Minding Frankie

by Maeve Binchy

  “Right. You know what you can do and what you can’t, and no more behaving like some kind of private eye.”

  “I’m just watchful, that’s all,” Moira said.

  She went to Chestnut Court with her briefcase and clipboard. Noel was out, but Lisa was there. Moira went through the routine that had been agreed upon.

  “Who bathed her today?” she asked.

  “I did,” Lisa said proudly. “It’s quite hard on your own—they get so slippery, but she enjoyed it and she clapped her hands a lot.”

  The baby was clean and dry and powdered. Nothing to complain about there.

  “When is her next feed?” Moira asked.

  “In an hour’s time. I have the formula there and the bottles are sterilized.”

  Again, Moira could find no fault. She checked the number of nappies and whether the baby’s clothes had been aired.

  “Would you like a coffee?” Lisa suggested.

  Last time Moira had been rather swift and ungracious, so she decided she would say yes.

  “Or, actually, I’m exhausted. You don’t have a proper drink or anything? I could do with a glass of wine.”

  Lisa looked at her with a very level glance.

  “Oh, no, Moira. We don’t have any alcohol here. As you know, Noel has had a problem with it in the past so there’s nothing at all. You must know that—you were always asking about it before, hunting for bottles stacked away and everything.”

  Moira felt humbled. She had been so obvious. She was, indeed, like some kind of a private eye, except an inefficient one.

  “I forgot,” she lied.

  “No, you didn’t, but have a coffee anyway,” Lisa said, getting up from a table covered with papers and drawings to go to the kitchen.

  “Did I interrupt you?”

  “No, I was glad of the interruption. I was getting stale.”

  “Where’s Noel tonight?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Didn’t he say?”

  “No. We’re not married or anything. I think he went back to his parents’ house.”

  “And left you literally holding the baby?”

  “He’s given me a place to live. I’m very pleased to hold the baby for him. Very pleased indeed,” Lisa said.

  “And why exactly did you leave home?” Moira fell easily into interrogation mode.

  “We’ve been over this a lot, Moira. I told you then and I tell you now, it was for personal reasons. I am not a runaway teenager. I am a quarter of a century old. I don’t ask you why you left home, do I?”

  “This is different …,” Moira began.

  “It’s not remotely different and honestly it’s got nothing to do with the case. I know you have to look out for Frankie, and you do it very well, but I’m just the lodger helping out. My circumstances have nothing to do with anything.” She went into the kitchen and banged around for a while.

  Moira sought subjects that wouldn’t cause any further controversy. They were hard to find.

  “I met Fiona Carroll. You know … Johnny’s mother.”

  “Oh, yes?” Lisa said.

  “She said that you and Noel were doing a great job minding Frankie.”

  “Yes … well … good.”

  “Most impressed, she was.”

  “And were you surprised?” Lisa asked suddenly.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good, because I tell you I have such admiration for Noel. All this came out of a clear blue sky at him. He’s been very strong. I wouldn’t have anyone bad-mouthing him, not anyone at all.” She looked like a tiger defending her cub.

  Moira made a few bleating noises intended to suggest support and enthusiasm. She hoped she was giving the desired impression.

  Her next visit was to a family where they were trying to make an elderly father a ward of the court. To Moira, Gerald, the old man, was perfectly sane. Lonely and frail, certainly, but mad? No.

  His daughter and her husband were very anxious to have him defined as being incapable and sign his house over to them and then have him committed to a secure nursing home facility.

  Moira was having none of it. Gerald wanted to stay in his home and she was his champion. She picked up a stray remark from the son-in-law, something that made her think that the man had gambling debts. It would suit him nicely if his father-in-law were put away. They might even sell the house and buy a smaller place.

  It wouldn’t happen on Moira’s watch. Her clipboard was filled with notes for letters she would send to the relevant people. The son-in-law collapsed like a house of cards.

  The old man looked at Moira affectionately.

  “You’re better than having a bodyguard,” he said to her.

  Moira was very proud of this. This was exactly what she saw herself as being. She patted the old man’s hand.

  “I’ll get you a regular carer to come in and look after you. You can tell her if anyone steps out of line or anything. I’ll liaise with your doctor also. Let me see … that’s Dr. Carroll, isn’t it?”

  “It used to be Dr. Hat,” Gerald said. “Dr. Carroll is a very nice lad, certainly, but he could be my grandson, if you see what I mean. Dr. Hat was nearer to my own generation.”

  “And where is he?” Moira asked.

  “He comes in to their practice from time to time when they’re short-staffed,” the old man said sadly. “I always seem to miss him, though.”

  “I’ll find him for you,” Moira promised and went straightaway to the doctors’ group practice at the end of St. Jarlath’s Crescent.

  Dr. Carroll was there and happy to talk about Gerald.

  “I think he’s totally on the ball and playing with the full deck.”

  “His family think otherwise.” Moira was terse.

  “Well, they would, wouldn’t they? That son-in-law would do anything to get his hands on the family checkbook.”

  “That’s my view too,” Moira said. “Can I ask you—does Dr. Hat do house calls?”

  “No, not really. He’s retired, but he does the odd locum for us. Why do you ask?”

  Moira chose her words carefully for once.

  “He thinks very highly of you, Doctor. He said that several times, but I think he finds Dr.… er … Hat more in his age group.”

  “Lord, he must be fifteen years older than Hat!”

  “Yes, but he’s fifty years older than you, Doctor.”

  “Hat’s a very decent man. He might well go round and see your Gerald as a social visit from time to time. I’ll tell him.”

  “Could I tell him, do you think?” Moira had a history of people promising to do things that they fully intended to do but that never got done.

  “Of course. I’ll give you his address.”

  For Declan Carroll it was just one less thing to do. She was efficient, this Moira Tierney, and dedicated to her job. Such a pity that she had taken so against poor Noel, who was breaking his back trying to keep the show on the road.

  Dr. Hat was indeed wearing headgear: a smart navy cap with a peak. He welcomed Moira in warmly and offered her a cup of hot chocolate.

  “You don’t know what I’m here about yet,” she said cautiously. Maybe he would find this intrusive. She didn’t want to accept a hot chocolate under false pretenses.

  “Yes, I do. Declan called me so that I could be prepared.”

  “That was courteous of him,” Moira said, though she would have preferred to handle this on her own.

  “I like Gerald. I have no problem going to see him. In fact, we could play chess. I’d like that.”

  Moira’s shoulders relaxed. She would have the hot chocolate now. Sometimes things worked out well at work. Not always, but sometimes. Like now.

  Just after she got back to her flat there was a phone call from home. Her brother, Pat, never called her usually: she was alarmed. She knew from experience that there was no point in hurrying him. He would take his time. “It’s Dad,” he said eventually. “He’s selling everything—the house, the land, th
e livestock. He’s moved out.”

  “Moved out where?”

  “He’s up with Mrs. Kennedy. He’s not coming back.”

  “Well, can’t you bring him back?”

  “I did once and he wasn’t best pleased,” Pat said. “Couldn’t you do something, Moira?”

  “God Almighty, Pat, I’m two hundred miles away. You and Da have to sort this out between you. Go on up to Mrs. Kennedy. Find out what he’s up to. I’ll come down next weekend and see what’s going on.”

  “But,” Pat asked, “what am I to do? I’ll have nowhere to go.”

  “Why would he want to sell the farm?” Moira was impatient.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Pat.

  Moira sat in her chair for a while thinking about what to do. She knew how to run everyone else’s lives but not her own. Eventually she pulled herself together and got on the phone. She had kept Mrs. Kennedy’s number in her huge address book in case she ever needed to contact her father when he was chopping wood up there. She asked could she speak to her father and, to use Pat’s phrase, he certainly was not best pleased with the call.

  “Why are you bothering me here?” he asked querulously.

  “I’ll be down next weekend. I need to see you, Dad. We need to talk about all this.…” And she hung up before she could learn exactly how displeased her father was with this call.

  Clara Casey turned out to be a friend rather than a foe. In fact, she even suggested that Moira come to lunch with her one day. This was not the norm at work. Her team leader would never have suggested a social lunch.

  Moira was surprised, but very pleased. She was even more pleased when the restaurant turned out to be Quentins. Moira had thought they would go somewhere in the shopping precinct.

  Clara was obviously known in the place. Moira had never been there before.

  It was amazingly elegant, and Brenda Brennan, the proprietor, recommended the monkfish: it was beautifully prepared in a saffron sauce.

  “I don’t suppose this restaurant is feeling any bad effects of the recession,” Clara said to Brenda.

  “Don’t you believe it. They’re all drawing in their horns. Plus we have a rival now. Anton Moran is getting a lot of business for his place.”

  “I read about it in the papers. Is he good?” Clara asked.

  “Very. Huge flair and a great manner.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Yes, he worked here once and came back to do the odd shift. A real heartbreaker—he has half the women in Dublin at his beck and call.”

  Moira was thoughtful. Surely this was the name of the young man whom Lisa Kelly had a relationship with? She had mentioned his name more than once. Moira smiled to herself. For once, it looked as if Lisa might not find the world going entirely her way.

  Clara was easy company. She asked questions and was helpful about Moira’s brother.

  “You might want to stay there Monday morning and catch people at work,” Clara said. “We can change your days around—no problem.”

  Moira wished they didn’t have to go back to the clinic. It would have been lovely to have had a bottle of wine and a real conversation where Clara could tell her about the other people who worked in the clinic and maybe even about this friendship she had with Frank Ennis, which seemed entirely improbable. But it was an ordinary working day. They each had one drink, a mixture of wine and mineral water, and they didn’t linger over the meal.

  Moira had learned little about Clara, except that she was long divorced from her husband and she had two married daughters: one working on an ecology project in South America and the other running a big CD and DVD store. She had originally taken on the heart clinic for one year, but it was now her baby and she would let nobody, particularly anyone like Frank Ennis, take away one single vestige of its power or authority.

  Clara was particularly sympathetic about Moira’s mother having died. She said her own mother was straight out of hell, but she knew that this was not the case with everyone. Hilary, back at the clinic, had been heartbroken when her own mother had died.

  Moira was to take the time she needed to sort out her family problems. It was as simple as that.

  · · ·

  Of course it wasn’t simple when she got back home to Liscuan. Moira had known that it wouldn’t be. Pat had completely broken down. He hadn’t milked the cows, he hadn’t fed the hens, he babbled about his father’s plan to sell the family home from under him and move in with Mrs. Kennedy. This did indeed appear to be the case.

  Moira asked her father straight out. “Pat has probably got this all wrong, Da, but he thinks that you have plans to move in permanently with Mrs. Kennedy and sell this place.”

  “That’s right,” her father said. “I intend to go and live with Mrs. Kennedy.”

  “And what about Pat?”

  “I’m selling up.” He shrugged, gazing around at the shabby kitchen. “Look around you, Moira. I can’t do it anymore. I’ve dealt with this all my life while you were having a fine time up in Dublin. I deserve a bit of happiness now.”

  With every single client in her caseload, Moira knew what to do. She had known how to set things in order for Kitty Reilly, Judy and Lar at the heart clinic. Why was her own situation so totally impossible?

  She spent the Monday helping Pat to look for accommodation. Then she wished her father well with Mrs. Kennedy and took the train back to Dublin.

  In Chestnut Court, Frankie was crying again. Noel was beginning to think that he would never know what the crying meant. Some nights she didn’t sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. There was one level for food, but she’d just been fed and burped. Perhaps it was more wind. Carefully, he picked up his daughter and laid her against his shoulder, patting her back gently. She cried on. He sat down and laid her chest across his arm while he rubbed her little back to soothe her.

  “Frankie, Frankie, please don’t cry, little one, hush now, hush now …” Nothing. Noel was aware that his voice was sounding increasingly anxious as Frankie cried on piteously. Perhaps for a nappy that needed changing? Could it be a changing job?

  He was right. The nappy was indeed damp. Carefully he placed the baby on a towel spread over the table where they changed her. As soon as he removed her wet nappy, the crying stopped and he was rewarded with a sunny smile and a coo.

  “You, my pet,” he said, smiling back at her, “are going to have to learn how to communicate. It’s no good just wailing. I’m no good at understanding what you want.”

  Frankie blew bubbles and reached up towards the paper birds flying from the mobile above her head. As Noel stretched out his hand to reach for the cleaning wipes, to his horror she twisted away from him and began to slip off the table.

  Quick as he was, he was not in time.

  It felt as though everything were happening in slow motion as the baby began to fall from the table. As Noel froze in horror, she hit the chair beside, then fell to the floor. There was blood around her head as she started to scream.

  “Frankie, please, Frankie,” he wept incoherently as he picked her up and clutched her to him. He couldn’t tell if she was hurt or where she was hurt or how badly. Panic overwhelmed him. “No, please, dear God, no, don’t take her away from me, make her be all right. Frankie, little Frankie, please, please …”

  It was a few moments before he pulled himself together and called an ambulance.

  Just as the train was pulling into Dublin, Moira got a text message on her cell phone.

  There had been an accident. Frankie had cut her head. Noel had taken her to the A&E of St. Brigid’s Hospital, and he thought he should let Moira know.

  She took the bus straight from the railway station to St. Brigid’s. She had known that this would happen, but she felt no satisfaction at being proved right. Just anger, a great anger that everyone else’s bleeding-heart philosophy said that a drunk and a flighty young girl could be left responsible for raising a child.

  It had been an accident waitin
g to happen.

  She found a white-faced Noel at the hospital. He was almost babbling with relief.

  “They say it’s just a deep graze and she’ll have a bruise. Thank God! There was so much blood I couldn’t imagine what it was.”

  “How did it happen?” Moira’s voice was like a knife cutting across his words.

  “She rolled over when I was changing her and fell off the table,” he said.

  “You let her fall from the table?” Moira managed to sound taken aback and full of blame at the same time.

  “She hit the chair.… It sort of broke her fall.” Noel was aware of how desperate this sounded.

  “This is intolerable, Noel.”

  “Don’t I know that, Moira? I did the best I could. I called an ambulance straightaway and brought her here.”

  “Why didn’t you get Dr. Carroll? He was nearer.”

  “I saw all the blood. I thought it was an emergency and that he’d probably have to send her here anyway.”

  “And where was your partner while all this was going on?”

  “Partner?”

  “Lisa Kelly.”

  “Oh, she had to go out. She wasn’t there.”

  “And why did you let the child fall?”

  “I didn’t let her fall. She twisted away from me. I told you.…” Noel looked frightened and almost faint from the stress of it all.

  “God, Noel, we’re talking about a defenseless baby here.”

  “I know that. Why do you think I’m so worried?”

  “So, what caused you to let her fall? That’s what it was—you let her fall. Was your mind distracted?”

  “No, no, it wasn’t.”

  “Did you have a little drink, maybe?”

  “No, I did not have a little drink or a big drink, though by God I could do with one now. It put the heart across me and of course I feel guilty but now I have you yapping at me as if I threw the child on the floor.”

  “I’m not suggesting that. I realize that it was an accident. I am just trying to work out how it happened.”

  “It won’t happen again,” Noel said.

  “How do we know this?” Moira spoke gently, as if she were talking to someone of low intelligence.