Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [61]
“This is different …,” Moira began.
“It’s not remotely different and honestly it’s got nothing to do with the case. I know you have to look out for Frankie, and you do it very well, but I’m just the lodger helping out. My circumstances have nothing to do with anything.” She went into the kitchen and banged around for a while.
Moira sought subjects that wouldn’t cause any further controversy. They were hard to find.
“I met Fiona Carroll. You know … Johnny’s mother.”
“Oh, yes?” Lisa said.
“She said that you and Noel were doing a great job minding Frankie.”
“Yes … well … good.”
“Most impressed, she was.”
“And were you surprised?” Lisa asked suddenly.
“No, of course not.”
“Good, because I tell you I have such admiration for Noel. All this came out of a clear blue sky at him. He’s been very strong. I wouldn’t have anyone bad-mouthing him, not anyone at all.” She looked like a tiger defending her cub.
Moira made a few bleating noises intended to suggest support and enthusiasm. She hoped she was giving the desired impression.
Her next visit was to a family where they were trying to make an elderly father a ward of the court. To Moira, Gerald, the old man, was perfectly sane. Lonely and frail, certainly, but mad? No.
His daughter and her husband were very anxious to have him defined as being incapable and sign his house over to them and then have him committed to a secure nursing home facility.
Moira was having none of it. Gerald wanted to stay in his home and she was his champion. She picked up a stray remark from the son-in-law, something that made her think that the man had gambling debts. It would suit him nicely if his father-in-law were put away. They might even sell the house and buy a smaller place.
It wouldn’t happen on Moira’s watch. Her clipboard was filled with notes for letters she would send to the relevant people. The son-in-law collapsed like a house of cards.
The old man looked at Moira affectionately.
“You’re better than having a bodyguard,” he said to her.
Moira was very proud of this. This was exactly what she saw herself as being. She patted the old man’s hand.
“I’ll get you a regular carer to come in and look after you. You can tell her if anyone steps out of line or anything. I’ll liaise with your doctor also. Let me see … that’s Dr. Carroll, isn’t it?”
“It used to be Dr. Hat,” Gerald said. “Dr. Carroll is a very nice lad, certainly, but he could be my grandson, if you see what I mean. Dr. Hat was nearer to my own generation.”
“And where is he?” Moira asked.
“He comes in to their practice from time to time when they’re short-staffed,” the old man said sadly. “I always seem to miss him, though.”
“I’ll find him for you,” Moira promised and went straightaway to the doctors’ group practice at the end of St. Jarlath’s Crescent.
Dr. Carroll was there and happy to talk about Gerald.
“I think he’s totally on the ball and playing with the full deck.”
“His family think otherwise.” Moira was terse.
“Well, they would, wouldn’t they? That son-in-law would do anything to get his hands on the family checkbook.”
“That’s my view too,” Moira said. “Can I ask you—does Dr. Hat do house calls?”
“No, not really. He’s retired, but he does the odd locum for us. Why do you ask?”
Moira chose her words carefully for once.
“He thinks very highly of you, Doctor. He said that several times, but I think he finds Dr.… er … Hat more in his age group.”
“Lord, he must be fifteen years older than Hat!”
“Yes, but he’s fifty years older than you, Doctor.”
“Hat’s a very decent man. He might well go round and see your Gerald as a social visit from time to time. I’ll tell him.”
“Could I tell him, do you think?” Moira had a history of people promising to do things that they fully intended to do but that never got done.
“Of course. I’ll give you his address.”
For Declan Carroll it was just one less thing to do. She was efficient, this Moira Tierney, and dedicated to her job. Such a pity that