Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [157]
“What time is her father picking her up?” Moira asked. She didn’t really want to know; it was just a stance—she always liked them to know that she was in control.
“He will be along later,” Emily said with a confident smile. “Can I interest you in anything here, Moira? You have such good taste. There’s a very attractive bag here—it’s almost a cross between a bag and a briefcase. I think it’s Moroccan; it’s got lovely designs on it.”
It was, as Emily said, very attractive, and would be perfect for Moira. She fingered it and wondered. But before she spent money on herself she must think of a present for her father and Mrs. Kennedy. Maybe Emily could help here too.
“I need a wedding present, something unopened, as it were. It’s for a middle-aged couple in the country.”
“Do they have their own house?” Emily inquired.
“Yes, well she has a house, and he’s living there … I mean, going to live there.”
“Is she a good cook?”
“Yes, she is, actually.” Moira was surprised at the question.
“Then she won’t need anything for the kitchen—she’ll have all that under control. There’s a very nice tablecloth, an unwanted gift, apparently. We could open it to make sure it’s perfect, then seal it up again.”
“Tablecloth?” Moira wasn’t sure.
“Look at it—it’s the best linen and has hand-painted flowers on it. I’d say she’d love it. Is she a close friend?”
“No,” Moira said. Then she realized that it sounded a little bit bald. “I mean, she’s going to marry my father,” she explained.
“Oh, I’m sure your new stepmother would love this cloth,” Emily said.
“Stepmother?” Moira tried the word on for size.
“Well, that’s what she’ll be, surely?”
“Yes, of course.” Moira spoke hastily.
“I hope they’ll be very happy,” Emily said.
“I think they will. It’s complicated, but they are well suited.”
“Well, that’s what it’s all about.”
“Yes, it is in a way. It’s just that there’s unfinished business, hard to explain but that’s what it is.”
“I suppose there always is,” Emily said soothingly. She hadn’t an idea what Moira was talking about.
Moira left with both the briefcase and the tablecloth; she was rapidly becoming one of the thrift shop’s best customers.
There was something weighing heavily on her mind. Surely Mr. Kennedy had a right to know that his house existed in Liscuan, that his wife was taking another man in as her husband, and this man was the social worker’s father. Moira knew that many would advise her to stay out of it. It would all have gone ahead without a problem if Moira hadn’t come across Mr. Kennedy and settled him into long-term hostel care. But there was no denying it. She had met Mr. Kennedy and she could not let it go.
“Mr. Kennedy, you’re all right?” They sat in the dayroom of the hostel.
“Miss Tierney. It’s not your day today.”
“I was in the area.”
“I see.”
“I was wondering, Mr. Kennedy, are you properly settled here?”
“You ask me that every week, Miss Tierney. It’s okay—I’ve told you that.”
“But do you think of your time in Liscuan?”
“No. I’m gone years from there.”
“So you said, but would you like to be back there? Would you try again with your wife?”
“Isn’t she a stranger to me now, after all these years?” he asked.
“But suppose she got married again? Presumed you were dead.”
“More power to her if she did.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“I made my choice in life, which was to go off—she’s free to make hers.”
Moira looked at him. This was good—but she wasn’t off the hook yet. She still knew what was going on. She had to tell him.
“Mr. Kennedy. There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.
“Don’t worry about all that,” he said.
“No, please, you must listen. You see, things aren’t as simple as you think. Actually, there’s a bit of a situation I have to tell you about.”
“Miss Tierney, I know all that,” he said.
She thought for a wild moment that maybe he did, but realized that he couldn’t possibly know anything of life in Liscuan. He had been an exile for years.
“No, wait, you