The shop and the flat had been left to Ger by his father. His brother, Miyah, had fallen in for the farm. When Miyah died, everything came to Ger, so life got easier, and by the time Frankie and the lads were in their teens he’d trebled the size of the holding. He’d bought sites, too, that developers came round later from Carrick and paid him a fortune for. In fact, if you could believe the gossips, he’d banked enough to buy and sell half of Finfarran. Pat had never been certain that she did believe the gossips, because Ger was a great one to puff himself up. You could never be sure that he wasn’t just striking attitudes. Still, plenty of money went into the till, and she and his growing sons were well taken care of. As a matter of pride, he’d made sure that Pat had a new coat each winter, even though, in the early days, they’d been hard put to make the shop pay. It was one thing to have a reputation for being a close man, but another to let yourself down in front of the neighbours. Ger wouldn’t do that. And if he wasn’t quite as rich as people said, sure it made him feel good to act like it.
It had been a bit of a shock to find Ger had left her everything. But, of course, the will had been drawn up years ago, before the children were born. Anyway, it made no difference because they’d agreed that the lads would end up with equal shares. She’d thought he’d have added that to the will, or made a new one, but the end had come so quickly that perhaps he hadn’t had time. He’d have known anyway that she’d see things right.
It was because of Ger that Sonny and Jim had taken off for Toronto. He’d announced that he hadn’t worked his arse off to see a grand, growing business broken up between his sons. So, as soon as Frankie had left school he’d been put in charge of the farm and, when the time came, Ger had paid for Sonny and Jim to go to university. Then, with nothing for them at home, they’d gone abroad as soon as they’d graduated. Their impressive qualifications had ensured that they’d prospered, just as Ger had said they would. But Pat had missed them terribly. And they’d never come back. Still, as Ger had pointed out to her, they had their own families and businesses to think about, and they’d done well and had their health and strength.
The thing was that Pat hadn’t known if Sonny and Jim had resented Frankie’s cushy life at home. And there was no denying it was cushy. The manager ran the farm and Ger had kept his hands on the reins when it came to the shop, so Frankie, with his big house and car, did little enough. There was no harm in him, Pat told herself, but you had to admit he was lazy. Yet maybe that wasn’t fair. Here he was, on her second day back, dropping round first thing to give her a hand. It was nice of Cassie to offer, but somehow it seemed more fitting that his son would help take Ger’s jackets, slacks, and suits off their hangers, sort through those pathetic piles of shirts and socks and underwear, and bag them up for the St Vincent de Paul.
Sitting at the table, Pat watched Frankie drink coffee. Ger had been such a little fella compared to this heavy-set man with his broad shoulders. You’d hardly believe they were father and son, except for the look Frankie had when he was crossed. He was the spit of Ger then, with his mutinous face on. Pat knew little enough of Ger’s business, but she was well aware of how badly he’d needed to get the best of a deal. She’d often wondered if that went back to the time when Brother Hugh had encouraged the bullies. The lads who’d seen Ger’s humiliation at school had grown up to become the men he did business with, and it seemed to Pat that doing them down had always meant more to Ger than the money he’d made at their expense.
Smiling at Frankie, she mentioned the blue pullover. ‘And if there’s anything else you’d like of his, you know you’ve only to say.’
Frankie stood up and put on his coat. ‘I’ll need to be getting on now, Ma. I only dropped in to say I’ll be round shortly to clear Dad’s desk.’
‘Well, yes, no, of course, there’s that to be done.’ Pat touched his sleeve. ‘But there’s all his clothes and personal things, Frankie. I’d like to make a start on those first.’
‘You can get someone in to help you, surely. Or Cassie will give you a hand.’
‘She would – I mean, she’s offered. But I’d prefer if it was you, son.’
Pat could see that he wasn’t really listening. Instead, he frowned and gave her a sharp glance. ‘How long is Cassie going to be here, anyway? I thought she was only supposed to stay for Christmas.’
‘Well, yes, but then your poor dad died and she didn’t want to leave me . . .’
‘Ay, well, she can’t expect to sponge off you forever.’
Pat was shocked. ‘Ah, Frankie, that’s no way to talk about Cassie. She’s only here out of kindness, and she’s not sponging at all. She has two jobs.’
He gave her a bit of a smile and turned to go again. At the top of the stairs, he paused and said he’d a busy week ahead of him but he’d give her a shout before he came round to clear Ger’s desk. He was gone before she could say a word, and Pat sat down at the table. How stupid she’d been, she told herself, to imagine Ger’s blue pullover would ever have fitted Frankie. There was some cold coffee in her cup, so she drank it slowly and finished eating her corn flakes. She left the dishes on the table because she couldn’t face washing them. But she stood up and went to sort Ger’s clothes.
Chapter Seven
Cassie’s work on the one day a week she spent in Lissbeg Library would mostly consist of manning the desk when Hanna was otherwise engaged. The basic procedures were straightforward, and the vital thing to remember was to keep the desk in your eye line should you leave it. Some people, Hanna explained, took the view that they had a right to personal service. ‘The different sections are clearly indicated and, obviously, the books are shelved in alphabetical order, but they’ll still want you to find things and place them in their hands. Just be polite and help, okay? It’s always quicker and easier. But, if I’m not at it myself, you mustn’t forget that the desk is your primary responsibility.’
‘Okay. Got that.’
‘You’ll need to check the returns for unexpected bookmarks.’
‘Like what?’
‘You’d be surprised. Anything from a rasher to a ten-euro note.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Absolutely. Now, some readers will ask for book suggestions.’
‘Really? Because I can deal with bacon but I won’t have a clue about that. The last proper book I read was Wuthering Heights in high school. That was cool but it’s pretty ancient, isn’t it?’
‘Usually they’re just looking for what they call “a good read”. There’s a display here at the front where I put the new bestsellers, and a shelf marked Recommended Reading. There’s more eclectic recent stuff there, plus a few classics, and I change the books every Monday morning.’
‘What if somebody wants to look something up?’
‘I’ll talk you through the reference section later, and you can familiarise yourself with our online resources. Spend some time on that today and tell me if you have any questions. But don’t worry, people will know that you’re a replacement. They won’t expect you to have the answer to everything.’