Minding Frankie (6 page)

“I was hoping not to have to bother you about this, Noel, but you’re the father. This is your baby.”

“Ah, no, Stella, this is a mistake. This didn’t happen.”

“I know I’m not
very
memorable, but you must remember that weekend.”

“We were wasted that weekend, both of us.”

“Not too drunk to create a new life, apparently.”

“I swear it can’t be me. Honestly, Stella, if it were, I would accept … I wouldn’t run away or anything … but … but …”

“But what, exactly?”

“There must have been lots of other people.”

“Thanks a lot for that, Noel.”

“You know what I mean. An attractive woman like you must have had lots of partners.”

“I’m the one who knows. Do you honestly think I would pick
you
out of a list of candidates? That I’d phone you, a drunk in that mausoleum where you work, in some useless job? You live with your parents, for God’s sake! Why would I ask
you
, of all people, to be the father of my child if it wasn’t true?”

“Well, as you said yourself, thanks a lot for that.” He looked hurt.

“So you asked me what would be the worst thing. I told you and now the worst
has
happened. You don’t believe me.” She had a defeated look.

“It’s a fantasy. It didn’t happen. I’d remember. I haven’t slept with that many women in my life, and what good would I be to you anyway? I am, as you say, a useless drunk with a non-job in Hall’s, living with my mother and father. I’d be no support to you. You’ll be able to bring this child up fine, give him some guts, fight his battles for him, more than I would ever do. Do it yourself, Stella, and if you think I should make some contribution, and I don’t want you to be short, I could give you something—not admitting anything—just to help you out.”

Her eyes blazed at him.

“You are such a fool, Noel Lynch. Such a stupid fool. I won’t bloody well be here to bring her up. I’m going to die in three or four weeks’ time. I won’t survive the operation. And the baby is not a boy, by the way, she’s a girl, she’s a daughter, her name is Frankie. That’s what she’s going to be called: Frances Stella.”

“This is only a fantasy, Stella. This illness has made you very unhinged.”

“Ask any of them in the ward. Ask any of the nurses. Wake up to the real world, Noel. This is happening. We have to do something about it.”

“I can’t raise a child, Stella. You’ve already listed all the things against it. Whatever chance she’s going to have, it can’t be with me.”

“You’re going to
have
to,” Stella said. “Otherwise she’ll have to go into care. And I’m not having that.”

“But that would be the very best for her. There are families out there who are dying to have children of their own …,” he began, blustering slightly.

“Yes, and some other families, like the ones I met when I was in care, where the fathers and the uncles love to have a little plaything in the house. I’ve been through it all and Frankie’s not going to have to cope with it just because she will have no mother.”

“What are you asking me to do?”

“To mind your daughter, to give her a home and a secure childhood, to tell her that her mother wasn’t all that bad. Fight her battles. The usual things.”

“I can’t do it.” He stood up from his chair.

“There’s so much to discuss …,” Stella began.

“It’s not going to happen. I’m so sorry. And I’m really sorry to know how bad your illness is, but I think you’re painting too black a picture. Cancer can be cured these days. Truly it can, Stella.”

“Good-bye, Noel,” she said.

No matter how often he said her name she would not turn towards him.

He walked to the door and looked around once more. She seemed to have shriveled even further. She looked tiny as she sat there on her bed. He fancied that the other women in the ward had heard most of their conversation. They looked at him with hostility.

On the bus home Noel realized that there was no way he could force himself to sit at the kitchen table eating a supper that Emily would have kept warm for him. Tonight was not a time to sit and talk about saints and statues and fund-raising and accountancy and business management classes. Tonight was a night to have three pints in some pub and forget everything. He headed for the pub where Paddy Carroll, Declan’s father, took his huge Labrador dog every night. With any luck, at this time of night Noel might get away without being spotted.

The beer felt terrific. Like an old friend.

He had lowered four pints before he realized it.

Noel had hoped that he might have lost the taste for it, but that hadn’t happened. He just felt a great sense of irritation and annoyance with himself that he had denied himself this familiar and friendly relaxation. Already he was feeling better. His hand had stopped shaking, his heart wasn’t pounding as it had been.

He
must
stay clear and focused.

He would have to go back to St. Jarlath’s Crescent and take up some semblance of ordinary life. Emily would, of course, see through him at once, but he could tell her later. Much later. No need to announce everything to everyone all at once. Or maybe no
need to announce anything at all. It was, after all, some terrible mistake. Noel would
know
if he had fathered a child with that girl.

He would
know
it.

It had to have come from her mind having been affected by this cancer. Anybody normal would not have selected Noel, of all people, as the father of their child. Poor Stella was far from normal and he pitied her, but this was ludicrous.

It could not be his child.

He waved away the suggestion of a fifth pint and moved purposefully towards the door.

He didn’t see Declan Carroll having a drink with his father and looking curiously at the man who had claimed to have given up alcohol but who had just downed four pints of beer at racing speed.

Declan sighed.

Whatever Noel had heard at the hospital, whoever he had visited, it had not made him happy.

Paddy Carroll patted his son’s hand.

“In a matter of weeks it will all be behind you. You’ll have a great little son and the waiting bit will be forgotten.”

“Yes, Dad. Tell me what it was like when Mam was expecting me.”

“I don’t know how I survived it,” Declan’s father said, and told the old, familiar story again from the point of view of the father of the baby.

The mother’s role in the birth had been merely minimal, apparently.

Noel had only opened his mouth when Emily looked up at him sharply. It was as if she had called the meeting to order.

“We’re all tired now, it’s late. Not a good time to discuss the running of a thrift shop.”

“A what?” Noel shook his head as if that would somehow settle the collection of thoughts and ideas that were nestling in it. His parents looked disappointed. They were being carried along by the
enthusiasm of Emily’s planning and they were sorry to see it being cut short.

But Emily was adamant. She had the whole household ready for bed in no time.

“Noel, I saved you some Italian meatballs.”

“They were just delicious,” Josie said. “Emily can turn her hand to anything.”

“I don’t think I really want anything. I stopped on the way home, you see …,” Noel began.

“I did see,” Emily said, “but these are good for you, Noel. Go on into your room and I’ll bring a tray in to you in five minutes.”

There was no escape.

He sat there waiting for her and the storm that would follow. Oddly there was no storm. She never mentioned the fact that he had taken up drinking again. And Emily had been right—he
did
feel better when he had something to eat. She was clearing up and about to go when she asked sympathetically if it had been a bad day.

“The worst ever,” he said.

“Mr. Hall?”

“No, he was fine. Just something mad and upsetting happened later on in the day. That’s why I went back to the pints.”

“And did that help?” She seemed genuinely interested.

“At first it did a bit. It’s not working now and I’m just annoyed with myself for staying off it for all those days and nights and now running straight back when I get a bit of an upset.”

“Did you sort out the upset?” She was completely nonjudgmental. She looked at him, inviting him to share whatever it was, but she would have left if there was no information to hear.

“Please sit down, Emily,” Noel begged, and he told the whole story, haltingly and with a lot of repetition. Mainly he said that he could not have fathered a child without remembering it.

“I have so little sex, Emily, that I’m not likely to forget the little bit I
do
have.”

She was very still as she sat and listened to him. Her face changed from time to time. It was concerned and distressed when she heard
how gaunt and painful Stella’s face had become. She inclined her head to show sympathy as Noel told how Stella had said that if she were to choose a father from anyone in the world he would be the very last choice—a drunk who was a loser and still lived with his parents.

It was only when Noel came to the end of his tale, when he got to the part where he had walked away from Stella, the hospital and the problem, that Emily’s face became confused.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Well, what else could I do?” Noel was surprised. “It has nothing to do with
me
. There’s no point in my being there—it’s adding to the whole charade. The girl’s head is unhinged.”

“You walked out and left her there?”

“I
had
to, Emily. You know what a tightrope I’m walking. Things are quite bad enough already without inviting the Lord knows what kind of fantasies in on top of me.”

“You say that things are bad enough for you, Noel? Right?”

“Well they
are
bad.” He sounded defensive.

“Like you have terminal cancer?” she asked him. “Like you were abused when you were in foster care? Like you are going to be dead a month from now, before you see the only child you will ever have? No, indeed, Noel, none of these things has happened to you, yet you just said things are very bad for
you.
”

He was stricken.

“That’s all you think. You think how things are for
you
, Noel. Shame on you,” she said, her face full of scorn. This was the nearest he had come to having a best friend and now she was turning against him.

“Emily, please sit down. You asked me what was wrong, so I told you.”

“Yes, you did, Noel.” She made no movement to sit down.

“So? Won’t you stay and discuss it?”

“No. Why should I join in this charade, as you call it? Don’t make faces at me, Noel. These are your words. Why should I not think of the perilous tightrope that
I
am walking in my life? I’m
sorry, but everyone in all this is becoming … what did you call it—‘unhinged in the head’? Why should I let people surround me with their fantasies?” She was almost at the door.

“But they’re not fantasies, Emily. It’s what happened.”

“That’s right. They’re not fantasies. It’s what actually happened. But hey, what the hell? It’s got nothing to do with
you
, Noel. Good night. I’m sorry, but that is all I feel capable of saying.” And she was gone.

He had thought that this day just couldn’t get any worse. That’s why he had told her. In a few short hours two women had turned away from him in disgust.

And somehow it had made the day worse than ever.

Katie Finglas was locking up the hair salon. It had been a long day and she was tired. It was Garry’s night out. Once a week he and a group of the lads kicked a ball around a pitch and planned strategy for the year.