees were knocking. I made an eejit of meself at the interview.” She looked across the table at a wide-eyed Finn. “I poured out all me troubles to the young one looking for a cleaner. Then this young woman in her falling-down house had the gall – the sheer nerve – to tell me to quit complaining and get on with my life.”

  “Me,” Finn said, pointing at her own chest. “I remember. Jesus, Angie, why didn’t you deck me?”

  “Because you talked a lot of sense. You were younger than my daughters but so full of ideas and plans. You took the time to listen to me and offer advice. I needed that at the time.”

  “I had a cheek telling you what to do.”

  “You let me talk, Finn. You listened to my problems then offered well-meaning advice. I would never have thought of starting up my own business. Magic Brooms would never have been born without you. The thought of being my own boss would never have occurred to me. I have a comfortable income now from my cleaning business.” Angie was justifiably proud. “I enjoy working with the other women I employ. You started that ball rolling for me. That’s why I still lead the teams that clean your place though I don’t do much of the cleaning anymore.”

  “I’m not as brave as you, Angie,” Finn sighed. “I’ve spent the last twenty-one years catering to the men in my life. I don’t regret that – I loved being a wife and mother. But, now,” she pushed shaking fingers through her hair, “Jesus, Angie, I feel like the invisible woman!”

  “You’ve reached a point where you need a new life plan – at one time, that would have filled you with excitement.”

  “Angie, I can truthfully say I’m scared spitless,” Finn whispered.

  Angie wondered if Finn would mention Diarmuid’s purchase of her little figures. The man was driving her nuts calling shipping companies. He was worried the figures would get damaged in transit, for God’s sake. They were metal figures – what could hurt them?

  “Think about what you can do. That’s what you told me. Let yourself dream, plan. Remember how you would make miles of lists? You must have used up a forest making lists of things to do, plans for the future. You stopped doing that. Maybe it’s time you started again.” The woman had the skill at her fingertips if she’d only wake up to her own talent.

  The two women sat for a while enjoying their snack.

  “I’ve been out in my workshop beating metal while my mind has been running around in circles. I feel like one of those poor hamsters on a wheel – running miles and getting nowhere.” Finn gulped the last of her tea. “I’ve made some decisions. I don’t know if they are right or wrong but I have to do something. First off, I’d like your help moving Patrick’s things into the green bedroom.” Finn couldn’t bear to lie alongside Patrick on the rare nights he showed himself.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Angie had seen this woman take a lot of verbal abuse over the years and turn a blind eye to things that would have had Angie reaching for the rolling pin to beat a man bloody. “It’s a very big step pushing him out of your bedroom.”

  “I’m not sure of anything. But I’ve got to start somewhere. The man I married – if he ever really existed and was not a figment of my imagination – has been gone a long time, Angie. I was just too stupid to notice,” Finn said sadly. “Patrick only comes here to fetch clean clothes and get a decent meal. He uses this place like a lodging house.” Her shoulders shook but she refused to give in to the despair that threatened to cripple her. It was hard to give up on twenty-one years of your life.

  “Come on then.” Angie wasn’t going to let her change her mind. “I’ll make a few phone calls while you tidy the kitchen.” She needed to check in with her cleaning crews – make sure no unforeseen problems had cropped up.

  The two women, working together in silence, removed all traces of Patrick Brennan from the master suite. Angie was afraid to open her mouth in case she said the wrong thing. When all traces of male had been removed, Finn started on her own side of the wardrobe.

  “What are you doing now?” Angie asked.

  “All these have got to go.”

  Angie watched Finn remove almost everything she owned from the wardrobe. There was soon a pile of articles in the middle of the stripped-down bed.

  “Do you have a key for this lock?” Angie examined the bedroom door. She didn’t think Patrick Brennan would take this lying down. The man had never been violent as far as she knew but his tongue was lethal.

  “I do and a spare I’ve hidden.” Finn took pleasure ripping things from hangers and flinging them towards the bed. Some lightweight articles slipped from the bed to lie on the floor. “I’m going to be a new woman, Angie. I’ll lock my door, never worry. The new me is never going to wear any of this wallpaper stuff again.” She stood regarding the mayhem she’d created with satisfaction.

  Angie looked at the mess Finn had made and shook her head. It would have been easier to pack all of the stuff away as they removed it from the wardrobe. But she understood Finn’s need to grab and throw. She’d often felt like doing the same thing herself.

  “The hardest part of all of this, Angie,” Finn gestured wildly around, “is that I did it to myself. No-one forced me to become the woman I am now. I wanted a normal life. The kind of normal life I’d never had – a husband, kids, and a dog kind of normal. Well, by God I worked hard at achieving what I believed to be normal.”

  Angie shook her head. The woman was coming apart at the seams.

  “I’m going to give all of this crap to the local charity shop,” Finn said, brushing her hands together.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Angie snapped. For a woman left alone with no money coming in, giving away an entire wardrobe because she didn’t like the colour was not a good idea. “Have you never heard of fabric dye?”

  “I hate these clothes!” Finn kicked out at the pile of beige on the carpet.

  “Pity about yeh!” Angie wouldn’t let her do something that she couldn’t take back. The charity shops didn’t do returns.

  “I’ve been wearing my sons’ old clothes.” Finn gestured towards her jean-clad figure. “I’ve always bought them the best. They fling it everywhere and don’t even know what they have. I have a ticket to France booked and paid for – I’m going to hunt up the boys’ old tent and take off. I’ll pack up my car with whatever I need and drive away.”

  “In the name of God, Finn, what are you thinking of? You can’t just jump in your car and run away from home.” Angie was shocked down to her toes.

  “Angie, I can do any bloody thing I like.”

  “You cannot just run away!” Angie was almost shouting.

  “Watch me.” Finn hugged the woman who had been a friend to her for over twenty years. “Now where did I put that tent the last time the boys used it?” She started out of the room.

  “Wait a second!” Angie called before she could leave. “Give me a hand picking up this mess.”

  “But –”

  “I don’t want to hear another word about charity shops, Ms Rich Bitch.” Angie knew that would get to Finn. She hated how everyone thought she was rich while Patrick Brennan kept his family on a very tight budget. “We can pack this stuff up in the attic for the time being – so, come on – let’s be havin’ yeh!”

  Finn agreed without a word. She ran down to the kitchen and was soon back with black garbage bags. The two women pushed the clothes any old how into the bags.

  Angie could only shake her head and follow the younger woman’s lead. She had often felt like running away from home herself. She had never had the nerve to do it. It seemed that Finn not only had the nerve but she was going to do it. Well, not without her help. The two women grabbed the bulging
plastic bags by the necks. They dragged them behind them out of the room.

  “I don’t know why we’re bothering to do this,” Finn complained.

  “You will thank me someday!” Angie panted.

  The two women bumped along the long corridor towards the stairs leading up to the attic. They stored the bags of clothing before searching out the camping equipment and clothing needed to get Finn started on her journey.

  Chapter 10

  Finn felt her heart sink when she heard the drone of an expensive car engine behind her. It was early evening. She’d been packing the items she would need into her car. She planned to sail to France tomorrow or the next day. She’d wanted to discuss her plans with her sons before Patrick’s return. She had to fight the urge to hunch her shoulders at the sound of Patrick’s car pulling into the driveway behind her. Why on earth did he have to choose today to return?

  “Nuala, what the hell is going on?” Patrick Brennan, tall, blond, beautifully groomed as always, stood glowering at Finn. His beautifully modulated tones were hushed. He wouldn’t take the risk that anyone might overhear.

  Ronan and Oisín stepped out of their father’s car and stood behind him – silent witnesses.

  Finn wanted to disappear – could feel her shoulders bending inward – she forced herself to stand erect and turn to face him.

  “Have you lost what little mind you have?” Patrick demanded, grabbing Finn by the arm. Then he waved and shouted a gracious hello to a woman passing the end of their driveway.

  “Patrick, dear,” Finn said in tones dripping sweetness as she was towed towards her own front door, “how nice to see you.”

  They were all in the hallway now behind a slammed closed door.

  Ronan and Oisín looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there. Finn didn’t blame them.

  “Look at you,” Patrick bit out, pointing a disparaging hand at Finn. “I left strict instruction before I left that you were to purchase a wig. Your hair is shorter than mine!”