Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [155]
“Lord above, life doesn’t get much better than this,” Hat said with a sigh of pleasure.
The flat was very silent when Lisa and Dingo had departed with a chorus of good-byes.
Noel opened the drawer and took out the letter. Perhaps he should eat something to keep his strength up. He had eaten no breakfast. He made himself a tomato sandwich, carefully adding chopped onion and cutting off the crusts. It tasted like sawdust.
He pulled the envelope towards him.
When he saw it all confirmed that he was Frankie’s father, then everything would be all right. Wouldn’t it? This hollow, empty feeling would go and he would be normal again.
But suppose that … Noel would not allow himself to go down that road. Of course he was Frankie’s father. And now that he had eaten his tasteless tomato sandwich, he was ready to open the envelope.
He took the letter from the drawer and slit it open with the knife he had used to make his sandwich. It was stilted and official, but it was clear and concise.
The DNA samples did not match.
A hot rage came over him. He could feel it burning around his neck and ears. He could feel a heavy lump in his stomach and a strange light-headedness around his eyes and forehead.
This could not be true.
Stella could not have told him a pack of lies and palmed off her child on him. Surely it was impossible that she had made all these arrangements and put his name on the birth certificate if she had not believed it was true.
Perhaps she had so many lovers she had no idea who might be Frankie’s father.
She could have picked him because he was humble and would make no fuss.
Or possibly Frankie’s real father was so unreliable or unavailable that he could not be contacted.
Bile rose in his throat.
He knew exactly what would make him feel better. He picked up his jacket and went out.
Moira was having a busy morning at the heart clinic. Once the word had got around that she was an expert on finding people entitlements, her caseload had increased. It was Moira’s belief that if there were benefits there, then people should avail themselves of them. She would fill in the paperwork, arrange the carers, the allowances or the support needed.
Today Mr. Kennedy was coming to the clinic for his checkup; she would see him and make sure that he was being properly looked after. And unexpectedly Clara Casey had asked if Moira could spare her ten minutes on a personal matter.
Moira wondered what on earth it could be. The gossip around the clinic had said that Dr. Casey had moved Mr. Ennis into her home, but surely Clara didn’t want to discuss anything quite as personal as that.
Just after midday, when Moira’s stint ended officially, Clara slipped into her office.
“This is not on the clinic’s time, Moira. It’s a personal favor on my time and yours.”
“Sure, go ahead,” Moira said. A few months ago she might have said something sharper, something more official, but events had changed her.
“It’s about my daughter Linda—she and her husband are very anxious to adopt a baby and they don’t know how to set about it.”
“What have they done so far?” Moira asked.
“Nothing much, except talk about it, but now they want to move forward.”
“Fine—do you want me to talk to them sometime?”
“Linda is actually here today. She came to take me to lunch. Would that be too instant?”
“No, not at all. Do you want to stay for the conversation?”
“No, no—but I do appreciate this, Moira. I’ve realized over the last months you are amazingly thorough and tenacious. If anyone can help Linda and Nick, you can.”
Moira couldn’t remember why she had thought of Dr. Casey as aloof and superior. She watched as Clara ushered in her tall, handsome daughter.
“I’ll leave you in good hands,” Clara said, and mother and daughter hugged each other. Moira felt an absurd flush of pleasure all over her face and neck.
At lunch in the shopping precinct Linda was bubbling over with enthusiasm.
“I can’t think why you didn’t like that woman—she was marvelous. It’s all very straightforward.