Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [13]
Matters were much helped by Emily’s presence at Number 23. Every evening there was a well-cooked meal served at seven o’clock and, with no long evenings to spend in Casey’s bar, Noel found himself sitting at the kitchen table eating with his parents and cousin.
They fell into an easy routine: Josie set the table and prepared the vegetables, Charles built up the fire and helped Noel to wash up. Emily had even managed to put off the Rosary on the grounds that they all needed this joint time to plan their various crusades, such as what strategy they should use to get the fund-raising started for St. Jarlath’s statue and how Emily could go out and earn a living for herself and where they would find dogs for Charles to walk and if Noel should do night classes in business or accountancy in order to advance himself at Hall’s.
Emily had, in one week, managed to get more information out of Noel about the nature of his work than his parents had learned in years. She had even been able to collect brochures, which she went over with Noel. This course looked good, but rather too general; the other looked more specific, but might not be relevant to his work at Hall’s. Little by little, she had learned of the mundane clerical officer–type work Noel did all day—the matching of invoices, paying of suppliers and gathering of expenditure data from departments at the end of the month. She discovered that there were young fellows in the company who had “qualifications,” who had a degree or a diploma, and they climbed up what passed for a corporate ladder in the old-fashioned builders’ providers store that was Hall’s.
Emily spent no time regretting time wasted in the past or wrong decisions or Noel’s wish to leave his school and not continue with education. When they were alone one night, she said to him that the whole business of beating a dependency on alcohol was often a question of having adequate support.
“Did I ever tell you that I was battling against alcohol?” Noel asked her.
“You don’t need to, Noel. I’m the daughter of an alcoholic. I know the territory. Your uncle Martin thought he could do it on his own. We lived through that one.”
“Maybe he didn’t choose AA. Maybe he wasn’t a social man. He could have been a bit like me and didn’t want a lot of other people knowing his business,” Noel said in his late uncle’s defense.
“He wasn’t nearly as good a man as you are, Noel. He had a very closed mind.”
“Oh, I think I have a closed mind too.”
“No, you don’t. You’ll get help if you need it. I know you will.”
“It’s just I don’t go along with this thing ‘I’m Noel. I’m an alcoholic’ and then they all say, ‘Ho, Noel’ and I’m meant to feel better.”
“People have felt better for it,” Emily said mildly. “They have a great success rate.”
“It’s all a matter of ‘me and my illness’; it’s making it so dramatic for them all, as if they are heroes of some kind of thing that’s working itself out onstage.”
Emily shrugged. “So AA doesn’t do it for you. Fine. One day you might need them. They will still be there, that’s for sure. Now let’s look at these courses. I know what CPA means, but what are ACA and ACCA? Tell me the difference between them and what they mean.”
And Noel could feel his shoulders relaxing. She wasn’t going to nag him. That was the main thing. She had moved on and was asking his advice on other matters. Where could she get timber to make window boxes? Would his father be able to make them? Where might Emily get some regular paid work? She could run an office easily. Would it be a good idea to get a washing machine for the household, as they were all going to be so busy raising money for St. Jarlath’s statue?
“Emily, you don’t think that will really happen—the statue business, do you?”
“I was never more sure of anything in my life,” Emily said.
Katie Finglas went to the hospital again. Stella Dixon looked worse than before: her face thin, her arms bony and her round stomach more noticeable.
“This