Her Revolution

by Gemma Jackson

  “Just my skill.” Paul ignored her complaints. He gave Maggie a nod of admiration. The outfit looked great on Finn’s tall body.

  Back in the kitchen, Angie didn’t have time to admire Finn’s image. “Finn, we couldn’t find four of the figures Dare wants put in place here.” She described the ones they couldn’t locate. “But Paul has chosen substitutes. Is that OK?”

  “The jug-eared boy is definitely not here – Rolf wanted that for himself – and I guess he took the other three away too. But I don’t understand – he won’t be able to see the figures so why set them up?”

  “Dare wants you to describe these particular ones if yer man asks what you have on offer,” said Angie.

  “Sit down.” Paul pushed Finn into a chair. He had his cosmetics laid out and ready.

  “Give us a hand, Maggie,” Angie said. “Scott, put the kettle on again.”

  “We’ll step into the mudroom when he calls you,” Scott said when Paul had completed Finn’s make-up. “Be sure to press record on your phone – you’ll probably be all flustered and forget half of what he says.”

  The make-up was among Paul’s best efforts. Finn’s green eyes looked enormous, her generous lips were moist and inviting, her skin glowed like a pearl – yet it all looked natural.

  “This is ridiculous!” Finn wailed. “I’m going to be so nervous I won’t be able to speak and I don’t know why I’m all dolled up like the dog’s dinner just to take a phone call.” She’d never be able to force words past her lips at this rate. “I’m starving. I never got to eat the meal I’d prepared.”

  “Dear God, you can’t eat before you speak to the great man!” Paul gasped. “Not with your make-up done! My work would be ruined!”

  Scott pulled her into the mudroom and, with his hands on her shoulders, forced her to face her image in the long mirror attached to the wall there.

  “Look, this is the image you should present to the world. You can’t keep going around in your sons’ cast-offs trying to be the invisible woman. Enough! We are in the year 1999 heading towards 2000 and doesn’t that sound like science fiction – anyway, you want to be a new woman. Well, that starts now.”

  They stood gazing into the mirror.

  “The way you feel about yourself will come across in your voice,” Scott went on. “You want to sound calm and efficient – not apologetic. You are an artist. Your work is in demand. You have to sound like that when you speak to this man. This is too important to fuck up!”

  “See why I love him?” Paul with Angie and Maggie behind stood in the doorway of the mudroom. “The man could get a job as an agony aunt!”

  “OK.”

  The ringing of the telephone had all five of them scattering.

  Finn took a deep breath before picking up the phone. She pressed record before answering. She’d feel a right fool if it was just someone trying to sell her something.

  “Ms. Emerson?”

  Oh, sweet Baby Jesus! It was him! She’d recognise that voice anywhere.

  “Hello,” said Finn. “Diarmuid Lawrence wa – told me you’d be calling.” She bit back the word warned just in time. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “Who – oh sure – Dare.”

  There was a pause for a moment and Finn frantically wondered if she was supposed to say more.

  “So, you know why I’m calling – that’s good. I’ll cut right to the chase – I want one of them nutjobs – one just like the one Dare has – that kettle makes me laugh every time I see it.”

  “I’m sorry – I don’t recreate my work.” Finn tried to keep her eyes away from the terrible foursome who were gripping each other in horror at her words. “I design original figures. I never repeat a design.” She heard her own words and thought she sounded like a pompous twit – her work – her design – who did she think she was?

  “That’s a shame – I don’t suppose you could change your mind – just this once?”

  She could practically see his world-famous wide beaming grin. He made his living from the charm of his smile and handsome face.

  “Sorry, that would be impossible.” Finn had been married to a man just like him. She wasn’t about to crumble. Besides – it was hard to get those old kettles that she’d used in the nutjob Dare loved so much. She made whatever the metal suggested to her. She wouldn’t know how to recreate her own work.

  “That little figure Dare gave to my wife sure is cute but I’d like something bigger.” He wasn’t going to let Dare have a bigger figure than him.

  “Mr. Liner –”

  “Call me Tim, no need to stand on dignity.”

  “Tim.” She could see Paul almost swooning in Scott’s arms – the ham. “I don’t make a great many large figures. I have some on hand at the moment but really – I let the material I’m using – I suppose you could say I let it talk to me. I don’t make to order.”

  “I’m almost at the studio and I’ve lines to learn.” His voice became all business. “Look – I have to be in London in a few weeks to pick up a BAFTA – those good folks are giving me a special award.” He paused, perhaps waiting for her to gush, but then continued. “If I pop over to Ireland – would you be able to show me your work then?”

  “I suppose I could.” Finn grabbed the back of a chair pushed under the island in a white-knuckled grip.

  “Good. Got to go – you have a nice day. I’ll have my assistant get in touch with details nearer to the day. Good talking to you.” He broke the connection.

  “He wants to come to Ireland and see my work for himself,” she said in a daze staring at the phone in her hand.

  Finn’s kitchen exploded with shouts of surprise – exclamations of delight – and basic hysteria. It all went over Finn’s head. She was too busy trying to catch her breath. She dropped into a chair, let the phone fall to the surface, and moved her hands towards her face.

  “Stop!” Paul screamed. “Do not dare mess up my make-up before I’ve taken a photograph.”

  She leaned against the chairback with her eyes closed but didn’t touch her face. She didn’t dare.

  “God, Finn,” Angie dropped into a chair across from her, “you talked to him just like he was human.”

  “As far as I know he is.” Finn didn’t open her eyes.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’d have been a nervous wreck.” Scott too dropped into a chair.

  Maggie put the kettle on.

  Chapter 33

  Finn picked up the handles of her red wheelbarrow, ready to get out of the house and scour the local markets. The first months of the year were a great time for scrap metal. People had bought or received gifts of pots, pans and cutlery over the Christmas period. They always dumped what they didn’t want, much to her delight.

  She walked around the local flea market, making like a bandit. There was so much on offer. Patrick had stopped her line of credit and repossessed her little car. She missed it. Thanks to the money Dare had put in her account she had enough for a healthy deposit on a car but the thought of going into debt – needing to make regular payments – frightened her. She couldn’t bank on selling more of her nutjobs.

  She’d had to sell her engagement and wedding rings for scrap value only. The jeweller told her the diamonds were inferior. It was funny but painful. She’d paid Maggie for all of the work done so far on her old clothes. Maggie told her that she’d passed the best Christmas in years – not because she’d spent madly – it was knowing she had money in the bank if needed that made it good.

  She wanted to try painting some of her nutjobs. Maggie’s almost manic delight at dyeing fabric had given her the idea.

  “You’ll not get much more on there.”

  “Think of the devil!” Finn looked up at Maggie in surprise.

  “You going home?”

  “I’ll have to clear out this lot and come back.” Finn straightened her back painfully.

  “I have something for you.” Maggie held up one of her patchwork shopping bags.
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  “I’ll be glad of a break.”

  The two women walked slowly back to Finn’s home.

  “Before I show you this, I want to say …” Maggie held closed her bag, “if you don’t like it I won’t be insulted.”

  “I’ve loved everything you’ve produced for me so far.” Finn put the kettle on – she was gasping for a cup of tea.

  “I thought,” Maggie still didn’t open the bag, “if you are going to be known as a big-time artist,” she held up her hand and shushed Finn when she looked like objecting, “you should have a signature look.” She pulled a long black garment from the bag and shook it open, displaying another long sleeveless jacket. “I’ve embroidered it with flowers and birds using the colours of the dyes I’ve used on your clothing. If you hang it behind the kitchen door – you can grab it and cover whatever you’re wearing at the time. You know in case members of the press or a famous actor drop in. The colours in this jacket will match anything you wear.” She looked up nervously. “It’s only machine embroidery – no big deal.”

  “Maggie!” Finn spread open the folds of the garment. “It’s magnificent – a work of art.”

  “It is not.” Maggie blushed. “Don’t be silly.”

  Finn froze for a moment and looked at her friend. “My God, is that how I sound when I talk about my nutjobs? To my eyes this,” she gently shook the jacket, “should be framed and on my wall.”

  “I loved making it.” Maggie shrugged. “It’s so easy for me and so much pleasure – it seems wrong to charge for it.”

  “We, my friend – are going to have to work on our attitude.” Finn would take time to think about this moment later. “Sit down. I’ll make us something to eat. I want to go back to the markets and see what else I can find before someone gets there before me.”

  The street bell sounded.

  Finn pushed a button to check the screen. Then she stood frozen, her hands pressed to her mouth, tears starting to her eyes.

  Maggie was determined to protect her friend. She ran for the door. She’d send whoever was there away with a flea in their ear.

  “Young woman, who are you? What are you doing?” a strong male voice demanded.

  The sight that met Finn’s eyes had her laughing aloud. Maggie was trying to keep Emmet Emerson from stepping over the threshold.

  “Da!” Finn rushed to the door.

  Maggie beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

  Finn threw herself at him. She knew her da would catch her. The feel of his strong familiar arms closing around her was blissful.

  “Da, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Finn was kissing her father’s cheek and squeezing the daylights out of him.

  “Would you let me in before you question me to death, woman?” Emmet pushed Finn away from him to stare into her face. She looked wonderful – happy and full of life. He’d been worried about her but his daughter looked better than she had in years, he was delighted to see.

  “Come on in.” Finn wiped tears from her eyes and pulled at her father’s hand. “Want a cup of tea?”

  “Does a dog bark?”

  Emmet allowed Finn to pull him through the house into the kitchen where she introduced him to her friend. He grinned, thinking he’d have to call Rolf and tell him their girl was making friends. Rolf worried Finn was spending too much time alone.

  The conversation became general with Maggie asking Emmet about his travels. Finn loved to listen to her da entertain people. He enjoyed talking about the places he’d been.

  “Daughter, my stomach thinks me throat’s been cut,” Emmet finally groaned. “I’m starving. I can’t talk with me taste buds dripping.”

  “l should leave,” Maggie said. “Let you two talk.”

  “Oh no, Maggie, stay!”

  “Don’t leave on my account,” Emmet said.

  “I’ll have lunch with Finn another time. You two enjoy your visit. I’ll get along.”

  “I really am starving, Finn – can we go get something to eat?” Emmet said when Finn returned from showing her friend out.

  “I was going to defrost meals I’ve prepared,” Finn offered.

  “I’ll pass on that, thanks. I fancy some pub grub. Is there a decent place around here somewhere?”

  “OK, Da, fess up.” Finn demanded as soon as they were seated at a window table in a local pub. The menu was written on a blackboard. They could decide what they wanted to eat from where they were. “What’s going on, why are you here without Rolf?”

  “That brother of Rolf’s, Dolph – he’s a big noise in German television. I’m not sure what, director of programmes or something like that. Anyway, he has Rolf booked on chat shows talking about the cottages and showing his photographs. Ronan and Oisín have found roles as guest stars in some kind of vampire thing that’s been running for years on German television. They have taken the place by storm. Your sons are turning into minor heartthrobs on German daytime television.” Emmet examined the menu.

  “My sons?” They’d never mentioned anything about this in the few short missives home.

  “The very same.” Emmet ordered Guinness stew and a bottle of red wine from the waitress.

  Finn ordered stew too. She hardly cared what she ate – she needed to hear about her boys.

  “Da? Tell me more.”

  “Your sons, daughter, are having the time of their lives. Ronan is drowning in family. The boy spends hours comparing every little feature of his that matches his cousins. What is it with that boy and family?” Emmet shook his head. “Oisín plans to spend every spare minute he has behind the wheel of my camper van. That boy has wanderlust.”

  “So I gave birth to one son for Rolf and one for you – nice to be useful.”

  “There is that.”

  “Did you give Oisín money, Da?”

  “Nope.” Emmet waggled his eyebrows. “I didn’t have to. The lads earned a tidy bundle taking their shirts off and oiling their manly chests. Ronan lapped it up. Oisín is taking the money but I don’t think his heart is in it – he’s got a good head on his shoulders. He knows the kind of money they are offering him now might never come his way again.”

  Finn waited while the waitress served their food and poured the wine.

  “What about Rolf, Da? What’s he planning?”

  “Finn, for the first time in years I haven’t a clue.” Emmet ran fingers over his face. “The man is having the time of his life being a minor celebrity in his own country. His family are around all the time. Ingrid is playing Queen to his King. I left before I said something I shouldn’t.”

  “Da, are you and Rolf having problems?” Finn had never seen her father without Rolf by his side.

  “No, nothing like that – we love each other, this is just a bump in the road.” Emmet sighed and dug into his food.

  “You’re sure there is nothing wrong between you and Rolf?”

  “Everything is fine.” Emmet poured more wine. “Tell me how things are going with you?” He didn’t want to talk about his private life.

  “I’m getting there one day at a time.”

  “I’ve a feeling Pieter and his family want to spend time with you. He really enjoyed meeting you and can’t stop talking about his visit to meet his Irish sister. How do you feel about that?”

  “I talk to Pieter on the phone a lot. We’re getting to know each other.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Here you go, Da.” Finn had made him a hot whiskey as soon as they reached home.

  He took the mug from her hand. Now he was in out of the cold he felt great. The brisk walk, fresh air and wind had really got his system moving. He checked his phone for messages.

  “I missed a few calls while we were out. I don’t know if I love or hate these bloomin’ phones.”

  “Anything important?” She checked her own phone.

  “Patrick, it’s Finn.”

  “Nuala, it’s about time you came to your senses.” Patrick had been confident thi
s call would come. It might have taken longer than he’d expected but it was happening now. Nuala wasn’t fit to live alone. She needed someone to guide her. He’d go softly with her – now the call had come he could afford to be magnanimous. He was mentally kissing goodbye to this one-bedroom flat. He’d had enough of living in this tiny space that cost a small fortune to rent.

  She refused to comment on his asinine assumption. “Patrick, the reason I called –”

  “There’s no need to go into that now, darling.” Patrick was almost purring with satisfaction. “I know you’ve made some mistakes but we can put all of that behind us. Why don’t I come home? I want things to return to the way they were. You can cook me one of your special meals and we’ll talk.”

  “Patrick, the reason I called,” Finn repeated from between clenched teeth, “is that the first of the boys’ German television appearances has been shown. There will be clips on Irish television this afternoon.” The frantic phone calls from Germany had been to tell her to tune in. It was a feature section of a regular program covering Irish success abroad.

  “I know, darling. I’m so proud of the sons you gave me.” Patrick waited for her to beg him to come back home.

  “I’m glad.” She hung up. She had nothing to add.

  “Sugar, come back to bed.”

  Patrick had completely forgotten the woman he’d left languishing in his bed. He’d carried his mobile phone into the tiny lounge for privacy. What was her name again?

  “Coming, dear!”

  Perhaps he should get rid of whatever her name was, call Nuala and invite her out for a meal. It would make good copy for him to be seen taking his wife out for an intimate evening. He needed to do something about his image. The reporters were paying too much attention to the women in his life. He could tip off a few reporters he knew. He could take time to discuss a possible reconciliation on his radio programme. That should add to the numbers. The radio programme was his bread and butter now he’d learned he’d lost the chance of presenting that current affairs programme on TV.