Minding Frankie

by Maeve Binchy

  Then there was a hearse and funeral cars waiting to take the funeral party to Father Brian Flynn’s church in the immigrant center.

  Muttie had left very definite instructions.

  If I die, which is definitely on the cards, I want my funeral service to be done by Father Brian Flynn in his center, after a very brief sort of speech and one or two prayers. And then I’d like to give my bits to science in case they’re any use to anyone and the rest cremated without fuss.

  Signed in the whole of my wits,

  Muttance Scarlet

  Marco worked in Muttie and Lizzie’s kitchen, producing platters of antipasti and bowls of fresh pasta. Lizzie had said he was not to hold back. He had brought forks and plates from his father’s restaurant.

  Though Muttie had given Marco permission to ask Maud to marry him, he wouldn’t—not until she had stopped crying for her grandfather. Then he would ask her. Properly. He wondered would he and Maud be as happy as Muttie and Lizzie. Was he enough for her—she was so bright and quick.

  There was a picture of Muttie on the wall. He was smiling as usual. Marco could almost hear him saying, “Go on there, Marco Romano. You’re as good as any of them and better than most.”

  · · ·

  It was true what they had been saying: if people remember you, then you’re not dead. It was very comforting.

  At the church, Father Flynn kept the ceremony very short. One Our Father, one Hail Mary and one Glory Be to the Father. A Moroccan boy played “Amazing Grace” on a clarinet. And a girl from Poland played “Hail, Queen of Heaven” on an accordion. Then it was over.

  People stood around in the sunshine and talked about Muttie. Then they made way back to his home to say good-bye.

  Properly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Everyone in St. Jarlath’s Crescent was the poorer after Muttie’s death, and people tried to avoid looking at the lonely figure of Lizzie standing by her gate, as she always had. It was as if she were still waiting for him. Of course, everyone rallied round to make sure that she wasn’t alone, but one by one her children went back to their lives in Chicago and Australia; Cathy went back to her catering company. The twins were busy working at Ennio’s and deciding on their future.

  Everyone was slowly getting back to life, but with the knowledge that Lizzie had no life to get on with.

  One night she might be invited to Charles and Josie’s, but her eyes were far away as they talked of the campaign for the statue. Sometimes she went to sit with Paddy and Molly Carroll for an evening, but there was a limit to what she could listen to about Molly’s work at the thrift shop or Paddy’s confrontations at the meat counter. She had no tales of her own to tell anymore.

  Emily Lynch was sympathetic company; she would ask questions about Lizzie’s childhood and her early working days. She took Lizzie back to a time before Muttie, to places where Muttie had never walked. But then she couldn’t expect Emily to be there all the time. She seemed to be very friendly with Dr. Hat these days. Lizzie was glad for her but at the same time she mourned Muttie.

  There were so many things she wanted to tell him. Every day she thought of something new: how Cathy’s first husband, Neil, had come to the funeral and said that Muttie was a hero; how Father Flynn had blown his nose so much they thought he might have perforated an eardrum and how he had said the kindest things about Muttie and Lizzie’s wonderful extended family.

  Lizzie wanted to tell Muttie that Maud would be getting engaged to Marco and that Simon was happy about it and was still thinking of going to New Jersey. She wanted to discuss with him whether she would stay on in the house or get a smaller place. Everyone advised her that she must make no decisions for at least a year. She wondered would Muttie think that was wise.

  Lizzie sighed a lot these days but she tried to smile at the same time. People had always found good humor and smiles in this house, and it must not change now. It was when she was left alone in their little house that the smiles faded and she grieved for Muttie. She often heard his voice coming from another room, just not quite loud enough for her to hear what he said. When she made tea in the morning, she automatically made a cup for him; she set a place for him at mealtimes, and the sadness of it filled her with desolation.

  Her bed felt huge and empty now, and when she slept, she did so with her arm around a pillow. She dreamed of him almost every night, sometimes good dreams of happy days and joyful times; often they were terrible dreams of abandonment, loss and sorrow. She didn’t know which was worse: every morning she woke afresh to the knowledge that he was gone and he would never come back. It would never be all right again.

  Dr. Hat suggested to Emily that they go for a picnic, as the summer had finally arrived and the days were long and warm. Emily suggested Michael come with them, though for some reason Dr. Hat looked a bit odd when she raised it. She made formal egg sandwiches and filled two flasks with tea. She brought chocolate biscuits in a tin and they drove in Dr. Hat’s car out to the Wicklow Mountains.

  “It’s amazing to have all these hills so close to the city,” Emily said admiringly.

  “Those aren’t hills, they’re mountains,” Dr. Hat said reprovingly. “It’s very important to know that.”

  “I’m sorry.” Emily laughed. “But then what can you expect from a foreigner, an outsider.”

  “You’re not an outsider. Your heart is here,” Dr. Hat said, and he looked at her oddly again. “Or I very much hope it is.”

  Michael started to hum tunelessly to himself as he gazed out the window. Dr. Hat and Emily ignored him and raised their voices.

  “Oh, Hat, you feel safe enough saying that to me in front of Michael as a sort of joke.”

  “I was never as serious in my life. I do hope your heart is in Ireland. I’d hate it if you went away.”

  “Why, exactly?”

  “Because you are very interesting and you get things done. I was beginning to drift and you halted that. I’m more of a man since I met you.”

  Michael’s humming got louder, as if he were trying to drown them out.

  “You are?” shouted Emily. “Well, I feel more of a woman since I met you, so that has to be good somehow.”

  “I never married because I never met anyone who didn’t bore me before. I’d like … I’d like you to …”

  “To do what?” Emily asked. Michael’s humming was now almost deafening.

  “Oh, stop it, Michael,” Emily begged. “Hat is trying to say something, that’s all.”

  “He’s said it,” Michael said. “He’s asked you to marry him. Now just say yes, will you.”

  Emily looked at Hat for some clarity. Hat drew the car to a slow stop and got out. He went around to the passenger side, opened Emily’s door and knelt in the heather and gorse on the Wicklow Mountains.

  “Emily, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?” he asked.

  “Why didn’t you ask me before?”

  “I was so afraid you’d say no and that we’d lose the comfortable feeling of being friends. I was just afraid.”

  “Don’t be afraid anymore.” She touched him gently on the side of his face. “I’d love to marry you.”

  “Thanks be to God,” said Michael. “We can have the picnic now!”

  Emily and Dr. Hat decided that there was no reason for delay at their age; they would marry when Betsy and Eric were in Ireland. This way Betsy would get to be matron of honor and Michael would be best man. They could be married by Father Flynn in his church. The twins would do the catering and they could all go on honeymoon, with Dingo driving them, to the west.

  Emily didn’t want an engagement ring. She said she would prefer a nice solid-looking wedding ring and just that. Dr. Hat was almost skittish with good humor, and for the first time in his life he agreed to go to a tailor and have a made-to-measure suit. He would get a new hat to match it and promised to take it off in the church for the ceremony as long as it could be restored for the photographs.

  Betsy was almost
squeaking with excitement in her e-mails.

  And he proposed to you in the car in front of this other man, Michael? This is amazing, Emily, even for you. And you’re going to be living around the corner from your cousins!

  But can I ask, why is he called Hat? Is it short for Hathaway or was there an Irish St. Hat?

  Nothing would surprise me.

  Love from your elderly matron-of-honor-to-be,

  Betsy

  Emily still managed all her various jobs: she tended window boxes, she did her stints in the surgery, she stood behind the counter in the thrift shop—which was where she found her wedding outfit. It arrived from a shop that was about to close down. There were a number of pieces that had been display items, and the owner said she would get nothing for them and it was better they went to some charity.

  Emily was hanging them up carefully on a rail when she saw it. A silk dress with a navy and pale-blue flower pattern and a matching jacket in navy with a small trim of the dress material on the jacket collar. It was perfect: elegant and feminine and wedding-like.

  Carefully, Emily put the sum of money she would have hoped to get for it into the till and brought it home straightaway.

  Josie saw her coming through the house.

  “The very woman,” Josie said. “Will you have a cup of tea?”

  “A quick one, then. I don’t want to leave Molly too long on her own.” Emily sat down.

  “I’m a bit worried,” Josie began.

  “Tell me.” Emily sighed.

  “It’s this money Mrs. Monty left to Charles.”

  “Yes, and you’re giving it to the Statue Fund.” Emily knew all this.

  “It’s just that we’re worried about how much it is,” Josie said, looking around her in a frightened way. “You see, it’s not just thousands … it’s hundreds of thousands.”

  Emily was stunned.

  “That poor old lady had that kind of money! Who’d have thought it!” Emily said.

  “Yes, and that’s the problem.”

  “What’s that, Josie?” Emily asked gently.

  Josie was very perturbed. “It’s too much to give to a statue, Emily. It’s sort of different from what we had thought. We wanted a small statue, a community thing with everyone contributing. If we give this huge sum we could have a huge statue up straightaway but it’s not quite the same.…”

  “I see.…” Emily hardly dared to breathe.

  “It’s such a huge amount of money, you see, we wonder have we a duty to our granddaughter, for example. Should we leave a sum for her education or to give her a start in life? Or should we give something to Noel so that he has something to fall back on if times get bad? Could I retire properly and could Charles and I go to the Holy Land? All these things are possible, I know. Would St. Jarlath like that better than a statue? It’s impossible to know.”

  Emily was thoughtful. What she said now was very important.

  “Which feels right to you, Josie?”

  “That’s the trouble. They both seem to be the right way to go. You see, we were never rich people. Now that we are, thanks to Mrs. Monty, could we possibly have changed and become greedy like they say rich people do?”

  “Oh, you and Charles would never go that way!”

  “We might, Emily. I mean, here am I thinking of an expensive tour to the Holy Land. You see, I tell myself that maybe St. Jarlath would prefer us to spend the money doing good in other ways.”

  “Yes, that is certainly a possibility,” Emily agreed.

  “You see, if I could only get some kind of a sign as to what he wanted.…”

  “What would God have wanted, I wonder?” Emily speculated. “Our Lord wasn’t into big show and splendor. He was more into helping the poor.”

  “Of course, the poor can be helped by a statue reminding them of a great saint.”

  “Yes …”

  “You’re going off the idea of the statue, aren’t you?” Josie said, tears not far from her eyes.

  “No, I’m all in favor of the statue. You and Charles have been working on it for so long. It’s a great idea, but I think it should be the smaller statue you originally thought of. Greatness isn’t shown by size.”

  Josie was weakening. “We could give one big contribution to the fund and then invest the rest.”

  “From what you know about St. Jarlath, do you think he’d be happy with that?” Emily knew that Josie must be utterly convinced in her heart before she abandoned the cracked notion of spending all this money on a statue.

  “I think he would,” Josie said. “He was all for the good of the people and if we were to put a playground at the end of the crescent for the children, wouldn’t that be in the spirit of it all?”

  “And the statue?”

  “We could have it in the playground. Call it all ‘St. Jarlath’s Garden for Children.’ ”

  Emily smiled with relief. Her own view of God was of a vague, benevolent force that sometimes shaped people’s lives and other times stayed out of it and let things happen. She and Hat argued about this. He said it was a manifestation of people’s wishes for an afterlife and helped put more sense into the time we spent on earth. But today Emily’s God had intervened. He had ensured that Charles and Josie would help their son and their granddaughter. They would build a playground to keep the children safe. They would go to see Jerusalem and, most merciful of all, it would be a small statue and not a monstrosity that would make people mock them.

  This was coming at a very good time for Noel. His exams were soon and he had looked strained and overtired in the past few days.

  “Once you and Charles have agreed, you should tell Noel,” Emily suggested.

  “We’ll talk it over tonight. Charles is out walking dogs in the park.”

  “I have a lovely lamb stew for you,” Emily said. She had actually cooked it for Hat and herself but this was more important. Josie must not be given any excuse to put off telling Charles about her decision. Josie was easily distracted by things like having to put a meal on the table.

  Emily would make something else for herself and Hat.

  · · ·

  They did their roster every Sunday night. A page was put up on the kitchen wall. You could easily read who was minding Frankie every hour of the day. Noel and Lisa each had a copy as well. Soon Frankie would be old enough to go to Miss Keane’s day nursery: that would be three hours accounted for each day. Only the name of who was to collect her would be needed for the mornings.

  Lisa would take her to Miss Keane’s and a variety of helpers would pick her up. Lisa wasn’t free at lunchtime. She had a job making sandwiches in a rather classy place on the other side of the city. It wasn’t a skilled job, but she brought all the skills she had to it. It paid her share of the groceries, and little by little she told them her ideas.

  A gorgonzola and date sandwich? The customers loved it, so she suggested little posters advertising the sandwich of the week, and when they said it would be too expensive to do them, she drew them herself. She even designed a logo for the sandwich bar.

  “You’re much too good to be here,” said Hugh, the young owner.

  “I’m too good for everywhere. Weren’t you lucky to get me?”

  “We were, actually. You’re a mystery woman.”

  He smiled at her. Hugh was rich and confident and good-looking. He fancied her, but Lisa realized that she had got out of the way of looking at men properly.

  She had forgotten how to flirt.

  She did other things to keep busy.

  She joined Emily in the window box patrol and learned a lot about plants as well as about the lives of the people in St. Jarlath’s Crescent. Feeding plants and repotting—it was a different world, but she picked it up quickly. Emily said she was a natural. She could run her own plant nurseries.

  “I used to be bright,” Lisa said thoughtfully. “I was really good at school and then I got a great job in an agency … but it all drifted away …”

  Emily knew when to leave
a silence.

  Lisa went on almost dreamily, “It was like driving into a fog, really, meeting Anton. I forgot the world outside.”

  “And is the world coming back to you yet?” Emily asked gently.

  “Sort of peering through the foggy curtains.”

  “Are there things you meant to do before and didn’t get to do?”

  “Yes, a lot of things, and I’m going to do them. Starting with these exams.”

  “It will concentrate the mind,” Emily agreed.

  “Yes, and keep me away from Anton’s …,” Lisa said ruefully.

  She knew very clearly that if she went back to the restaurant they would all greet her warmly. Her absence would not need to be explained. They would assume she had just had a hissy fit and had now come to her senses. April would look put out and Anton would look at her lazily and say she was lovely and the days had been lonely and colorless since she had gone. On the surface nothing would have changed. Deep down, though, it was all changed. He didn’t love her. She had just been available, that was all.

  But as she had said to Emily, there were still a lot of things that had to be done about other aspects of her life. One of these was meeting her mother.

  Since she had discovered that her father brought prostitutes home, Lisa’s meetings with her mother had been sparse. They met for coffee every now and then and they had lunch before Christmas. A dutiful exchange of gifts was made and they both engaged in a polite fiction of a conversation.

  Her mother had asked about Lisa’s design work for Anton’s.

  Lisa had asked about Mother’s garden and whether she had decided on having a greenhouse or not. They had both talked a lot about Katie’s salon and how well it was doing. Then, with relief, they had parted.

  Nothing dangerous had been said, no forbidden roads had been opened up.

  But this was no way to live, Lisa told herself. She must urge Mother to do what she had done herself and cut free from the old bonds.

  She telephoned her mother immediately.

  “Lunch? What’s the occasion?” her mother asked.

  “There’s no law that says we can only meet on special occasions,” Lisa said. She could tell that her mother was confused.