by Maeve Binchy
“We know because we are going to move the table up against the wall,” Noel said.
“And we didn’t think of this sooner?”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Can I have a word with Lisa when we get back to Chestnut Court? I’d like to go over some of the routines with her once more.”
“I told you, she’s gone away.”
“But she’ll be back, won’t she?”
“Not for a couple of days. Anton has been asked to take part in a celebrity chef thing in London and it’s going to be televised. He’s taking Lisa with him.”
“Is this Anton happy about his girlfriend living with you, do you think, Noel?”
“I never thought about it one way or the other. It suits her. He knows we aren’t a couple in that sense. Why do you ask?”
“It’s my business to make sure Frankie grows up in a stable household,” Moira said righteously.
“Yes, sure. Well, now that you’re here, will you help me get her to the bus stop?”
“How do you mean?”
“You know, open doors for me and things. I didn’t bring her pram, you see. I was afraid I wouldn’t get it into the taxi.”
Moira went ahead of him, opening doors and assisting him through the maze of corridors. He did seem concerned and worried about the child. Maybe this was the wake-up shock he needed. But she must be very firm with him. Moira had found over the years that firmness always paid off in the end.
· · ·
Noel didn’t want to let the baby out of his grasp. He lay back in his chair with Frankie clutched to his chest.
“You’re going to be just fine, Frankie,” he said over and over as he rocked her in his arms. If only he could have a drink to steady his nerves. He contemplated calling Malachy, but he was all right. The child was more important than the drink. He would manage.
“Here, Frankie, I’m going to stop talking to myself, I’m going to read you a story,” he said. He put all the concentration in the world into reading her a story about a bird that had fallen out of its nest. It all ended very happily. It worked for Noel: it drove all thought of a large whiskey way out of his mind.
It worked for Frankie too, as she fell into a deep sleep.
Three days later Lisa Kelly phoned her.
“Oh, Moira, Noel asked me to call you. He said you want to go over some of Frankie’s routines with me.”
“Did you have a good time in London?” Moira asked.
“So-so. What routines did you want to discuss?”
“The usual: bath time, feeding, changing. You know she had an accident while you were away?”
“Yes. Poor Noel is like a hen on a hot griddle about it all. No harm done, I gather.”
“Not this time, but it’s not good for a baby to fall on its head.”
“Well, I know that, but Declan has been round and he says she’s fine.”
Moira was pleased she had obviously scared Noel enough to make him aware of the gravity of it all.
“And did your friend do well in the celebrity chef thing?”
“No, not as well as he should have. But then I’m sure you read that in the papers.”
“I thought I saw something, yes.”
“It was all totally slanted the wrong way. You see, this woman April turned up out of the blue there, talking about column inches and potential. She knows nothing really, except how to get her own name into the papers.”
“Yes, I saw she was mentioned. I was a little surprised. Noel told me that you had gone to assist him, but it made it seem as if she did all the work.”
“If drinking cocktails and handing people her business card is work then she did a lot of that, all right,” Lisa said. Then she pulled herself together. “But about this routine you wanted?”
“I’ll call round this evening,” Moira said.
Not for the first time Lisa told Noel that Moira’s social life must be the most empty and dull canvas in the whole world.
“Let’s ask Emily to be here. She can take some of the heat away from us,” Noel suggested.
“Good idea,” Lisa agreed. “I was going to ask Katie to come to supper. The more lines of defense we can draw up, the easier it will be for us coping with Generalissimo Moira.”
Moira was surprised to see the little flat full of people. She wished that she had not been wearing the heather-colored suit she had bought from St. Jarlath’s Thrift Shop. Now they would know that she had sent her friend Dolores to make the purchase!
Noel showed her the new positioning of the table. He stood obediently while she measured the formula out, even though he had been doing these bottles perfectly for months. Frankie went off to sleep obediently like a textbook baby.
“Please join us for some supper this time, Moira,” Lisa suggested. “I put two extra drumsticks in for you.”
“No, really, thank you.”
“Oh, do, for God’s sake, Moira. Otherwise we’ll all fight over the extra bits,” Lisa’s sister, Katie, said.
They sat down and Lisa produced a very tasty supper. Moira decided that for a brainless blonde she did have some skills. But then, of course, she was a chef’s girlfriend.
Katie was practical and down-to-earth. She showed them pictures of her trip to Istanbul and talked affectionately of her husband, Garry.
Neither she nor Lisa talked about their home life. But then, to be fair, Moira told herself, she didn’t talk about her home life much either.
Instead they talked about Noel and Lisa’s lectures, and when Katie mentioned that Father Flynn was away visiting his mother in Rossmore, Noel mentioned that he’d first met the priest when he used to bring Stella cigarettes in hospital.
“Hardly a helpful thing to do under the circumstances.” Moira was very disapproving.
“Stella’s view was that it was already way too late and she just wanted to enjoy the last bit,” Noel said.
“Why don’t the clergy provide the priest with a place to live? They do have these flats, I believe.…” Moira needed to know the answer to everything.
“He doesn’t want that. Says it’s like living in a religious community and he’s more of a lone bird, really.”
“And why didn’t you go and stay in Katie’s flat, Lisa, rather than here?” Moira asked.
Lisa looked at her impatiently. “Are you ever off the job, Moira?” she asked, annoyed.
Emily stepped in to make peace. “Moira has all the best qualities of a social worker, Lisa. She is very interested in people.” And then she turned to Moira. “Father Flynn was installed before Lisa needed to move. That’s right, isn’t it?” She looked around her good-naturedly.
“That’s it.” Lisa was brief.
“Exactly.” Katie was even briefer.
It would have been churlish to ask any more, like why Lisa had needed to move, so very reluctantly Moira decided to leave it there. Instead she said that the chicken was delicious.
“Just olives, garlic and tomatoes,” Lisa said, pleased. “I learned it from Emily, actually.”
They seemed a normal enough group and there was no sign of alcohol anywhere during the meal. Moira sometimes wished she didn’t have such a strong instinct for when things were going to go wrong. And she had felt this about Noel from the very beginning.
Anton’s restaurant was advertising Saturday lunches. Moira decided to invite Dr. Casey, to return the hospitality at Quentins.
“There’s no need, Moira,” Clara had said.
“No, of course not, but I’d enjoy it. Please say yes.”
It didn’t suit Clara at all. Normally she had an easy lunch with Frank Ennis on a Saturday and then they went to the cinema or a matinee at the theater. Sometimes they went to an art exhibit. It had become a relaxed and undemanding routine. But what the hell, she could meet him later.
“That would be delightful, Moira,” she said.
Moira booked the table. She would like to have that easy confidence that Clara had. She would like it if they knew her in
Anton’s and made a fuss of her, as had happened with Clara in Quentins. But that would never happen.
When she went to make the table reservation she was greeted by Anton himself. He was indeed very charming. Small and handsome in a boyish way, he pointed around the room.
“Where would you like to sit, Ms. Tierney? I’d love to give you the nicest table in the room,” he said.
She pointed out a table.
“Excellent choice. You can see and be seen there. Are you inviting a friend?”
“Well, my boss, actually. She’s a doctor in a heart clinic.”
“Well, we’ll make sure you both have a good time,” he said.
Moira left feeling ten years younger and much more attractive. No wonder this girl Lisa was so besotted with the boy. Anton was truly something special.
· · ·
And he had not forgotten that they were to be well looked after. As soon as she entered the restaurant, she was greeted as though she were a regular and valued customer.
“Ah, Ms. Tierney!” Teddy said, as she gave him her name. “Anton said to look out for you and to offer you and your guest a house cocktail.”
“Lord, I don’t think so,” Clara said.
“Why not? It’s free.” Moira giggled.
And they sipped a colored glass of something that had fresh mint and ice and soda, some exotic liqueur and probably a triple serving of vodka.
“Thank God it’s Saturday,” Clara said. “Nobody could have gone back to work after one of these house cocktails.”
It was a very pleasant lunch. Clara talked about her daughter Linda, who was very anxious to have a child and had been having fertility treatment for eighteen months without success.
“Any babies coming up for adoption in your line of business?” Clara asked.
Moira gave the question serious attention. “There might be,” she said, “a little girl, a few months old now.”
“Well, I mean is she available for adoption or not?” Clara was a cut-and-dried person.
“Not at the moment, but I don’t think she’s going to last long in the present setup,” Moira explained.
“Why? Are they cruel to her?”
“No, not at all. They are just not able to manage properly.”
“But do they love her? I mean they’ll never give her up if they are mad about her.”
“They might have no choice in it,” Moira said.
“I won’t tell Linda anything about it in case. No point in raising her hopes,” Clara said.
“No. If and when it does come up, I’ll let you know immediately.”
Then they chatted about the various patients who came to the heart clinic. Moira asked about Clara’s friend Frank Ennis and learned that he was a very decent man in most ways, but had a blind spot about saving St. Brigid’s money.
Clara asked did Moira have anyone in her life and Moira said no because she had always been too busy. They touched briefly on Clara’s ex-husband, Alan, who was the lowest of the low, and on Moira’s father, now happily settled in with Mrs. Kennedy, who had asked only for one more crack at happiness and seemed to have found it.
Just as Moira was paying the bill, Anton came in accompanied by a very pretty girl who looked about twenty. He came over to their table.
“Ms. Tierney, I hope everything was all right for you?” he said.
“Lovely,” Moira said. “This is Dr. Casey.… Clara, this is Anton Moran.”
“It was all delicious,” Clara said. “I will certainly tell people about it.”
“That’s what we need.” Anton had an easy charm.
Moira looked at the young woman expectantly.
Eventually Anton broke and introduced her. “This is April Monaghan,” he said.
“Oh, I read about you in the papers. You were in London recently,” Moira said, gushing slightly.
“That’s right,” April agreed.
“It’s just that I know a great friend of yours. A great friend, Lisa Kelly, and she was there too at the same time.”
“Yeah, she was,” April agreed.
Anton’s smile never faltered.
“How exactly do you know Lisa, Ms. Tierney?”
“Through work. I’m a social worker,” Moira said, surprised at herself for answering so readily.
“I thought social workers didn’t discuss their cases in public.” His smile was still there, but not in his eyes.
“No, no, Lisa isn’t a client. I just know her sort of through something else.…” Moira was flustered now. She could sense Clara’s disapproval. Why had she brought up this matter, anyway? It was in order to fill in the missing parts of the jigsaw in Chestnut Court. The unaccustomed house cocktail and the bottle of wine had loosened her tongue. Now she had somehow managed to spoil the whole day.
Everything settled into a routine at the heart clinic. Clara Casey seemed pleased by Moira’s input and could not fault her in terms of diligence and following up everything that needed to be checked. But the warmth had gone. Moira did not feel as included as she had thought herself to be.
The others were all welcoming, but Clara seemed to have lost respect for her. Moira had seen some forms on Hilary’s desk asking whether the part-time social worker was to be a permanent position. Clara had attached a note.
“Tell them not yet. Position is still under review.”
So Clara Casey didn’t really trust her just because of a stupid, tactless slip in the restaurant. Moira redoubled her efforts on all fronts.
She got Gerald full-time care in his home, to the great annoyance of his daughter and son-in-law. She had saved him from going to the old people’s home, which he had dreaded, and he told everyone she was a knight in shining armor. She managed to get children of a drug addict mother fostered in a happy home where they had warmth and toys and regular meals for the first time in their lives. She found a teenage runaway sleeping rough under a bridge by the river and invited her home for soup and a good talking-to. The girl slept for seventeen hours on Moira’s sofa and then went back like an obedient lamb to her family home.
She managed to frighten a couple who were signing on for unemployment benefits at the same time as making a very reasonable living from a sandwich bar and to terrify a factory owner who was paying much less than the minimum rate with threats of major publicity. She had even managed to get her brother, Pat, into not only sheltered housing but a sheltered workshop doing woodwork as well.
Her father had agreed to sell his house and divide the money among himself and his two children. Mrs. Kennedy had apparently thought this was highly satisfactory and was busy planning a new kitchen. So there were some areas of Moira’s life that were a great success.
But not all. Maybe she was just too ambitious about her success rate.
Her father’s house did not fetch a big price at the auction. It was a small holding and this was the wrong time to sell. But it did mean that she had the deposit for a house. She must look around for somewhere to live.
“Make sure you get a place with a small garden,” Emily advised.
“Have it be somewhere near a tram or a bus,” said Hilary, who managed the heart clinic with the same practical sense.
“Buy a dilapidated sort of house and do it up,” said Johnny, who did the exercise routines at the heart clinic.
“Get a nice, modern place that isn’t falling to bits,” said Gerald, who seemed to have a new lease on life and whose brain cells seemed to be working at full power.
She called at Noel’s family home in St. Jarlath’s Crescent, as she did from time to time. It was easier than facing Noel and Lisa in Chestnut Court, where they both seemed very resentful of her role in anything. At least Emily and Noel’s parents could have a civilized conversation.
“This is exactly the kind of street I would like to live in,” Moira said. “Do you know of any houses coming up for sale in the area?”
Emily knew that Noel wouldn’t like Moira, who was regarded as “the enemy,” moving closer to him
and being a neighbor of his parents.
“I’ve heard nothing of anyone moving,” Emily said, and, as they did so often, Josie and Charles took their lead from her.
“It’s nice to think that people would want to come to live here,” Josie said, heading off down memory lane. “When Charles and I were young it was regarded as the last place on earth.”
“Maybe Declan would know of someone thinking about moving …,” Emily said.
She knew very well that Declan and Fiona had no great love for Moira, and thought her unnecessarily interfering in Noel’s efforts to make a reliable home for himself and Frankie. Even if Declan knew that half the street was for sale, he wouldn’t give the news to Moira.
Moira asked politely about the campaign for the statue to St. Jarlath and Josie and Charles showed her some quotes they had from sculptors. Bronze was very expensive, but they hoped they might be able to afford it.
“Do you have a particular devotion to St. Jarlath, by any chance?” Josie was always hopeful of recruiting others to the cause.
“Admiration, certainly,” Moira murmured, “but devotion might be putting it a bit strongly.”
Emily hid her smile. When Moira was being diplomatic you could see she’d be good at her job. What a pity she couldn’t see what huge strides Noel was making. Why did she have to behave like a policeman with him rather than an encourager and someone he could turn to if there were any problems? As usual, Emily wrote it all to her friend Betsy back in New York. Somehow, typing it on her laptop made it seem clearer.
Honestly, Bets, you just have to get yourself over here. When you and Eric get married, as you will, sooner rather than later, I hope, you will need a honeymoon. Find a good airfare and I’ll find you somewhere to stay. But you have to meet this cast. Noel and his little girl. A changed man, he hasn’t had a drink in months and he’s working his butt off in this dreary company and he is keeping up with his lectures too.
He and a slightly kooky girl named Lisa live like an old married couple in their apartment, taking care of the child and studying for their diploma. There’s no sex because she is involved with some society guy—a celebrity chef, no less! They are being stalked by this social worker, Moira. She is doing her job, but she sort of hides in their garden and pounces on them, hoping to catch them at something.
