Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [15]
“Right, Noel. Maybe I’ll see you for a pint later? In Casey’s, on our way home?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t drink anymore,” Noel said in a tight little voice.
“Good man, yourself.”
“And, anyway, I was actually barred from Casey’s.”
“Oh, well, to hell with them then. Big barn of a place anyway.” Declan was being supportive, but he had a lot on his mind. Their first baby was due in the next several weeks and Fiona was up to high doh over everything. Plus his mother had knitted enough tiny garments for a multiple birth even though they knew they were going to have only one baby.
He could have done with a nice, undemanding pint with Noel. But that was obviously not on the cards now. He sighed and went purposefully towards a patient who was busy making plans to come out of hospital soon and wanted Declan to try to hurry up the process. The man’s diagnosis said that he would never leave the hospital, sooner or later, and would die there within weeks. It was hard to rearrange your face to see something optimistic in this, but somehow Declan managed it.
It went with the territory.
There were six women in the ward. None of them had great, tumbling red curly hair.
One very thin woman in the corner bed was waving at him.
“Noel, Noel, it’s Stella! Don’t tell me I’ve changed that much!”
He was dismayed. She was skin and bone. She had clearly made a huge effort: her hair was freshly washed and blow-dried, she had a trace of lipstick on and she wore a white Victorian nightdress with a high neck and cuffs. He remembered her smile, but that was all.
“Stella. Good to see you,” he mumbled.
She swung her thin legs out of the bed and gestured for him to pull the curtains around them.
“Any ciggies?” she whispered hopefully.
“In here, Stella?” He was shocked.
“Particularly in here. Well, you obviously didn’t bring me any, so reach me my sponge bag there. The other girls will keep watch.”
He looked on, horrified, as she pulled a cigarette from behind her toothpaste, lit it expertly and made a temporary ashtray out of an old envelope.
“How have you been?” he asked and instantly wished he hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t been well—otherwise why was she wasting away in front of his eyes in a cancer ward? “I mean, how are things?” he asked, even more foolishly.
“Things have been better, Noel, to be honest.”
He tried to imagine what Emily might say in the circumstances. She had a habit of asking questions that required you to think.
“What’s the very worst thing about it all, Stella?”
She paused to think, as he had known she would.
“I think the very worst thing is that you won’t believe me,” she said.
“Try me,” he said.
She stood up and paced the tiny cubicle. It was then he realized that she was pregnant. Very pregnant. And at exactly that moment she spoke to him.
“I was hoping not to have to bother you about this, Noel, but you’re the father. This is your baby.”
“Ah, no, Stella, this is a mistake. This didn’t happen.”
“I know I’m not very memorable, but you must remember that weekend.”
“We were wasted that weekend, both of us.”
“Not too drunk to create a new life, apparently.”
“I swear it can’t be me. Honestly, Stella, if it were, I would accept … I wouldn’t run away or anything … but … but …”
“But what, exactly?”
“There must have been lots of other people.”
“Thanks a lot for that, Noel.”
“You know what I mean. An attractive woman like you must have had lots of partners.”
“I’m the one who knows. Do you honestly think I would pick you out of a list of candidates? That I’d phone you, a drunk in that mausoleum where you work, in some useless job? You live with your parents, for God’s sake! Why would I ask you, of all people, to be the father of my child if it wasn’t true?”
“Well, as you said yourself, thanks a lot for that.” He looked hurt.
“So you asked me what would be the worst thing. I told you and now the worst has happened. You don’t believe me.” She had a defeated look.
“It’s a fantasy. It didn’t happen.