Her Revolution

by Gemma Jackson

  It amused Finn to watch her sons jump to obey.

  “I’m going to put the kettle on,” she said. “You can leave the workshop doors open. I’ll be back in a minute. Oisín, I’ll need one of your belts before you go. Rolf, I’ll fill your flask with coffee.”

  “She has no idea of the power of her talent, does she?” Emmet said to his grandsons after she left.

  “Father spent a lot of time denigrating her ‘tinkering’ as he called it,” Oisín said. “Wouldn’t have them in the house.”

  “The man is no fool when it comes to looking after his own best interests,” Emmet bit out.

  “What are you talking about?” Ronan still couldn’t see what the big deal was.

  “These figures,” Emmet closed his eyes against the blank look on his grandson’s face, “they are works of genius. My daughter – our daughter,” he looked at Rolf, “the woman who gave birth to you two, is a bloody brilliant artist! I’m so proud of her talent that my chest feels twice the size it normally does. Rolf and I created a genius and we are only just finding out.”

  “It must not be left locked away.” Rolf looked around at the sheer scale of the work completed.

  “I think I’ll have a word with Angie about this son of hers.” Emmet wanted more information about the man.

  “I’ll have a word in Chloe Lawrence’s ear.” Oisín remembered Chloe now. She babysat for them from time to time when they were growing up.

  “This must be handled correctly,” Emmet put in. “We don’t want Finn to turn into a mule and refuse to allow anyone to see her work. The bloody woman is capable of that.”

  “I’m going to go and give her a hand with the tea and coffee,” Ronan said, walking away. “Because I don’t have a clue what you lot are talking about!”

  “My brother is his father’s son.” Oisín had tried to tell Ronan how talented their mother was – he hadn’t wanted to hear. “I’m going to run upstairs and get a couple of my belts for Mum to use. I can’t wait to see what she’ll create. I love her work and can’t wait to wear it.”

  “From what your mother has told me Ronan has tried all of his life to please Patrick. He’ll grow out of that, if God is good,” Emmet said.

  “What a wonderful day!” Rolf beamed.

  Chapter 27

  “Do you mind if I root around out here?” Emmet had waved Rolf and his grandsons off. He wasn’t needed in Bray. Rolf was in his element out there, ordering everyone about. He planned to pull his daughter’s workshop apart. “Will having someone around put you off your work?”

  “I’ve never had anyone out here with me before.” Finn was rooting through her supplies, searching for something she knew she had. She didn’t see the effect of her words on her father.

  “Jaysuz, you have a potbellied stove out here, daughter.” Emmet clenched his fists and refused to allow the curses he longed to heap on Patrick Brennan’s head to pass his lips. “Does it work?”

  “Yeah.” Finn was hunkered down searching the bottom shelf of one of her units. “I found it in a junk yard and repaired it.” She continued searching, not paying attention to her words. “I love a real fire. Those phony things in the house might keep the place clean and look good but you can’t beat a real fire. You can light it if you want. It’s getting chilly. I don’t know what Oisín is thinking of starting his camping trip as we move into winter.”

  “What are you looking for, daughter?” Emmet watched her hunt amongst the piles of rubbish stacked around the place.

  “I know I have some of those long-handled spoons people use for ice-cream sundaes. They would be ideal for what I have in mind.” She spotted what she’d been searching for at the back of the shelf. “I never found a use for them before and I hated to break the handles. I knew I’d find something to do with them someday.” She stood clutching a handful of long metal objects.

  “What are you going to do?” Emmet was fascinated with this new aspect of the woman his daughter had become. He had despaired of her life as Patrick Brennan’s willing handmaiden – but look at her now. An artist, by God – he’d made this wonder.

  “I’m going to make an openwork Celtic-knot armband.” She dusted the long-handled spoons. “I’ve seen people with tattoos of the design. I’ll melt and weave the spoon handles. The armbands will clasp tight around Oisín’s bicep.” She could see it in her mind’s eye. “I don’t know how to cut metal to make a band someone could wear but the spoons are already smooth and without sharp edges – so won’t cut when worn.”

  “Have you enough to make some for Ronan?” Emmet loved how she mentioned heating and weaving metal in a way other people would say ‘I’ll peel an apple’.

  “Ronan wouldn’t wear anything I made,” she replied without thinking.

  “I’ll get the fire going and let you get on with it.” Emmet was going to have words with his eldest grandson. “Why peekaboos?” he asked while rolling old newspapers into balls for the fire.

  Finn put the spoons on her work top, running her fingers over the metal to get the feel for the material used. “Oh, I’d make up stories. The boys each had little gargoyle shapes that fit over their fingers. They’d make a fist.” She smiled remembering their eager little faces hanging on her every word. “When I reached a point in the story they didn’t like they would reveal a gargoyle – shout peekaboo! – and then they would have to finish the story.”

  “We did that with you.” Emmet had tears in his eyes at the memories she had invoked. “There were no gargoyles involved but you put your little hands over our eyes.” He laughed. “When the story we were telling got in any way off the fairy-tale path you would stop us.”

  “It was the opposite for the boys.” Finn set her anvil up close to her work bench. She handled the heavy equipment without a second thought – over the years she had learned ways of dealing with items difficult to shift – she’d had to. “The more ugly creatures with bad breath the better.”

  They were silent while each got busy. Emmet had a fire going and stood back to admire his work. Finn was right – you couldn’t beat a real fire. The smell of turf whipped him back to his childhood. He continued to pull her work from the shelves and looked around for a ladder so he could reach the figures he could barely see under the rafters. He grunted with satisfaction when he found a folding metal ladder stashed under one of the shelving units. He climbed up and dusted and polished each figure big or small, laboriously shoving the ladder along from time to time.

  His breath caught at the talent displayed. It would be difficult to pick a favourite. He loved them all.

  Finn ignored her father until she turned off her welding torch and carefully placed it on her work surface. She stepped back from the anvil, pressing her fingers into her back to release the tension. “Da?”

  “Yes?” He turned from the gamine figure he was polishing to stare over at her. She was standing like some figure from history, her goggles pushed to the top of her head – heavy rubber apron wrapped around her.

  “Make a pot of tea, will you?” She replaced her goggles and bent back to her work.

  “In a minute.” Emmet came to stand at her shoulder, admiring the form she was creating as she used her welding torch to melt the spoons. He held his breath, hoping his presence didn’t put her off her work. He wanted to watch. He had struggled for so long to accept that his daughter – his only child – had rejected everything he and Rolf tried to give her. By God – look at her now – bent over her art – creating magic with her fingers. He fought the tears that filled his eyes, not wanting to miss a second of this wonder.

  “Thanks.” Finn had to move fast before the metal cooled and hardened, using forceps to shift the soft metal into the form she wanted. She’d never tried weaving metal before. She stepped back for a moment to examine the Celtic knot that lay on the worktable. Into a bucket of water now to cool, enjoying the sizzling hiss of the hot metal.

  She pulled the cooled item from the bucket and examined it in detail. “What do
you think?” She held the forceps clenched around the Celtic knot up for him to view. The metal was folded over to form an open circle.

  “It’s –” Emmet gulped back the words of astonishment and pleasure he wanted to pour over her. She’d retreat into a shell if he praised her work to the skies. It was bloody brilliant. “Will it break when he bends it to put it on?” he contented himself with asking.

  “No, it should work like the torques of old. He can put his arm into the opening and tighten it around his biceps.”

  “Do you have enough of those spoons to make two?” My God – spoons into wearable art – it was a privilege to be here to see it.

  “Why would he want two?”

  “Daughter,” Emmet closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to shout at her and spoil the moment, “I despair of you. You have two sons running around half-dressed on TV and you seem to be the only one who hasn’t seen them.”

  “I don’t like vampires and scary things – you know that.”

  “Yeah – Walt Disney or nothing – how the hell did I create such a bloody Pollyanna of a child, I ask you?” He looked towards the sky as if begging an all-seeing God for answers.

  “So, why two?” Finn ignored him. She’d heard it all before.

  “The lads are usually half naked no matter what they are playing – vampires or Vikings – they are mostly oiled up and shirtless. If you make two of those things,” he pointed at the armband sitting on the workbench, “then Oisín will really stand out from the crowd. Which is what the lad wants if I am any judge. That is if and when they are employed on another project. It’s an iffy business they are in.”

  “OK.” She turned to make another armband. This one would be quicker. She had the feel of the metal now.

  Emmet opened and closed cupboards in the little area she had set aside for teamaking.

  “Da,” Finn turned to him again, “I don’t know what to say or do when Rolf talks about yer one Ingrid. If I didn’t know better I’d think yer one walked on water.” She shoved her hands through her hair, knocking her safety goggles off her head. She bent to pick them up. “If you read between the lines of what he says the woman is no saint.”

  Emmet bit his lips on quipping ‘kettle, black’. Look how long it took her to see through that plastic man she’d married.

  “Da, he keeps insisting on referring to the woman as my mother – she’s not – I have the best mother – even if my mother is a man.”

  “Just listen and smile, daughter. That’s all any of us can do.” Emmet was glad his back was turned. “The woman gave us the most precious gift in the world. As gay men we would never have been allowed to adopt. It is difficult enough for a regular couple. Having said that – Ingrid is poison. She has milked Rolf for years because of her great suffering.” Emmet put the metal teapot on top of the potbelly stove. “I’ve spent years biting my tongue until it bled rather than say what I think about that woman.”

  “Rolf is crazy happy at the thought of moving in here.” She waved in the direction of the house. “I know he sent her film and photographs of it.”

  “So?” It was like pulling teeth.

  “Da, anyone looking at that house sees a mansion.” Finn had spent years listening to people tell her how lucky she was to live there. It looked wonderful but no-one ever mentioned the cost of upkeep on the darn place. The sheer hard labour it took to keep the place looking good. The house was built in the days of a cheap servant workforce. “I’m afraid Ingrid might look at the house and what she thinks is our lifestyle and want a bit of the action.” She took one of his hands in hers. “Am I wrong to worry?”

  “No,” Emmet sighed, “and now you have me at it.”

  “Did Rolf ever learn Irish?”

  “No, why would he?”

  “You will have to be extra careful in Germany.”

  “What?”

  “My boys will be no match for a woman like Ingrid. She’ll be able to suck them dry of any knowledge they might have.”

  “Jaysus, you’re getting very dramatic.” Everything she said could just as easily be said about Patrick Brennan. Didn’t she realise that? Perhaps worrying about Ingrid kept her from worrying about her own problems.

  “I’ve been thinking and worrying about this.” Finn turned her attention back to the spoons waiting to be turned into an armband. “You need to step back, Da.” She pulled her goggles back over her eyes. She was aware of him stepping well away from the workbench. She turned on her welding torch.

  “It will be no use warning the boys about Ingrid!” She shouted over the tap-tap of her hammer on the melting metal. “If you are on the spot you can cut them off in Irish. No one will know what you’re saying.”

  Emmet stood back and watched his daughter. She’d given him a lot to think about. He despised Ingrid. The woman quite literally made his flesh crawl. She sucked the life out of all around her and Rolf couldn’t see it – had never been able to see it – wouldn’t hear a word against her. What was he going to do? Finn was right about the two lads. They’d be no match for a woman like Ingrid. He wanted to howl at the moon. There was no way he wanted to put himself back within reach of her grasping clutches again. But how could he leave Rolf to her tender mercies?

  He turned to pour the tea. He felt chilled to his bones. He had a sinking feeling the chill had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

  Chapter 28

  Finn rolled over in the bed, waking to a new day. The silence of the house around her was almost painful to her ears. How many mornings had she wallowed in the silence before the storm? Now she was bemoaning her lot. The blue guest bedroom seemed to suit her mood lately.

  “Rise and shine, Finn!”

  She was proud of herself. She’d stood in her driveway smiling and shouting teasing remarks as the men in her life drove away. She’d been determined they wouldn’t leave her standing snivelling in the driveway. She’d helped her sons get ready for their big adventure with a smile on her face. She’d waved them away with a laugh. She deserved a medal.

  She was being paid a stipend from the bank account that covered house maintenance. She didn’t feel she was taking money for nothing – she earned it – keeping the house and grounds ticking over. Rolf had set the weekly payment up. It would show up in her bank account which was a positive thing. It wasn’t much but it kept the wolf from the door – if she was careful.

  She was living alone for the first time in her life and sometimes it felt like she’d been alone for an eternity. The house was big and empty around her. She’d walked through the halls like a ghost of the past, weeping and wailing. Finn was glad no one could see her kicking walls and shouting. She escaped the loneliness by disappearing into her workshop, losing herself for hours beating metal, trying to release the pain.

  She sat down to her first pot of tea of the day, her stomach tied in painful knots. She had a guest arriving this morning.

  She practically jumped out of her skin when the doorbell sounded through the house.

  “Finn?” was all the man standing on her doorstep seemed capable of saying.

  They stared at each other for a long moment while Finn tried to find her voice.

  “You look so much like Rolf,” Finn finally managed to say with a shy smile. “Come in, please.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Pieter Buckmeister had been hoping for this day for so long. Now he was here, his hands trembling, his nerves shot.

  She’d thought long and hard before agreeing to this visit. “Are you hungry?”

  “I would like a cup of tea, please.”

  “Tea?” Finn’s eyebrows went up.

  “Rolf told me to ask for tea. He said it would please you,” Pieter admitted with a familiar grin.

  “Tea it is!”

  She showed him to a guest bedroom, trying not to trip over her own tongue. They had agreed he would stay for one night at least before returning home. She was terribly nervous.

  “I don’t know what to
say to you, what you expect from me,” she said when she had served him tea in the kitchen.

  “I do not expect anything. I wish only the chance to get to know you. I am hopeful you will wish to get to know me. We cannot meet after all these years as brother and sister, I know this, Finn. I do not wish you to be uncomfortable in my presence. I ask only for the chance to get to know you. Can we not try to form a friendship?”

  “I can use all the friends I can get.” Finn smiled at the man who was a younger copy of her Uncle Rolf. The man was her half-brother. She had to put that fact into the back of her mind and accept the man for himself. She didn’t know how to act as anyone’s sister, didn’t know how to behave around a brother. She’d try for friendship and see how that went.

  She smiled when he grimaced over the tea. She had to hand it to the man, he was willing to try. She stood and began to prepare a pot of coffee.

  “Did you have the chance to meet my sons before you left home?” Finn knew Emmet planned to drop Ronan and Rolf in the heart of their German family before he and Oisín continued travelling. The few quick text messages and phone calls she’d received hadn’t been enough for her mother’s heart.

  “Oh, your boys – they are such a hit.” Pieter grinned “Frieda, my daughter, is having the time of her life introducing her Irish cousins to everyone in sight.”

  “Both boys are in Dresden?”

  “No, no – Emmet, he can never bear to stay very long around our mother.”

  “Your mother.” Finn was determined to establish that fact straight away.

  “As you say,” Pieter shrugged. “Your boys came to visit me and my family in Munich. We enjoyed meeting them very much. They were such a success with everybody – and their German language skills, what a surprise!”

  “You didn’t want to live on the farm?” Finn knew nothing about Rolf’s family. She’d never asked, never needed to know. Was that wrong of her?