Minding Frankie

by Maeve Binchy

  It was the same now. He banished the possibility that Frankie might not be his child. He just would not think what he would do then. The fact that Stella might have lied to him or been mistaken and the heartbreaking possibility that Frankie might not be his little girl but somebody else’s—it was too big to think about. It had to be left out of his conscious mind.

  Once he knew one way or the other, it would be easier. This was the worst bit.

  · · ·

  The letter arrived at Chestnut Court.

  Lisa left it on the table as she went out; in the silent flat Noel poured himself another cup of tea. His hand was too shaky to pick up the envelope. The teapot had rattled alarmingly against the teacup. He was too weak to open it now. He had to get through this day without shaking like this. Perhaps he should put the letter away and open it tomorrow. He put it into a drawer. Thank God he had shaved already; he could never do it like this.

  He dressed very slowly. He was pale and his eyes looked tired, but really and truly he might pass for a normal person, not someone with the most important secret of his life tidied away, unopened, in a drawer. A person who would give every single possession he had for a pint of beer accompanied by a large Irish whiskey.

  How amazing that he looked perfectly normal. Now, looking at him, you might think he was a perfectly ordinary man.

  Lisa was startled to find him there when she arrived back with Dingo Duggan and his van. She was going to take her possessions down to Katie and Garry’s.

  “Hey, I thought you’d be at work,” she said.

  Noel shook his head. “Day off,” he muttered.

  “Lucky old you. Where’s Frankie? I thought you’d want to celebrate a day off with her.”

  “She went with Emily and Hat. No point in breaking the routine,” he said flatly.

  “You okay, Noel?”

  “Sure I am. What are you doing?”

  “Moving my stuff, trying to give you two lovebirds more room.”

  “You know you’re not in the way—there’s plenty of room for all of us.”

  “But I’ll be going to London soon. I can’t clutter your place up with all my boxes.”

  “I don’t know what I’d have done without you, Lisa, I really don’t.”

  “Wasn’t it a great year!” Lisa agreed. “A year when you found Frankie and when I … well, when I let the scales fall from my eyes over so many things. Anton for one, my father for another …”

  “You never said why you came here that night,” Noel said.

  “And you never asked, which made everything so restful. I’ll miss Frankie, though, desperately. Faith is going to send me a photo of her every month so that I’ll see her growing up.”

  “You’ll forget all about us.” He managed a smile.

  “As if I would. This is the first proper home I ever had.” She gave him a quick hug and went into her bedroom to check the boxes that were going to be driven over to her sister’s.

  “Give Katie my love,” Noel said mechanically.

  “I will. She’s dying to tell me something—I know by her voice.”

  “It must be nice to have a sister,” he said.

  “It is. Maybe you and Faith could arrange a little sister for Frankie one day,” she teased.

  “Maybe.” He didn’t sound very confident about it.

  Lisa was relieved to hear Dingo arriving to carry the boxes. Noel was definitely not himself today.

  Katie did indeed want to tell Lisa something. It was that she was pregnant. She and Garry were overjoyed and they hoped Lisa would be pleased for them too.

  Lisa said she was delighted. She hadn’t known that this was in the plan at all, but Katie said it had been long hoped for.

  “Two career people? Highfliers?” Lisa said, in mock wonder.

  “Yes, but we wanted a baby to make it complete.”

  “I’ll be a terrific aunt. I don’t know anything about having a baby but I sure as anything know how to look after one.”

  “I wish you weren’t going away,” Katie said.

  “I’ll be back often,” Lisa promised. “And this baby will grow up in a family that wants a baby—not like the way you and I grew up, Katie.”

  · · ·

  Emily and Hat were surrounded by seed catalogs, trying to decide from the huge amount on offer. Frankie sat with them and seemed to study the pictures of flowers as well.

  “She’s just no trouble,” Emily said fondly.

  “Pity we didn’t meet earlier—we could well have had a few of those ourselves,” Hat said wistfully.

  “Oh, no, Hat, I have much more the personality of a grandmother than a mother. I like a baby who goes home in the evening,” she said.

  “Is it dull for you here with me?” he asked suddenly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Back in America you had a busy life, teaching, going to art exhibits, thousands of people around the place.”

  “Stop fishing for compliments, Hat. You know that I’m besotted with this place. And with you. And when we push this little pet back up to Chestnut Court I will make you the most wonderful cheese soufflé to prove it.”

  “Lord above, life doesn’t get much better than this,” Hat said with a sigh of pleasure.

  The flat was very silent when Lisa and Dingo had departed with a chorus of good-byes.

  Noel opened the drawer and took out the letter. Perhaps he should eat something to keep his strength up. He had eaten no breakfast. He made himself a tomato sandwich, carefully adding chopped onion and cutting off the crusts. It tasted like sawdust.

  He pulled the envelope towards him.

  When he saw it all confirmed that he was Frankie’s father, then everything would be all right. Wouldn’t it? This hollow, empty feeling would go and he would be normal again.

  But suppose that … Noel would not allow himself to go down that road. Of course he was Frankie’s father. And now that he had eaten his tasteless tomato sandwich, he was ready to open the envelope.

  He took the letter from the drawer and slit it open with the knife he had used to make his sandwich. It was stilted and official, but it was clear and concise.

  The DNA samples did not match.

  A hot rage came over him. He could feel it burning around his neck and ears. He could feel a heavy lump in his stomach and a strange light-headedness around his eyes and forehead.

  This could not be true.

  Stella could not have told him a pack of lies and palmed off her child on him. Surely it was impossible that she had made all these arrangements and put his name on the birth certificate if she had not believed it was true.

  Perhaps she had so many lovers she had no idea who might be Frankie’s father.

  She could have picked him because he was humble and would make no fuss.

  Or possibly Frankie’s real father was so unreliable or unavailable that he could not be contacted.

  Bile rose in his throat.

  He knew exactly what would make him feel better. He picked up his jacket and went out.

  Moira was having a busy morning at the heart clinic. Once the word had got around that she was an expert on finding people entitlements, her caseload had increased. It was Moira’s belief that if there were benefits there, then people should avail themselves of them. She would fill in the paperwork, arrange the carers, the allowances or the support needed.

  Today Mr. Kennedy was coming to the clinic for his checkup; she would see him and make sure that he was being properly looked after. And unexpectedly Clara Casey had asked if Moira could spare her ten minutes on a personal matter.

  Moira wondered what on earth it could be. The gossip around the clinic had said that Dr. Casey had moved Mr. Ennis into her home, but surely Clara didn’t want to discuss anything quite as personal as that.

  Just after midday, when Moira’s stint ended officially, Clara slipped into her office.

  “This is not on the clinic’s time, Moira. It’s a personal favor on my time and yours
.”

  “Sure, go ahead,” Moira said. A few months ago she might have said something sharper, something more official, but events had changed her.

  “It’s about my daughter Linda—she and her husband are very anxious to adopt a baby and they don’t know how to set about it.”

  “What have they done so far?” Moira asked.

  “Nothing much, except talk about it, but now they want to move forward.”

  “Fine—do you want me to talk to them sometime?”

  “Linda is actually here today. She came to take me to lunch. Would that be too instant?”

  “No, not at all. Do you want to stay for the conversation?”

  “No, no—but I do appreciate this, Moira. I’ve realized over the last months you are amazingly thorough and tenacious. If anyone can help Linda and Nick, you can.”

  Moira couldn’t remember why she had thought of Dr. Casey as aloof and superior. She watched as Clara ushered in her tall, handsome daughter.

  “I’ll leave you in good hands,” Clara said, and mother and daughter hugged each other. Moira felt an absurd flush of pleasure all over her face and neck.

  At lunch in the shopping precinct Linda was bubbling over with enthusiasm.

  “I can’t think why you didn’t like that woman—she was marvelous. It’s all very straightforward. You go to the health board and they refer you to the adoption section and fill in a lot of details, and they come for home assessment visits. She asked did we mind what nationality the child would be and I said of course not. It really looks as if it might happen.”

  “I’m so pleased, Linda.” Clara spoke gently.

  “So you and Frank had better polish up your babysitting skills,” Linda said with unnaturally bright eyes.

  Moira left the clinic in high good humor. For once it appeared her talents had been recognized. It was one of those rare occasions when people actually seemed pleased with the social worker.

  She had warned Linda about delays and bureaucracy and said the most important thing was to be quietly persistent, keeping even-tempered no matter what the provocation. Linda had been delighted with her, and moreover, Linda’s mother had given words of high praise.

  This was a personal first.

  Her steps took her past Chestnut Court, and she looked from habit at Noel and Lisa’s flat. Noel would be at work, but maybe Lisa was there packing her belongings. She was heading off to London soon. Anyway, no point in going in there and talking to Lisa and being accused of spying or policing the situation. She didn’t want to lose the good feeling that had come from the clinic, so she passed by.

  Emily got a phone call at lunchtime. It was Noel. His voice was unsteady. She thought he sounded drunk.

  “Everything all right, Noel?” she asked anxiously, her heart lurching. He should have been there to pick up Frankie. What could have happened?

  “Yes. Everything’s fine.” He spoke like a robot. “I’m at the zoo, actually.”

  “The zoo?” Emily was stunned. The zoo was miles away, on the other side of the city. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. If Noel was there, then he was safe; but then he was wandering around looking at lions and aviaries and elephants rather than picking up his daughter.

  “Yes. I haven’t been here for ages. They’ve lots of new things.”

  “Yes, Noel, I’m sure they do.”

  “So I was wondering could you possibly keep Frankie for a while longer?”

  “Of course,” Emily agreed, worried. Was he drunk? His voice sounded stressed. What could have brought all this on? “And are you at the zoo on your own?”

  “Yes, for the moment.”

  Noel had been over and over it in his mind. For a year he had been living a lie. Frankie was not his child. God knew whose child she was. He loved her like his own—of course he did. But he had thought she was his own child and had no one else to look after her. His name was on the birth certificate; he had loved her and looked after her and fed her and changed her. He had protected her, given her a life surrounded by people who loved her; he had made her his. Did he regret all this? She was a year old, her mother was dead—what sort of start in life would it be if he washed his hands of her now?

  Could he bring up another man’s child as his own? He didn’t think so. She was someone else’s child; someone else had fathered her and walked away, got away with it. Should he find out who it was? Would it be a wild-goose chase?

  And what sort of man would he be if he ran away now? Could he abandon her when she needed him every bit as much as when she was that tiny, helpless baby he had brought home from the hospital? He pictured the flat that was their home: Frankie’s toys on the floor, her clothes warming on the radiators, her photographs on the mantelpiece. Her favorite food in the kitchen, the baby lotions in the bathroom; he knew where she was every minute of the day. He remembered the horror of the night she’d been missing. Everyone had been out looking for her—so many people had been concerned for her safety. She was with Emily and Hat now, and when they went to the thrift shop, they’d take her with them. His own parents knew her as their grandchild. She knew everyone in the neighborhood; they were all part of her life, as she was part of theirs. Was he going to end all that?

  But could he bring up another man’s child?

  He needed a drink. Just the one, so he could see his way clearly.

  When Moira called at St. Jarlath’s Thrift Shop and seemed surprised to see Frankie asleep there in her pram, Emily kept her worries to herself.

  “What time is her father picking her up?” Moira asked. She didn’t really want to know; it was just a stance—she always liked them to know that she was in control.

  “He will be along later,” Emily said with a confident smile. “Can I interest you in anything here, Moira? You have such good taste. There’s a very attractive bag here—it’s almost a cross between a bag and a briefcase. I think it’s Moroccan; it’s got lovely designs on it.”

  It was, as Emily said, very attractive, and would be perfect for Moira. She fingered it and wondered. But before she spent money on herself she must think of a present for her father and Mrs. Kennedy. Maybe Emily could help here too.

  “I need a wedding present, something unopened, as it were. It’s for a middle-aged couple in the country.”

  “Do they have their own house?” Emily inquired.

  “Yes, well she has a house, and he’s living there … I mean, going to live there.”

  “Is she a good cook?”

  “Yes, she is, actually.” Moira was surprised at the question.

  “Then she won’t need anything for the kitchen—she’ll have all that under control. There’s a very nice tablecloth, an unwanted gift, apparently. We could open it to make sure it’s perfect, then seal it up again.”

  “Tablecloth?” Moira wasn’t sure.

  “Look at it—it’s the best linen and has hand-painted flowers on it. I’d say she’d love it. Is she a close friend?”

  “No,” Moira said. Then she realized that it sounded a little bit bald. “I mean, she’s going to marry my father,” she explained.

  “Oh, I’m sure your new stepmother would love this cloth,” Emily said.

  “Stepmother?” Moira tried the word on for size.

  “Well, that’s what she’ll be, surely?”

  “Yes, of course.” Moira spoke hastily.

  “I hope they’ll be very happy,” Emily said.

  “I think they will. It’s complicated, but they are well suited.”

  “Well, that’s what it’s all about.”

  “Yes, it is in a way. It’s just that there’s unfinished business, hard to explain but that’s what it is.”

  “I suppose there always is,” Emily said soothingly. She hadn’t an idea what Moira was talking about.

  Moira left with both the briefcase and the tablecloth; she was rapidly becoming one of the thrift shop’s best customers.

  There was something weighing heavily on her mind. Surely Mr.
Kennedy had a right to know that his house existed in Liscuan, that his wife was taking another man in as her husband, and this man was the social worker’s father. Moira knew that many would advise her to stay out of it. It would all have gone ahead without a problem if Moira hadn’t come across Mr. Kennedy and settled him into long-term hostel care. But there was no denying it. She had met Mr. Kennedy and she could not let it go.

  “Mr. Kennedy, you’re all right?” They sat in the dayroom of the hostel.

  “Miss Tierney. It’s not your day today.”

  “I was in the area.”

  “I see.”

  “I was wondering, Mr. Kennedy, are you properly settled here?”

  “You ask me that every week, Miss Tierney. It’s okay—I’ve told you that.”

  “But do you think of your time in Liscuan?”

  “No. I’m gone years from there.”

  “So you said, but would you like to be back there? Would you try again with your wife?”

  “Isn’t she a stranger to me now, after all these years?” he asked.

  “But suppose she got married again? Presumed you were dead.”

  “More power to her if she did.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “I made my choice in life, which was to go off—she’s free to make hers.”

  Moira looked at him. This was good—but she wasn’t off the hook yet. She still knew what was going on. She had to tell him.

  “Mr. Kennedy. There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about all that,” he said.

  “No, please, you must listen. You see, things aren’t as simple as you think. Actually, there’s a bit of a situation I have to tell you about.”

  “Miss Tierney, I know all that,” he said.

  She thought for a wild moment that maybe he did, but realized that he couldn’t possibly know anything of life in Liscuan. He had been an exile for years.

  “No, wait, you must listen to me …,” she said.

  “Don’t I know it all—your father’s moved into the house, and now he’s going to marry Maureen. And why shouldn’t they?”