Minding Frankie (25 page)

“It’s Muttie.”

“What’s happened to him? Declan, tell me in the name of God.…”

“He has just a few months,” Declan said.

“Never!” She was so shocked she had to sit down.

“Yes. I was at the specialist this morning with him.”

“I thought you were taking him to the bank.”

“I did, so that he could get the money for a specialist.”

“Muttie went private? God, he
must
have been worried,” Fiona said.

“I hijacked him into it, but the specialist waived the fee.”

“Why on earth did he do that?”

“Because Muttie is Muttie,” Declan said.

“He’ll have to tell Lizzie,” Fiona said.

“It’s done. I was there.” Declan looked stricken.

“And?”

“It was as bad as you’d think. Worse. Lizzie said she still had so many things to do with Muttie. She had been planning to take him to the Grand National in Liverpool. You know, Fiona, Muttie’s never going to make it to Aintree.”

And then he sobbed like a child.

Maud and Simon, who had grown up with Muttie and Lizzie and hardly remembered any former life, were heartbroken.

“It’s not as if he were really old,” Maud said.

“Sixty is meant to be only middle-aged nowadays,” Simon agreed.

“Remember the cake we made for his birthday?”

“ ‘Sixty Glorious Years.’ ”

“We’ll have to put off going to America,” Maud said.

“We can’t do that. What if they won’t keep the job for us?” Simon was very anxious.

“There will be other jobs. Later, you know, afterwards.” Maud didn’t want them to go.

But Simon wasn’t willing to let it go easily. “It’s such a chance, Maud. He’d want us to have it. We’ll be earning a big salary. We could send him money.”

“When was Muttie ever interested in money?”

“I know … you’re right. I was just trying to think of excuses, really,” Simon admitted.

“So let’s try to get shifts in good Dublin restaurants.”

“They’d never take us on. We don’t have enough experience.”

“Oh, come on, Simon, don’t be such a defeatist. We have terrific recommendations and references from all the people we did catering for. I bet they’ll take us on.”

“Where will we start?”

“I think we should invest a little money first, have dinner somewhere like Quentins, Colm’s or Anton’s. You know, top places. And we’d regard it as research, keep our eyes open and
then
go back and ask for a job.”

“It seems a heartless sort of thing to be doing when poor Muttie is in such bad shape.”

“It’s better than going to the other side of the earth,” Maud said.

They would start with Colm’s up in Tara Road. They chose the cheapest items on the menu, but took notes on everything: the way the waiters served, how they offered the wine for tasting, the way the cheeses were brought to the table and how they were sliced according to the customers’ wishes, with some advice from the waiter.

“We had better learn our cheeses before trying here,” Maud whispered.

“That’s the head guy there.” Simon pointed out Colm, the owner.

He came to their table. “Nice to see a younger set coming in,” he said, welcoming them.

“We’re in the catering business ourselves,” Maud said suddenly.

“Really?”

Simon was annoyed. They hadn’t planned to blurt it out so quickly. Now they had exposed themselves as spies and not real diners.

“We have terrific recommendations and I was wondering if we could leave you our business card. Just in case you were short-staffed.”

“Thank you. Of course I’ll keep it. Here, are you any relation of Cathy Mitchell of Scarlet Feather?”

“Yes, she trained us,” Maud said proudly.

“She was married to a cousin of ours, Neil Mitchell.” Simon saw no need to explain the situation any further.

“Well, well, if Cathy trained you, you must be great! But I won’t have anything just for the moment. My partner’s daughter Annie—that’s her over there—she’s just started here, so we’re fairly well covered at the moment. Still, I’ll put your names in the book.” Then he retired to the kitchen.

“He was nice,” Maud whispered.

“Yeah, I hope he won’t go checking up with Cathy on us just now. She’s very upset about Muttie and it would look a bit heartless.”

They decided on chemotherapy for Muttie, and by this stage everyone in St. Jarlath’s Crescent knew about him and had a variety of cures. Josie and Charles Lynch said that in recognition for Muttie’s interest in the campaign for his statue, St. Jarlath would put in a word for him. Dr. Hat said that he would be happy to drive Muttie to the pub any evening he wanted to go. Hat wouldn’t stay, but he’d come back and pick him up later. Emily Lynch managed to distract Muttie by planting winter-color shrubs in his garden.

“But will I be still here to see them, Emily?” he asked one day.

“Oh, come on, Muttie. The great gardeners of history always knew that someone would see them. That’s what it’s all about.”

“That makes sense,” Muttie said, and put aside any thought of self-pity.

Declan’s own parents saw that there was a half leg of lamb left over at the end of the day or four fillet steaks.

Cathy came by every day, often with something to eat.

“We made far too many of these little salmon tarts, Dad. Mam, you’d be helping me out if you were to take them.”

Often she brought her son, Thomas, with her. He was a lively lad and kept Muttie well entertained.

In fact, it was all going better than Declan could have hoped. He had thought that the normally cheerful Muttie would fall into a serious depression. But it was far from being the case. Declan’s father said that Muttie was still the life and soul up at the pub and he had the same number of pints as ever on the grounds that there wasn’t much damage they could do to him now.

Declan wrote to the specialist, Dr. Harris.

Mr. Harris responded by return.

Declan had to read the letter three times before it sank in. He was being offered a place in one of the most prestigious practices in the whole of Dublin. A house with a big garden and a posh school for Johnny. It was the kind of post he might have tried for in ten years’ time. But
now
! Before he was thirty! It was too much to take onboard. Fiona had gone to work when the letter arrived so he couldn’t share the news. Emily had come to pick up Johnny and wheel him up to Noel’s to collect Frankie. Today the children were going to the thrift shop for the morning and back here to his parents’ in the afternoon. The system ran like clockwork and Noel seemed to be back on track also.

Declan’s surgery began at ten so he would have time to call in to Muttie and discuss the palliative-care nurse who was arriving for the first time today. Declan knew the nurse. She was an experienced, gentle woman called Jessica, trained in making the abnormal seem reasonable and quick to anticipate anything that might be needed.

“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 at Declan fondly.

“You can say that again,” said Muttie.

“Stop that, Muttie, you’re making my head swell!” he said.

“It deserves to swell. I’ve told everyone about that Dr. Harris and how he wouldn’t charge me because you were a professional colleague of his and I was your Associate.”

Declan felt a slight stinging behind his eyes. By the time that Muttie died, Declan and Fiona would be in a totally different part of Dublin. Not only would Muttie and Lizzie have lost their trusted doctor, but his own parents would have lost their son and grandson.

Before he got to work, he met Josie and Charles Lynch.

“I believe the house next door to you is up for sale?” he said.

“Yes, the notice is going up tomorrow. How do you know already?”

“Moira,” he said simply.

“Lord, that woman can hear the grass grow,” Josie said.

“She’s been round to the house checking that there are no dog hairs. What kind of a world does she live in thinking that dogs don’t shed hairs?”

“She’s thinking of buying the house,” Declan said.

“
Never!
” Josie was shocked. “Lord, she’ll be practically
living
in our house!”

Charles shook his head. “Noel won’t like this … not one little bit.”

“Well, we always have Declan to stand up to her for us all.” Josie was good at looking on the bright side.

Not for long, Declan thought to himself.

·   ·   ·

In the surgery that morning all the patients seemed to need to tell him some story or recall some instance where he had helped them. If Declan were to believe a quarter of the praise he got that morning, he would have been a very vain man. He just wished they had not chosen today to tell him all this. Today, of all days, when he was just about to change his life and leave them all.