Putting Out the Stars

by Roisin Meaney

  He’d been so good that day in the café, when she’d made such a fool of herself by bursting into tears. The poor man; he hardly knew her. But he hadn’t got in the least embarrassed, even though people must have been staring. Just held her hand and passed her paper serviettes till she’d calmed down. And then he listened quietly while she told him how lonely she’d felt since leaving Dublin.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t – I have Andrew, of course, and Laura has been so nice, and Cecily couldn’t have done more for us, letting us live with her all this time . . . but I miss my family –’ The tears threatened again, and she grabbed another serviette and held it to her eyes. ‘We’ve never really been separated, and I know it’s only Dublin, not the other side of the world . . . and then not having a job doesn’t help, I’ve so much time on my hands –’

  God knew what else she had said, it just seemed to keep pouring out, and Frank had listened patiently until she was empty. Then he leaned slightly towards her.

  ‘Are you actually looking for a job? I mean, actively looking?’

  She’d been surprised; it wasn’t what she’d been expecting him to say. ‘Well, no, not yet . . . I thought – we thought – I should wait until we’re in our own house –’

  ‘Why?’

  Again so direct. Ruth just looked at him, realising in surprise that she had no answer. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Couldn’t you go to work from Cecily’s house?’

  Of course she could; why on earth hadn’t that occurred to her? She felt something stirring inside her, and took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I suppose I could. There’s really no reason for me to wait –’

  Frank shook his head. ‘No reason at all. You will have a fair bit of work to do when you eventually move into your house, of course, but other people manage it with a job – why couldn’t you?’

  He made it sound so simple. Then he said, ‘Now, why haven’t you been back to Dublin since your wedding?’

  And Ruth, beginning to feel slightly foolish, had to admit again that she didn’t know.

  ‘So what’s stopping you from heading up to the station this minute and getting a train timetable?’

  It was as if he’d stretched out a hand and pulled back some kind of curtain, and Ruth could see clearly for the first time in ages.

  ‘Nothing is stopping me.’ She smiled a watery smile. ‘Frank, I’m so sorry for –’

  He lifted his hand. ‘Please Ruth, no need to apologise. If I’ve been any help at all, I’m delighted. I know what it’s like to come to a new place: if it hadn’t been for my excellent neighbours, I might well have headed back to Sligo after a few weeks. You need a few friendly faces around you when you move to a new city.’

  He lifted his cup. ‘Now, finish that coffee and head up to the station. You can get yourself a timetable and plan a trip.’

  She’d gone straight there, bought a ticket for the following day – why would she need to plan, when her time was her own, she could go anytime? Then she headed home to pack a weekend bag.

  And it had all worked out beautifully. When she told Andrew that evening, he nodded, unsurprised. ‘Good idea – about time you went back to see them.’

  He drove her to the station on his way to work the next morning, and her father was waiting for her at Heuston Station. She stayed two nights, revelling at being back in her old room with the same watermark in the ceiling above the bed, tucking into her mother’s hearty meals without worrying about dropping a glass or cracking a plate.

  After dinner on the first night, she sat in with her parents and Irene and watched Emmerdale and Coronation Street and Fair City, and answered all their questions about the house and Limerick, and went to bed after tea and biscuits like they always had last thing, and slept soundly all night. The second evening, a Thursday, she went out to the local with Irene and her two other sisters, and met up with Maura and Claire, and showed everyone her honeymoon photos.

  And a few days after she got back to Limerick, Andrew came home from work and told her the house would be ready for them within a week.

  When she’d rung Frank to invite him to come and see it – he’d given her his number in the café, ‘just in case’ – he sounded pleased.

  ‘Now, everything is starting to fall into place. How’s the job-hunting going?’

  ‘Nothing yet, but I am keeping an eye on the paper.’

  ‘Well, one step at a time. You’ll be kept busy for the next while anyway, with the moving.’

  Now Ruth opened the back door.

  ‘Right, you’ve seen the house – let me show you the garden. I must warn you, it’s in pretty bad shape. I’d say nothing’s been done in it for years.’

  Frank followed her out through the back door. ‘Yes, I got that impression from the upstairs windows.’ He stood and looked around the jungle of weeds. ‘It’ll certainly need a bit of work to get it into shape. Actually –’ his eyes swept around, taking it all in ‘– I may be able to help you there.’ He turned and looked at Ruth. ‘I didn’t mention that I was a landscape gardener in my previous life, did I?’

  Ruth gaped at him. ‘Frank – really? No, you never said – would you really like to take it on? We’d be thrilled, I know Andrew would be delighted –’

  He smiled at her eager face. ‘I’d enjoy getting back to it, I think – and it would certainly keep me out of trouble for a few months. You’d need to discuss it with your husband first, of course.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll say yes – it’s not as if he’d have the time to do it; and he’s never mentioned an interest in gardening. No, I’d say he’d be delighted.’ Ruth wondered if the day could get any better. ‘Can I phone you when I’ve talked to him, and we can – er – see about payment?’

  Frank twinkled. ‘Well of course, I don’t come cheap. I’d need at least one cup of tea a day, and maybe the odd ham sandwich. How would that sound?’

  Ruth laughed, a little embarrassedly. ‘We wouldn’t dream of letting you work for nothing – but we can fight about it later.’

  Frank nodded. ‘Of course we can. I’ll be seeing you at the book club anyway.’ The next meeting was in two days’ time, at Dorothy’s house. ‘You’re planning to go, I take it?’

  Ruth had hardly thought about the book club since the last meeting; had nearly forgotten the plot of the book they were supposed to be discussing, she’d read so many since then. But she nodded immediately. ‘Yes, I’ll be there. I’ll talk to you then.’

  As she walked along Shelbourne Road on the way back to Cecily’s house – she didn’t think of it as home any more, now they had their own – her head was full of all she had to do over the next few days. She felt like skipping; realised that this was the happiest she’d been since she’d moved to Limerick. Her pace slowed a bit as she wondered if that was normal – shouldn’t she, as a newlywed, have been walking on air, no matter where she lived? Wasn’t the fact that she was with Andrew the important thing? But of course she was happy with him; it was just that living with a mother-in-law would be difficult for most brides, surely. Especially one as . . . perfect as Cecily.

  Once she and Andrew were moved in, everything would be great; she just knew it. They’d relax and spend lots of time together, and really begin to enjoy married life properly. As she reached the North Circular Road, she quickened her step. So much to do.

  ‘Hello.’

  He turned; knowing who it was before he saw her. Even though she’d spoken softly, even though the place was crowded, and he’d barely heard her above the buzz of people rushing home for the weekend.

  For a second, he couldn’t speak. She literally took his breath away. Then she turned and walked towards the car park, and he followed her mutely, instinctively keeping a few paces behind her, even though nobody seemed remotely interested in them. He could smell her scent as he followed her; watch her body as it moved.

  She reached her car and got in, and he walked around and opened the passenger door and sat in quickly beside her.

&n
bsp; For a second, neither of them spoke. He could hear her breathing. Her hands lay loosely in her lap; he could see them from the corner of his eye. He didn’t dare look at her, kept his eyes fixed on a small dark car parked in front of them. It could have been black or dark blue, or maybe brown; hard to tell in the sodium lights. He could feel his heart pounding.

  Then she spoke, rapidly and quietly. ‘You must never write to me or phone me at home. Never.’

  He nodded, swallowed, then said, ‘OK.’ His voice sounded like someone he didn’t recognise.

  ‘We never meet anywhere there’s the remotest chance anyone would see us. No risks.’

  Again he nodded, glanced over. She was staring straight ahead too. Her face looked paper white in the orange light. One hand was on the steering wheel, the other was resting on her thigh.

  He reached over and touched it. She caught her breath and glanced at him. With the movement, her scent wafted over to him again. She turned her hand up and wrapped her fingers around his, softly. Her hand was cold.

  ‘What are we doing?’ Her eyes looked black in the light. Her fingers pressed against his hand.

  ‘I don’t know.’ His free hand found her face, the back of his palm stroked her cheek; so incredibly soft. She turned her face into his hand, ran her mouth over his fingers. He felt a sharp stab of desire. ‘I just know we have to.’

  She nodded, face still pressed against his hand, rubbing up against it like a cat. In front of them, someone got into the dark car and drove off.

  Abruptly she straightened up, pulled away from him, placed both hands on the steering wheel. ‘I must get back.’ She looked over at him. ‘I’ll make arrangements and contact you. Is it safe to call you on your mobile?’

  He nodded, pulled a card from his wallet with trembling fingers and scribbled rapidly on it before passing it to her. Then he forced himself to open the car door. As he was about to close it, he leaned down and said, ‘Thank you.’

  She smiled then, tentatively. ‘You’re welcome.’ He watched her drive off until her car disappeared out the gates. Then he walked quickly towards his.

  Cecily folded the top of the sheet carefully over the duvet, smoothing it down gently. She took the pillows in their crisp cases from the chest of drawers and arranged them neatly on top, then covered them with the finely crocheted spread that she and Brian had brought back from a distant holiday in the Algarve. Her meticulous washing had preserved it perfectly all these years; it served her well on the cold winter nights.

  Her eye fell on a photo on her bedside locker. Andrew was smiling in his usual charming way, sprawled in one of her deckchairs, one hand shielding his eyes against the sun. He wore a navy t-shirt and a pair of light cotton trousers, and he looked so handsome. It was hard to believe that he would soon be leaving home. Oh, she knew she was lucky to have had him with her for so long; other mothers had to wave goodbye to sons barely out of childhood these days, but still . . .

  Privately Cecily dreaded the thought of her empty house: she hadn’t lived alone for over thirty years. She remembered the noisy times when the children were growing up, and Brian was alive. Friends coming to dinner, birthday parties, first communions . . . always something to plan for, someone to clean the house and cook for.

  Laura had been the first to leave, just as soon as she could – straight out of secondary school, if you don’t mind. If it had been up to Cecily, the girl would have stayed at home until she had finished college and was earning a salary of her own. What nonsense to throw money away on rent when she could have gone on living here for nothing. But naturally, her father couldn’t see sense when it came to his darling daughter; he’d handed over her rent quite happily, month after month. Cecily had long since learnt not to argue with him about Laura – as far as he was concerned, the girl could do no wrong.

  And then suddenly Brian was gone too, and it was just Cecily and Andrew. And after she’d mourned her husband for a while, she was perfectly happy with just the two of them: happier, maybe, than at any other time, if the truth be told. Until Andrew had gone on holidays to Crete with a pal from work, and met Ruth.

  Cecily had known he’d get married eventually; of course she had. And she supported his choice; in fact, she flattered herself that she might even have influenced him in some small way, who knew? And as soon as Andrew got married, naturally it was only a matter of time before he moved out. But it was one thing knowing that something was inevitable, and quite another being able to deal with it when it eventually happened. As long as Andrew and Ruth were living with her, Cecily had managed to avoid facing up to the fact that her son had begun the process of leaving her forever. But now, with their house finished at last, and the day of their departure – his departure – approaching, she found herself struggling to come to terms with it.

  And yes, she knew they were only moving to Farranshone, barely five minutes in a car – but it wasn’t the distance, that wasn’t the point at all. Who would she cook for now? Who would tell her she looked lovely when she sat opposite him at the table in any old thing? Who would protest when she referred to herself as old, tell her not to be crazy, she’d never be old? Who would make her feel as if she really mattered, as if he simply couldn’t imagine doing without her?

  At least she still had the book club, once a month. And the occasional coffee with Dorothy or Emily in between. No male company though: Cecily had always enjoyed the attention of men. Even if most of them disappointed one, sooner or later, one had to admit that they had their uses. A nice meal out, now and again. Flowers occasionally, or gifts. And it was flattering to be desired – even if the man in question was not in the least desirable.

  While Andrew had been living with her, Cecily had been quite satisfied, hadn’t felt the need for any other male company. Andrew was attentive, took her out to dinner once in a while, bought flowers and champagne on her birthday – and of course, with her son there was no sense of obligation, as there would have been with another male, sooner or later. They always managed to make one feel under obligation eventually.

  But now Andrew was leaving. And Cecily would just have to face up to it, and get used to the fact that from now until the day she died, she would live alone.

  She picked up the used laundry and left the room.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ruth, it’s Laura.’

  ‘Oh, hi Laura. You’re ringing about the move.’

  ‘I sure am. You’re still planning for Tuesday?’

  ‘Yes; the furniture is coming down from Dublin sometime in the afternoon, so I’m going to head over straight after breakfast, around nine hopefully.’

  ‘OK, I’ll meet you there around nine thirty, and Bref says she’ll come in as soon as Mary arrives to mind Poll.’

  ‘That’s great – are you sure you’re not too busy with work though?’

  ‘Not really; I’ve been slogging away for ten days on the trot – I’m owed a day off, and it’d make a nice change.’

  ‘Laura, I really appreciate this; I intend having you and the others over for dinner as soon as we’re settled in.’

  ‘Hey, give yourself a chance, no hurry. We’ll see you Tuesday.’

  Dorothy picked up the teapot. ‘I’d say that’s enough book talk for one night. More tea, anyone?’ She walked around, filling cups.

  Valerie turned to Ruth. ‘You must be thrilled; your first house is so exciting.’

  ‘I am – you’ll have to come and see it when we’re installed.’ She turned and nodded towards Frank, sitting next to Cecily at the opposite side of the room. ‘And we’ve already got our gardener lined up; did you know that that’s what Frank did all his life?’

  Cecily lifted her cup and watched him take another shortbread biscuit from the plate between them. The man certainly had a sweet tooth – that must be his third or fourth. Not that she was taking any notice, despite the fact that he’d made a beeline for her as soon as he’d arrived, bent her ear from the moment he’d sat down. Talking to her as if she was
his long-lost cousin, and practically ignoring poor Margaret on his other side – who was, admittedly, busy swapping recipes with Dorothy.

  And Cecily had to admit, somewhat reluctantly, that she was finding Frank slightly easier to stomach this evening. She’d been surprised to hear from Ruth that he’d been a landscape gardener; to Cecily’s mind, anyone with an affinity to growing things had to possess at least a modicum of sensibility. To be able to see, before it existed, a neatly presented shrubbery, or a tasteful arrangement of patio plants. To know what would thrive in a shady corner, what would cover an ugly wall with the most colour, which plants would work best together in a hanging basket. She wouldn’t have credited Frank with that sort of insight. One never knew, really.

  Cecily’s own medium-sized back garden was immaculate – neatly clipped shrubs, perfectly mown lawn where no dandelion or daisy dared to appear, two well-behaved rose bushes by the end wall, one small flowerbed just outside the patio door where she planted dwarf tulips and daffodils in the autumn and petunias and pansies when spring came around. During the growing season, Andrew mowed the lawn once a week; she suddenly wondered if he’d still do that when he was living in his own house. Surely . . .

  ‘Penny for them; or I suppose I should be offering a cent now.’

  Cecily started slightly, then smiled stiffly in Frank’s direction. ‘Oh, nothing of importance; I was just thinking of my garden.’ She felt like telling him that her thoughts were none of his business, but of course, good manners forbade it.

  He looked thoughtfully at her. ‘I’m sure it is quite lovely, if you are the one who manages it.’

  Cecily was completely thrown: what a thing to say. She lifted her cup and sipped her tea, unable to think of a single answer. What in God’s name would he come out with next?

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner some night.’ His voice was deliberately pitched so no one but herself would hear him.