Actually, when Cecily thought about it, Ruth might be quite useful at the meeting; she could be positioned between Frank and Margaret, and she could listen to them both all night. Maybe inviting her along hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all.
Cecily opened her notebook and started to write her shopping list. Maybe she’d push the boat out and serve a variety of mixed canapés – the little cheese balls rolled in fresh herbs that Emily loved, mini spinach quiches, stuffed mushrooms, maybe some of those rather tasty smoked salmon rolls that she’d served at Andrew’s birthday. And afterwards, a selection of homemade biscuits from that nice delicatessen in the shopping centre.
That should make it clear that they weren’t all savages in Limerick.
Donal chewed the chicken thoughtfully, and swallowed. ‘Marjoram. Or . . . no, oregano. And probably tarragon. And definitely garlic – but not too strong.’
Breffni looked at Cian. ‘Will you tell him, or will I?’
Cian, his mouth full, waved at her to go ahead.
She smiled over at Donal. ‘A pack of “Spices Made Simple for Chicken Provençale”. All I had to do was cut it open and fire it onto the chopped chicken; haven’t a clue what was in it.’
Andrew laughed loudly, and Donal pushed his half-full plate away with a look of horror. ‘What – you’ve served me convenience food? Sorry – as a gourmet chef, it’s against my principles to eat anything that comes out of a packet.’ He stood up, looking over at Laura. ‘Get your coat, darling – we’re going home.’
A general burst of laughter then, and from across the table Laura raised her eyes to heaven and pushed his plate back in front of him. ‘Sit down and eat, or you’re in the spare room for a month.’
‘Oh God no, not the spare room. OK, I’ll be good.’ Donal sat and picked up his fork again, smiling. ‘It’s very tasty, Breffni, whatever you put into it.’ He looked around the table. ‘Who’s got the rice?’
Andrew passed the bowl across to him. ‘God only knows what she has in there – a sachet of “Easy Peasy Rice”.’
Breffni picked up a half-eaten bread roll and threw it in his direction. ‘No dessert for you, for being disrespectful to your hostess.’
Andrew caught it deftly and put it on his side plate, smiling back at her. ‘Oh please, I’d hate to miss the Instant Whip.’
‘Bloody cheek.’ Breffni turned to Ruth. ‘I don’t know how you put up with him, Ruth – you must have the patience of a saint.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ Ruth smiled and looked tenderly across the round table at her husband.
Breffni thought a thicker foundation would do a lot for Ruth – even out her skin tone, hide those freckles. Maybe when they got to know each other a bit better, she could suggest it to her. If she could manage it without causing offence, which might be easier said than done – Ruth seemed the type that you couldn’t say boo to. Maybe Laura could do it instead; she was so much better at saying the right thing.
The door to the kitchen was pushed open and Polly stood there, blond curls sticking haphazardly out from her head, a small fist rubbing one eye. A leg of her pale blue pyjamas had ridden up above her knee. She looked up at the table and yawned. ‘Mama.’
Cian, sitting nearest the door, bent down and scooped her onto his lap. ‘What are you doing out of bed, Missus – and where are your slippers?’ She leant against his chest and blinked around the table, smiling sleepily when she caught sight of Laura waggling her fingers at her.
Breffni looked at her daughter. ‘Pollywolly Doodle, this is Ruth –’ she pointed ‘– and that’s Andrew. Say hello.’
But Polly just burrowed into Cian and stuck a thumb into her mouth, eyelids drooping. Cian stood, gathering her up into him. ‘I’ll go.’
They all waved at her – Donal blew her a kiss – and she watched them solemnly over Cian’s shoulder, sucking steadily on her thumb, as he carried her out.
‘She’s gorgeous.’ Ruth smiled across at Breffni.
‘I know.’ Breffni picked up her glass and smiled back. ‘But hard work – wait till you have your own.’
‘Stop putting ideas into her head.’ Andrew’s voice made them both look over. ‘We’re only just getting used to being married – give us a chance.’
‘Well, just don’t take as long as these two –’ Breffni indicated Donal and Laura ‘– or Poll will have no one to grow up with.’
Laura stood abruptly. ‘Sorry, need the loo.’ She walked quickly to the door and left. In the small silence that followed, Breffni looked questioningly across at Donal, who shrugged back at her.
Then he held out his wine glass. ‘Any left in that bottle?’
Later, while Breffni was scooping chocolate ice-cream into bowls at the worktop, Donal collected a few side plates from the table and brought them over. ‘It’s her time of month; she’s a bit sensitive, that’s all.’ His voice was low enough not to carry over to the table.
‘So you’re not trying to get pregnant?’ Breffni spoke softly too, taking the bundle of plates from him.
Donal spread his hands. ‘If it happens, it happens.’ Then he raised his voice. ‘Let me give you a hand, as the only professional chef here.’
She smiled at him, held out her wine glass. ‘You can start by professionally refilling that – there’s a new bottle over in that press – and then you can make the coffee; professionally, of course.’ She was in a long off-white dress tonight, splashed with huge red flowers, startling against her dark hair and olive skin. Her cheeks were lightly and beautifully flushed, from wine and cooking.
When Donal handed her the refilled glass, she glanced over at the table again. ‘So I didn’t put my foot in it.’ She spoke softly again, lifting shortbread fingers from where they’d been soaking in Bailey’s and adding two to each bowl of ice-cream.
He looked blank. ‘About what?’
‘About you two taking so long to have kids. Donal, is there really nothing I should know? And feel free to tell me to mind my own business, of course.’ She picked up her glass and took a sip.
He shook his head, smiling faintly. ‘Nothing to tell; we’re just letting nature take its course.’ Then he opened the nearest press and peered inside. ‘Now, where do you keep the coffee – or the packet of “Easy Coffee Mix”?’
She groaned. ‘Enough already – I’m never again going to give away my culinary tricks.’ She pointed. ‘Coffee in the next press, in the pack that says real coffee, honest.’
‘And may I say that you look real good tonight.’ He reached for the knob of the next press. ‘Honest.’
She bowed her head in acknowledgement. ‘You may. And now you may make the coffee.’ She opened a Flake bar and began crumbling a little into each bowl. ‘There – six gourmet desserts coming up.’
Donal smiled.
‘I’d keep an eye on that husband of yours.’
Laura turned to Andrew, a small smile on her face. ‘What?’
He inclined his head towards Donal. ‘Look how he’s leering all over your best friend.’
Laura laughed, dug him in the ribs. ‘Shut up, trying to stir things. Behave yourself.’
He lifted a shoulder, turned to Cian across the table. ‘I’m just warning Laura to watch out for Donal, making eyes at Breffni over there. What d’you think – should we get worried?’
Cian turned to look at Breffni, approaching the table with two bowls. ‘Only about our waistlines, I’d say.’ He smiled up at her as she passed him.
‘And some of us need to worry a bit more than others about that.’ Although Andrew murmured too softly for anyone but Laura to hear, she shot him a sharp look. Really, he could be a bit nasty sometimes; imagine if Cian had heard.
‘Ruth, try that and tell me what you think.’ Breffni put one of the bowls in front of Ruth and stood beside her, waiting.
Ruth looked quickly around the table before obediently picking up a spoon and scooping up a small amount of chocolate ice-cream. As she ate, she looked up at Breffni and sm
iled, nodding. Conversation had stopped; all eyes were on her. Breffni stayed standing by Ruth’s chair.
‘Well? Does it pass?’
‘Stop fishing for compliments, you: it’s not as if you spent all day with the ice-cream machine.’ Laura reached out and grabbed the second bowl from Breffni. ‘Here, I’ll tell you.’ She plunged her spoon into the dessert and took a big mouthful, then closed her eyes in ecstasy. ‘Mmm, chocalicious.’
Then Donal came back to the table with two more bowls. ‘Who got no Instant Whip?’
‘Here.’ Cian took both bowls from him and gave one each to himself and Andrew before sniffing into his. ‘I see you’ve been at the Bailey’s again, dear.’
Breffni looked sternly across the table at him.
‘I’ll have you know that’s an old family recipe – now you’ve just told everyone my secret ingredient.’
Across the chatter, Laura watched Ruth put her spoon down carefully beside her half-empty bowl without making a sound.
He couldn’t bear it; he’d go mad.
He’d waited with dread for this night, half hoping that when they met, he’d feel nothing. Of course that hadn’t happened; his hammering heart had threatened to burst from his chest all evening. He couldn’t understand how nobody had noticed.
She was so close he could touch her – and she might as well be on another planet. He could smell her when she came near, when she bent over to talk to him. Her lips were perfect; he wanted to lean across and taste them, to run his tongue over their softness. He longed to take her and hold her against him, have every part of her pressed into him.
This couldn’t go on. This had to go on. He’d go mad if it stopped.
Donal hung his jacket on the banisters and stood in the hall.
‘Laura?’ No answer, as he’d expected. He went into the kitchen and washed his hands. Then he pulled open the fridge and took out a greaseproof-wrapped bundle of sliced turkey breast. From the bread bin he pulled half a loaf of crusty, granary bread.
A few minutes later, when he was halfway through his sandwich, he heard the front door opening. ‘I’m in here.’
Her head appeared around the kitchen door. ‘Hi. Are you here long?’
He shook his head. ‘Quarter of an hour. What are you doing home?’ It was just after three.
She shrugged, still standing in the doorway. ‘I decided I’d have an easy Monday; there’s nothing too urgent on at the moment, and I still feel a bit tired from Saturday night.’ They hadn’t left Breffni and Cian’s till after three.
‘Have we any of that redcurrant jelly from the market?’
‘No, I think we’re out. There’s mayo.’
‘Want me to make you one?’ He pointed towards the remains of his sandwich.
‘No thanks; I’ll wait till dinner. Hang on a sec.’ He heard her run upstairs and into their bedroom. A minute later she was back, walking into the kitchen with some leaflets in her hand. She sat at the counter opposite him. ‘Darling, I called around to Dr Goode last week.’
He put his sandwich down and waited. She put the leaflets on the counter between them and he read Overcoming Infertility: A Compassionate Resource for Getting Pregnant on the front of the top one.
‘He’s given us these to read, and I’ve made an appointment for us to go and talk to him on Thursday – half four was the latest I could get. You could make that, couldn’t you?’
Her voice sounded anxious. He put a hand out and covered hers on the table, being careful not to touch the leaflets. ‘Yeah, no problem.’ He picked up his glass of milk.
She kept her eyes on the counter. ‘And Donal . . . it might be best if we don’t have sex in the meantime, in case . . .’
In case I’m given a jar and a dirty magazine and put into a little room to perform. His stomach clenched at the thought. He put down his glass.
‘It’s OK.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll try my best to resist you till Thursday.’ His smile was wooden.
Her face relaxed. ‘Thanks.’ She stroked his arm with her other hand. ‘I was thinking we might go out to a movie later on, if there’s anything worth seeing?’
‘Fine; the paper’s in the other room.’ He looked down at the half-eaten sandwich on his plate, wondering where his appetite had gone.
Ruth lifted the Aynsley teapot – Cecily’s second best – and poured a refill for Margaret and Frank. Then she looked across at Valerie, two chairs away. ‘More tea over there?’
‘Thanks, Ruth, I’ll come and get it in a minute.’ Valerie looked around Cecily’s sitting room. ‘Isn’t this lovely and cosy?’
Ruth nodded, although cosy wasn’t the word she would have used to describe any room in Cecily’s house. The sitting room was certainly tasteful, with its pale, thick carpets, and cream and off-white walls. Immaculate bookshelves filled with alphabetically arranged books, and glass-fronted cabinets displaying Lladro and Waterford Crystal and Newbridge silver. Two matching couches covered in pale grey linen, elegant armchairs that weren’t designed for curling up in. A coal-effect gas fire in the fireplace – Ruth couldn’t imagine her mother-in-law clearing ashes from the grate.
She glanced across at Cecily, who was smiling at something Emily had just said to her. Looking as poised as ever in her soft cream cardigan and straight black skirt, and carefully arranged hair.
The room buzzed with separate conversations; since the general discussion, the seven of them had divided into smaller groups. Cecily and Emily sat side by side on the couch by the window, furthest from the fire. Dorothy and Valerie were chatting on Ruth’s other side, leaving herself, Frank and Margaret in the middle.
She lifted the plate of Cecily’s meticulously arranged canapés and held them out to Margaret. ‘Can I tempt you?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘No thank you, dear; I’ve had two already.’
Ruth turned. ‘How about you, Frank?’
‘Yes please; my appetite isn’t as delicate as Margaret’s, I’m afraid.’ He put a cheese ball and a smoked salmon roll on his plate, and twinkled over at Margaret. ‘I hope you’re not dieting, dear; you’ll fade away on us.’
Ruth was amused to see Margaret’s colour rising slightly; she wondered if she’d still blush when she was Margaret’s age – hopefully not. She tapped Frank’s arm, smiling. ‘Leave her alone.’
He was lovely, really natural and easygoing. He reminded her vaguely of someone, but she couldn’t think who it might be. And Margaret was a pet – so gentle and sweet. Ruth sat back and took a sip of tea, totally at ease. She’d enjoyed this evening, sitting with people who had all made her feel welcome. She’d already read the novel they were discussing, so she felt comfortable joining in – hadn’t felt at all as if anyone would laugh at her or make her feel uneasy.
Not like last Saturday night. Her stomach still fluttered when she remembered Breffni putting the plate of ice-cream in front of her and demanding to know what she thought of it. Everyone stopping and looking at her – awful. Thank goodness it was ice-cream – anything hot and she probably would have scalded herself, from sheer nerves. And thank goodness for Laura, jumping in to rescue her.
Rescue her: how silly – as if she’d been under attack. Ruth knew that Breffni hadn’t meant anything by it. She wouldn’t have been a bit mortified to have everyone watching her eating, so why should she have thought it would affect anyone else that way? But when Ruth had picked up her spoon, knowing that everyone at the table was watching, feeling their eyes on her – God, it was stupid to have felt so panicky, so afraid she was going to make a fool of herself. It was a spoonful of ice-cream, for goodness’ sake. What a ninny she was.
Andrew hadn’t seemed to notice anything, thank goodness. A part of her was still waiting for him to turn around and realise how much better he could have done for himself than Ruth Tobin. But so far, so good. He’d been a bit quiet in the car on the way back, but that was just tiredness – it had been so late. And Laura hadn’t said much either, on the way home. They were all ready fo
r bed: particularly Ruth, worn out from the strain of trying to look as if she was enjoying herself.
But there was no strain tonight. She’d warmed quickly to Frank and Margaret, and Valerie seemed very pleasant too; she’d already suggested that Ruth meet her for coffee some afternoon soon. For the first time since her arrival in Limerick, Ruth didn’t feel quite so homesick for Dublin and her family. If she and Valerie got friendly, maybe she wouldn’t have to meet Breffni that much.
Now Dorothy leant over towards them. ‘I think I’ll make a move, Frank, if you don’t mind. Liam had a bit of a sore throat tonight; I told him I wouldn’t be late.’
‘That’s fine.’ Frank stood up and started gathering his book and scarf together. Cecily looked across, then came over. ‘Leaving already?’ She spoke to Dorothy.
Dorothy nodded. ‘I have to get back; Liam’s a bit under the weather. Thank you so much, Cecily – it was lovely. You went to great trouble.’ She hugged Cecily briefly.
Frank held out his hand. ‘Cecily, many thanks. We didn’t have much of a chance to talk tonight.’
She shook his hand, smiling faintly. ‘But I’m sure you made up for it with my daughter-in-law; looks like you had plenty to talk about.’ She looked down at Margaret. ‘I hope they didn’t tire you out too much, my dear. How’s the arthritis?’
As Margaret responded, Ruth thought Cecily sounded a little brusque. What could Frank, such a nice man, have done to deserve that? Maybe she, Ruth, was just being over-sensitive again; she hoped so. She turned to Frank.
‘It was lovely to meet you; I hope I’ll see you at the next gathering.’
He smiled back at her. ‘And you, dear. Take care.’ He didn’t seem at all upset by Cecily’s remark.
After everyone had left, and Ruth was helping her mother-in-law to clear the wafer-thin plates and cups from the sitting room, she found herself wondering again who Frank reminded her of. She was sure she wasn’t imagining it; he definitely resembled someone she knew. Hadn’t he told her he lived in Sligo till recently though? So she was all wrong, probably – she didn’t know a soul in Sligo. Maybe he just reminded her of someone she’d seen on the telly. She picked up a bundle of side plates and carried them gingerly to the kitchen.
Putting Out the Stars Page 11
