Minding Frankie (19 page)

Moira wished that life was as simple for her. Charles Lynch didn’t have to fear a series of articles in the newspapers saying that yet again the dog walkers had been found wanting and that all the signs had been there ready for anyone to see.

·   ·   ·

Next day, Moira began to understand the nature of her job. She was helped in this by Hilary, the office manager, and a Polish girl, Ania, who had recently had a miscarriage and had only just returned to work. She seemed devoted to the place and totally loyal to Clara Casey.

There was, apparently, a bad man called Frank Ennis who was on the hospital board and was the hospital manager, who tried to resist spending one cent on the heart clinic. He said there was absolutely no need for any social services whatsoever in the clinic.

“Why can’t Clara Casey speak to him herself?” Moira asked.

“She can and does, but he’s a very determined man.”

“Suppose she just took him out to lunch one day?” Moira was anxious for this matter to be tied up so she could get back to her real work.

“Oh, she does much more than that,” Ania explained. “She sleeps with him. But it’s no use—he keeps his life in different compartments.”

Hilary tried to gloss over what had been said. “Ania is just giving you the background,” she said hastily.

“I’m sorry. I thought she was on our side.” Ania was repentant.

“And I am, indeed,” Moira said.

“Oh, that’s all right then,” Ania said happily.

The whole atmosphere in the clinic was a combination of professionalism and reassurance. Moira noticed that the patients all understood the functions of the various medications they received and they had little booklets where their weight and blood pressure were recorded at every visit. They were all very adept at entering information and retrieving it from the computer.

“You wouldn’t
believe
the trouble we had getting a training course organized. Frank Ennis managed to make it sound like devil worship. Clara practically had to go to the United Nations to get the instructors in.”

“He sounds like a dinosaur, this man,” Moira said disapprovingly.

“That’s what he is, all right,” Hilary agreed.

“But you say that Dr. Casey sees him … um … socially?” Moira probed.

“No. Ania was saying that, not me—but indeed it is true. Clara has humanized him a lot but there’s a long way to go still.”

“Does Frank Ennis know that
I’m
here?”

“I don’t think so, Moira. No point in troubling him, really, or adding to his worries.”

“I like playing things by the book,” Moira said primly.

“There are books and
books,
” Hilary said enigmatically.

“If I am to write a report, I’ll need to know his side of things as well.”

“Leave him until you’ve nearly finished,” Hilary advised.

And as she so often did these days, Moira felt she wasn’t handling things as well as she might have. It was as if Hilary and the clinic were drawing away from her. She had meant to be there as their savior but somehow playing it by the book had meant that she had stepped outside her brief and that they were all withdrawing their support and enthusiasm.

The story of her life.

Moira worked on diligently.

She saw that there was a case for having a social worker attend one day a week. She looked through her notes. There was Kitty Reilly, possibly in the early stages of dementia, conducting long conversations with saints. There was Judy, who definitely needed home help but had no idea where to turn to find it. There was Lar Kelly, who gave the appearance of being an extroverted, cheerful man but who was obviously as lonely as anything, which was why he kept dropping into the clinic “just to be sure,” as he put it.

A social worker would be able to point Kitty Reilly in the direction of care a few days a week, find an aide for Judy and arrange for Lar to go to a social center for lunch and entertainment.

It was time to approach the great Frank Ennis.

She made an appointment to see him on her last day in the clinic. He was courteous and gracious—not at all the monster she had been told about.

“Ms. Tierney!” he said, with every sign of pleasure at meeting her.

“Moira,” she corrected him.

“No, no, Clara says you are a ‘Ms.’ person for sure.”

“Really? And did she say anything else about me?” Moira was incensed that Clara had somehow got in ahead of her.

“Yes. She said you were probably extremely good at your job, that you were high in practicality and doing things by the book and low in sentimentality. All the hallmarks of a good social worker, it would appear.”

It didn’t sound that way to Moira. It sounded as if Clara had said she was a hard-faced workaholic. Still, on with the job.

“Why do you think they
shouldn’t
have the part-time services of a social worker?” she asked.

“Because Clara thinks the hospital is made of money and that there are unlimited funds that should be at her disposal.”

“I thought you and she were good friends …,” Moira said.

“I like to think we are indeed friends, and more, but we will never see eye-to-eye about this bottomless-pit business,” he said.

“You really do need someone part-time, you know,” Moira said. “It would round it all off perfectly; then St. Brigid’s can really be said to be looking after patients’ welfare.”

“All the social workers and people in pastoral care are run off their feet in the hospital already. They don’t want to be sent over to that clinic, coping with imaginary problems from perfectly well people.”

“Get someone new in for two or three days a week.” Moira was firm.

“One day a week.”

“One and a half,” she bargained.

“Clara is right, Ms. Tierney: you have all the skills of a negotiator. A day and a half a week and not a minute more.”

“I feel sure that will be fine, Mr. Ennis.”

“And will you do it yourself, Ms. Tierney?”

Moira was horrified even at the thought of it. “Oh, no! No way, Mr. Ennis. I am a senior social worker. I have a serious caseload. I couldn’t make the time.”

“That’s a pity. I thought you could be my friend in court: my eyes and ears, curb them from playing fast and loose with expenses and taxis.” He seemed genuinely disappointed not to have her around the place, which was rare these days. Most people seemed to be veering away from her.

But of course it was totally impossible. She could barely keep up with her own work, let alone take on something new. And yet she would be sorry to leave the place.

Ania had brought in some shortbread for their afternoon tea to mark the fact that Moira was leaving. Clara joined them and made a little speech.

“We were lucky that they sent us Moira Tierney. She has done a superb report and has even braved the lion’s den itself. Frank Ennis has just telephoned to say that the board have agreed to us having the services of a social worker for one and a half days a week.”

“So you’ll be coming back!” Ania seemed pleased.

“No, Ms. Tierney made it clear that she has much more important work to do elsewhere. We are very grateful to her for putting it on hold for the two weeks that she was here.”

Frank Ennis had obviously briefed his girlfriend very adequately on the situation so far. Moira wished she had not stressed so heavily to Frank Ennis how important her own work was compared to the work here in the clinic. In ways, it would be pleasant to come here on a regular basis. Apart from Clara Casey, they were all welcoming and enthusiastic. And to be fair, Clara had been enthusiastic about the work Moira had done.

Hilary was always practical. “Maybe Ms. Tierney knows someone who might be suitable?” she said.

As if from miles away Moira heard her own voice saying, “I can easily reorganize my schedule, and if you thought I would be all right, then I would be honored to come here.”

They all looked at Clara, who was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I feel that we would all love Moira to join us here, but she will have to sign in under the Official Secrets Act. Frank will expect her to be his eyes and ears, but Moira will know that this can never happen.”

Moira smiled. “I get the message, Clara,” she said.

And to her great surprise she got a round of applause.

The head of the social-work team was not impressed.

“I asked you to write a report, not to get yourself yet another job, Moira. You work too hard already. You should lighten up a little.”

“I did there. I lightened up a lot. I know the setup in the clinic now. It makes sense that I do it rather than train someone in.”

“Right. You know what you
can
do and what you
can’t
, and no more behaving like some kind of private eye.”

“I’m just watchful, that’s all,” Moira said.

She went to Chestnut Court with her briefcase and clipboard. Noel was out, but Lisa was there. Moira went through the routine that had been agreed upon.

“Who bathed her today?” she asked.

“I did,” Lisa said proudly. “It’s quite hard on your own—they get so slippery, but she enjoyed it and she clapped her hands a lot.”

The baby was clean and dry and powdered. Nothing to complain about there.

“When is her next feed?” Moira asked.

“In an hour’s time. I have the formula there and the bottles are sterilized.”

Again, Moira could find no fault. She checked the number of nappies and whether the baby’s clothes had been aired.

“Would you like a coffee?” Lisa suggested.

Last time Moira had been rather swift and ungracious, so she decided she would say yes.

“Or, actually, I’m exhausted. You don’t have a proper drink or anything? I could do with a glass of wine.”

Lisa looked at her with a very level glance.

“Oh, no, Moira. We don’t have any alcohol here. As you know, Noel has had a problem with it in the past so there’s nothing at all. You
must
know that—you were always asking about it before, hunting for bottles stacked away and everything.”

Moira felt humbled. She had been so obvious. She was, indeed, like some kind of a private eye, except an inefficient one.

“I forgot,” she lied.

“No, you didn’t, but have a coffee anyway,” Lisa said, getting up from a table covered with papers and drawings to go to the kitchen.

“Did I interrupt you?”

“No, I was glad of the interruption. I was getting stale.”

“Where’s Noel tonight?”

“I have no idea.”

“Didn’t he say?”

“No. We’re not married or anything. I think he went back to his parents’ house.”

“And left you literally holding the baby?”

“He’s given me a place to live. I’m very pleased to hold the baby for him. Very pleased indeed,” Lisa said.

“And why exactly did you leave home?” Moira fell easily into interrogation mode.

“We’ve been over this a lot, Moira. I told you then and I tell you now, it was for personal reasons. I am not a runaway teenager. I am a quarter of a century old. I don’t ask you why you left home, do I?”

“This is different …,” Moira began.

“It’s not remotely different and honestly it’s got nothing to do with the case. I know you have to look out for Frankie, and you do it very well, but I’m just the lodger helping out. My circumstances
have nothing to do with anything.” She went into the kitchen and banged around for a while.

Moira sought subjects that wouldn’t cause any further controversy. They were hard to find.

“I met Fiona Carroll. You know … Johnny’s mother.”

“Oh, yes?” Lisa said.

“She said that you and Noel were doing a great job minding Frankie.”

“Yes … well … good.”

“Most impressed, she was.”

“And were you surprised?” Lisa asked suddenly.

“No, of course not.”

“Good, because I tell you I have
such
admiration for Noel. All this came out of a clear blue sky at him. He’s been very strong. I wouldn’t have anyone bad-mouthing him, not anyone at all.” She looked like a tiger defending her cub.

Moira made a few bleating noises intended to suggest support and enthusiasm. She hoped she was giving the desired impression.

Her next visit was to a family where they were trying to make an elderly father a ward of the court. To Moira, Gerald, the old man, was perfectly sane. Lonely and frail, certainly, but mad? No.

His daughter and her husband were very anxious to have him defined as being incapable and sign his house over to them and then have him committed to a secure nursing home facility.

Moira was having none of it. Gerald wanted to stay in his home and she was his champion. She picked up a stray remark from the son-in-law, something that made her think that the man had gambling debts. It would suit him nicely if his father-in-law were put away. They might even sell the house and buy a smaller place.

It wouldn’t happen on Moira’s watch. Her clipboard was filled with notes for letters she would send to the relevant people. The son-in-law collapsed like a house of cards.

The old man looked at Moira affectionately.

“You’re better than having a bodyguard,” he said to her.

Moira was very proud of this. This was exactly what she saw herself as being. She patted the old man’s hand.

“I’ll get you a regular carer to come in and look after you. You can tell her if anyone steps out of line or anything. I’ll liaise with your doctor also. Let me see … that’s Dr. Carroll, isn’t it?”

“It used to be Dr. Hat,” Gerald said. “Dr. Carroll is a very nice lad, certainly, but he could be my grandson, if you see what I mean. Dr. Hat was nearer to my own generation.”

“And where is he?” Moira asked.

“He comes in to their practice from time to time when they’re short-staffed,” the old man said sadly. “I always seem to miss him, though.”

“I’ll find him for you,” Moira promised and went straightaway to the doctors’ group practice at the end of St. Jarlath’s Crescent.

Dr. Carroll was there and happy to talk about Gerald.

“I think he’s totally on the ball and playing with the full deck.”

“His family think otherwise.” Moira was terse.

“Well, they would, wouldn’t they? That son-in-law would do anything to get his hands on the family checkbook.”