“Smart mouth!” Finn laughed, starting down the stairs. “Come on, I’ll make coffee and rustle up a few scones.” She knew her sons. They were always hungry. “We can put the suitcases in the hallway. I won’t give in to the temptation to just dump them in the driveway.”
“My da’s will be visiting soon.” Finn offered. “I need them to check out the properties in Bray.” She had told her sons about the cottages and shown them photographs. She dared to think that they were rediscovering their old closeness.
“It will be nice to see Grandfather and Rolf – but it’s going to be weird,” Ronan muttered into his coffee mug. “It’s strange having a gay couple as grandparents.”
“My father’s sex life is none of your business,” she stated and considered herself a saint in the making for not bringing up Patrick’s clear disregard for any rules of moral behavior. “If there was a grandmother in the picture, would you two be wondering how often they made love or even how?” The subject died a natural death then.
Finn went to refill the mugs, leaving Ronan and Oisín whispering and murmuring together. She returned with three mugs of coffee and a platter of hot scones. The first batch of scones had disappeared in seconds.
“I don’t know if I can afford to keep living in this house,” she said when they were all sitting comfortably. “I can’t cover the overheads.”
Ronan sat up – shocked. “I don’t want to lose my home. I love this house.”
“We need to put our heads together.” Oisín wanted to travel – but only with the certain knowledge that he had a home to come back to.
“That is one of the many things I want to discuss with my dad.” Finn didn’t want the responsibility of this big house any longer.
It was noon when Patrick arrived to pick up his clothes. He appeared to be amazed to discover that all had not been forgiven. Finn couldn’t believe his gall. He really believed all he had to do was grin and stroll back into this house.
“This nonsense has gone far enough, Nuala. You are married to me and have a duty to behave in a certain fashion.” He pulled a business card from his jacket pocket. “I’ve made an appointment for you to speak with this woman.” He pushed the card into Finn’s hand. “You are obviously suffering from some kind of mental imbalance.”
Finn stared at the card. The man took the biscuit. The female psychologist, Lacey Elliot, was one of his on-again off-again lovers. She held the card with white-knuckled force. Without speaking, she gestured towards the packed suitcases.
“This is my home”, he said. “I’ve spent years and a small fortune updating this house. My sons are here. Where do you expect me to go?” He smirked, sure of his advantage.
“I have a few suggestions as to your eventual destination, Patrick.” Finn smiled coolly. “I am, however, too much of a lady to use such language.”
“I want to see the boys.” Patrick sniffed elegantly. “This entire situation is ridiculous, Nuala. I cannot believe the way you’ve been carrying on. Have you thought of the effect all this madness is having on my sons?”
Finn almost bit her tongue through on that one. With herculean effort she remained calm and gestured him towards the lounge where the boys were. She stood by the front door, her hand on the latch. She didn’t want him to get the impression that he was welcome to stay for any length of time.
Patrick returned with his sons almost forming an honour guard as they escorted him to the front door. The look of disbelief on his face was worth the price of admission. It would appear that he really hadn’t realised how his behaviour had damaged his relationship with his sons.
“Maggie, do you have time for a chat?” Finn needed to talk to someone who had experience of this nightmare situation. She’d waited until the boys left to visit friends before contacting Maggie Spencer.
“I can try to talk but my twins have no respect for my private moments.”
“Would you like to bring them over here?” Maggie lived on a nearby council estate. “I have a large garden they can run wild in while we talk.”
“I give you fair warning – my mum calls the girls the Demolition Derby,” Maggie said as soon as Finn opened her front door.
“Do you gots kids?” a brown-haired little angel lisped. “I don’t want to play with her.”
The girls were identical.
“I have two big boys.” Finn held the door open wide, gesturing the frazzled woman and her children to come inside.
“I’ve got the name of a lawyer.” Finn collapsed onto a chair pulled away from the patio table. She’d forgotten how much energy looking after two little people burned up.
“Lawyers!” Maggie stood watching her daughters run around the walled garden, hiding behind fruit trees – examining the metal figures – and stopping to blow bubbles from time to time.
“I’ve never had anything to do with the law or lawyers,” Finn admitted. “I wasn’t impressed by the first lawyer I spoke with.”
“Most people are unaware of law courts unfortunately.” Maggie joined Finn at the table.
“Did you have a bad experience?”
“I was completely out of my depth,” Maggie didn’t like to get into details about her time in court. It always put her into a deep depression for days afterwards. “It was like visiting a country where you are the only one who doesn’t speak the language.” She wanted to prepare Finn for the shocks ahead.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t explain it very well. Stop that, you two!” Maggie shouted at her girls without losing her place in the conversation. The twins stopped pulling each other’s hair.
“Come inside – there’s something I want to do.” Finn got up and made for the kitchen.
“We’ll be inside, girls!”
Inside, Finn began pulling the makings for ‘play dough’ from the cupboards. It had kept her boys quiet for hours. The girls were getting tired of the garden.
Maggie stood at the window, watching. She wondered what Finn was baking. The girls wouldn’t eat home cooking.
“It seemed to me – but this is my opinion only,” she said, “that lawyers forget they’re dealing with people – us, I mean – their paying clients. They seem to be having so much fun proving how clever they are to each other.” She had to bite her lips to stop them trembling.
“Take a minute.” Finn could see how much this was upsetting her.
“The lawyers seemed to belong to an exclusive club of clever fellows who play together and try to outsmart each other. You, as their client, don’t come into it. It’s a game they play and each one tries to prove he’s the smartest. It was like watching very erudite talking heads playing at one-upmanship – they play to win.” Maggie fought off the bitter memories.
“I have the name of a female lawyer – do you think that might make a difference?” Finn was alarmed to see how upset Maggie was, just thinking of her experience in the law courts.
“I don’t know – it would be nice to think so.”
“I want to be as prepared as possible. Here!” Finn threw a towel to Maggie and armed herself with another. “The girls will be soaked from spilling the bubble liquid all over each other.” They opened the kitchen door and each woman grabbed a squirming little girl.
“Tell me, by any chance has Lacey Elliot, that renowned radio personality and psychologist, put her b-with-an-itch nose into your life?”
“Patrick suggested I talk to her.”
“I guessed he would. That … woman …” Maggie was conscious of ‘little ears’, “almost cost me my children.” Charles Upton hadn’t wanted custody of the twins. That was the only thing that had saved Maggie’s sanity. “She gave a written profile of me that had me wondering who she was talking about. Stay well away from her. She’s poison.”
“I have no intention of keeping the appointment.” Finn had the girls, wearing old T-shirts belonging to her sons to protect their fresh outfits, kneeling at the kitchen table. She was showing them ways to play with the multicoloured b
alls of play dough she’d made.
“Good for you.”
Maggie and the girls watched figures appear under Finn’s busy fingers. She showed the girls how to work the salt dough. Maggie watched her children play quietly in amazement.
“All I can suggest about lawyers is shop around,” she said. “Try to find one you can work with. Get as much paperwork together to back up your claims as possible. Bury them in written and photographic evidence. You’re going to need it.”
“I’m scared, Maggie.”
“Good – you need to be.”
“Maggie, that’s not helping me.”
“It is, in fact. You need to watch your back.” She didn’t want Finn to underestimate the difficulties ahead. “I went into court with a smile on my face – my head held high – full of righteous indignation. I crawled out with my tail between my legs.”
“How about we make hair for your dolls?” Finn willingly sacrificed two garlic presses to show the girls how to force the dough through and make squiggles of colourful dough. It gave Maggie a moment to pull herself together.
“I discovered I’d been married to a penniless man who could not afford to support two households apparently. Charles had done some creative bookwork. He’d managed to make his money disappear. The house I know he owns free and clear was now a rented property. He’d rented the large property at my insistence the court was told. I sat in that court listening to his manufactured lies. It was better than reading a book of Myths and Legends but the court bought it all – every lying word.”
Finn couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Watch your back,” said Maggie. “That’s the best advice I can give you.”
Finn closed the door behind Maggie and her tired little girls. Then, with Maggie’s warning in mind, she turned into a whirling dervish. She had photographs, cards, memories stored in boxes all around the house. Finn threw nothing out.
“What else?” She rested on her heels at last, staring at the small mountain of files she’d compiled. She’d recorded – to the best of her ability – all of her dealings for the last twenty-one years. She’d kept annual diaries that she’d stored. Leafing through them reminded her of everything she’d done for Patrick and his career.
It was an impressive body of work if she did say so herself. She’d worked for twenty-one years without a break. Finn had created a financial chart for the work she’d done, using a paid housekeeper’s salary scale. The amount she’d never earned was staggering.
Chapter 20
Finn pushed her red wheelbarrow along the street, thrilled with what she had found at the local junk yard. Barry, her mechanic, had passed along old car exhaust systems and the tall heavy-duty springs from car suspensions. She couldn’t wait to see what treasure she could turn this trash into. The fat body of the exhaust was her favourite body type for her nutjobs.
She wanted to spend days in her workshop beating metal. She had a desperate longing to turn her brain off. The six weeks since she threw Patrick out had been a time of constant learning and doing. She wanted the world to stop for a while. She’d opened a bank account in her own name. Following Angie’s advice she’d mailed letters and cards in her own name to her home address – getting her sons to address the envelopes had been fun. She’d found an old identity card with a photograph attached to use as ID. She’d used the money she’d taken from Patrick to open the account. It had been time-consuming but the paperwork was under way. Just one of the many things she had to take care of – but it was done.
The pace of the last weeks had been frantic – amassing proof of her part in her marriage broke her heart and putting evidence together to justify her existence was painful – and she still hadn’t made any firm decisions. Her da would say she was hiding her head in the sand again. She wasn’t. She hoped she had learned that lesson well – head in sand, arse in air, perfect for kicking. She felt sore from the kicks she’d been receiving lately.
Her da and Rolf were on their way to Ireland. Taking the slow route if she knew them – her da could never resist driving down unknown roads.
“I can see you’re enjoying your birthday present!” the male voice calling out to her put a hitch in Finn’s stride.
Dare Lawrence – she’d thought he’d gone back to America. She wanted to curse. She ran a frantic mental check over her own figure. She’d have to do – the jeans and boots she wore were becoming almost a uniform. If he’d given her warning she’d have tried to present a better image. What are you thinking, woman, she silently berated herself. She raised her eyes to the two figures waiting outside her house. The man didn’t care what she looked like.
“Hello, Finn.”
“Dare, I thought you were in America!” She almost closed her eyes at her own stupid words.
“I’ve been to America and back since I last saw yeh, Missus.” Dare didn’t want to talk about the problems he was facing in the States. He smiled and put his arm around the woman at his side. “You know my niece Chloe. She says she used to babysit your kids. She’s our Nathan’s girl.”
“Isn’t it great the way we give seed, breed and generation?” Chloe was nervous. She wanted something from this woman but her grandma and uncle had warned her not to gush.
“Good to see you, Chloe,” said Finn.
“I wanted to talk to you about your nutjobs,” Dare said, aware he was walking on eggshells. “Were you on your way to your workshop?” He gave a nod to her packed wheelbarrow resting on the road.
“I gave that fellow you sent all of the ones you selected,” she said. “He packed them all very carefully. I watched.”
“Yes, but ...” Dare looked around. “Look, do you really want to discuss this out here?”
“You’re welcome to come inside.” She picked up the handles of her barrow. “Prepare to be bored out of your mind, Chloe.” She started to push the barrow forward. “You can blame your uncle.”
“I’ll be fine.” Chloe had to remind herself not to run ahead. She had seen the photographs of this woman’s artwork and she wanted some of it.
Finn looked over her shoulder while unlocking the shed. “We’ve lost Chloe.”
“She’ll find us – she’s making a tour of the figures in your garden.” Dare pushed the door of the shed open wide. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Talk away.” Finn started to unload the barrow.
“Can I help?”
“No, I’m OK.” She had a system of storage and didn’t like anyone to disturb it.
Dare pushed his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers. He longed to push all of the figures out into the sunlight. It was a crime to hide such art in a dark garden shed.
“I might have mentioned that I was moving back to Ireland.”
“Yes.” Finn was lost in the placement of her finds. She had to be able to put her hand on them as required.
“I got a bit ahead of myself.”
“How so?” Finn turned to pay attention to what he was saying.
“I suppose being home and spending time around my mother and the rest of the family made me homesick.” He shrugged. “I thought I had nothing to hold me in the States anymore. I’m ready for a change of lifestyle – but my kids don’t agree.”
“Oh dear.” Finn smiled in sympathy. She knew through Angie that Dare had four children.
“Yeah, I was made to feel like the worst parent in the world when I told my kids we were moving to Ireland.” He took his hands from his pockets to shove them through his inky black hair. “I thought they would be thrilled. They are always asking about their Irish family.”
“It’s not easy packing up a life.” She ought to know.
“Yeah, it’s going to take me a lot longer than I thought. That’s why I’m here.” He paused, almost holding his breath. “The nutjobs I had packed up and mailed were chosen as gifts.”
“Yes, I remember,” she prompted when he seemed to be lost for words.
“I want some of the larger figures for
myself,” Dare said in a hurry. He didn’t want to lose the chance of owning the figures he so admired.
“Well, help yourself!” Finn flung her arms out, wondering what the man saw in her tinkering. They were her nutjobs and she loved them – but really – they were just something to keep her sane. Still, she supposed if he took more away it would free up space in her shed.
“Since you refuse to put a price on your art what I suggest is that I ask a friend of mine in the art world to put a price on the items I’ve already taken.” He’d met with a friend who owned a very trendy art gallery in LA on his last quick visit to the States.
“If you insist.” She didn’t understand what the problem was. She’d given him the nutjobs he’d asked for. “It’s just scrap metal for goodness’ sake. I get most of it for nothing.”
“Finn, you will drive me to drink!”
“Have you asked her?” Chloe had been listening outside. She thought it better to step in now before her Uncle Dare totally lost his temper.
“Asked me what?” Finn said.
“Chloe is a landscape artist.” Dare glared at his niece. He wanted to talk money with Finn. The figures could make her fortune if the stubborn woman would only wake up and smell the roses.
“I’m putting together a garden to appear in the Bloom festival of flowers.” Chloe didn’t mention that the making of the garden and the event would be televised daily on RTÉ. “I was hoping you would loan me some of your figures to put in my design.” She couldn’t afford to buy one – not at the prices her uncle was quoting for the little wonders. “I’d take very good care of them and get them back to you as soon as possible.”
“What is it with you Lawrences – are you all doolally? They are just tinkering for the good Lord’s sake.” Finn looked from one to the other, expecting them to admit they were pulling her leg.
“You need to put a price on your nutjobs, Finn.” Dare had people asking about the figures since the ones he sent reached his friends in America. He’d known they would bring pleasure to his friends but it seemed everyone who saw them wanted one. She had to be made to see what she had.
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