Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [3]
He took to coming home later and later. He also took to visiting Casey’s pub on the journey home—a big barn of a place, both comforting and anonymous at the same time. It was familiar because everyone knew his name.
“I’ll drop it down to you, Noel,” the loutish son of the house would say. Old Man Casey, who said little but noticed everything, would look over his spectacles as he polished the beer glasses with a clean linen cloth.
“Evening, Noel,” he would say, managing to combine the courtesy of being the landlord with the sense of disapproval he had of Noel. He was, after all, an acquaintance of Noel’s father. It was as if he were glad that Casey’s was getting the price of the pint—or several pints—as the night went on but as well as this he seemed disappointed that Noel was not spending his wages more wisely. Yet Noel liked the place. It wasn’t a trendy pub with fancy prices. It wasn’t full of girls giggling and interrupting a man’s drinking. People left him alone here.
That was worth a lot.
When he got home, Noel noticed that his mother looked different. He couldn’t work out why. She was wearing the red knitted suit that she wore only on special occasions. At the biscuit factory where she worked they wore a uniform, which she said was wonderful because it meant you didn’t wear out your good garments. Noel’s mother didn’t wear makeup so it couldn’t be that.
Eventually he realized that it was her hair. His mother had been to a beauty salon.
“You got a new hairdo, Mam!” he said.
Josie Lynch patted her head, pleased. “They did a good job, didn’t they?” She spoke like someone who frequented hairdressing salons regularly.
“Very nice, Mam,” he said.
“I’ll be putting a kettle on if you’d like a cup of tea,” she offered.
“No, Mam, you’re all right.” He was anxious to be out of there, safe in his room. And then Noel remembered that his cousin Emily was coming from America the next day. His mother must be getting ready for her arrival. This Emily was going to stay for a few weeks, apparently. It hadn’t been decided exactly how many weeks.…
Noel hadn’t involved himself greatly in the visit, doing only what he had to, like helping his father to paint her room and clearing out the downstairs storage room, where they had tiled the walls and put in a new shower. He didn’t know much about her; she was an older person, in her fifties, maybe, the only daughter of his father’s eldest brother, Martin. She had been an art teacher but her job had ended unexpectedly and she was using her savings to see the world. She would start with a visit to Dublin, from where her father had left many years ago to seek his fortune in America.
It had not been a great fortune, Charles reported. The eldest brother of the family had worked in a bar, where he was his own best customer. He had never stayed in touch. Any Christmas cards had been sent by this Emily, who had also written to tell first of her father’s death and then her mother’s. She sounded remarkably businesslike and said that when she arrived in Dublin she would expect to pay a contribution to the family expenses and that since she was letting her own small apartment in New York during her absence, it was only fair. Josie and Charles were also reassured that she seemed sensible and had promised not to be in their way or looking for entertainment. She said she would find plenty to occupy her.
Noel sighed.
It would be one more trivial happening elevated to high drama by his mother and father. The woman wouldn’t be in the door before she heard all about his great future at Hall’s, about his mother’s job at the biscuit factory and his father’s role as a senior porter in a very grand hotel. She would be told about the moral decline in Ireland, the lack of attendance at Sunday Mass and that binge drinking kept the emergency departments of hospitals full to overflowing. Emily would be invited to join the family Rosary.
Noel’s mother had already spent considerable time debating whether they should put a picture of the Sacred