Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [134]
“A bedspread, a teapot, a shower curtain. Really exciting things,” Emily said.
Frankie gurgled happily.
“She sounds happy now, but you should have heard her half an hour ago. I wonder if she’s starting to teethe, poor thing. She was red-faced and howling and her gums look a little swollen. We’re in for a bumpy ride if that’s it,” Emily explained.
“Sure we are,” said Lisa. “I think I’d better move out for the next few months!” and, with a smile and a hug for Frankie, she was gone.
When Emily and Frankie got back to Number 23 it was obvious that Josie had something important to say.
“Things aren’t great down the road,” she said, her face grim.
That could have meant almost anything. That the takings were down at the thrift shop or Dr. Hat had put out some washing that had blown away in the wind or that Fiona and Declan were moving house. Then, with a lurch, Emily realized that Josie might be talking about Muttie.
“It’s not …?”
“Yes. Things are much worse.” Josie seemed unsure whether she should call on the household or not.
Emily thought not. They would only be in the way. Muttie and Lizzie would have lots of family already. Josie accepted this.
“I saw Father Brian going in there earlier,” she said.
Frankie chuckled, reaching out for Emily to be picked up.
“Good girl.” Both women spoke slightly distractedly, then each of them sighed.
Josie was wondering whether saying another Rosary would help. Emily was wondering what would be of most practical help. A big shepherd’s pie, she thought, something they could keep warm in the oven or whenever anyone needed food. She would make one straightaway.
Muttie was annoyed that he felt so weak. Day and night seemed to merge, and there was always someone in the room, usually telling him to rest. Hadn’t he been resting since he came back from that hospital?
There were so many things still to sort out. The lawyer would drive you insane with the way he talked, but he did seem clear about one thing. The tiny amount of money the Mitchell family had paid towards the upkeep of the twins years ago and that had stopped promptly on their seventeenth birthday had all been kept in a deposit account, and with it there was a percentage of Muttie’s Great Win, the time he won a fortune and they all nearly went into heart failure.
The rest of the will was simple: everything to Lizzie and their children. But Muttie was very agitated in case the twins were not properly provided for.
“They will be well set up when they inherit all this,” the lawyer said.
“Well, so should they be. You see, when they came to us they gave up any chance of being in society. They were born to be with classier people than us, you see. They must be compensated properly.”
The lawyer turned away so that Muttie wouldn’t see his face and watch him swallowing the lump in his throat.
Father Flynn came to see him.
“God, Muttie, and you grand and peaceful here compared to the world outside.”
“Tell me all about what’s going on outside.” Muttie’s curiosity was undimmed, despite his illness.
“Well, down at the center where I work, there’s all hell to pay over a Muslim wedding. This couple want one and I directed them towards the mosque. Anyway, some of the family don’t want to go to it and some do. I said we would do the catering—your grandchildren could cook for anyone—and then there’s a wing that says the center is a Catholic place and run with money from the Church. I tell you, you’d be demented by it all, Muttie.”
“I wouldn’t mind being out in it for a bit, though.” Muttie sounded wistful.
“Ah, you will, you will.” Brian Flynn hoped that he sounded convincing.
“But if I don’t see it all again and I’m for the high jump, do you really think there’s anything, you know … up there?”
“I’m going to tell you the truth, Muttie. I don’t know, but I think there is. That’s the glue that has held me together for all these years. I will be one disappointed man if there isn’t anything up there.”
Muttie was perfectly pleased with this as an answer. “You couldn’t say fairer than that,” he said approvingly.