Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [120]
Finally, along with the second bottle of wine, Moira broached the subject of Eddie Kennedy. Lisa thought she understood the situation, but she didn’t really see the problem.
“Of course you don’t have to do anything for him,” she said. “It was the luck of the draw that he got you as a social worker. You don’t have to tell him about the cozy little homestead down there.”
“But he bought that house before he got addled with drink. He’s entitled to live there.”
“Nonsense. He gave up all rights and entitlements when he went off to England. He chose to opt out of this life. He can’t expect you to turf your father out and get his wife to take him back. She probably wouldn’t want him anyway.…”
“But is he to die in a hostel because I don’t want to disturb things?”
“He chose that route.” Lisa was firm.
“If it was your father …,” Moira began.
“I hate my father. I wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire!”
“I feel guilty. I’ve always given my clients the best. I’m not doing this with Eddie Kennedy,” Moira said bleakly.
“Suppose you made it up to him in other ways? You know, went to see him in the hostel, took him out for the odd afternoon.”
Moira looked at her in disbelief. How could this be doing her duty? It would be crossing the thin line that divided professionalism from friendship. Entirely unsuitable.
Lisa shrugged. “Well, that’s what I’d do, anyway.” She caught Marco’s eye, and in thirty seconds a little cake with one candle came from the kitchen. The waiters sang “Happy Birthday” and everyone in the restaurant clapped.
Moira was pink and flustered. She tried to cut the cake and all the filling oozed out of one side. Lisa took the knife from her.
“Happy birthday, Moira,” she said, putting as much warmth into it as she could. To her amazement she saw the tears falling down Moira’s face.
Thirty-five and this was probably the only birthday party she had ever had.
Up in Chestnut Court the dinner was going very well.
“Aren’t you a dark horse, being able to cook like this!” Faith said appreciatively. She was easy to talk to—not garrulous, but she talked engagingly of her background.
She spoke briefly about the accident that had killed her fiancé, but she didn’t dwell on it. Terrible things happened to a lot of people. They had to pick themselves up.
“Do you still love him?” Noel asked as he spooned out another helping of chicken.
“No. In fact I can barely remember him. And you, Noel, do you miss Frankie’s mother a lot?” Faith asked.
“No, I’m a bit like you. I hardly remembered Stella, but then that was in my drinking days. I don’t remember anything much from those times.” He smiled nervously. “But I love to have Frankie around the place.”
“Where is she now? I brought her a funny little book of animals. It’s made of cloth, so it doesn’t matter if she eats it!”
“Lisa dropped her in to Fiona and Declan’s. Lisa’s gone out to supper.”
“With Anton?”
“No, with Moira, actually.”
“A different kind of outing, certainly.” Faith knew the cast of characters.
“You could say that.” Noel beamed at her. This was all going so well.
· · ·
Fiona had just brought Declan a mug of coffee when she heard running feet outside the door and there was Lizzie, disheveled and distraught.
“Can Declan come quickly? I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but Muttie’s been sick and it’s all blood!”
Declan was already out of his chair and grabbing his doctor’s bag.
“I’ll come in a minute—I’ll have to sort out the kids,” Fiona shouted.
“Fine.” In seconds Declan was through the Scarlets’ front door. Muttie was ashen-faced, and he had been vomiting into a bowl. Declan took in the scene at a glance. “A thing of nothing, Muttie. They’ll have you as right as rain in the hospital.”
“Couldn’t you deal with it, Declan?”
“No, you need to be where they can take care of you properly.