Minding Frankie

by Maeve Binchy

  “If I start talking medical jargon, Dr. Carroll can turn it into ordinary English,” he said with a smile.

  “Declan is the first person who grew up on our street who became a professional man,” Muttie said proudly.

  “That so? I was the first in my family to get a degree too. I bet they have a great graduation picture of you at home.” Dr. Harris seemed genuinely interested.

  “It replaces the Sacred Heart lamp.” Declan grinned.

  “Right, Mr. Scarlet, let’s not waste your time here while we go down memory lane.” Dr. Harris came back to the main point. “You’ve been to St. Brigid’s and they’ve given me a very clear picture of your lungs. There are no gray areas—it’s black-and-white. You have a large and growing tumor in your left lung and secondary tumors in your liver.”

  Declan noted that there was a carafe of water on the desk and a glass. Dr. Harris poured one for Muttie, who was uncharacteristically silent.

  “So, now, Mr. Scarlet, we have to see how best to manage this.”

  Muttie was still wordless.

  “Will an operation be an option?” Declan asked.

  “No, not at this stage. It’s a choice between radiotherapy and chemotherapy at the moment and arranging palliative care at home or in a hospice.”

  “What’s palliative care?” Muttie spoke for the first time.

  “It’s nurses who are trained to deal with diseases like yours. They are marvelous, very understanding people who know all about it.”

  “Have they got it themselves?” Muttie asked.

  “No, but they have been well trained and they know a lot about it from nursing other people—what patients want and how to give you the best quality of life.”

  Muttie thought about this for a moment. “The quality of life I want is to live for a long, long time with Lizzie, to see all my children again, to see the twins well settled in a business or good jobs and to watch my grandson Thomas Muttance Feather grow up into a fine young man. I’d like to walk my dog, Hooves, for years to the pub, where I meet my Associates, and go to the races about three times a year. That would be a great quality of life.”

  Declan saw Dr. Harris remove his glasses for a moment and concentrate on cleaning them. When he trusted himself to speak again he said, “And you will be able to do a good deal of that for a time. So let’s look forward to that.”

  “Not live for a long, long time, though?”

  “Not for a long, long time, Mr. Scarlet, no. So the important thing is how we use what time is left.”

  “How long?”

  “It’s difficult to say exactly.…”

  “How long?”

  “Months. Six months? Maybe longer, if we’re lucky.…”

  “Well, thank you, Dr. Harris. I must say you’ve been very clear. Not worth hundreds of euros, but you were straight and you were kind as well. How much exactly do I owe you?” Muttie took his wallet from his pocket and laid it on the desk.

  Dr. Harris didn’t even look at it. “No, no, Mr. Scarlet, you were brought here by Dr. Carroll, a fellow doctor. There’s a tradition that we never charge fellow doctors for a consultation.”

  “But there’s nothing wrong with Declan,” Muttie said, confused.

  “You’re his friend. He brought you here. He could have gone to other specialists. Please accept this for what it is, normal procedure, and put that away. I will write my report and recommendations to Dr. Carroll, who will look after you very well.”

  Dr. Harris saw them to the lift. Declan noticed him shake his head at the receptionist as she was about to present the bill and Declan breathed a little more easily. Now all he had to do was to keep Noel on the wagon and, more immediately, go home with Muttie and help him tell Lizzie.

  Thank God Hat was able to keeps things going until he got back to his surgery.

  · · ·

  Fiona knew there was something wrong the moment he came in the door.

  “Declan, you’re white as a sheet! What happened? Was it Noel?”

  “I love you, Fiona, and I love Johnny,” he said, head in his hands.

  “Ah, God, Declan, what is it?”

  “It’s Muttie.”

  “What’s happened to him? Declan, tell me in the name of God.…”

  “He has just a few months,” Declan said.

  “Never!” She was so shocked she had to sit down.

  “Yes. I was at the specialist this morning with him.”

  “I thought you were taking him to the bank.”

  “I did, so that he could get the money for a specialist.”

  “Muttie went private? God, he must have been worried,” Fiona said.

  “I hijacked him into it, but the specialist waived the fee.”

  “Why on earth did he do that?”

  “Because Muttie is Muttie,” Declan said.

  “He’ll have to tell Lizzie,” Fiona said.

  “It’s done. I was there.” Declan looked stricken.

  “And?”

  “It was as bad as you’d think. Worse. Lizzie said she still had so many things to do with Muttie. She had been planning to take him to the Grand National in Liverpool. You know, Fiona, Muttie’s never going to make it to Aintree.”

  And then he sobbed like a child.

  Maud and Simon, who had grown up with Muttie and Lizzie and hardly remembered any former life, were heartbroken.

  “It’s not as if he were really old,” Maud said.

  “Sixty is meant to be only middle-aged nowadays,” Simon agreed.

  “Remember the cake we made for his birthday?”

  “ ‘Sixty Glorious Years.’ ”

  “We’ll have to put off going to America,” Maud said.

  “We can’t do that. What if they won’t keep the job for us?” Simon was very anxious.

  “There will be other jobs. Later, you know, afterwards.” Maud didn’t want them to go.

  But Simon wasn’t willing to let it go easily. “It’s such a chance, Maud. He’d want us to have it. We’ll be earning a big salary. We could send him money.”

  “When was Muttie ever interested in money?”

  “I know … you’re right. I was just trying to think of excuses, really,” Simon admitted.

  “So let’s try to get shifts in good Dublin restaurants.”

  “They’d never take us on. We don’t have enough experience.”

  “Oh, come on, Simon, don’t be such a defeatist. We have terrific recommendations and references from all the people we did catering for. I bet they’ll take us on.”

  “Where will we start?”

  “I think we should invest a little money first, have dinner somewhere like Quentins, Colm’s or Anton’s. You know, top places. And we’d regard it as research, keep our eyes open and then go back and ask for a job.”

  “It seems a heartless sort of thing to be doing when poor Muttie is in such bad shape.”

  “It’s better than going to the other side of the earth,” Maud said.

  They would start with Colm’s up in Tara Road. They chose the cheapest items on the menu, but took notes on everything: the way the waiters served, how they offered the wine for tasting, the way the cheeses were brought to the table and how they were sliced according to the customers’ wishes, with some advice from the waiter.

  “We had better learn our cheeses before trying here,” Maud whispered.

  “That’s the head guy there.” Simon pointed out Colm, the owner.

  He came to their table. “Nice to see a younger set coming in,” he said, welcoming them.

  “We’re in the catering business ourselves,” Maud said suddenly.

  “Really?”

  Simon was annoyed. They hadn’t planned to blurt it out so quickly. Now they had exposed themselves as spies and not real diners.

  “We have terrific recommendations and I was wondering if we could leave you our business card. Just in case you were short-staffed.”

  “Thank you. Of course I’ll keep it. Here, are you
any relation of Cathy Mitchell of Scarlet Feather?”

  “Yes, she trained us,” Maud said proudly.

  “She was married to a cousin of ours, Neil Mitchell.” Simon saw no need to explain the situation any further.

  “Well, well, if Cathy trained you, you must be great! But I won’t have anything just for the moment. My partner’s daughter Annie—that’s her over there—she’s just started here, so we’re fairly well covered at the moment. Still, I’ll put your names in the book.” Then he retired to the kitchen.

  “He was nice,” Maud whispered.

  “Yeah, I hope he won’t go checking up with Cathy on us just now. She’s very upset about Muttie and it would look a bit heartless.”

  They decided on chemotherapy for Muttie, and by this stage everyone in St. Jarlath’s Crescent knew about him and had a variety of cures. Josie and Charles Lynch said that in recognition for Muttie’s interest in the campaign for his statue, St. Jarlath would put in a word for him. Dr. Hat said that he would be happy to drive Muttie to the pub any evening he wanted to go. Hat wouldn’t stay, but he’d come back and pick him up later. Emily Lynch managed to distract Muttie by planting winter-color shrubs in his garden.

  “But will I be still here to see them, Emily?” he asked one day.

  “Oh, come on, Muttie. The great gardeners of history always knew that someone would see them. That’s what it’s all about.”

  “That makes sense,” Muttie said, and put aside any thought of self-pity.

  Declan’s own parents saw that there was a half leg of lamb left over at the end of the day or four fillet steaks.

  Cathy came by every day, often with something to eat.

  “We made far too many of these little salmon tarts, Dad. Mam, you’d be helping me out if you were to take them.”

  Often she brought her son, Thomas, with her. He was a lively lad and kept Muttie well entertained.

  In fact, it was all going better than Declan could have hoped. He had thought that the normally cheerful Muttie would fall into a serious depression. But it was far from being the case. Declan’s father said that Muttie was still the life and soul up at the pub and he had the same number of pints as ever on the grounds that there wasn’t much damage they could do to him now.

  Declan wrote to the specialist, Dr. Harris.

  You were so kind and gracious when I brought Muttie Scarlet to a consultation. Your gesture about the fees was so appreciated that I thought you would like to know he is making very good progress, keeping his spirits up and generally living each day to the full.

  You and your positive attitude have contributed greatly to this, and I thank you most sincerely.

  Declan Carroll

  Mr. Harris responded by return.

  Dr. Carroll,

  I was glad to hear from you. I have friends who run a general practice and they are looking for a new partner. They asked me could I recommend anyone and I immediately thought of you. It’s in a very attractive part of Dublin and would come with accommodation, which would be available for purchase, if required. I have attached some details for your interest.

  These are very good, concerned people and just because their neighbourhood is affluent does not mean that their patients are rich people with hypochondria. They are sick and worried like people everywhere.

  Let me know if it interests you, and send me your CV, and it can be arranged. Sooner rather than later, they tell me.

  I will never forget your friend Muttie Scarlet. Only occasionally in life do you come across a genuinely good person like that. Someone with no disguises whatsoever.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Sincerely,

  James Harris

  Declan had to read the letter three times before it sank in. He was being offered a place in one of the most prestigious practices in the whole of Dublin. A house with a big garden and a posh school for Johnny. It was the kind of post he might have tried for in ten years’ time. But now! Before he was thirty! It was too much to take onboard. Fiona had gone to work when the letter arrived so he couldn’t share the news. Emily had come to pick up Johnny and wheel him up to Noel’s to collect Frankie. Today the children were going to the thrift shop for the morning and back here to his parents’ in the afternoon. The system ran like clockwork and Noel seemed to be back on track also.

  Declan’s surgery began at ten so he would have time to call in to Muttie and discuss the palliative-care nurse who was arriving for the first time today. Declan knew the nurse. She was an experienced, gentle woman called Jessica, trained in making the abnormal seem reasonable and quick to anticipate anything that might be needed.

  “He’s his own man, Jessica,” Declan had warned her. “He might tell you there’s nothing wrong with him at all.”

  “I know, Declan, relax. We’ll get on fine together.” And Declan knew that they would.

  · · ·

  Moira was bustling down St. Jarlath’s Crescent when Declan went out. She seemed surgically attached to her clipboard of notes. Declan had never seen her without them. He waved and kept walking, but she stopped him. She clearly had something on her mind.

  “Where are you heading?” he asked easily.

  “I heard there was a house for sale in this street,” Moira said. “I’ve always wanted a little garden. Do you know anything about it? It’s Number Twenty-two.”

  Declan thought quickly; it belonged to an old lady who was going into an old people’s home, but it was exactly next door to Noel’s parents. Noel would not welcome that.

  “Might be in poor condition,” Declan said. “She was a bit of a recluse.”

  “Well, that might make it cheaper,” Moira said cheerfully. She looked nice when she smiled.

  “Noel still okay?” she asked.

  “Well, you actually see him more than I do, Moira,” Declan said.

  “Yes, well, it’s my job. But he can be a little touchy at times, don’t you find?”

  “Touchy? No, I never found that.”

  “Just one day there recently, he actually pushed my notes out of my hands and shouted at me.”

  “What was all that about?”

  “About someone called Dingo Duggan who had been appointed as an extra babysitter. I asked about him and Noel shouted at me that he was a ‘decent poor eejit’ and used most abusive language. It was quite intolerable.”

  Declan looked at her steadily. So that was what had tilted Noel that night. He hardly trusted himself to speak.

  “Is anything wrong, Declan?” she asked. “I get the feeling that I am not being told everything.”

  Declan swallowed. Soon he would be far away from Moira and Noel and St. Jarlath’s Crescent. He reminded himself he must not explode and leave behind him a trail of confusion and bad feeling.

  “I’m sure you were able to handle it very well, Moira,” he said insincerely. “You must be used to the ups and downs of clients, as we are with patients.”

  “It’s good when you’re told the full story,” Moira said. “But at the moment I think something is being kept from me.”

  “Well, when you discover what it is, you’ll let me know, won’t you?” Declan managed to fix a smile on his face and moved on.

  He called in at the Laundromat where his mother worked, and kissed his son, who was sitting with his friend Frankie. The children were both like advertisements for Bonny Babies; they seemed to be endlessly fascinated with their hands.

  “Who is his daddy’s little boy, then,” Declan said.

  His voice sounded different. Molly Carroll looked at her son, concerned.

  “Did you come in for anything, Declan?” she asked.

  “Just to say hello to my son and heir and to thank my saintly mother and my friend Emily for making life so easy for us both.” He smiled. A real smile this time.

  “Well, isn’t it the least I could do?” Molly was pleased. “Haven’t I got what every mother dreams of? Her son and now her grandson living at home! When I think of all the peo
ple who hardly ever see their grandchildren, I feel blessed every single day.”

  Not for much longer, Declan thought to himself grimly. He went on to see Muttie and Lizzie. They were having a good-natured argument about how to welcome Jessica, who was going to arrive on her first call that day.

  “I’ve made some scones, but Muttie thinks she’d like a good dinner. What do you think, Declan?”

  “I think the scones would be fine and you can suggest lunch to her another time,” Declan said.

  “Is she a married person or a single lady?” Muttie asked.

  “She’s a widow, as it happens. Her husband died about three years ago.”

  “The Lord have mercy on him—it must be very hard on her,” said Lizzie, without any apparent acknowledgment that she too would soon be a widow.

  “Yes, but Jessica has great heart. She puts everything into her family and her work.”

  “That’s very wise,” said Lizzie. “And I hope she had a great doctor at the time like we do.” She looked at Declan fondly.

  “You can say that again,” said Muttie.

  “Stop that, Muttie, you’re making my head swell!” he said.

  “It deserves to swell. I’ve told everyone about that Dr. Harris and how he wouldn’t charge me because you were a professional colleague of his and I was your Associate.”

  Declan felt a slight stinging behind his eyes. By the time that Muttie died, Declan and Fiona would be in a totally different part of Dublin. Not only would Muttie and Lizzie have lost their trusted doctor, but his own parents would have lost their son and grandson.

  Before he got to work, he met Josie and Charles Lynch.

  “I believe the house next door to you is up for sale?” he said.

  “Yes, the notice is going up tomorrow. How do you know already?”

  “Moira,” he said simply.

  “Lord, that woman can hear the grass grow,” Josie said.

  “She’s been round to the house checking that there are no dog hairs. What kind of a world does she live in thinking that dogs don’t shed hairs?”

  “She’s thinking of buying the house,” Declan said.

  “Never!” Josie was shocked. “Lord, she’ll be practically living in our house!”

  Charles shook his head. “Noel won’t like this … not one little bit.”