Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [80]
“He’s his own man, Jessica,” Declan had warned her. “He might tell you there’s nothing wrong with him at all.”
“I know, Declan, relax. We’ll get on fine together.” And Declan knew that they would.
· · ·
Moira was bustling down St. Jarlath’s Crescent when Declan went out. She seemed surgically attached to her clipboard of notes. Declan had never seen her without them. He waved and kept walking, but she stopped him. She clearly had something on her mind.
“Where are you heading?” he asked easily.
“I heard there was a house for sale in this street,” Moira said. “I’ve always wanted a little garden. Do you know anything about it? It’s Number Twenty-two.”
Declan thought quickly; it belonged to an old lady who was going into an old people’s home, but it was exactly next door to Noel’s parents. Noel would not welcome that.
“Might be in poor condition,” Declan said. “She was a bit of a recluse.”
“Well, that might make it cheaper,” Moira said cheerfully. She looked nice when she smiled.
“Noel still okay?” she asked.
“Well, you actually see him more than I do, Moira,” Declan said.
“Yes, well, it’s my job. But he can be a little touchy at times, don’t you find?”
“Touchy? No, I never found that.”
“Just one day there recently, he actually pushed my notes out of my hands and shouted at me.”
“What was all that about?”
“About someone called Dingo Duggan who had been appointed as an extra babysitter. I asked about him and Noel shouted at me that he was a ‘decent poor eejit’ and used most abusive language. It was quite intolerable.”
Declan looked at her steadily. So that was what had tilted Noel that night. He hardly trusted himself to speak.
“Is anything wrong, Declan?” she asked. “I get the feeling that I am not being told everything.”
Declan swallowed. Soon he would be far away from Moira and Noel and St. Jarlath’s Crescent. He reminded himself he must not explode and leave behind him a trail of confusion and bad feeling.
“I’m sure you were able to handle it very well, Moira,” he said insincerely. “You must be used to the ups and downs of clients, as we are with patients.”
“It’s good when you’re told the full story,” Moira said. “But at the moment I think something is being kept from me.”
“Well, when you discover what it is, you’ll let me know, won’t you?” Declan managed to fix a smile on his face and moved on.
He called in at the Laundromat where his mother worked, and kissed his son, who was sitting with his friend Frankie. The children were both like advertisements for Bonny Babies; they seemed to be endlessly fascinated with their hands.
“Who is his daddy’s little boy, then,” Declan said.
His voice sounded different. Molly Carroll looked at her son, concerned.
“Did you come in for anything, Declan?” she asked.
“Just to say hello to my son and heir and to thank my saintly mother and my friend Emily for making life so easy for us both.” He smiled. A real smile this time.
“Well, isn’t it the least I could do?” Molly was pleased. “Haven’t I got what every mother dreams of? Her son and now her grandson living at home! When I think of all the people who hardly ever see their grandchildren, I feel blessed every single day.”
Not for much longer, Declan thought to himself grimly. He went on to see Muttie and Lizzie. They were having a good-natured argument about how to welcome Jessica, who was going to arrive on her first call that day.
“I’ve made some scones, but Muttie thinks she’d like a good dinner. What do you think, Declan?”
“I think the scones would be fine and you can suggest lunch to her another time,” Declan said.
“Is she a married person or a single lady?” Muttie asked.
“She’s a widow, as it happens. Her husband died about three years ago.”
“The Lord have mercy on him—it must be very hard on her,” said Lizzie, without any apparent acknowledgment that she too would soon be a widow.
“Yes, but Jessica has great heart. She puts everything into her family and her work.”
“That’s very wise,” said Lizzie. “And I hope she had a great doctor at the time like we do.” She looked