Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [55]
Moira stood on the outside watching the people mingle and talk and come up to gurgle at the babies. It was a pleasant gathering, certainly, but she didn’t feel involved.
There was music in the background and Noel moved around easily, drinking orange juice and talking to everyone. Moira watched Lisa, who was there looking very glamorous, her honey-colored hair coiled up under a little red hat.
Maud noticed Moira standing alone and came over to her, offering her the serving tray. “Can I get you another piece of cake?” she offered.
“No, thank you. I’m Moira, Frankie’s social worker,” she said.
“Yes, I know you are. I’m Maud Mitchell, one of Frankie’s babysitters. She’s doing very well, isn’t she?”
Moira leaped on this. “Didn’t you expect her to do well?” she asked.
“Oh, no, the reverse. Noel has to be both mother and father to her, and he’s doing a really great job.”
More solidarity in the community, Moira thought. It was as if there were an army ranked against her. She could still see in her mind the newspaper headlines: SOCIAL SERVICES TO BLAME. THERE WERE MANY WARNINGS. EVERYTHING WAS IGNORED … “How exactly are you and your brother friends of Noel?” she asked.
“We live on the same street as he used to live, where his parents live now. But we’re hoping to go to New Jersey soon—we have the offer of a job.” Her face lit up.
“No work here?”
“Not for freelance caterers, no. People have less money these days, they’re not giving big parties like they used to.”
“And your parents—will they be sorry to see you go …?”
“No, our parents sort of went ages ago, we live with Muttie and Lizzie Scarlet, and it will be hard saying good-bye to them. Honestly it’s too long a story, and I’m meant to be collecting plates. That’s Muttie over there, the one in the middle telling stories.” She pointed out a small man with a wheeze that didn’t deter any of his tales.
Why had he brought up these two young people? It was a mystery, and Moira hated a mystery.
· · ·
At the weekly meeting, Moira’s team leader asked for a report on any areas that were giving cause for alarm.
As she always did, she brought up the subject of Noel and his baby daughter. The team leader shuffled the papers in front of her.
“We have the nurse’s report here. She says the child is fine.”
“She sees only what she wants to see.” Moira knew that she sounded petty and mulish.
“Well, the weight gain is normal, the hygiene is fine—he hasn’t fallen down on anything so far.”
“He’s brought a flashy girl in to live there.”
“We are not nuns, Moira. This isn’t the nineteen fifties. It’s no business of ours what he does in his private life as long as he looks after that child properly. His girlfriends are neither here nor there.”
“But she says she’s not a girlfriend, and that’s what he says.”
“Really, Moira, it’s impossible to please you. If she is a girlfriend you’re annoyed and if she’s not you’re even more annoyed. Would anything please you?”
“For that child to be put into care,” Moira said.
“The mother was adamant and the father hasn’t put a foot wrong. Next business.”
Moira felt a dull, red flush rise around her neck. They thought she was obsessing about this. Oh, let them wait until something happened. The social workers were always blamed and they would be again.
But not Moira. She had made very sure of this.
The next morning, Moira decided to go and examine this St. Jarlath’s Thrift Shop, where the baby spent a couple of hours a day.
The place was clean and well ventilated. No complaints there. Emily and a neighbor, Molly Carroll, were busy hanging up dresses that had just come in.
“Ah, Moira,” Emily said, welcoming her. “Do you want a nice knitted suit? It would look very well on you. It’s fully lined, see, with satin. Some lady said she was tired of looking at it in her wardrobe and sent it over this morning. It’s a lovely heather color.”
It was a nice suit, and ordinarily Moira might have been interested. But this was a work visit, not a social shopping outing.
“I really called to know whether