Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [151]
“I love you, Frankie,” Noel said to her.
“Dada,” she said.
“I really do love you. I was afraid I wouldn’t be good enough for you but we’re not making a bad fist of it, are we?”
“Fst,” Frankie said, delighted with the noise of the word.
“Say ‘love,’ Frankie. Say, ‘I love you, Dada.’ ”
She looked up at him. “Love Dada,” she said, as clear as a bell.
And to his surprise he felt the tears on his face. He wished not for the first time that there really was a God and a heaven because it would be really great if Stella could somehow see this and know that it was all working out like she had hoped.
Chapter Fifteen
Noel and Lisa planned a first birthday party for Frankie. There would be an ice cream cake and paper hats; Mr. Gallagher from Number 37 could do magic tricks and said he’d come along and entertain the children.
Naturally, Moira got to hear of it.
“You’re having all these people in this small flat?” she asked doubtfully.
“I know—won’t it be wonderful?” Lisa deliberately misunderstood her.
“You should do more for yourself, Lisa. You’re bright, sharp, you could have a career and a proper place to live.”
“This is a proper place to live.” Noel was at the washing machine in the kitchen so didn’t hear.
“No, it’s not. You should have your own apartment. You’ll need one soon anyway, if Noel’s romance continues,” Moira said, practical as always.
“But meanwhile I’m very happy here.”
“We have to stir ourselves from our comfort zones. What are you doing here with a man who is bringing up some child that may or may not be his own?”
“Of course Frankie’s his own!” Lisa was shocked.
“Well, that’s as may be. She was very unreliable, the mother, you know. I met her in hospital. A very wild sort of person. She could have named anyone as the father.”
“Well, really, Moira, I never heard anything so ridiculous,” Lisa said, blazing suddenly at the mean-spirited pettiness of Moira’s attitude. Wasn’t life the luck of the draw? They could have got a very nice social worker like that woman Dolores who came to Katie to get her hair done at the salon. She would have been delighted with the way Frankie had turned out and would rejoice at such a successful outcome. But no, they were stuck with Moira. Thank God Noel had been in the kitchen while stupid, negative Moira was talking. It was just a miracle that he hadn’t heard.
Noel had, of course, heard every word and he was holding on by a thread.
What a sour, mean cow Moira was, and he had just begun to see some good in her. Not now. Not ever again after such a statement. He managed to shout out a cheerful good-bye as he heard the door. He wouldn’t think about it. It was nonsense. He would think about the party instead. About Frankie, his little girl. That woman’s remarks had no power to hurt him. He would rise above it.
First he must pretend to Lisa that he hadn’t heard. That was important.
Moira walked briskly along the road away from Chestnut Court. She was sorry she had spoken to Lisa like that. It was unprofessional. It wasn’t like her. She had been thrown by Lisa’s apparent freedom to get on with it and then, of course, she had her own worries about her father and Maureen Kennedy. Still and all, it was no reason to run off at the mouth about Noel. Mercifully, he was in the kitchen at the washing machine and didn’t hear. Lisa was unlikely to bring the subject up.
Why did worries never come singly?
Moira’s brother had written to say that their father and Mrs. Kennedy were getting married. Mr. Kennedy was now presumed dead after fifteen years’ absence, with no contact being made and his name not found on any British register. They would marry in a month’s time and a few people were being invited back to the house. Everyone was very pleased, her brother wrote.
Moira was sure they were, but then they didn’t have to cope with the fact that Mr. Kennedy was alive and well, living in the hostel and on Moira’s caseload.
“Father, it’s Moira.”
He sounded as surprised as if the prime