March 15, 2010.

There's always a day that the universe conspires to present one with a gift from the heavens. There is no method of ascertaining when that day arrives. There are neither portents nor indicators of good fortune, neither are there any physical or psychological manifestations nor fluctuations in weather patterns. The skies don't open up either. There are, however, moments that warms one's heart, little bits of unexplained happy circumstance. On that morning an elderly lady stopped by the cottage we were working on in Artane and handed me a silver ornament in the shape of an urn. It was no more than six inches long, about an inch wide at its widest point, and it looked like it had been turned on a lathe two weeks previously.

I took it from her as she looked deep into my soul, her pale blue pupils watering as age began to show in the deep wrinkles around her eyes. She took my right hand in hers and held it as she wrapped my fingers around the small vessel. I went to speak, but she silenced me with her forefinger. I looked over at John Byrne, a labourer who worked for me, and Denis Walsh, the foreman who looked after any important or complicated work we were contracted for.

John had a look of bored indolence about him. It was his default face, a permanent reminder of what a moaning. angry, malcontent that he really was. He walked around with a cloud over his head and complained about every little thing that happened to him, good, bad, or indifferent. He was a friend of Denis, and I had already told him that we wouldn't be needing him after the end of that current week. I feared I'd become dependent on antidepressants if I was exposed to him for much longer. Either that or I'd be up in court on a murder charge.

"Thank you Ma'am," I said, "but why are you giving this to me?"

"Flora, who owned this house before you, was my best friend from when we were babies," she said. "When we made our Holy Communion, her mother and mine exchanged gifts that held a meaning beyond the value of the gift. My mother gave this to Flora's mother and, when it was time to make our Confirmation a few years later, they swapped them back with a note to say how they should be kept and what we would do with them when one of us passed away."

I saw in her eyes that she was remembering that time in her life, so I sat down on an upturned oil drum to listen to her.

"My time is approaching on winged feet, and it is distressing me that I haven't fulfilled the promises made over seventy years ago. I noticed you at the door of the house on Friday last, and then on Saturday morning I heard you and your men making noise in the house, so I walked up to see what was going on. You were standing outside wiping dust off the bonnet of your car, and you were smiling a kind smile as you listened to someone talking to you on the phone. Before you hung up you said, 'Whatever is meant for us will find us, and whatever is not, will pass us by.'"

I remembered that call as she looked further into my soul.

"Those were the last words that my mother ever said to me, and I knew then, that you were the one that should have Flora's gift. Please take good care of it and may it bring you nothing but good fortune, now and always."

I took her hands in mine and brought her over to my car. I opened the door, clicked the lever on the cover of the glove compartment open and placed it gently inside. She nodded her head and whispered in my ear.

"Thanks, Tommy, I'll say a special prayer for you tonight," she said, and handed me a wrinkled piece of old, yellowing card.

On the front it had the words 'Imperial Commander Tobacco' printed on it, and on the back, someone had written 'Bertie's Dream died on Pigeon Island.' in a childlike script. I held her arm and hand and led her across the rough terrain of the site and left her safely on the municipal footpath outside the entrance. She waved and slowly walked away. Next morning, the lady who lived next door called in and told me that she had passed away that night. I called in to see the family and offered my deepest sympathies and any help they needed coming up to the funeral. Her daughter, Aileen, invited me inside. I felt guilty as it was still not yet 8:00 in the morning.

She sat me down in the kitchen and placed a cup of tea and a small glass of Power's in front of me. She held up her own glass and toasted her Mam. I returned the toast and sipped the whiskey down in a slow pour. We chatted for a while, and she told me all about her mother. I told her what had happened the day before and offered to return the urn to the family in case it was of any value. I was surprised when Aileen said that she didn't know anything about an urn. She shook her head adamantly as I pressed it on her.

"Thank you, Tommy," she said. "If I did that, Mam would haunt me forever."

"Ah come on, Aileen," I laughed. "You don't believe in that stuff, do you?"

"Not at all," she said, "except when it comes to Gráinne Dunbar of the Islandmagee Dunbars."

"I don't know what you mean," I said.

"My Mam was the great, great, great, granddaughter of Mary Dunbar, one of the Islandmagee witches. Use the powers of the urn wisely."

I left her to open up the site at 8:30. As John walked in, he actually smiled at me. I put it down to indigestion or something as Denis strolled in behind him.

"Did you throw that urn away yet, Tom?" he asked with a smirk.

"No," I said, "I may have done, but the lady died last night, so I'm keeping it safe for her now."

"How did you find out she died?" John asked.

"Fuck off, you prick," I said. "Get that mixer working and start mixing some concrete."

I was telling Denis about the whole thing, and I handed him the card that came with it. He looked at it and shook his head.

"Imperial Commander Tobacco?" he said, "Did you ever hear of them?"

"No," I said, "Why would I hear of them?"

"Because you smoke."

"I also eat potatoes, Denis," I said, "and I know fuck all about making Dauphinoise."

As we discussed it, Danny Brown ambled through the door. Danny was our tiler, and I dreaded to see him coming into the site, but his hands were blessed, and his work was top drawer. We called him Scorchy, Bonnie Tiler, Wanker, Dickhead, and many other names but it was water off a duck's back to him as he'd patiently smile at us while he waited for us to wind it back in. Danny was quite religious, even though he was a compulsive gambler. He also raced pigeons; he could never beat one though. He took the card out of Denis' hand and turned it over.

"Cheltenham Week starts today, lads," he said, "Imperial Commander is one of the favourites for the Gold Cup on Friday. Where did you get this?"

I told him the story as he turned the card around in his hand.

"Bertie's Dream is in the Novice's Hurdle on Friday too," he said, "I got a tip for him last night, he's 66/1 this morning."

"Is it not worth a fiver, Danny?" I asked, naively.

"Did you get the paper this morning?" he asked.

John did and brought it over to him. Danny took out the Racing Supplement and tapped the page with his forefinger.

"Pigeon Island is also running on Friday," he said, "he's also been tipped. He's 33/1 today," he said, as he riffled through the pages.

"What did the woman say when she left?" he asked.

"Thanks, Tommy, I'll say a special prayer for you tonight," I said.

"Oh, she knew you?"

"No." I said, "I never met her before."

"How did she know your name?" he said.

"I don't know," I said, and my head began to melt.

Danny took out a piece of paper and folded it out. He took a pencil out of his pocket and handed me the newspaper.

"Pick four horses out of today's six races," he said to me.

"For what?" I asked.

"Call it an experiment."

To shut him up, I picked out four horses. Minorah, in the Novices' Hurdle, Sizing Europe, in the Challenge Trophy, Chief Dan George, in the William Hill Handicap Chase and A New Story, in the Cross-Country Steeple Chase.

"Do these in a Yankee bet," he said, "see how you get on."

"How much?" I said. "A Yankee is eleven bets in one."

"I fuckin' know," he said. "You told me last year that you keep €200 aside for Cheltenham week so a €10 Yankee is only gonna cost you €110."

"When was the last time you did a €10 Yankee, Scorchy?"

"Never," he said, "but you're the man with the money on this job. If it comes up, you'll be in gravy for life."

I was due to drive out to Malocrete Supplies, our builder's providers, to get a couple of bags of cement so I walked out towards my car. As an afterthought, I walked past it and headed straight across the road to the local Paddy Powers. On any other day, I'd have jumped into the car and headed off, but on that day my feet took me across the road. I filled out my betting slip and checked the morning prices on the board. Danny had given me a guideline for what the starting prices would be, and I'd take the board prices if they were similar or a bit better.

Minorah was at 16/1, Sizing Europe was at 10/1, Chief Dan George was at 50/1, and A New Story was at, 33/1. These were a little better than the projections, so I took them and handed the slip in to the girl behind the counter along with the stake. She processed it quickly and I was out of there in less than 20 minutes. I walked back over to the job and handed a copy of the bet to Danny. He looked at me and made a face.

"Fuck," he said, "I didn't think you'd do it."

"Work out the winnings for if it comes up," I said, "I doubt it'll do anything, but I'm interested to see it."

"These aren't bad horses, Tommy," he said. "At least two of them will win their races and the other two will place easily. A bit of luck and you..."

"Ok Danny," I said, "that's enough. Are you finished looking around?"

"Yes," he said, "are you coming up to the Sheaf later for the racing?"

"I might," I said, "if I remember."

I left them to it and headed out. My first stop was the Ulster Bank in Coolock Village. I got into the queue and waited for everyone to pay their electricity, gas, and TV license bills. It was a slow process. As I reached the teller's window, I was pleased to see it was Naomi behind the counter. She always brightened up my day. She was very pretty. Her hair was blonde and rested just along the tops of her shoulders, her skin was translucent, and she always had a lovely smile. She was from Cork and her voice sang with her home accent.

"Hello, Tommy," she sang, "how are you this morning?"

"Oh, pulling the devil by the tail, Naomi," I said. "How are you? You look lovely today."

She blushed.

"Oh, go away with yourself," she said, "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"I actually don't, Naomi," I said, "but you do look beautiful, if you don't mind me saying."

With her head bent towards the counter she raised her big blue eyes and smiled at me through the fringe that had flopped across her eyes. She took my lodgement book and a few small cheques that I was lodging and beat them up with a hand stamper. I could picture her using that action on my penis and felt some life down below. She ran everything through her computer and handed me the lodgement slip to sign.

"Are you still afraid to come out with me. Naomi?" I said, "I don't bite."

"One of these days I'll say yes, Tommy Dunne," she said. "You'll be sorry then."

"Can that day be today?"

"No," she said, laughing, "you'll just have to wait."

So much for Grainne's Urn.

I smiled at her and left the window, as I walked out, I was summoned by Derek Hackett, the branch manager. I walked over to him, and he led me into his office, shook my hand and sat behind his desk. He bade me sit in the seat opposite him. We made some small talk, and he got to the point quickly.

"How's biz?" he asked.

"Not bad considering the past few years we've had," I said.

"What are you up to?"

I told him about the two jobs we had on site at that moment.

"How much is the Artane job?" he asked.

"€140K priced," I said.

"Will that be it?" he asked.

"No, it doesn't include a kitchen, sanitary ware or hardwood floors," I said, "I've €2.5K in for decoration but he's taking that back because a mate of his from the rugby club needs the work."

"Ok," he said. "Tommy, I need to talk to you about liquefying a few of your property holdings. Head-office are concerned about your overdraft and these two jobs won't make much of a dent in it."

"I know, Derek," I said. "The property market is stuck fast at the moment, as you know, but I have them out for sale. That's really all I can do."

"I might be able to help you out a little," he said. "You're a good lad and we're doing a revamp of this branch and three others in Artane, Fairview and Killester. The budget for each is a Fixed Price of €65K and if you're over that you won't get the job. Are you interested?"

"I'd have to see the plans first, Derek," I said, "I'm not in a position to take a hit."

"Ok, I'll have them here on Friday. Will you collect them then and work on it over the weekend?"

"I'll do my best, Derek, thanks."

"While I have you," he said then, "how much do I need to budget for a decent enough kitchen?"

"In your own house?"

"Yes."

"Any idea what she wants?"

"Who?"

"The missus," I said. "You can't tell me that this is your idea."

"I'll give you her number," he said. "Don't give her any notions of grandeur. I have five grand to spend."

"That'll get the doors at least," I said, "maybe a few handles too."

"I'll pay cash."

"Are you forgetting the conversation we just had about my dire financials?"

"Yeah, fuck off out of my sight, here's Donna's number," he said as he handed me a POST IT note.

I stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans and left him alone. I went about my business and arrived back at the job at 1:40. I handed the keys of my car to John and told him to get the cement out of the boot.

"I'm drinking my tea," he said.

I looked at my watch.

"It's 1:45," I said, "the lunch break is over."

He muttered a few oaths under his breath and trudged out to the car. Denis shook his head.

"Can you not leave him alone for a few minutes, Tom?" he said.

"When he's moaning about something he quotes the rules to me. Chapter and verse, Denis," I said. "I have rules too and they're union mandated."

He held his hands up in surrender, knowing I was right.

"What are we going to do next week when we haven't got him?" he said.

"Whacker is starting back on Monday," I said, "his wife is home from hospital."

"That's a nice coincidence," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "Whatever."

I heard a commotion at the door as Danny Brown rushed through it. He was breathless and smelled of Guinness and cigarettes.

"Minorah won at 12/1," he said, "what had you got him at?"

"Sixteens."

"Fuck, you won't be able to sleep until this is over." he said.

"Why not?"

"Sizing Europe is at the gate at 6/1."

"Is he favourite?"

"No, but there's a lot of money behind him," he said, "what have you got him at?"

"Tens."

"Not great, but acceptable," he said and ran back over to the pub to watch it.

Denis turned the radio on.

"Fuck you, Tommy," he said, "is this going to come up?"

"Fingers crossed, Denis," I said, "I could do with it."

"Yankees rarely come up," he said.

"Yeah, unfortunately," I said. "I don't know how I allowed that prick to talk me into it."

“How much will it pay?”

“Fuck off, Denis,” I said, “don’t even think about it.”

TBC