Putting Out the Stars

by Roisin Meaney

  But Andrew had always paid, insisted. Always had the bill settled before she arrived. Breffni didn’t bother saying it out loud, just stood against the wall and waited for this nightmare to finish.

  Cecily’s voice dripped with scorn. ‘So it looks as if history is about to repeat itself. You come sniffing around my son, he weakens for a while, and then he sees reason and drops you.’ She laughed harshly. ‘Poor Breffni – the only man you can hang on to is a boring slob.’

  And, watching the older woman’s triumphant face, Breffni suddenly realised – or had she known it all along? – that it hadn’t been Andrew who’d ‘seen reason’ all those years ago; it had been Cecily who’d poisoned his mind against Breffni, telling him that she wasn’t good enough for him. Wearing him down until he’d had no choice but to give in, and give her up.

  Breffni remembered her bewilderment when he’d dropped her, just like that. The tears she’d wiped away silently as he finished with her, mumbling his reasons, not looking at her once.

  And then, meeting him in Rome, discovering how attracted to him she still was, struggling to speak casually to him. Sitting as far from him as possible in the restaurant after the ceremony – because she had no intention of going through that heartbreak again. Flying back to the States, running back to the safety of Cian McDaid, who was really quite endearing, and who would never dream of breaking her heart.

  But of course, it had all been for nothing. They’d been powerless to resist the pull between them, once they were meeting again regularly. Even with Cian, even with Polly to keep her safe from him. None of that had mattered. ‘I must have been mad to let you go,’ he’d said to her, that first afternoon. ‘Stark, staring mad.’

  No, not mad: weak. No match for his mother’s strength. Too weak then, when he was just eighteen, and certainly too weak now to struggle against his mother – not with Ruth on her side. And his unborn baby. Because of course Cecily was telling the truth about Ruth’s pregnancy – Breffni understood that now.

  She forced herself to look directly at Cecily. ‘You’ve said what you came to say. Now I’d like you to leave.’ Her voice was low, and didn’t shake.

  Cecily stood up. ‘If you tell him I was here, I’ll deny it, of course. And I think you know who he’ll believe.’

  Breffni felt a stab of anger; could Cecily seriously imagine Breffni would try to see Andrew again, after this? She kept her voice low. ‘You’re welcome to your precious son; you deserve each other. And for the record, I’ve had plenty of better fucks.’ She was rewarded with Cecily’s flinch. ‘Now get out.’ Her voice rose slightly as she held the kitchen door open. ‘Get out of my house, you mad bitch.’

  Just then Polly trotted out of the sitting room, clutching a higgledy-piggledy arrangement of Lego. ‘Mama, look.’

  ‘God.’ Laura pushed her hands through her curls and looked across at her brother in horror. ‘How could you have done that? How could you? I can’t believe it.’

  At least he had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I don’t know . . . I was stupid, I don’t know. But Laura –’ he paused, spread his palms up helplessly, ‘– I love her.’

  ‘Which one?’ Laura’s voice was hard.

  ‘Breffni, of course.’ He looked beseechingly at her. ‘Please try and understand – I’m totally in love with her.’

  ‘And Ruth? Where does she figure? Or had you even thought about your wife in all this?’ Laura glared at him. ‘Your pregnant wife?’

  He hung his head. ‘Of course I’ve thought about Ruth; I feel as guilty as hell about her.’ He looked up again, pleading for Laura to see it his way. ‘But it was a mistake; the marriage was a big mistake. I should never have . . . we should never –’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She tried to control her voice; didn’t want it to start shaking with rage. ‘You made a mistake; so you’re just going to walk away from it? You’re going to walk away from your own child? And, speaking of children –’ her eyes blazed into his ‘– have you considered Polly in all this?’

  ‘Yes, of course we have.’ He let a hint of exasperation creep into his voice. Laura knew it was because she wasn’t saying what he wanted to hear. Wasn’t sympathising with poor Andrew, wasn’t trying to find a way to help him out. ‘Polly will come with us, of course. You didn’t think Breffni would leave her behind?’

  ‘And you think Cian will let her go.’ She said it flatly, staring at him.

  His confused expression gave her some satisfaction; maybe at last she was getting through to him. ‘What?’

  Laura picked up her glass, took a sip; her mouth felt desperately dry. ‘Why would you imagine he’d give up his daughter to his adulterous partner?’

  ‘I . . . didn’t think he’d have a choice. I mean, it’s not as if they’re married . . .’

  ‘So what – you assumed the mother would automatically get the child, even though she’s the home-wrecker?’ Laura shook her head. ‘Sorry; that may have been true in the last millennium, but not now.’

  He looked at her for a few seconds without speaking, then lifted his glass and drained it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded at Laura’s empty glass. ‘Want another?’

  She nodded shortly. He’d been right – this was going to take some time. She sighed deeply as she watched him walk to the bar, saw two young females turn to look at him. What a mess he’d managed to get himself into – planning to run off with his sister’s best friend, just after his new wife discovered she was pregnant.

  Laura had always known that Andrew was selfish. All his life, things had come easily to him – with his looks and his charm, he’d never been short of friends, or girlfriends; and he’d walked into his job straight after college – but her sister’s eye had allowed her to see him for what he really was. And when you thought about it, who could blame him for being selfish? Andrew had grown up believing the myth that Cecily had built around him: that he was perfect, that he deserved anything he wanted.

  Laura loved him, of course; they’d always got on, despite the obvious difference in the way they were treated by Cecily. Laura had never held their mother’s favouritism against him; it wasn’t his fault. And they’d had lots of good times, growing up. But he certainly wasn’t the saint that Cecily – and probably poor Ruth – believed him to be. He was spoilt and self-obsessed, and he took whatever he wanted without a thought for the consequences.

  And even as she shoved aside a stab of jealousy at the thought of Ruth’s pregnancy, Laura’s heart went out to her. Poor, innocent Ruth. Believing herself loved by her husband, no doubt thrilled to discover that she was carrying his baby. Dreaming of their perfect future together – with maybe lots more children to come. Poor, stupid Ruth. She deserved someone better.

  But she had chosen Andrew. And now that he’d forced Laura into his confidence, wasn’t it her duty to help Ruth? Didn’t her sister-in-law deserve someone on her side in this awful situation?

  Laura watched as Andrew came back towards her with the drinks, and realised, with dread, what she would have to do.

  ‘Is everything all right, my dear?’ Frank looked over at Cecily with concern. ‘You’ve hardly touched your chicken; is it not to your liking?’

  Cecily looked down at her plate and knew that she wouldn’t manage another bite, even though she’d eaten nothing since a half slice of brown toast at eight this morning. She shook her head slightly as she laid down her knife and fork beside one another. ‘I’m sorry, Frank, I don’t seem to have much of an appetite this evening.’ She looked around the unfamiliar restaurant; she should have known that the new surroundings wouldn’t make the slightest difference. Being out again with Frank only served to remind her of the last terrible night, when she’d seen her son across the room with another woman.

  Since she’d driven away unsteadily from that awful scene in Nenagh the other morning, Cecily’s thoughts had been in turmoil. Her delight when Ruth had phoned her with the news – here was exactly what she needed – had started to evaporate as
soon as she’d stepped into Breffni’s grubby little kitchen. Oh, she’d said what she’d come prepared to say, had invented Andrew’s confession just like she’d planned, and it had all sounded so plausible to her. It seemed, too, that Breffni was swallowing it all – after her initial denial, which Cecily had expected, of course. And her parting shot, her crude put-down of Andrew, had definitely seemed genuine. It sounded like she really wasn’t intending to contact him again.

  But maybe she was a better liar than Cecily was giving her credit for. Maybe even now she was back with him, telling him everything, discovering that Cecily hadn’t confronted Andrew with her discovery after all.

  Tossing in her bed at night, Cecily imagined the two of them laughing at her, sneering at her well-meant intervention. Despising her for trying to separate them.

  It had been a mistake to come out with Frank tonight; there was nowhere they could go where she could feel comfortable. Until this dreadful situation was resolved, Cecily was going to be no company for him. She looked across at his concerned face. ‘I think I’d like to go home.’

  ‘Of course.’ He was on his feet, signalling to the waiter for the bill, taking her coat from the back of her chair and helping her into it. She imagined telling him everything, and knew she wouldn’t dream of it – even though he’d probably be full of understanding and sympathy. And. of course, telling Laura was completely out of the question.

  No, this was something Cecily would have to cope with alone. She had done what she could; now all that was left was to wait, and hope, and pray.

  ‘You’re in rare form today.’ Helen smiled at Ruth across the row of chairs.

  Ruth beamed back. ‘It’s this spring in the air; I always get a lift when I see the days getting longer.’

  ‘Oh right.’ Helen nodded. ‘It’s got nothing to do with the brand new house, and the hunk of a husband then?’ Andrew had collected her from work one rainy evening, and since being introduced to him, Helen and Sal had missed no opportunity to tease Ruth good-naturedly about the man with the film-star looks she’d married.

  ‘Well, I suppose they have something to do with it.’ Ruth grinned happily, thanking her lucky stars for the millionth time that she’d chanced to call in here looking for a job. Mind you, she’d be out of work when Carol, the stylist Ruth had replaced, was ready to come back after her maternity leave. But by then, Ruth would be getting ready to have her own baby – the thought of the tiny creature growing inside her caused her the same thrill that it always did – the same thrill she’d felt when she’d held the pregnancy test wand in trembling hands and seen the precious blue line. She was dying to tell Helen – wanted to tell the whole world, but it was still a bit soon.

  Helen glanced at the clock. ‘Hey, it’s your lunch time. Go out and skip in the sun for yourself.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘Maybe I will. By the way, I’m going to the post office – have you anything you want me to drop in?’

  ‘Oh, hang on – I have, actually.’ As Helen went into the back, Ruth looked out the window. Blue sky, hardly a cloud. Still cool enough to need a jacket, but definite spring weather, full of everything bursting into life. She hugged herself, wondering if she could bear all this happiness.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Breffni – it’s me.’

  A pause, then, ‘Oh, hi there.’ Another pause. ‘How’re things?’ Her voice sounded flat.

  ‘Fine . . . actually, I have some good news.’ Right, here goes.

  Breffni said nothing, just waited.

  ‘Ruth is pregnant; isn’t that great?’ Laura prayed that her voice didn’t sound as horribly false as it felt.

  Nothing. No sound from the other end.

  ‘Breffni? Are you there?’

  ‘Yeah, no, that’s great . . .’

  Was that a stifled sob? ‘You sound like you’ve a cold.’ No way was she going to give sympathy.

  ‘Mmm – all stuffed up . . .’ Another muffled sob.

  Suddenly Laura thought this is ridiculous. ‘Breffni, I know. Andrew told me.’

  Loud sobbing now. ‘God, oh Christ . . . Laura, I’m so sorry . . .’ Her voice was ragged, thick with tears. ‘I’m so sorry . . . Jesus . . .’

  ‘How the hell could you? How could you do it?’ Laura felt a rising anger. ‘Could you not keep your hands off him? He was just married, for Christ’s sake. What’s wrong with you?’

  No response, just loud sobbing, then the phone put down, gently.

  Laura stood holding the dead phone, trying to breathe the anger out of her. She heard Donal’s key in the front door and hung up.

  Donal walked in. ‘Hey babe, gossiping as usual.’

  She nodded, kissed his cheek. ‘Can’t beat a good old gossip. Come on; lunch is on the table.’

  He parked in his usual space, checking for her car. No sign yet: good. He liked to arrive before her, have the bill settled before she walked in. He wondered why it felt like a million years since he’d been here last. It was just over a week since they’d spent the night together, in a room not a hundred yards from where he stood. Nine days since he’d held her in his arms, breathing in the scent of her hair, wrapping his body around hers, drowning in her.

  Today, they were back to their usual afternoon arrangement. They’d decided to wait till this week to meet again, in case there were any repercussions from their night together. He’d just about managed to survive nine days without her, nine days with no contact – they’d agreed it would be safer. And now . . . his heart soared at the thought of seeing her again. Today, they could start to make plans.

  He still smarted when he thought about the meeting with Laura the other night. He’d assumed she’d take some persuading to see it from his point of view, but he’d been fairly sure that eventually she’d come round to his way of thinking, that she’d be able to understand that what he and Breffni had was too important to ignore. Instead, Laura had insisted that he was wrong, that his affair with Breffni had to end, that he had to concentrate on making his marriage work. So, of course, he’d promised – what else could he do? If Laura thought he was going to go ahead and make plans for a future with Breffni, she might decide to take matters into her own hands and try to turn Breffni against him, or something.

  And of course she’d been wrong about Polly – of course Breffni could take Polly with her when they went off together; she was the child’s mother – that had to count for something. And Cian surely wouldn’t want the responsibility of bringing up Polly alone. His family were all in the States, except for his ancient grandmother – she wouldn’t be around for much longer. And he’d still see Polly from time to time; they wouldn’t want to deny him that. It would be awkward for a while, obviously, but they’d sort it out – they were civilised people.

  And Ruth – she’d cope too. She’d probably go back to Dublin – she’d never wanted to leave her family anyway – and she’d have plenty of help there to bring up her child. He couldn’t think of it as ‘his’ child, or even ‘their’ child. It was Ruth who’d wanted it – Ruth who’d pushed him into it. He remembered the night it must have happened, when they went out for that meal, and Ruth kept refilling his wine glass, getting him all worked up in the taxi on the way home. She’d obviously planned it all meticulously. He’d been careful up to that, watching for signs that she was having her period, avoiding sex when he knew she was at the dangerous time of the month, feigning sleep if he thought there was any chance that she could get pregnant. There’d been a few times, after nights out with the others, when he’d wanted Breffni so badly, he’d turned to Ruth in desperation – but he’d been lucky up to this. Really, Ruth had brought this on herself, forcing him into something he hadn’t wanted – not with her.

  The only thing that he dreaded in all this business was his mother’s reaction; how would she take it when the truth came out? Would she understand that he and Breffni had been powerless, that they’d been swept up in something that was huge – far bigger than either of them had anticipated? Could
he make Mother see that they hadn’t acted out of malice, hadn’t set out to hurt anyone? Would she, in time, come to accept Breffni as his new partner, when she’d been so decidedly against her the last time around? He hoped so – hoped he’d be able to explain it all to her some day, when she’d got over the initial shock.

  He settled his bill in cash, as usual, glanced at his watch as he walked to a couch by the window. Breffni was late; something must have held her up. He imagined her face when she heard that Ruth was pregnant. He’d tell her as soon as they went upstairs, get it out of the way. He hoped to God he’d use the right words, make sure she understood that he hadn’t wanted it, had hoped fervently that it wouldn’t happen. He’d insist that it was all Ruth’s doing, too much wine one night, just a horrible mistake.

  He’d explain that it wasn’t going to make any difference to their plans, that he still wanted to go away with her. That nothing had changed. He’d show her how much he still loved her.

  Hurry up. He willed her to arrive, impatient to see her. He pulled out his mobile – no messages. Where was she? He debated ringing her, even though he’d promised never to, and then forced himself to relax.

  She’d be here. She was just a bit late, that was all.

  The face that looked out at Breffni from the bathroom mirror was hardly recognisable. Eyes so puffy that they were practically shut. Face blotchy from all the tears. Hair hanging in damp strands, trailing limply down each side of her empty face.

  Empty face – empty of hope, robbed of joy. She ducked her head and turned the cold tap on full blast. Scooping handfuls of water, she splashed her face again and again, oblivious to the puddles she was making on the tiles. Her hair dripped into the sink, the neck of her t-shirt became soaked. The water made her gasp; before long, her hands were so cold she couldn’t feel them any more. Shivering, she groped for a towel and tipped her head upside down while she rubbed her hair roughly, then stood upright and mopped her face. When she’d done the best she could, she used the towel to soak up the worst of the water on the floor before dropping it into the laundry basket. Then she peeled off her soaking t-shirt and threw that in too.