Breffni grinned as she pushed the plate in front of Mary. ‘With all due respect, Granny, I think you’d terrify the drivers far more, whizzing around Nenagh on a high Nelly.’
‘Biccy?’ Polly eyed the plate hopefully, chubby fingers gripping the edge of the table.
‘Oh go on, then.’ Breffni handed her a biscuit. ‘Just one – dinner is coming. What do you say?’
‘Ta.’ Polly grabbed the biscuit and disappeared under the table.
Breffni sniffed the air cautiously, then made a face. ‘Sorry, Mary – I think she forgot the potty again. This training seems to be lasting forever.’
‘Ah, not to worry. They all seem to do it in their own time. I know all of mine were different; and Polly is still very young.’
‘Hmm, I suppose. C’mere, you.’ Breffni ducked under the table and came up with a munching Polly in her arms. ‘Did you forget your potty?’
‘Potty.’ Polly looked at Breffni and munched on, crumbs scattering over her blue and yellow top.
‘Yes, lady – potty. You’ll have to do potty – Granny doesn’t want to mind a smelly girl.’ She turned at the door. ‘Back in a minute, Mary – sorry about this.’
‘Not at all, dear – has to be done.’ Mary took a biscuit and bit into it as she listened to Breffni’s steps on the stairs. Polly was chattering away as usual. Such a happy child, always laughing.
Mary hoped that whatever was bothering Breffni didn’t communicate itself to the child before it got sorted out. Little children were often like old people that way; they could sense things other people didn’t.
But of course it would get sorted out, whatever it was. Everything did, sooner or later.
‘Ruth, would you give Sal a shout and ask her to take Mairead over to the basin please? I’ll be finished with Caroline in a minute.’ Helen had to raise her voice to be heard over the noise of the dryer she was aiming at the newly cut, glossy blond hair of her customer.
‘Right.’ Ruth turned towards the door that led into the back of the salon. Sal was sorting new stock, coming out only when they called her to wash hair or sweep up.
Three months into the job, Ruth still looked forward to going in every day. She’d got to know most of the regular faces at this stage, although she still mixed up the odd name. No one seemed to mind though; people obviously looked forward to their visits to Helen’s. Everyone seemed in good humour, sitting under dryers or waiting to be washed, or cut, or highlighted. And they all seemed to know each other; conversations constantly flew around the salon.
‘Helen, would you ever invest in some up-to-date magazines – I’m sick of reading about last year’s scandals.’ This from a plump, dark-haired woman on the couch – Ruth thought her name was Shirley, or maybe Stacey.
‘Last year’s – that’s a good one. I just read about Charles and Di getting married.’ A voice from a head that could barely be seen under one of the big dryers – Mrs McCoy from next door, who’d been Helen’s very first customer. Ruth marvelled that she could hear anything under there.
‘Listen, you lot – you’re lucky I have any mags at all, the pittance you pay me.’ Helen held a section of hair out with her brush and aimed the dryer at it. ‘If I was in the city centre, I’d be charging twice as much.’
‘And paying twice as much rent.’ Shirley/Stacey again, rummaging through copies of Hello! on the coffee table. ‘Oh look, here’s one that’s only six months old – wonderful.’
Helen looked across at Ruth. ‘Listen to them – they walk out their doors and they’re here in less than a minute. They get top-class service, free coffee, and all the latest neighbourhood news, and they’re still not happy.’
‘You should take on a man, spice the place up a bit.’ Mrs McCoy winked at Ruth as the dryer was lifted from her head. ‘We could do with a bit of hanky-panky in here, couldn’t we, girls?’ Ruth smiled; Mrs McCoy was eighty if she was a day.
And on it went, laughter and cups of coffee, and Saturdays so busy sometimes that all you had for lunch was a sandwich grabbed in the back room when you had a minute, and people rushing in, wanting a wash and blow-dry without an appointment, and Helen always squeezing them in. Ruth loved every minute, and thanked her lucky stars that she’d ended up there.
And it was good at home too. Frank had almost finished in the garden, and declared himself well pleased with how it was turning out. ‘You’ll have a fine bit of a garden in a couple of years’ time, when those shrubs start to mature a bit, and the climbers take off. The tree adds a bit of character too.’
‘D’you think there’s any hope of apples?’ He’d told her he thought it was a Cox’s Pippin.
‘Hard to say; it looks quite ancient. And of course it would depend on whether there are other trees in the vicinity. But we’ll live in hope.’
The house was practically fully furnished – Ruth had picked up a few nice bits in the Dublin sales – and they were getting to know a few of the neighbours too. Mrs O’Brien, on their left, limited herself to a nod and a brief smile if they passed each other on the path, but the Phelans on the other side were much more chatty. Betty Phelan arrived during their first week with a still-warm apple tart, and Jim, her builder husband, had already offered them the use of his van if they had any furniture shifting to do.
Farranshone was so handy for town too – every place was so close by in Limerick, compared to Dublin. And even the weekly visit to Cecily’s, and her mother-in-law’s return visit, seemed to have got easier. Was Cecily mellowing, or was Ruth becoming more used to her?
Or was it simply that, for the past week, nothing at all was bothering Ruth?
‘I think I can manage next week.’
His mouth felt dry. ‘Really?’ Next week, after an eternity of waiting and hoping. After several attempts to slot all the factors into place, to leave no loose thread that could be unravelled by a curious partner.
She nodded. ‘If nothing happens in the meantime. I’ve made . . . arrangements for Wednesday night.’ She took the hand she was holding and kissed the tips of his fingers, one by one. ‘The whole night.’ She sucked his little finger gently, and he closed his eyes and turned to press against her, ran his other hand along the back of her thigh.
She slid his finger from her mouth. ‘Will you manage it?’
‘Yes.’ Yes, yes, yes. If he had to crawl here on his hands and knees, if he had to swim the Atlantic in a hurricane, he’d manage it. ‘We can have dinner downstairs first.’
He felt her stiffen slightly. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘Why not? We’re miles from anyone we know. I want to show you off to a crowd of perfect strangers.’
He heard the smile in her voice. ‘You just want to get me sloshed so you can have your wicked way with me.’
He grinned and opened his eyes. ‘Er . . . darling, you may not have noticed, but we’ve been having our wicked ways with each other stone-cold sober for quite a while now.’
‘Mmm . . . we have, haven’t we?’ And she ran her nails lightly down his back, and he started to breathe faster.
‘So, how are you enjoying having the house to yourself?’ Emily used the side of her fork to cut through the layers of custard and flaky pastry on the plate in front of her. A creamy-yellow blob of custard came oozing out the edge.
‘Very well; in fact, I’m really surprised at how much I’m relishing the freedom.’ Cecily paused to sip her Earl Grey tea, and then lifted her serviette to dab lightly at her lips. She marvelled that Emily could eat that sugary, fatty creation – even enjoy it, by the looks of her – and still keep her perfect figure.
‘Yes, it’s nice to have a bit of space to yourself. I must say, I’m quite happy when Derek heads off for his evening of bridge; thank goodness he’s given up asking me to take it up.’ Emily’s narrow, meticulously plucked eyebrows rose. ‘I couldn’t think of a duller way to pass the time.’ She forked a small portion of pastry to her lips.
‘They say it’s very interesting, the ones who play
it. There must be something in it.’
‘Well, if it amuses them, I suppose – oh lord, don’t look now –’ She broke off and ducked her head behind a hand, and Cecily risked a small look behind her.
Immediately Emily hissed, ‘Don’t – he’ll spot us.’
‘Who are you – oh.’ He was standing at the checkout, paying his bill. Not looking remotely in their direction; and now walking away from them, towards the door of the coffee shop, tucking his wallet back into his jacket as he went. Cecily liked that jacket – the dark green in the small check suited his colouring.
She turned back to Emily. ‘He didn’t see us.’ Something made her add, ‘Anyway, I thought you had no objection to him.’
Emily picked up her fork again. ‘Not at the book club, I suppose. He actually seems to have some worthwhile opinions from time to time. But my dear –’ her eyebrows travelled again in the direction of her hair, ‘– he’s not really our sort, is he? I mean, seriously, could you see yourself socialising with him?’ Her laugh tinkled. ‘It would be a bit like Lady Chatterley and her groundsman.’
And Cecily watched her put another dainty piece of pastry into her elegant mouth and thought, what a silly creature.
‘I’m so glad you decided to come back and see me.’
Laura smiled at Dr Sloan. ‘We’ve spoken about it, and we feel ready now to . . . explore the alternatives.’ Beside her, Donal gave her hand a squeeze, and she returned it. ‘We’re wondering about . . . a donor.’
Dr Sloan nodded. ‘Yes, that’s the direction I would be recommending. There’s a high success rate, although it could take some time – you could be looking at between five and ten treatments before you get pregnant. On the plus side, donor insemination is quite cost-effective, and it’s a simple enough procedure . . .’
As the gynaecologist continued, Laura glanced over at Donal. The bruises on his face had all but disappeared, and the cut on his cheek was healing nicely. His arm was still in a cast – it was due to come off in a couple of weeks – but otherwise, he was pretty much back to normal.
And thanks to the shock of the accident, they were pretty much back to normal too. Back in that place they’d been after he’d proposed, when they were everything to each other. When her thoughts were full of him, even when he was with her. And the second time round, it was even better.
She didn’t deserve him; but mercifully, he’d stayed. And now they’d work it out, she was sure. Today they were taking their first, shaky step. And while the thought of being inseminated with another man’s sperm, of creating a baby with a stranger, still made her stomach lurch with disappointment, she’d cope. They’d cope. She had to focus on the baby – picture herself and Donal raising the child that would be legally his. And hers. Her baby.
She thought of the drawer of tiny clothes at home, and the boxes under her desk at work, and her heart lifted. They’d cope. Whatever it took, they’d cope together.
As she took the white envelope, Ruth looked questioningly at Andrew. He smiled and shook his head. ‘No hints. Open it.’
She laughed in delight – she loved surprises – and looked at the front. Blank, no clues there. Turning it over, she put a finger into the small opening at the edge and slid it across. The vellum came apart raggedly. She put in a hand and pulled out four thin pieces of blue paper. Gate Theatre: Admit One, she read on the top one. April 22nd, 8.00pm. The date was for the following Wednesday night. She flipped through the other three tickets – all the same night, four seats in a row.
‘What’s all this?’ She looked up at him, the smile still playing on her lips. ‘Theatre tickets – in Dublin?’
Andrew shrugged his shoulders. ‘A surprise, a belated present for the new job, a moment of madness – call it what you like. I thought you were due a trip to see the family; and I’m sure you can persuade the three of them to go to the play with you.’ He pointed at the tickets. ‘It’s Brian Friel – you like him, don’t you? And I assume your boss will let you off a bit early to get the train up; you work through enough lunch breaks there.’
He seemed almost nervous – did he think she wouldn’t like the present? She kissed his cheek. ‘Darling, thank you so much, that’s . . . a lovely thing to do – and yes, I’m sure Helen will let me off early – I’ll just have to change my day off from Wednesday to Thursday.’
‘What?’ He looked at her in dismay. ‘I thought your day off was Thursday – that’s why I booked them for Wednesday night – damn.’
He looked so crestfallen, Ruth wanted to laugh. Trust him to forget which day she had off – he really could be awfully absent-minded sometimes. She smiled up at him. ‘Don’t worry – I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Helen won’t mind me changing, just for one week. She’s so easygoing.’ She looked down at the tickets again. Dear Andrew – he’d been so thoughtful; and The Faith Healer was one of her favourite plays. Mam and Dad would be delighted with the night out – and Irene too, she was sure.
A thought struck her. ‘Why don’t you come too? We could go with Mam and Dad – Irene wouldn’t have to go – or we could get an extra ticket for her. You could get Thursday off, couldn’t you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t; it’s going to be mad at work all next week – the auditors are due and it’s all hands on deck. I’ll probably be working late a couple of nights as it is.’
‘Oh, right. Well, no harm – we’ll certainly use them ourselves.’ She put her arms around him. ‘Thanks, darling, it was very sweet of you. I’ll talk to Helen tomorrow.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Now, be quick if you want a shower – dinner’s ready.’ She listened to the running water upstairs – was he whistling? She smiled as she took the potatoes over to the sink to drain, and thought of going up to Dublin again, much earlier than she’d expected.
Then another thought occurred to her: she could tell them when she was up. A bit sooner than she’d planned, but she didn’t think she could meet them and not say it. She imagined their reactions, and her smile widened.
But she wouldn’t tell Andrew yet. She wanted the moment to be just perfect when she did that.
Laura sat back and studied Breffni’s expression. ‘Stop looking so shocked.’
‘Sorry – I’m not shocked really . . . well, no, actually I am.’ Breffni leant forward, elbows propped on the table. ‘I had no idea, Laur – you never said a word.’
‘I know, I . . . just couldn’t. It was the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone – least of all someone with a baby, I suppose.’
‘But this is me; I’m not anyone – and I’m not just “someone with a baby”.’
‘I know.’ Laura leant towards her. ‘Look, don’t be hurt. I didn’t even talk about it to Donal for ages, which was pretty pathetic, when you think about it. It’s not as if he wasn’t involved.’
Breffni took Laura’s hand. ‘I’m not hurt – I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be your best friend. I should have guessed.’
‘No, don’t be daft – how could you? It’s not something you can figure out – no outward signs to be seen. Although sometimes I felt that everyone must guess, it felt so important to me. I’d see all these babies everywhere I looked, and I’d wonder if the mothers knew how jealous I was of them.’
She was so relieved to be able to talk about it at last. It was as if a giant stone had been lifted off her, and she could breathe happily again after years of gasping and choking. She picked up a slice of pizza and bit into it, relishing the sweetness of the pineapple and the creaminess of the warm mozzarella – even her appetite had come rushing back. She’d put on two pounds in a week.
‘So – what’s the next step then?’ Breffni emptied the last of her beer into the glass. ‘Have you any timescale?’
Laura chewed and swallowed. ‘Actually, it could start quite soon; within a few weeks, if everything goes according to plan.’
‘God – that quick? You mean, you could be pregnant in a month’s time?’
Laura laughed
at her excited expression. ‘Calm down, will you? In theory, yes, I could get pregnant the first time; but the gynaecologist warned us that it could take much longer – as much as ten tries, which would be ten months.’
‘But she’s saying that you will conceive eventually?’
‘Well, I suppose nothing’s certain, but I seem to be functioning normally – ovulating and everything – so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t get pregnant. I suppose I’ve as good a chance as anyone now.’ Laura picked up her beer glass. ‘Better make the most of this, while I still can.’
‘Absolutely – in fact . . .’ Breffni raised her empty bottle and held two fingers up to the barman, who nodded over at her.
‘Just a quick one, so – I’ve to go back to work.’ She’d phoned the publishers and crawled a bit – used Donal’s accident as part of her excuse, which she felt slightly guilty about – and managed to get one last extension on the deadline, and since then she’d been working flat out to get the illustrations done. She picked a pineapple chunk from the last slice of pizza. ‘So, lady of leisure, what are you doing for the rest of the day?’
Breffni shrugged. ‘Oh, no big plans. I’ll shop for a bit, and then call over and see Mam and Dad for tea. I’ve told Cian I might even stay the night – Dad hasn’t been that well lately, and Mam could do with a break. Granny Mary is sleeping over with Cian and Poll, just in case.’
‘Well, give a ring later on if you’re staying in Limerick – I could call over and see your folks. It’s ages since I met them.’
‘Actually, Laur, I might not, if you don’t mind. If Dad isn’t feeling great, I’m hoping Mam will take an early night with me there. And to be honest, I could do with an early night myself – haven’t been sleeping all that well.’
‘Oh, poor you. Well, tell them I said hello.’
Then the beers arrived, and Phil the barman, who knew Laura from coming in for lunch, distracted them for a while.
Paul looked up as the kitchen doors opened. ‘Hey, the warrior returns.’ He walked over and clapped Donal on the back. ‘How’re you feeling?’
Putting Out the Stars Page 22
