Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [125]
But Noel was still distraught. “Frankie’s in a police station. What chance will I have of keeping her once bloody Moira gets to hear of this?”
“Don’t worry—I’ll call Lisa as soon as I put the phone down and let her know Frankie is found. Then I’ll put together some things for Frankie—why don’t you collect me here and we’ll go up together? Let’s get her home before Moira ever knows she was missing.…”
Sergeant O’Meara had no idea what they were all doing in a police station, and he wished someone, anyone, would shut the screaming child up. Mrs. Carroll kept bouncing the baby up and down, but the decibel level was getting higher. It was all starting to grate on him.
“Why exactly did you bring the child here? If you know who she is and all belonging to her?”
Paddy Carroll tried to explain. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Be on the safe side,” he said.
“The safe side of what?” Sergeant O’Meara asked, raising his voice above the din.
Paddy wished that his mind was less fuzzy and his speech more clear. “Could I have a cup of tea?” he asked plaintively.
“It’s a pity you didn’t think of having tea earlier in the evening,” Mrs. Molly Carroll said sharply.
Sergeant O’Meara went to get tea, glad to get away from the screaming baby for a moment. “So this Noel Lynch is on his way here now,” he said wearily, when he came back with the tea.
“There he is!” Paddy Carroll cried out, pointing at the glass door out in the front office. “There he is! Noel! Noel! Come in here! We’ve got Frankie for you!”
And Sergeant O’Meara rescued Paddy Carroll’s teacup just before it pitched onto the child as Noel threw himself at his baby girl.
“Frankie! Are you all right?” he cried, his voice muffled with emotion. “Darling little Frankie. I’m so sorry, really I am. I’ll never leave you again.…” Frantically, he checked that she was all right, uninjured in any way; then he wiped her face and her nose, and dried her eyes.
Behind him, meanwhile, stood a small, slim woman with green eyes and a big smile. She was carrying one of Frankie’s coats and a woolly scarf; more important, she was carrying a jar of baby food, which she handed to Noel straightaway.
As Noel fed his daughter, almost magically, the crying stopped, the baby calmed down and peace was restored.
Sergeant O’Meara was profoundly grateful that the situation seemed to be sorting itself out.
More and more people were arriving: a stressed-out middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and an older man, wearing a hat like something from a black-and-white movie.
“Oh, Frankie! I’m so sorry …” The woman bent down to kiss the baby girl. “I didn’t know you were there. I’ll never forgive myself. Never.”
The man in the hat introduced himself as Dr. Hat; he looked like the only person with any degree of control. “If ever there was a case of all’s well that ends well … it’s here.” He beamed at everyone. “And well done, Mr. and Mrs. Carroll. You did exactly the right thing in the circumstances. Noel, we’ll all get out of here, don’t you think, and leave Detective O’Meara to his business. No need to write a report at all—wouldn’t you agree?”
The sergeant looked at Dr. Hat gratefully. The writing of a report about this was going to be Gothic. “If everyone’s satisfied …” he began.
“I’m so sorry about this,” Dr. Hat said to him quietly. “It’s a terrible waste of your time, but I assure you that it was well meant. We’re sorry to have disturbed you—but no harm done.…”
And as they all shuffled out of the police station, Sergeant O’Meara heard them saying to one another in tones of relief that Moira need never know a thing about any of it. He wondered vaguely who Moira might be, but it was late and he could now go home to his wife, Ita, who always had a hundred stories of her day’s work on the wards in St. Brigid’s. He would tell her this one, if he had the energy to unpick who was who.
Muttie was asleep when Lizzie arrived at his bedside.