Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [115]
Lizzie came running in from the kitchen.
“Marco! Imagine, I was just about to get the supper.”
“So that was good timing, then?” Marco beamed around the little group.
“Well, I have to go.” Noel stood up. “I’m Noel, by the way. I’d love to join you, but I have to pick up my daughter. Buon appetito.”
Noel wished he could stay. It was heartening to see such happiness in a house that was about to go through so much sadness soon.
In Chestnut Court Lisa woke with a stiff neck. She saw Noel’s coat hanging on the back of the door. He must have come in and left again. She should have made him some kind of supper or gone to pick Frankie up from Molly Carroll’s. Too late now. He had scrawled a note saying he would come back with a fish supper. He was so kind. Wouldn’t it have been so easy if only she could have loved Noel rather than Anton. But then life didn’t work like that and maybe there would be even more obstacles in the way. She got up, stretched and set the table.
She would really love a glass of wine with the cod and French fries, but that was something that would never be brought into this house. She thought back to the lovely wine they had drunk in Scotland. She had paid for the meals on alternate nights, but she had maxed out on her credit cards and was seriously broke now. But Anton never realized that. She hoped things would change soon; she would have to get a job if Anton didn’t make a commitment.
Noel would be home shortly and she mustn’t be full of gloomy thoughts.
At 23 St. Jarlath’s Crescent, Josie and Charles Lynch sat in stunned silence. They had just closed the door behind a very serious lawyer in a striped suit. He had come to tell them just how much they had inherited from the late Meriel Monty. When all the assets were liquidated, the estate would come, the lawyer said very slowly, to a total of approximately 289,000 euros.
Chapter Eleven
It was good that Eddie Kennedy didn’t recognize her, Moira thought. This way she could continue to be professional.
The hostel where he was living was only a short-stay place; soon he would need something long-term. If things had been different, she might have inquired more about the setup in Liscuan, wondered whether he might even at this late stage be able to patch things up with his wife. After all, he didn’t drink now. But the very thought of destroying the great content that her father had finally found late in a troubled life was one she could not bear to let into her mind.
Wherever Eddie Kennedy was to find his salvation, it must not be in Liscuan.
Moira sighed deeply and tried to remember what she would have done for this man if things had been different, if she hadn’t known for certain that his long-abandoned wife was living with her own father. Wearily she continued with fruitless questions about any possible benefits that might be due to him after a lifetime of working in England. This man had never signed on anywhere or joined any system. It would be a progression of hostels from now on.
It would have been the same if he had come across any other social worker, wouldn’t it? Maybe one of them would have made inquiries back in Liscuan. And if inquiries had been made? Perhaps Mrs. Kennedy and her father would have sung low, in which case there would have been nothing different to the way it was now.…
Yet Moira felt guilty. This man shouldn’t have his options restricted just because his social worker wanted her own father to continue undisturbed in what should have been this man’s home. Moira wished, not for the first time, that she had a friend, a soul mate whom she could discuss it with.
She remembered that meal with Lisa in Ennio’s: it had been pleasant and it was surprisingly easy to talk to Lisa. But of course the girl would think she was quite insane if she were to suggest it.
Worse—both insane and pathetic.
Muttie told Lizzie that something was worrying him.
“Tell me, Muttie.”
Lizzie had listened to Muttie for years. Listened to stories of horses that were going to win, backs that ached,