Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [95]
“You have the house very nice.” Moira looked around her as if she were a housing inspector looking for flaws or damp.
“Glad it passes the test,” Mrs. Kennedy said.
Just then her father came out. Moira gasped—he looked ten years younger than the last time she had seen him. He wore a smart jacket and he had a collar and tie.
“You look the real part, Dad,” she said admiringly. “Are you going out somewhere?”
“I’m having supper in my own home. Isn’t that worth dressing up for?” he asked. Then, softening up a little, he said, “How are you, Moira? It’s really good to see you.”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“And where are you staying?”
So no bed here, Moira thought. She waved it away. “I’ll find somewhere … don’t worry about me.” As if he worried! If he did, then he would ask his fancy woman to get a bed ready for her.
“That’s grand, then. Come and sit down.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “Have a glass of sherry with your father. I’ll serve the meal in about ten minutes.”
“Isn’t she great?” Her father looked admiringly at the retreating Mrs. Kennedy.
“Great, altogether,” Moira said unenthusiastically.
“Is there anything wrong, Moira?” He looked at her, concerned.
“No. Why? Should there be?”
“You look as if something’s wrong.”
Moira exploded. “God Almighty, Dad, I came across the country to see you. You never write … you never phone … and now you criticize the way I look!”
“I was just concerned for you, in case you’d lost your job or something,” he said.
Moira looked at him. He meant it. She must have looked sad or angry or disapproving—all these things that people said.
“No, it’s just it’s the long weekend. I came back to see my family. Is that so very unusual? The train was full of people doing just that.”
“I thought it was kind of sad for you: your home gone, sold to other people, Pat all tied up in his romance.”
“Pat has a romance?”
“You haven’t seen him yet, then?”
“No, I came straight here. Who is it? What’s she like?”
“Remember the O’Learys who ran the garage?”
“Yes, but those girls are far too young. They’d only be fourteen or fifteen,” Moira said, shocked.
“It’s the mother. It’s Mrs. O’Leary—Erin O’Leary.”
“And what happened to Mr. O’Leary?” Moira couldn’t take it in.
“Gone off somewhere, apparently.”
“Merciful hour!” Moira said. It was an expression of her mother’s. She hadn’t said it in years.
“Well, exactly. You never know what’s around the next corner,” her father agreed.
He was in an awkward position, Moira realized. He couldn’t really remonstrate with Pat for moving in with a married lady. Hadn’t he done the very same thing himself? Mrs. Kennedy came in just then to ask would Moira like to freshen up before supper. Her father was nodding. Moira decided that she did want to freshen up. She took a clean blouse out of her suitcase and went to the bathroom.
It was an amazing room. The wallpaper had lots of blue mermaids and blue sea horses on it. There were blue and white china ornaments on the windowsill and a blue shell held the soap. A crinoline lady dressed in blue covered the next roll of lavatory paper in case people might know what it was and be affronted. There were blue gingham curtains on the window and a blue patterned shower curtain.
Moira washed her face and shoulders and under her arms. She put on her clean blouse and returned to the table.
“Lovely bathroom,” she said to Mrs. Kennedy.
“We do our best,” Mrs. Kennedy said, serving melon slices with a little cherry on top of each. Then she brought in the main course.
“Remember, vegetables are fine for me,” Moira said.
Her father waved her protest aside. “I walked into town and got an extra lamb chop,” he said.
Mrs. Kennedy looked as if Moira’s father had given her a priceless jewel.
Moira showed huge gratitude. She didn’t feel that she could easily discuss Pat’s new situation, so she ate her supper mainly in silence. Her father and Mrs. Kennedy talked animatedly