“Just spit it out.”
“It’s Ronan, Mom.” Oisín felt like a snitch but it was only fair to warn his mother. “He is madly in love with what he calls his German family. He particularly thinks it is amazing to have such a lovely German grandmother. He almost melts with pity at how his poor little grandma was treated.” He didn’t like Ingrid that much himself – she pulled strings and expected them to dance – his bro couldn’t see that. He’d been happy to see Ronan protecting their mother a little yesterday.
“He’ll learn.” Finn had noticed Ronan dance attendance on Ingrid. What was she supposed to do about it?
“Ronan is really enjoying being a sex symbol.” Oisín smiled. “I think being out from under Patrick’s shadow has done him a power of good as you old folks would say.”
“Less of the old, son of mine.”
“In Germany we were two Irish lads with no connection to a famous father. It felt good. We got to be ourselves. But you should have seen Ronan with all of the uncles and cousins – honest to God, Mom, he practically compared the hairs on their heads.”
“What about you – did you enjoy meeting these people?”
“I did but I was just curious – Ronan was desperate – I never realised how much he wanted family connections.”
“And you don’t?”
“It’s interesting but I never thought part of me was missing – Ronan did.” He stood to get coffee. “You met Cousin Frieda. This trip to Ireland and all of the people waiting for us in Bray are here because of her. Ronan is really buzzed about helping his family as he sees it.” He was making a mess of this. “Mum, you might want to give this first trip to Bray a miss.”
“Why?” She’d had no intention of travelling out to Bray but she was curious now.
“Patrick is sure to be there. Dolph has arranged for television coverage of the ‘event’.” Oisín hated having to choose between his parents. Patrick courted publicity, his mother never had. She had the right to decide what she wanted to do. “Dolph has been in talks with RTÉ and Ardmore Studios about the use of their facilities while he’s here. Father will most likely be excited about the ‘exposure’ he can get from this. You know how he is.”
“I hadn’t planned on going out to Bray today.” She wasn’t going to make her sons chose between their parents. If Patrick wanted to use his sons, there was little she could do about it. Besides, she was busy trying to suppress her resentment of the way Rolf’s family seemed to have completely taken over the Bray cottages.
“Morning all – what’s the story for today?” Emmet walked into the kitchen. He put the kettle on to make a fresh pot of tea though the coffee pot was full and scenting the air. He joined Oisín at the kitchen island.
“The action will all be taking place in Bray today,” said Oisín. “Ronan has already left with some of the people who stayed here. You were out in the garden when they left, Mum. We get a very early start in the film world. I now have to get ready to go and show my ‘sexy’ self in Bray to greet my fellow vampires.”
“Jayzus,” Emmet laughed, “I won’t know where to put myself if my grandsons are going to be running around the place naked.”
“You can take Ingrid and Rolf out to join them, Granda. Get them out from under my mum’s feet.” Oisín stood with a sigh. He didn’t enjoy this but he liked the money so he’d shut up and do what was asked.
“Before you run away,” Finn put out a hand to stop him leaving, “am I supposed to have food on hand to feed these people when they return here?”
“Having snacks on hand would be appreciated, I’m sure.” Oisín hadn’t really given it any thought.
“I can take care of getting something in if you like,” Emmet offered.
“Thanks, Da. I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to have the ingredients for a fry-up in the fridge. God knows it won’t go to waste. Mr Walsh the pork butcher is going to want to erect a statue to me if I buy any more meat from him.”
“Got to go, Mum.” Oisín pressed a kiss into her hair and left the room.
Finn sat in her lounge, angry at herself. She was fighting the need to cry. The bedrooms and bathrooms in the house had been left as if this was a flaming hotel. Why should she have to pick up after all those people? Did none of them know how to make a bed or hang up a towel? Her sons were as guilty as everyone else. The master bedroom had been pristine – at least her fathers knew how to pick up after themselves. They had trained her to do the same thing. She flat out refused to be the maid of all work.
“I want to call Angie and order a daily cleaner – two would be better – but if I do that who is picking up the bill?” She put her head on her bent knees, refusing to let the tears fall. If this crowd continued to treat the house like a B&B she’d start charging them. “You talk tough, Finn, but you’re chicken,” she whispered aloud. She took a deep breath and tried to find her courage. “I’m doing it – I’m calling Angie – if the bill remains unpaid, I’ll pay it out of my own money – but the bill will be presented.”
She took her phone from her pocket and started tapping numbers.
“Angie, it’s Finn, are you home?”
“I’ve just walked in the door. I’d tell you I’m in my office but you would know I’m sitting in my kitchen.” Angie’s kitchen had a square marked off to serve as her office. She liked it. She was handy to the tea and telephone – what more could you want?
“I need cleaners, Angie, ASAP. You would not believe the state my sons’ guests left the place in.” Finn was determined her voice wouldn’t shake. “I’ve already put one load of towels in the washing machine and I have to tell you I used language that would put you to the blush. I am so very tired of being taken for granted.”
“Not a problem.” Angie turned on the small TV she kept in her kitchen for company.
“I want you to print up bills with Ronan and Oisín’s names on them.” She and Angie never needed printed bills. Finn paid for the work as soon as it was done. “I want to be able to hand my sons the bills and demand they pay you. I need to do this, Angie. If for any reason the bills aren’t paid, you know I’m good for the money.” It would have to come out of her own account which she resented.
“I’ll have the women ... sweet Jesus, Finn ... put the TV on.” Angie was staring at her own small screen in open-mouthed horror.
“What – why?” Finn used the remote to give the command for a screen to rise over the fireplace.
Angie remained silent, knowing it would take Finn a few minutes to get one of her TV’s to appear.
“Well, that’s no surprise.” Finn said when the image of Patrick Brennan holding a microphone appeared. “I think my boys were expecting their father to cash in on their fame. Do I even want to turn on the sound?”
“You had better, I think,” Angie said. “It’s as well to know what you’re dealing with.”
“Is this going out live, do you know?”
“It must be – it wasn’t advertised for a slot on this programme.” Angie was familiar with the programme format. She was a regular viewer.
“This is Patrick Brennan in Bray. I am at this moment watching a German television crew set up for filming – join me after the break – I’ll share the story with you – I know you’re going to love it.”
“Angie, send those cleaners around as soon as you can.” Finn’s broke the connection with Angie.
“Oisín!” Ronan was trapped in one of the production trailers, having his hair done. He’d been stuck in this chair for hours having extensions added. The darn things took so long to attach – he hated them. “Oisín, for God’s sake, where are you?”
“What’s wrong?” Frieda in the next chair asked.
“Someone find my brother!” Ronan shouted in English and then in German.
“What’s all the noise?” Oisín, oiled and groomed, came to stand at his brother’s back. He leaned over and met his eyes in the mirror. “What are you roaring about, oh mighty sex symbol?”
“Shut
the fuck up!” Ronan met his brother’s eyes and in Gaelic told him their mother had telephoned. “God knows what Patrick is up to but Dolph won’t be pleased if Father messes up his planned publicity and schedule. You need to get out there!” He waved a hand covered by a black hairdressing cape in the general direction of the exterior. “How long more will I be?” he asked the hair stylist in German – all this changing of languages gave you an unmerciful headache.
“Fertig – finished!” The stylist threw his hands high and stepped away with a sigh of relief. It was no fun for him either spending hours weaving all of that hair into place.
“Come on!” Ronan jumped to his feet, pulling the cape off. He didn’t care if he was covered in hair. “Someone needs to find Dolph and we need to find out what Patrick has planned.”
He grabbed his brother by the shoulder and both shirtless young men jumped from the production trailer. They hit the ground at a run.
Finn sat watching her television screen. She knew nothing about publicity. She’d phoned Ronan to tell him his father was on site with an outside broadcast crew. Did he need permission for this? The commercial break ended and the screen revealed Patrick’s smiling face.
The camera suddenly swung away from Patrick. Finn watched her two sons almost explode out of what she had assumed was a giant truck parked on the Parade. The pair of shirtless young men began to run in the direction of the camera.
The shrill excited voiceover of a young woman replaced Patrick’s measured tones while the camera zoomed in for a close-up of what the woman told viewers were the German stars of the show. Finn almost felt sorry for Patrick – his big chance – and he’d blown it.
She leaned forward when the boys reached the camera crew. She watched Oisín approach the young woman with the microphone while Ronan peeled off to talk to his father. She’d never seen that expression on Ronan’s face before – not when in his father’s company anyway. She tried to read his lips. She’d love to know what he was saying but was glad his comments were not being broadcast to the world and its mother.
“Is this your first time in Ireland?” the young woman shouted in fractured German. The microphone visibly shook in her hands. It seemed there was more than one person in Bray hoping for their big break. “Why was this area chosen?”
“Why are you talking to me in German, love?” Oisín stepped through the newly erected gates that now protected each end of the parade and over to the reporter. “I’m from Dublin.”
The gasps from the crew could be heard over the air.
Finn didn’t know where to look. In the background of the shot Ronan had his father by the elbow as he led him away. It looked friendly but you could see Patrick was struggling to break away.
Oisín was charming the drawers off the young female reporter. The wind blew his long hair back from his chiselled face. The poor woman was almost panting. It wasn’t a comfortable thing for a mother to see.
Dolph arrived on the screen and Finn relaxed. Everything seemed to be in hand now. Perhaps she’d panicked when she didn’t need to. She was not under the impression that Dolph had expected television cameras not his own on his set.
Chapter 38
Finn stood in her workshop heating and stretching one of the car suspension springs she had on hand. In her mind’s eye she could see a cat’s arching back. She beat the metal using her shoulder to wipe away the tears that fell from her eyes from time to time. She was so sick of herself. She seemed to be constantly taking one step forward and two steps back.
She wanted to stand in the gently falling rain and scream. Just stand outside screaming and screaming. She wanted to pull at her hair and wail. The only thing stopping her was fear of the men in their white coats. She didn’t need to be locked up as a lunatic – but, dear Lord, it was tempting.
She’d left the doors of her workshop open, glad of the gentle rain-laden breeze that blew.
“Finn, are you about?” Angie’s voice came over the noise of the hammer. Someone must have left the gates unlocked – again.
“Finn, we want to talk to you!” Maggie shouted.
“I’ll be out in a minute, ladies – the back door is open – one of yez put the kettle on – I’m spitting feathers.” Finn continued to shape the spring in her hands. She had the metal at a perfect heat. She couldn’t stop now.
“What’s going on?” Finn walked into the kitchen after locking the gates, to see Maggie and Angie sitting at the kitchen island, a pot of tea simmering on the range, the island top set for tea and two large yellow notepads sitting open.
“Here,” Angie stood to pour Finn’s tea, “sit down we have something we want to talk to you about.”
“I’ve been poking my nose into your business.” Maggie had left the twins asleep in bed, a young neighbour babysitting. “I’m afraid you’ll be offended but I can’t watch you spinning around in circles anymore.” She pulled the notepad she’d set out over closer to her.
“It’s because we care, Finn.” Angie was terrified Finn would be insulted by their interference in her life.
“Why don’t you two tell me what you’ve been up to?” Finn sipped her tea and waited.
“It’s like this,” Maggie gulped nervously. “I met a woman through the single parents group I belong to. She gave a lecture at one of our meetings.” She glanced down at her notebook. “This woman lives in the middle of nowhere – her husband found religion – he was born again if you can believe it. Anyway, his new church claims he has never been married to her and therefore has no responsibility for their children. She’s fighting it but in the meantime she’s left with a big house and no income.”
“Convenient,” Finn prompted when Maggie seemed to be struggling to find words.
“I telephoned her earlier. I needed information. She was left with a large house – three children – and no income. She had to learn to survive. She and her children spend the summer in a little camper van at the bottom of the garden while she rents the house out to French fishermen.” Maggie mentioned a weekly sum of money that made Finn gasp. “She does all the care and maintenance of the house herself. The money she makes in summer supports the family for the rest of the year.”
“Maggie called me,” Angie said when Maggie seemed to have finished talking. “You know I clean for estate agents? I got in touch with them and asked – hypothetically – what a house like this in this area would fetch in rent. I described your house, Finn, and this is the figure I got from more than one estate agent.” She pushed the yellow pad across the island, tapping the figure of over ten thousand she’d written down. “They were almost hyperventilating at the thought of renting out a place like yours.”
Finn looked at the figure on the pad until black dots danced in front of her eyes. She had to count the zeros. “That’s Monopoly money, Angie,” she pushed the pad back. “Why would anyone pay that amount of money to rent a place? That’s more than most people pay in mortgage.”
“My contact gave me figures for self-catering holidays and catered. There’s a big difference there but it’s a lot of work to cater to people who want to come and go as they please.” Maggie too pushed her pad across to Finn.
“I thought the money Dare paid me for my nutjobs was crazy,” Finn pushed the pad back, “but this is outrageous. Who would have that kind of money?”
“Lots of people it would seem.” Maggie too had been amazed when the woman she’d contacted gave her the figures.
“So.” Finn looked between her friends. “If I pitch a tent in the garden, the house can pay for itself – that’s what you’re saying?”
“You’re getting experience at the job anyway with that shower from the film company.” Angie had teams in this house daily.
“You’re being paid regularly – right?” Finn worried about paying what must be a very large bill by now.
“The film company are picking up the tab,” Angie said. “The bill is paid directly into my bank account. The thing is,” she leaned forward to stare into Finn�
�s green eyes, “you should be charging them a room rent as well. They would have had to stay in a hotel and pay for security if they weren’t staying in your house.”
“They’re Rolf’s relations.” Finn dropped her head into her hands. “I couldn’t charge them for staying here – besides, the house belongs to my father.”
“You need to sit them all down and have a talk with them, Finn,” Angie insisted. “You can’t go on like this.”
“It’s hard to talk to them.” She’d tried. “They leave really early in the morning and are gone all day. I’m in bed by the time they get back from Bray.”
“They have Sundays off.” Angie knew the routine, thanks to the women she employed to work in this house.
“My sons turn into tour guides and take everyone out and about on Sunday.” Finn wasn’t putting obstacles in her own way. She had tried to set up a family meal where they could talk but it was shrugged off as not important. “My da is supplying the background music for the sections being shot in Bray – even Judge Bailey is involved on copyrights and so on – I’m whistling in the wind trying to get them to listen to me.”
“You have to put yourself first, Finn,” Maggie stated.
“She’s right.” Angie slapped the island top. “You can become the invisible woman waiting on your men to have time for you – or – you can take matters into your own hands. It’s your choice.”
“It sounds easy.” Finn tried not to wail.
“I’ll leave you my notes.” Maggie tore out the pages of notes she’d taken and pushed them across to Finn.
“You can have mine too.” Angie too tore out her pages of notes and added them to Maggie’s. “It’s something to consider.” She kept her hand on top of the papers and stared at Finn. “You can’t keep waiting for someone else to do something. You have to stand up and be counted.”
“Finn?”
Finn pushed herself up onto her elbow. She was lying across the foot of the big bed in the master bedroom.
Her Revolution Page 28
