Putting Out the Stars

by Roisin Meaney

  Ruth gave a wry smile. ‘I’d say so; I know I put on weight on holidays.’ She bent her head and took another tiny, careful bite. Her pale hair, imprisoned in its clip, looked almost white in the soft light.

  Breffni watched her picking at the tartlet, like a rabbit nibbling at a bit of lettuce. What on earth did Andrew see in such a mousy little creature? She turned to Laura. ‘Ah, can’t you just see herself and Andrew, gazing into each other’s eyes over a couple of spinach pies?’

  ‘At least Ruth could eat,’ Laura said quickly. ‘When I met Donal, I was so besotted I went right off my food – had to force myself to eat these gorgeous meals he cooked for me. I lost nearly a stone; first time in years I fitted into a size ten.’

  ‘And when I met Cian I couldn’t eat either, and I still put on weight; I couldn’t understand it.’ Breffni shrugged her shoulders and looked puzzled.

  Laura shot her a sceptical look. ‘You, not able to eat? In San Francisco, surrounded by just about every kind of food in the world? Pull the other one.’

  Breffni shook her head, wide-eyed. ‘No, it’s true – ask him. Not a bite for ages.’ She paused. ‘Unless, of course, you count the odd pizza, to stop me from collapsing – and the buckets of popcorn at the movies, to keep my strength up –’ She sipped her wine as Laura exchanged a smile with Ruth ‘– and a tub of Ben & Jerry’s every now and again, just for the calcium.’ She looked innocently from one to the other. ‘Well I had to have something, didn’t I? I couldn’t let myself starve, just when I’d found the man of my dreams.’

  Laura snorted. ‘You – starve? That’ll be the day.’ She held out the last few tartlets. ‘Here, you’d better get another one inside you; you’re starting to wilt.’

  Breffni immediately took one and bit into it. She spoke through a mouthful of spinach and pastry. ‘Thanks; I was feeling a little faint.’

  ‘Stop talking with your mouth full – you’re spraying all over my good chair.’

  Ruth watched them, smiling. Breffni was so beautiful; Laura hadn’t mentioned that. And so confident. Not that Laura wasn’t striking too, with those auburn curls and the same deep green eyes as Andrew.

  But Breffni – she could be a film star. Her skin was so creamy, and it didn’t look like she had any make-up on. Ruth wouldn’t dream of going out without her tinted moisturiser and lipstick, even if it was gone five minutes later. She felt nervous in the company of these two smiling, confident women – particularly Breffni, even though Breffni had been perfectly friendly to her. She was a bit more direct than Ruth was comfortable with, that was all. It was Ruth’s stupid self-consciousness that was making her nervous, nothing else.

  Laura stood up. ‘Time to feed the starving.’ Immediately Ruth stood too, nearly knocking her glass over. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’ She suddenly didn’t want to be left alone with Breffni again.

  She was aware of being watched as she moved around the room, and she was glad when Andrew reached out and put an arm around her while she was stacking their plates. She smiled gratefully at him and followed Laura into the kitchen.

  Cian joined Breffni on the couch, and she rewarded him with a dazzling smile.

  ‘So how’s married life then?’ Donal turned back to Andrew after watching Laura and Ruth leave the room.

  ‘Fine; can’t complain so far.’ Andrew took a handful of nuts from a nearby bowl and began popping them one by one into his mouth. ‘Mind you, I’ve been lucky – never had to fend for myself like you.’ He grinned at Donal. ‘Always had someone picking up after me.’

  ‘And now you have Ruth.’

  Andrew nodded, still smiling. ‘Now I have Ruth.’

  ‘And does she realise that she’s going to be the one who does all the picking up in this new house?’ Donal was smiling too.

  ‘Course she does; she’s much better at all that sort of thing than me. And I can’t cook to save my life – we’re not all Jamie Olivers like yourself.’

  Donal folded his arms and regarded Andrew thoughtfully. ‘Maybe – and this is just a thought – if you gave cooking a go now and again you might get the hang of it.’

  Andrew laughed, not seeming a bit put out. ‘God, you’re the real new man. Working all day and then going home to cook your wife’s dinner. Isn’t she the lucky woman?’ He popped a few more nuts into his mouth, enjoying himself.

  Donal handed him a new can of lager, then opened a fresh can for himself. ‘Anway –’ he filled his glass and raised it ‘– here’s to Ruth’s cooking; for her sake, I hope it’s as good as your mother’s.’

  Andrew tipped his glass in Donal’s direction. ‘Not yet; but I live in hope. She’s got plenty of time to learn.’ He put back his head and drank, and Donal watched him, smile fading slightly.

  ‘. . . Laura, this lamb is fabulous; you must have been cooking it all day . . .’

  ‘. . . Pass the mint sauce, would you Cian? Thanks . . .’

  ‘. . . Ruth, will you have some more potatoes? You’ve hardly any there . . .’

  ‘. . . Oops, sorry – your good tablecloth. Will it come out, do you think . . . ?’

  ‘. . . I hadn’t a notion of it, and I wasn’t long telling her either. The nerve of her, expecting me to drop everything . . .’

  ‘. . . Yeah, whole garlic cloves in with the potatoes – not peeled, no . . .’

  ‘. . . He has a new CD out; has anyone heard it yet . . . ?’

  ‘. . . It was my first trip abroad, and I found the heat a bit much really . . .’

  ‘. . . Ah would you look at him, everyone; isn’t he the real gentleman . . . ?’

  ‘. . . You’re very quiet tonight. Is everything OK . . . ?’

  It hit him like a tidal wave, slamming into the space where he imagined his heart to be, as soon as he laid eyes on her. Catching him completely off guard, forcing him to breathe deeply when nobody was watching him, to try to slow his racing pulse. All through dinner he watched her across the table, mesmerised. Saw her lifting a glass. Putting a forkful of food into her mouth. Talking with her neighbours. Gesturing, laughing. Pushing her hair behind her ear. Propping her chin in her hand. Once or twice meeting his eye briefly, smiling at him when that happened.

  He knew how ridiculous it was – he was like a teenager with a crush, for God’s sake – but he simply couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t drag his eyes away from her.

  He was careful, of course. Laughed when everyone else did, pretended to be interested in the plate of food in front of him. It was all he could do to eat it; tomorrow he wouldn’t remember what was served. He drank water and wine without tasting a difference. Had no idea what they all spoke about, or what he said when anyone addressed him. Felt light-headed long before he’d had enough alcohol to cause it.

  He couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Laura reached across the bed and lifted the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Only me, to say thanks a million for last night. It was great, as always.’ Breffni’s voice sounded rusty.

  Laura lay back against the pillows, pulled the duvet up around her shoulders. ‘Are you dying?’

  ‘Not too bad. How’s your head?’

  ‘A little fragile; I’m still in bed. But we cleaned up last night, so I’m entitled.’

  Breffni gave a snort. ‘Good God – it’s half eleven in the morning, woman. Easily known you’re childless; Poll was in to us at seven. I’ve the washing on the line and the bathroom cleaned. I’d have hoovered, but I didn’t know if I could bear the noise.’

  Laura laughed. ‘Ah shut up, you sound like Superwoman. And I don’t believe a word anyway; you’re probably still in bed yourself.’

  ‘I wish. Anyway, thanks again. My place next, end of the month, yeah? I suppose I’ll ask the other two as well.’

  ‘Do – it would be good for Ruth. D’you think she enjoyed the night?’

  ‘Course she did. Weren’t we all nice to her?’

  ‘Yeah . . . well, let me know when you’re in town. I’m not too busy this week – w
e could meet for coffee.’

  ‘OK, I might be bringing Mary in on Thursday actually. Take care. Polly sends kisses.’

  ‘Give her one back. See you soon.’

  Easily known you’re childless. ‘Childless’. ‘Barren’. Horrible, dry, brittle words. Whereas ‘womb’ sounded all round and juicy. Not her womb though; hers was withered and brown, deprived of whatever it needed to grow and blossom and bear fruit; the fruit of thy womb. Her womb was empty of fruit. It squatted inside her and mocked her each month: Nothing again, Laura. Better luck next time, Laura. Must try harder, Laura.

  Every twenty-eight days, regular as clockwork, she wrote ‘tampons’ in angry letters on her shopping list. Each time the blood came, she cried in the bath late at night, when Donal was asleep.

  When she visited Cecily, she looked at her and thought: even you, so cold, so unfeeling; even you could do it. She watched young girls pushing babies in the street, lifting them carelessly out of their buggies, pushing soothers and bottles into their mouths – and she hated them for being what she couldn’t be. She heard about abandoned babies with silent outrage; how cruel, how unfair that was.

  She saw Breffni with Polly, the huge, terrifying love between them, and she ached for it. She remembered when Breffni was pregnant, especially in the last month or so, how she’d stop in the middle of a sentence and put her palm to her swollen stomach, and just hold it there with a look that Laura had never seen before. A look that Laura couldn’t decipher, as if it was in a foreign language.

  And this was why, of course, she couldn’t confide in Breffni. How could she possibly cry on Breffni’s shoulder about not getting pregnant, when Breffni and Cian had conceived Polly without even trying? Hadn’t wanted a baby at all, in fact. Laura remembered Breffni’s phone call, over two years ago, as if it had happened last week.

  ‘Laur, I’m in trouble.’

  She sounded funny – was she crying? Laura squinted at the digital face of the clock radio: two thirty-two. Beside her, Donal grunted and turned his face away from the lamp she’d just switched on.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ She imagined fires, earthquakes, disaster on an epic scale. ‘Is Cian all right?’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Laura’s heart lurched. She drew in a sharp breath. ‘God.’ Her mind raced. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. I did two tests, and I’m a fortnight late. I’m never late.’

  Laura groped for something to say. ‘What does Cian think?’

  Breffni said nothing.

  ‘Bref? You haven’t told him?’

  ‘Look, I don’t know what I want to do . . . I have to think –’

  ‘You have to tell him; it’s his baby too.’ Donal stirred again and turned back, watching her through half-open eyes.

  ‘What’ll I do, Laur? I don’t know what to do.’

  Laura took another deep breath. ‘You have to tell him. And then you talk about it together. Promise you’ll tell him.’

  And Breffni had told him, and three months later they’d arrived in Ireland and moved in with Cian’s granny Mary until they found a job for Cian and a house for the three of them, having decided that Ireland was a better place to bring up a child.

  And Laura had wanted so much to tell Breffni that she and Donal had just started trying for a child of their own, but she couldn’t, not when Polly had been unplanned – it would have seemed insensitive somehow. And then, after Polly arrived, and Breffni was struggling with exhaustion and crying if you looked crooked at her, Laura found it even harder. How could she bother Breffni now, particularly with that? And when the first few difficult months had passed, and Breffni finally fell in love with her daughter, and glowed with her new happiness, Laura still said nothing; at that stage, she simply couldn’t. What had turned into the biggest heartache of her life – getting harder to bear with every month that passed – had also turned out to be the one thing she couldn’t bring herself to share with the person she felt closest to, after Donal.

  And Donal was the last person she could talk to. How could she? It would be like a criticism, an accusation: Where is our child? Why have you not given it to me? What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with us? She knew how ridiculous it sounded – not able to discuss your fertility problems with your husband – but knowing it sounded ridiculous didn’t make it go away.

  She often wondered about Donal’s family. He told her that he’d been an only child, the surprise arrival in a late marriage. His parents had met when his Australian mother had visited Ireland in her thirties, and eventually, after three years of long-distance courtship, settled in Sligo with her new husband. When Donal was nineteen, his parents decided to emigrate to Australia, where his mother’s ageing father lived alone. Of course, they’d wanted Donal to go with them, but he’d chosen to stay in Ireland.

  ‘The last thing I wanted was to up and move halfway around the world. My mother’s family lived in this small town – a village really – out in the middle of nowhere. The thought of starting a whole new life in a place like that just didn’t appeal to me. And I was in the middle of a catering course; I wanted to finish that.’

  ‘But didn’t you miss them? Weren’t you lonely?’ Laura could not imagine being separated by such a distance from her own beloved father.

  Donal shrugged. ‘To be honest, we were never much of a family. My folks weren’t the touchy-feely types really – I don’t ever remember my mother hugging me. And I had pals here, plenty of company. I looked forward to the independence, in fact – they didn’t give me a lot of freedom growing up. The over-protected only child, that was me. Of course, I had quite a job to convince them to go off without me, but eventually I managed it.’

  ‘And you stayed in Sligo, by yourself.’ Laura tried to picture it: this teenager, little more than a child really, waving goodbye to his parents as they set off for the other side of the world. Going home afterwards to live in an empty house.

  ‘Well, I was only in Sligo for a few months after they left, as it turned out. When I finished my catering course, I was offered a job in Cruise’s hotel here in Limerick – you’ll hardly remember it, it’s gone years; it was where Cruise’s Street is now – and I ended up staying here, sold the house in Sligo after a few months and rented here until I eventually bought the one I have now.’

  It all sounded terribly casual to Laura. ‘And how come you never write to your parents – or they never write to you?’

  He grinned. ‘You may not have heard, but we have what’s called e-mail now. Quicker, cheaper, less hassle.’

  She wasn’t satisfied. ‘But have you ever been to visit them? What about at Christmas – aren’t you ever lonely?’

  Donal laughed. ‘Now there’s a girly question. No, I can’t say it’s ever bothered me, being on my own at Christmas. When I was in Cruise’s, we were rushed off our feet – I hadn’t time to worry about not having the mammy at home to cook my turkey. And now –’ he grinned ‘– you might have noticed that I can cook a fair old turkey all by myself.’

  Laura wasn’t about to be distracted. ‘And are you still in regular contact? How often do you hear from them?’

  He shrugged again. ‘Well, I suppose we’ve drifted apart over the last while. To be honest, love, it doesn’t bother me. I think it’s different for guys; they don’t need the family as much as females seem to.’

  She still thought it strange, to lose contact with your parents so completely. And not even to have them at your wedding – Donal had insisted that neither of them would be able for the trip to Rome.

  ‘They’re in their eighties now, both of them. The journey would kill them, believe me.’

  And Laura had to agree with that. But she wondered sometimes if there was more to it than he was telling her – if there’d been some kind of a falling-out. Maybe he’d done something so bad that they’d disowned him. Robbed a house, maybe, or left some poor girl at the altar. She supposed she’d never know; have to accept that she’d never get to meet her parents
-in-law. Never be able to present them with a grandchild – that was assuming she ever managed to get pregnant, of course.

  She and Donal had talked about children when they’d decided to get married. She wanted a big family, full of the squabbles and excitement and noise that neither of them had had growing up.

  ‘Mother was always so – civilised. Obsessed with manners – “use a napkin, don’t put your knife in your mouth, keep your elbows off the table” – as if any of that nonsense mattered . . . and we could never make noise in the house; if Andrew and I had any kind of row, we had to go out the back to yell at each other. I used to love having my tea at Breffni’s, where everyone grabbed what they wanted, and leant across other people’s plates and stuff, and Mona never minded if you talked with your mouth full. They had better grub too – mashed bananas on sliced white bread, and fish fingers, and sausages – Mother hated sausages.’

  It was a month before their wedding. Laura was lying on the couch in Donal’s house, balancing a mug of coffee on her stomach; he was sitting at the end, cradling her bare feet in his hands. He smiled at her chatter, but said nothing.

  She lifted her head from her cushion and looked over at him. ‘What was it like, growing up in your house? Must have been quiet too, with just you.’

  He looked back at her for a minute before answering. Then he said ‘Yes, it was quiet, I suppose; I didn’t really notice.’

  He never seemed to want to talk about his family. Laura wondered again if something had happened to drive them apart. She lifted a foot from his lap and poked him gently in the side with it. ‘So you’d like a few children to make our house nice and noisy then?’

  He grabbed her foot and held it tightly. ‘If that’s what you want, I’m happy.’ He smiled again, but it was strained. She sat up then and swung her legs down, and slid over beside him and found his hand, and twined her fingers around his.

  ‘Donal, is there anything you haven’t told me – anything about your family . . . ?’ She faltered as he looked blankly at her.