When she met Patrick Brennan he’d seemed the answer to so many of her prayers. He’d offered her the one thing she found irresistible: stability. Come to think of it, that was sad, an eighteen-year-old searching for stability.
Patrick and Finn had a whirlwind romance and marriage. The babies had come quickly after. She had finally been living the kind of life she had only dreamed of before. A big rambling fixer-upper of a house, two kids, a dog and a good-looking husband – what more could anyone want? She’d wallowed in her safe, secure, unexciting life. It was no one’s fault but her own if that life had been more of a mirage then actual fact.
Finn felt oddly liberated as she drove along talking to herself. The road was much improved from the first time she had taken it. Talking aloud was great therapy. It was good to listen to yourself every now and again.
She stopped in Gorey for lunch before getting back on the road to Rosslare.
She joined the line of cars waiting to board the ferry. The crossing would take almost twenty-four hours. She’d booked a berth in a cabin and prayed it wouldn’t be in the bowels of the ship. She hated being below the water line. But she loved travelling by sea – the sensation of being cast adrift. Strange, she had always thought she hated travelling but somehow ships were different – they were special. There had been no problem picking up the ticket but actually driving onto the ship was a little scary. There were so many trucks and camper vans travelling. She felt a bit overwhelmed in her little car.
A sinking feeling in her stomach was becoming familiar. She was scared. This was the second time in her life when she stepped away from everything familiar. The first time she had been running to a life she desperately wanted. She wanted to marry Patrick and settle down so much that she hadn’t even thought of being scared. Maybe it was because she’d been eighteen and thought she knew everything. Whatever, this time she needed to carefully plan every move. She couldn’t sit idly waiting for life to happen to her. She had been doing that for too long already, not even knowing that was what she’d been doing.
“Oh, wow, you’re so old! I can’t believe you’re taking this trip all by yourself. That is so brave. I wish my mother would do something like that instead of sitting around the house all day.” These were the first words of greeting from a brown-haired young minx called Natalie.
They met in the cabin they would be sharing on the trip. At the moment they were the only people in the four-berth cabin. Finn could hardly wait to meet the other two strangers who would be sharing the cabin if this was the reception she could expect.
“I’m just going to drop my stuff here. I want to get out and see what’s happening. This is going to be so much fun,” Natalie said as she quickly stuffed her backpack onto the lower bunk of a pair and turned to run off. “Watch my stuff for me, OK?” She didn’t wait for an answer.
“Sorry, I’ve given up playing mum,” Finn bit out between clenched teeth. She had a key to the room and would lock the door as she left. Natalie should have her own key.
Finn strolled around the deck. She didn’t belong with the teenagers backpacking around Europe. She didn’t belong with the young mothers struggling to keep toddlers under control. She didn’t belong with the golden oldies enjoying their freedom. In fact, she had no idea where she belonged anymore.
She struggled to her favourite spot at the back of the ship. She loved the stormy white froth that roared out behind. It seemed filled with magic promise. They were leaving their problems behind, rushing towards adventure and couldn’t wait to get there. At least that’s how it had always appeared to her. Now it seemed like everyone else on the ship had a place and a plan. She was adrift and scared.
The rest of the trip was an education. She had been living in a cocoon of her own making for so long. The lines of her life were murky, not as clearly defined as she’d thought. It was up to her now. She had to draw new lines for herself – could she do it? It was a rude awakening to realise that she didn’t even know her own taste anymore. She had ceased to exist as an individual. How could she find herself again?
She wanted to talk to her dad. He had always been so free-spirited, never needing roots. He loved to travel – never met a stranger. Her father should be able to help her or at least point her in the right direction.
The reaction of the other two females sharing the cabin had been similar to Natalie’s. They had looked at Finn like she was an old fogey who didn’t belong in the same cabin as three bright young things. They had asked fascinated questions, all dealing with the shock of discovering someone of her age who was brave enough to strike out on her own. Their remarks about Finn’s age and the fact that she was the same age as their parents became a little tiring. She could have done without the constant reminders of her great age.
The crowning glory came that evening when the girls invited her to join them in the bar. A young waiter, giving Natalie the eye, remarked on how nice it was for her to have her mother with her. Finn might have been old enough to be the mother of all of the girls but she didn’t need the fact rubbed constantly in her face.
Once in France Finn made good time on the motorway. She had forgotten – if she had ever known – how much fun it was to speed along with the windows open, wind in her hair.
Her father – an experienced and talented chef – usually took a job in Deauville, along the coast. She couldn’t wait to surprise him. She knew the campsite where he was staying. His camper van would be parked close by the water. He stopped in the same campsites every time he was in an area. For all his crazy ways, he had a routine. It surprised her to realise that her father was a creature of habit. She would have argued if someone had tried to point it out to her, but he really was predictable to a certain extent.
The van was where she expected to find it. There was no-one around so Finn parked her car and pitched her tent. With luck she would have it up and in place before her dad or Rolf arrived.
With the speed of long practice, she soon had everything set up. She changed into shorts and a T-shirt before stretching out on a towel on her tummy, facing the sea. It was wonderful taking time out to do absolutely nothing – just watch the waves foam.
“Here, you, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? This is a private site – don’t you know anything about the rules of camping?”
The angry voice still had a touch of Ireland in it even after all these years.
Finn, still lying face down, turned her head slightly. Emmet Emerson, large as life and twice as handsome, was glaring down at her, his hands fisted on slim hips.
“Hey, handsome, give us a kiss!” she said.
“Finn, is that you?” Emmet shouted, dropping down onto the grass by her side. He flipped her over before enveloping her in a fierce hug, rocking her close to his chest as if she were still a little girl. “Let me look at you.” He pushed her away from his chest but didn’t release her. “What have you done to yourself,” he asked with his large hands clamped around her head. “You look bloody fantastic.” He kissed her roughly, his bristles scratching her face.
“Finn! Get out of my way, Emmet.” This time the voice was clipped and had a German accent – Uncle Rolf. He tried to grab Finn away from Emmet. They struggled good-naturedly, pulling Finn between them like a rag doll. She roared with laughter, kissing and hugging them back.
“Da-ma, I’ve missed you so much.”
“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming? What’s wrong?” Emmet was standing over Rolf and Finn now as he demanded answers. Tightly wrapped in Rolf’s loving embrace, Finn stared up at her dad. He was so tall. His green eyes drilled a hole through her. Grey-haired now that the red had faded from his thick mop, he was so handsome and vigorous at seventy.
“You look wonderbar, sweetling!” Rolf was examining the changes in her appearance with keen eyes.
Finn brushed a kiss across his cheek and stood.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Have you finally
woken up and left your Ken doll?” Emmet demanded. He never liked Patrick and the feeling was mutual. Emmet claimed that Finn and Patrick were like Barbie and Ken dolls, all plastic and hair.
“I want to spend some time with you two, is that OK?”
“Of course it is, sweetling.” Rolf stared at Emmet, his blue eyes glaring a warning. It was obvious to him at least that something was not as it should be with their darling girl.
“You know you are always welcome,” Emmet said, heeding the warning Rolf was giving him. “Come on, you can help gather shellfish – tonight is one of our open houses.” He grabbed Finn’s hand and with his other picked up some gathering buckets. He started pulling her towards the ocean. “You coming with us?” he called back at Rolf, knowing he wouldn’t want to be left behind. He might miss something.
The three of them, gathering buckets in hand, headed towards the rocks that dotted the beach. Finn felt six years old again. Her dad had always held open house at his campsite. Emmet was a fabulous chef. He’d taught her everything she knew about cooking. His open-house evenings were the stuff of legend. He would gather from the nearby beach and make an enormous fish stew. Rolf was in charge of putting together a salad. With fresh bread from the nearest bakery, it was a feast fit for kings.
“It’s lucky I caught you on one of your days off, Dad.” Finn searched the rocks for mussels and whelks.
“I only work when I feel like it these days.” Emmet pulled shellfish off the rocks.
“Sometimes not even that,” Rolf remarked slyly. He was such a contrast to Emmet, shorter and portly. He claimed Emmet’s cooking had ruined his figure. Rolf’s grey streaked-blond hair was thinning but his blue eyes still sparkled with love when he looked at Finn and her father. Finn thought Rolf looked like Santa Claus in shorts.
“Really?” Finn had never known Emmet to rest. Her earliest memories were all of Rolf taking care of her, her dad working constantly.
“I want to take it easy,” Emmet said, not looking at Finn. “Thanks to Brainbox there,” he pointed towards Rolf, “I can afford to please myself.”
Finn let the subject drop – now was not the time to get into a heavy conversation. She’d wait until later. It would appear her father was making changes in his life. They could discuss everything sitting around a table with a glass of wine. When the sea was blowing salt spray and sand all over you was not the time for heart-searching. They were hunting dinner and that was the important thing right now.
Emmet Emerson’s open houses attracted people from all over the campsite. Some people from the village came along to enjoy the evening as well. The food was superb. The wine was plentiful – this was France after all – the music lively and the conversation interesting. Finn’s earliest memories of her father were of him standing over a large cauldron of boiling ingredients, laughing and sipping at a glass of wine.
Emmet charged a small fee for the food served. The evening was fun and profit for him.
Finn sat back and watched her father and Rolf work their magic. She had no responsibilities – a child again for this moment. Rolf and Emmet had the whole thing down to a fine art. People sat on the grass or on towels they’d brought with them, eating and laughing, shouting across to each other as jokes and ideas were cast back and forth and translated into whatever language was needed.
Each person brought their own dishes, so the only washing-up at the end of the evening for Emmet and Rolf was the large pot and a few serving dishes.
Finn knew she would have no chance to talk to her father this evening. She could wait and mercifully he didn’t host an open house every evening.
She crawled away long before the party ended. It was galling to realise that she still couldn’t keep up with her father and Rolf – men in their seventies. They would party all night then bounce out of bed bright and early in the morning. It had always been that way.
Chapter 13
Finn was up and about early the next day. Rolf and her father had plans they couldn’t change because she had turned up unexpectedly. She toured Deauville on foot. She had forgotten so much about this famous little Normandy jewel. It was a part of Northern France she had visited many times as a child. It seemed that there were a great many more tourists here than ever before. Deauville had been attracting tourists since the 1800’s. She remembered as a child watching the movie Gigi and giggling when Gigi begged to be taken to Deauville. She doubted Emmet would be coming to this area for much longer. He wasn’t fond of places that attracted hordes of tourists.
She returned to the campsite in the late afternoon, laden down with goodies she hadn’t been able to resist from the local boulangerie. The low cost of the vast selection of cheese tempted her to pick up what she knew was too much – but who cared – she was on her holidays.
“Have you enjoyed yourself, sweetling?” Rolf greeted her when she reached their site.
“The place has changed a lot.”
“Do not get your father started,” Rolf said with a laugh. “I beg you.”
“Started on what?” Emmet came up from the beach. He threw one arm around Finn’s neck and hugged her close.
“I bought a load of goodies for us to try.” Finn rattled the bags she held. She didn’t want to start her father on one of his infamous rants.
“Some of these camper vans are bigger than houses.” Finn, linking arms with the two men, was strolling around the camp site examining the different vehicles parked there. It was a favourite pastime of theirs – a holdover from her childhood. They had always visited what Emmet called their neighbours before going to bed.
“It is getting ridiculous,” Emmet waved when someone called his name but didn’t stop. “Look at the size of these things!” He waved at a huge recreational vehicle. “They bring their satellite dishes for heaven’s sake. Everyone has to be connected to a computer service and their television. That’s not camping.” He waited a minute and very much tongue-in-cheek added, “The Germans are the worse of the lot.”
“Ja,” Rolf agreed mildly. “We will blame the Germans.”
All three laughed and continued their stroll around the entire site. Finn couldn’t believe the changes in the type of vehicles parked around the site. She stood open-mouthed watching one family use an old-fashioned crank to make rooms appear on the side of their caravan.
“If you think that’s something, look over there,” Emmet said with a jerk of his head, giving her a sly nudge.
“In the name of God!” Finn had to force her mouth shut while she watched a man back his car down a ramp out of the interior of his van. “I ask your sacred pardon!”
“That’s not what I call camping,” Emmet moaned and started walking again.
They continued on their tour, each lost in memories of the past.
One morning – almost a week later – Finn was paddling along the beach. She kicked at the waves foaming around her feet. The whole area was bathed in sunshine and mostly deserted. Finn had been secretly hoping to hear the voice of God, or at least meet an angel holding out a scroll with a detailed plan for her life clearly written with step-by-step instructions. Ah well, she thought – may as well dream here as in bed.
The tide was going out and she watched water gather in the indentations made by her bare feet. The ocean stretched for miles towards the far horizon. It was difficult to tell where the sea ended and the sky began – a lot like her life at the moment. What was past and where was her future? The sun was a big yellow balloon in the sky. The sea sparkled and danced.
Finn in her cut-off boy’s jeans and oversize T-shirt felt detached from life.
“Finn, Finn, for the love of God will you wait up!”
She turned to see her father and Rolf hurry down the beach towards her. Emmet carried a cooler while Rolf had a blanket over one shoulder and a baguette under his arm.
How many times had she watched these two appear just like this? They were the kindest, most loving parents in the world. Had she ever told them how much she appreciated
them? Just as well she hadn’t met that all-knowing angel on the sand. She would have received the swift kick she so richly deserved.
“We wondered where you disappeared to,” Emmet said when they reached her. He wasn’t even out of breath but poor Rolf was panting like a dog. “You might have thought to leave a note.”
“Sorry, Da, Uncle Rolf, I didn’t think.” How long had it been since anyone cared about her comings and goings? Jesus, she was beginning to bore herself.
“If you ask me that’s your problem, right there in a nutshell: you don’t think.” Emmet glared at her.
Rolf chose a grassy spot away from the water and wet sand to spread the blanket and collapse.
“Emmet, that is not how we agreed to start this conversation,” he called softly, his German accent making the words a gentle rebuke. He sat among the stalks of burned grass staring at the two fiery redheads in his life. He loved both of them but he didn’t always understand them.
Emmet strode over to Rolf and dumped the cooler on the blanket beside him. He was grinding his teeth, angry with himself. Rolf and he had discussed this situation at length. They had agreed on how they should approach Finn but as usual his temper had got the better of him. How many times through the years had Rolf stood between Finn and him as they battled? Only now it seemed that Finn had lost her fire somewhere. He hated to see his only child acting like a kicked dog.
“Finn,” Rolf gently patted the blanket in invitation, “come and join us. It is time we discussed what brought you to us, ja?”
Finn sat and waited while Rolf unpacked the big cooler they used as a carryall – a thermos of coffee for the men, one of tea for Finn. There would be pain au chocolate and croissants from the bakery. Rolf loved to cater to his family and never overlooked anyone’s preference. Was that where she got her nurturing instincts from?
Her Revolution Page 9
