“I can’t think about this right now.” Finn had enough to think about. “Just take what you want, Dare. You can send someone to pack them up. I’ll trust you to put a price you think fair on them if you must.”
“Finn ...” Dare closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
Chloe kicked him on the ankle before he could get them thrown out. She knew what it was like to be asked to put a price on your God-given talents. It was difficult to see your efforts – particularly when it was something you loved – as others saw them.
“Look, Dare –” Finn really wanted to start beating metal into shapes. She was tired of thinking. She just wanted to turn the trash around her shed into little figures. “Take what you like – you’re Angie’s son – I trust you.”
“In the name of ...” Dare actually put his hands out to grab her shoulders when Chloe stepped in the way.
“Do you have a bank account?” she asked.
“The paperwork to open an account in my own name is under way. I’ll let you have the details as soon as I can.” If Dare did decide to pay a little something for the nutjobs, she wanted the money to go into the account that was hers alone.
“You can talk about a fair price for the nutjobs when you have your own bank account.” Chloe knew about this woman’s problems. How could you not? Patrick Brennan was turning his marriage problems into media gold. She didn’t want her uncle causing problems. She wanted two of the big figures for her garden – and as many of the little ones as she could get – she would design the landscape around them – they were magical.
“You can’t have that one.” Dare noticed where his niece was looking. He wanted that male for his own collection.
“What do you mean I can’t?”
Finn stood to one side watching two people actually fight over her nutjobs. She was beginning to think it was Angie’s relatives that were nuts. She wished they would just make a choice and leave. She wanted to get started on the figure she could see in her mind’s eye. That battered exhaust was almost calling her name. She walked around the shouting couple and began to pull out the items she wanted. It didn’t look as if those two would be finished anytime soon.
Finn waved goodbye to her visitors – they were still arguing – but at least she wouldn’t have to listen. Chloe had fought with her uncle over several of the figures but they had reached an agreement, finally. Dare had said he’d be back – promise or threat, she didn’t know.
She put everything out of her mind and with a sigh of satisfaction locked her shed door with the world outside. She put her head through the straps of her heavy rubber apron – she needed protection against sparks – and was soon bent over her worktable turning trash into her little treasures. The world outside could wait. She’d had enough of it.
She spent hours heating and beating metal. The tines of old forks turned into long curling eyelashes that she placed with care around bolt nuts to make eyes for the female she was assembling using one of the exhausts for the torso. A large nut gave the figure an open-mouth expression of surprise. She bent metal to make arms that crossed across the female’s chest. She beat out all of her anger and frustration, turning the problems of her life into whimsical figures of fun. The light outside turned to evening and still she remained bent over her work, unaware of the world around her.
“I’m starving.” She stepped away from the almost completed figure in surprise. She stretched, putting both hands to her back, and slowly straightened from her bent position. “I’m surprised the boys didn’t come looking for me demanding to be fed. Maybe they’re learning.”
She restored order to her little world and carefully checked that everything was turned off. She stepped out into an inky star-studded night. It was much later than she had thought.
Chapter 21
“In the name of God, daughter, could you not have warned us?” Emmet jumped down from the driver’s seat of his camper van.
“Warned you about what, Da?” Finn ran into her father’s open arms.
Emmet was never happier then when he had something to moan about.
“The enormous changes taking place in the countryside. The buildings erupting like poisonous mushrooms all over the place. Surely to God there are more houses then people in this country now? What happened to my poor sleepy Ireland?” Emmet swung Finn in his arms and whirled her around.
“It must have woken up when you were off gallivanting,” Finn said. “I can’t believe the entire country didn’t first ask your permission before implementing any of the changes wanted and needed in the country.”
“You always were a cheeky little thing.” Emmet was thrilled to see the change in his daughter. She fairly sparkled, no more miserable greyness about her at all.
“Emmet, let someone else say hello,” said Rolf.
Ronan and Oisín were standing back, watching their mother greeted with a great deal of love and affection.
“Sweetling, you look wonderbar!” Rolf whispered into Finn’s ear as he hugged her close to his chest.
Finn was aware of her sons staring in fascination.
“Come say hello to the boys,” she said.
“Good to see you, Emmet, Rolf,” said Ronan as he shook their hands. He was examining every feature of Rolf’s face. There was a strong resemblance there, no matter how much his mother might deny it.
“Great you made it,” said Oisín, “but are we going to stand out here all night starving to death? Would yez for God’s sake come in so we can sit down and attack the food? The smell has been driving me mad.”
Everyone laughed and pushed through the doorway.
“I didn’t know what time you would get here, so I prepared a coddle,” said Finn. “It’s one of those meals that tastes better the longer it cooks.” She wanted to wrap this memory around her. Everyone she loved, happy and laughing under the one roof. Why had she allowed Patrick’s displeasure to keep her da’s from visiting?
“A coddle?” Emmet wrinkled his nose in feigned disgust. “Is that what you serve to starving men, daughter? A coddle?”
“Don’t be such a food snob, Da. There is nothing better on a chilly evening then a good coddle.” Finn nudged her father. “I’m not serving a French meal so a good Dublin coddle it is – like it or lump it.”
“What is this coddle?” Rolf asked, hating to be left out.
“It’s what we’ll be getting instead of a cuddle from this one!” Emmet laughed at Rolf’s frown. “It’s a Dublin dish peculiar to the region and peculiar is what it is.”
“Give me five minutes and I’ll have it on the table.” Finn led the way.
“I’d like a chance to wash my face and hands,” Emmet said.
“Boys, take your grandparents to the master bedroom,” said Finn.
“I thought we would stay in the camper.” Emmet was having difficulty stepping into this house that held so many memories for him. He’d like the chance to walk around the old place on his own. He had ghosts to lay.
“I know you love that camper, Da, but please stay in the house.”
“We would be delighted,” Rolf said.
“The smell of that coddle has me salivating, daughter.” Emmet led the posse of her menfolk into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a coddle in years.” He lifted the lid off the oversized pot Finn had simmering on the hob. He sniffed appreciatively and almost groaned at the memories that smell evoked. Jesus, it whipped him right back to his youth.
“Leave my food alone!” Finn rapped Emmet’s knuckles lightly with the wooden spoon. “Go sit down in the dining room and I’ll bring the food through.”
“What are we, guests?” Emmet moaned.
“Just for tonight, yes.” Finn shoved him towards the dining room. “Now do as you’re told for once in your life and go sit down, out from under my feet.”
“It comes to some –” Emmet started before Rolf stepped in.
Rolf knew these two could keep up their comic moaning-and-groaning routine for hours. “Let us obey the cook
,” he said softly. “Especially as this cook is armed and dangerous.”
Finn began to spoon the rich coddle into her large flower-sprigged soup tureen. There was enough to fill the tureen several times.
“Ronan, carry the tureen to the table for me, please.”
“Finn, sweetling, I love it.” Rolf stood in the centre of the dining room slowly turning as he tried to take in all of the little touches that made the dining room look so inviting. “You have made this room a work of art.”
“I learned about presentation from you, Uncle Rolf.” Finn was happy to have one man in her life who noticed the effort she’d taken to make the room look festive.
“What are you two yakking about? It’s a crying shame the girl doesn’t have a matching set of dishes.” Emmet examined the mismatched tableware.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Grandpop, Uncle Rolf,” Oisín’s voice was a pathetic moan, “but could we please eat?”
“The lad is making a great deal of sense.” Emmet laughed and ruffled Oisín’s head of strawberry-blond hair.
Finn took her place at the head of the table and gestured to her father and Rolf to take the chairs on either side of her. She placed Ronan beside Emmet and Oisín beside Rolf.
“This is good.” Rolf tasted the coddle. “Is it not, Emmet? Why have you never made this?”
“I’m having a religious experience here, Rolf.” Emmet swallowed the delicious broth. What was it about food that evoked so many memories at the first taste? “My grandmother – my mother’s mother – the poor one – made this every Saturday.” His green eyes glistened. “I haven’t tasted it in years. You can’t get bacon products like this anywhere else – that’s why I never try to make it.” He shook his head of thick greying hair, continuing to enjoy this trip down Memory Lane.
“The food is of course very good.” Rolf smiled at Finn, allowing Emmet to wallow in sentiment. “Emmet taught you very well, sweetling.”
“Da taught me how to cook, you taught me how to make my surroundings beautiful.” Finn touched Rolf’s hand. It must be difficult for him to be surrounded by Emmet’s family and Emmet’s memories of a time he didn’t share.
“If that is true, sweetling, you have taken anything I might have taught and made it your own.”
“Any more of this coddle, Mum?” Oisín liked to keep the mood light and entertaining.
“Good idea, Oisín.” She forced herself to remain seated. “You can refill the tureen.”
Oisín grabbed the tureen without complaint.
There was silence for a moment as they all simply enjoyed being together.
“I left the hob on, Mum.” Oisín returned, carrying the brimming tureen. “I have a feeling that I’ll be filling this thing up again.”
“You are probably right, Oisín.” Emmet served himself from the tureen. “I can’t seem to get enough. We didn’t stop to eat on the way here – old Misery Guts insisted that Finn would have prepared something special.” Emmet gave a jerk of his head in Rolf’s direction. “I hate it when he’s right. It makes him unbearable.”
Rolf ignored him and buttered the strange-looking bread Finn had prepared. “When do you return to school, Oisín?”
“I’m not sure that I’ll be returning.” Oisín didn’t mind having his college education referred to as school. His mother did the same thing.
“How is this?”
“I want to travel –” Oisín began, only to be interrupted by his grandfather sniggering.
“That apple didn’t fall far from the tree!” Emmet gave Ronan a hearty nudge.
“Emmet, please.” Rolf rapped Emmet over the knuckles with his butter knife. “I wish to understand. Your mother has told us that you were enrolled to study this year, Oisín.”
“No, I don’t know what I want to study. I’d like to see a bit of the world before I make any decisions about the rest of my life.”
“What do you think, Finn?” Rolf knew the importance Finn placed on a college education for her sons.
“I’ve been trying to persuade both of my sons to get further education,” Finn answered. “Without a great deal of success.”
“What do you think, Ronan?” Emmet asked the young man shovelling food into his mouth.
“I agree with Oisín. I’d like to see what I can do with my music.”
“Music!” Emmet laughed. “Jesus, there is no fighting genetics is there? Music and travel.”
“I’m glad you find this amusing, Da.”
“Why not be amused by fate?” Emmet gave a quick glance around – everyone seemed to have finished eating. “Why don’t we let the boys clear the table?”
Ronan and Oisín jumped to obey their grandfather.
“Should I make a pot of coffee, Mother?” Oisín asked.
“Leave that till later,” Emmet answered. “We’ll relax a little and just wallow in our greed.”
“So, Finn, what’s been happening?” Emmet had been served with a glass of Glenfiddich.
They were all seated in one of the smaller drawing rooms. Finn had illuminated the electric-fire-effect screen. It gave no heat but she thought it added to the cosy atmosphere of the room.
“I evicted Patrick.” Finn didn’t mention the vasectomy. Emmet would have offered to cut off Patrick’s equipment without the use of anaesthetic. She might be tempted to let him.
“I know a lawyer, well, he’s a judge now – Harry Bailey – he’s an old friend of mine,” said Emmet. “He may be able give you advice about what you need to do.”
“That would be great. I’ve been feeling a bit lost to tell the truth. I never expected to find myself in this situation.” Finn bit her lip and looked at her two sons.
“I’ll call Harry and see what he thinks needs to be done.” Emmet stared into his glass. Finn should have seen this situation coming from a mile off. God knows he had, almost from the moment he’d reluctantly walked Finn down the aisle.
Rolf had become aware of Oisín making head signals in Rolf’s direction and rolling his eyes at Ronan.
“Now, about the houses in Bray ...” Finn began.
“Before we verbally visit Bray perhaps Ronan and Oisín have something to add to this conversation?” Rolf enquired. “They seem to have something they wish to say to me.”
“Not me.” Oisín waited for Ronan to pick up the conversational ball and run with it.
Ronan sat staring miserably at his clenched fists.
“Ronan has a question.” Oisín nudged his brother with his foot.
“You have something you need to know, Ronan?” Rolf waited. It was difficult to believe this one was Emmet’s grandson. He was obviously a watching and wondering kind of person.
“For God’s sake, Ronan, will you ask your bloody question?” Oisín exploded. “I’m sick and tired of listening to you bellyache about this. Now is the time, ask the bloody question. You can get the answer direct from the horse’s mouth.”
“Perhaps you should ask this question, Oisín, since Ronan does not appear ready to speak.” Rolf smiled. Oisín had inherited his grandfather’s quickfire temper.
Finn and Emmet decided to be the audience to this conversation. While in France Finn had told both her da’s of the boys’ belief that Rolf was Ronan’s biological father.
“This is very difficult for me.” Ronan pushed shaking fingers through his mane of blond hair. “But I need to know.” His blue eyes were almost manic.
“You may ask me anything you like,” Rolf said softly when Ronan seemed unable to continue.
Ronan drew a much-handled black-and-white photograph out of his rear pocket. He put it on the coffee table that stood in front of the loveseat Finn and Rolf occupied.
“Please explain to me,” he pointed at the picture, “if I have no relation to you at all, why does the man in that old picture look just like me?”
“Good Lord, where did that come from?” Emmet walked to stand behind the loveseat occupied by Finn and Rolf. “That’s an old photograph of you, Rolf. Y
ou were about eighteen. I don’t remember seeing this before.” He squinted his green eyes, trying to bring the old photo into focus.
“Ja, sein ich,” Rolf shook his head. “That is me but so long ago. Where did you get this picture?”
Ronan waved the question away. “Could you please explain the resemblance?”
“Finally, someone has the guts to ask.” Emmet gave Ronan a hearty thump.
“You mean there is something to this?” Finn gasped.
“The evidence is right in front of you.” Emmet pointed at the photo. “I thought you were going to stop hiding your head in the sand?”
“Emmet!” Rolf reprimanded him.
“I know, Rolf, but sometimes she makes me so mad.”
“Is this going to be a long dramatic revelation?” Oisín broke into the uncomfortable situation. “I want coffee and some of that apple-pie Mum made before we get buried in sentiment.”
“Oisín, you’re a man after my own heart,” Emmet said. “I’ve something to fetch from the camper van that will help this conversation along. You set things up in the dining room.” He hurried from the house to the camper van parked on the driveway.
Finn had the old picture in her hand, staring from the photograph to her son. “Uncle Rolf ...”
“Just wait, sweetling. Let us all return to the dining room and sit around the table like civilised humans and all, as they say, will be revealed.”
“It seems I’ve opened a can of worms,” Ronan said.
“No, you have not,” Rolf said. “This is a matter that Emmet and I thought would come under discussion years ago. We thought our Finn would be the person asking the questions.”
The tantalising smell of percolating coffee began to filter through the house.
Finn sat like a statue, staring at Ronan.
Her Revolution Page 15
