Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [17]
It could not be his child.
He waved away the suggestion of a fifth pint and moved purposefully towards the door.
He didn’t see Declan Carroll having a drink with his father and looking curiously at the man who had claimed to have given up alcohol but who had just downed four pints of beer at racing speed.
Declan sighed.
Whatever Noel had heard at the hospital, whoever he had visited, it had not made him happy.
Paddy Carroll patted his son’s hand.
“In a matter of weeks it will all be behind you. You’ll have a great little son and the waiting bit will be forgotten.”
“Yes, Dad. Tell me what it was like when Mam was expecting me.”
“I don’t know how I survived it,” Declan’s father said, and told the old, familiar story again from the point of view of the father of the baby.
The mother’s role in the birth had been merely minimal, apparently.
Noel had only opened his mouth when Emily looked up at him sharply. It was as if she had called the meeting to order.
“We’re all tired now, it’s late. Not a good time to discuss the running of a thrift shop.”
“A what?” Noel shook his head as if that would somehow settle the collection of thoughts and ideas that were nestling in it. His parents looked disappointed. They were being carried along by the enthusiasm of Emily’s planning and they were sorry to see it being cut short.
But Emily was adamant. She had the whole household ready for bed in no time.
“Noel, I saved you some Italian meatballs.”
“They were just delicious,” Josie said. “Emily can turn her hand to anything.”
“I don’t think I really want anything. I stopped on the way home, you see …,” Noel began.
“I did see,” Emily said, “but these are good for you, Noel. Go on into your room and I’ll bring a tray in to you in five minutes.”
There was no escape.
He sat there waiting for her and the storm that would follow. Oddly there was no storm. She never mentioned the fact that he had taken up drinking again. And Emily had been right—he did feel better when he had something to eat. She was clearing up and about to go when she asked sympathetically if it had been a bad day.
“The worst ever,” he said.
“Mr. Hall?”
“No, he was fine. Just something mad and upsetting happened later on in the day. That’s why I went back to the pints.”
“And did that help?” She seemed genuinely interested.
“At first it did a bit. It’s not working now and I’m just annoyed with myself for staying off it for all those days and nights and now running straight back when I get a bit of an upset.”
“Did you sort out the upset?” She was completely nonjudgmental. She looked at him, inviting him to share whatever it was, but she would have left if there was no information to hear.
“Please sit down, Emily,” Noel begged, and he told the whole story, haltingly and with a lot of repetition. Mainly he said that he could not have fathered a child without remembering it.
“I have so little sex, Emily, that I’m not likely to forget the little bit I do have.”
She was very still as she sat and listened to him. Her face changed from time to time. It was concerned and distressed when she heard how gaunt and painful Stella’s face had become. She inclined her head to show sympathy as Noel told how Stella had said that if she were to choose a father from anyone in the world he would be the very last choice—a drunk who was a loser and still lived with his parents.
It was only when Noel came to the end of his tale, when he got to the part where he had walked away from Stella, the hospital and the problem, that Emily’s face became confused.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“Well, what else could I do?” Noel was surprised. “It has nothing to do with me. There’s no point in my being there—it’s adding to the whole charade. The girl’s head is unhinged.”
“You walked out and left her there?”
“I had to, Emily. You know what a tightrope I’m walking. Things are quite bad enough already without inviting the Lord knows what kind of fantasies in