Funny that Mother never seemed curious about his future either, never asked him what he planned to do. Which was just as well really, as he didn’t know himself. Play it by ear, that was the best thing. No hurry.
Would be nice to have a bit of time to himself though, now and again. Since she’d given up the book club, Mother rarely went out in the evenings. Maybe he’d suggest that she give that friend of hers a call – what was her name again? – and go to a play or a concert sometime.
Maybe he’d get two tickets and present them to her; she’d have to go then.
Cecily watched him over the top of her book. Such a handsome boy still, despite all that he’d had to go through this last year. Who could have possibly imagined that Ruth would turn out to be so headstrong, so demanding, so unforgiving? Surely a wife should be able to overlook her husband’s weaknesses, put that sort of thing behind her and soldier on? No one had ever said that marriage was a bed of roses, for goodness’ sake. Women these days didn’t know when they were well off – if Ruth had pulled herself together, instead of running back to Dublin like a hysterical ninny, she would have realised which side her bread was buttered on. How many women would give their eyeteeth to have Andrew? On reflection, Cecily decided that they were better off without her: silly creature.
But the yearning to see her grandson had taken her completely by surprise. Ruth had sent photos when he was born, and Cecily’s eyes had filled with tears as she looked down at the tiny creature. Her flesh and blood, Andrew’s son . . . she found herself thinking about him often in the months that followed, wondering what stage he was at, if he was sleeping through the night, whether he’d started teething. She’d sent a card to Ruth, which she’d known wouldn’t be acknowledged. And now Andrew seemed against the idea of her going with him to visit Gerard, which Cecily could half-understand, given Ruth’s ridiculous attitude, but still resented. What a tragedy that she, Cecily, the innocent party, was being denied the pleasure of seeing her only grandson grow up.
And as much as she loved her other grandchild, it didn’t make her loss of Gerard any less painful . . . Cecily thought about the evening ahead at Laura’s, about seeing Frank again. She’d been horrified to discover that he was Laura’s father-in-law; stunned when Laura had told her. Somehow, the whole business seemed sordid – humiliating in some way. So of course Cecily had cut ties with Frank: impossible for them to keep meeting like before.
And naturally Frank had respected her wishes, hadn’t tried to contact her again. They’d already met a few times at Laura and Donal’s, in fact, and Frank had behaved impeccably, chatting pleasantly as if he and Cecily were simply casual acquaintances. And if she felt a pang when she remembered their evenings out, those very pleasant dinners together, well, that would pass in time. And who knew? Maybe in the future they could . . . well, it would be perfectly acceptable for them to share an evening together now and again, wouldn’t it? Just as friends, of course. Perfectly respectable.
Especially now that she had given up the book club too – imagine Emily’s glee when she discovered that Andrew’s marriage had finished. Oh, she would have been all sympathy to Cecily’s face, but think of the whispers behind her back . . . No, it was entirely out of the question to put herself through that humiliation. This Thursday the club would be meeting – perhaps she and Andrew could go to see a film instead; he rarely went out these days. Yes, that might be a good idea.
‘Darling,’ she said.
He counted to three, slowly, before looking up.
And Frank, checking the clock on the kitchen wall, saw that he was due at Laura and Don’s – Donal’s – in less than an hour. And he hurried upstairs to change out of his gardening clothes and clean himself up, hoping to God that he’d remember to take the bottle of wine out of the fridge before he left.
Dying, as usual, to see the person who’d brought him back to life.
‘Remind me again why we’re putting ourselves through this.’ Donal’s voice floated out from the open bathroom door.
Laura smiled into the mirror. ‘You know very well it’s our turn – Mother has had us twice in the past month. Although I must admit I’m having second thoughts myself – I look like a whale. Come out and do up the zip for me, and I’ll see if I can still breathe.’
He appeared in the mirror behind her. ‘A damn sexy whale, if I may say so. Here –’ He eased the zip of her dress up slowly, while Laura attempted to pull in her stomach.
‘Thanks – if I just pretend to eat I’ll be fine.’ She turned sideways, pressing her hand to her abdomen as she examined herself in the mirror. ‘Three months – and still a long way to go.’
Donal grinned. ‘I’m blue in the face from telling you you’re fine – what is it with women that they have to look like sticks? We men want something to grab on to, you know.’
Laura thumped his arm. ‘Shut up – I want to be a stick, OK? Doesn’t matter what you want. Don’t let me have dessert.’
He nodded, still smiling. ‘Fine. Now how long have we got before the hordes descend?’
‘Three people are hardly hordes. And about ten minutes; have you checked the dinner – and will you make sure the fire is OK?’
Before Donal could answer, a wail erupted from the corner. They met each other’s eyes before turning simultaneously towards the cot.
‘I’ll get her.’
‘No, you go down – it’s my turn.’
And Laura, bending over her daughter’s cross, red face, smiled a smile of such pure happiness that Catherine was charmed into silence. She snuffled up at Laura and grabbed one lilac-socked foot, pulling off the sock and bringing it towards her mouth.
‘Oh no you don’t, you little rogue.’ Laura lifted her into her arms and rescued the sock, turned to find Donal still standing by the door, arms folded, watching them.
She stood and looked back at him. ‘Want a go?’
He nodded, walked over and took his daughter from Laura. His daughter, his miracle child, conceived against all the odds. Sitting quietly in Laura’s womb as Laura heard how her husband had deceived her. Waiting to be discovered when Laura, full of hurt and fear and pain, had gone for help to Dr Goode – not noticing, in her anguish, that her period was now well over two weeks late.
And Catherine was a miracle – she’d saved them from falling apart. How could they not survive, now that they had started a baby between them? She was the glue that had kept them all together. And when she was born, the incredible joy that Frank especially had got from Catherine, named in memory of his beloved daughter . . . seeing that, how could Laura not forgive the past, and move on?
And incredibly, Catherine had brought Laura and her mother closer together. It wasn’t the cosy, easy relationship that Breffni had with her mother – it would never be that – but it was better between them, definitely. Cecily was warmer, doting on Catherine, bringing expensive toys and clothes whenever she called around, telling Laura about a new baby alarm she’d seen advertised. She’d even offered to babysit, the last time they’d been to her house for dinner, but so far they hadn’t taken her up on it – they couldn’t bear to leave Catherine yet.
‘Hon.’ Donal looked up from the baby.
‘Yeah?’
‘What about giving Breffni a ring? Just to catch up, bury the hatchet?’
She didn’t answer immediately, looked back into the mirror, concentrated on getting the dress to sit right. Smoothed down the front of it with her palms.
‘I don’t know.’ How could she contact her again, how could they ever be friends again, with all that had happened?
Something that Ruth had said once swam suddenly into Laura’s head – something about them being like spaghetti people, all tangled up together . . . and they had been, twining in and out of each other’s lives. She and Ruth, Donal and Cian, Andrew and Breffni . . . and she hated that Breffni had wrenched it all apart, destroyed Ruth’s marriage for the sake of a fling. It had to have been a fling, hadn’t it, when they hadn’t gone
off together like Andrew had been planning? Laura had never spoken about it to him after that one time, had been glad when he’d never brought it up again, just acted his usual confident self.
Poor Ruth.
But still . . . Laura missed her friend badly sometimes, missed her so much it nearly hurt. When she’d found out she was pregnant, her first thought had been must phone Bref, before she remembered. And now Bref didn’t even know that she’d had Catherine, that she hadn’t had to have the treatment after all. And she knew nothing about Bref – had she left Cian? Was that relationship destroyed too? And if it was, who would Bref have had to turn to, without Laura?
Maybe she’d call her. Maybe in a while she’d call her.
She turned from the mirror. ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road – they’ll be here any minute. Gimme –’ She stretched out her arms ‘– go and do your thing downstairs. I’ll give this one a clean nappy so she won’t disgrace us.’
As Donal handed over Catherine, Laura met his eyes. ‘You’re a good man.’
And with a pang, she saw the lightning flash of pain on his face before he turned to go downstairs.
Thanks to all at Tivoli, and to Faith.
Thanks to Annaghmakerrig, for taking me in again.
Thanks to Liz and Desirée for the biology lessons.
Thanks to family and pals, for encouragement and kind words.
Thanks to all who bought The Daisy Picker. Here we go again.
Thanks to Limerick for the inspiration.
Thanks, and apologies, to anyone I’ve forgotten.
Roisin Meaney, October 2004
Gill & Macmillan
Hume Avenue
Park West
Dublin 12
Ireland
with associated companies throughout the world
www.gillmacmillanbooks.ie
© Roisin Meaney 2005, 2013
First published by Gill & Macmillan 2005 under the Tivoli imprint
This ebook edition published by Gill & Macmillan 2013
978 07171 3676 0 (print)
978 07171 5908 6 (epub)
978 07171 5907 9 (mobi)
Cover design by www.slickfish.ie
Cover photograph by Sin É Design
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
The website addresses referred to in this book were correct at the time of first publication.
About the Author
In 1977 Roisin Meaney finished a sentence and won a car. The sentence was ‘I would like to win a Ford Fiesta because my father won’t let me drive his.’ In the 24 years that followed she wrote a lot more sentences and won a lot more prizes. In 2001 she finally decided to keep writing sentences until she filled a book. Since then she’s written eight adult novels and two children’s books. Her work has been translated into German, Spanish, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Dutch and Italian. Two of her books have also been published in the US, Semi-Sweet (previously Love in the Making) and Life Drawing for Beginners (previously The Things We Do for Love). Five of Roisin’s novels have made it into the Irish bestseller list, with The Last Week of May (2007) and The People Next Door (2008) securing the number one and two slots respectively. Her ninth novel, Something in Common, will be published in 2013. Roisin Meaney was born in Kerry and has also lived in Dublin, Tipperary, London, Zimbabwe and San Francisco. Her present home, and her main place of residence since the age of eight, is Limerick. Putting Out the Stars is her second book.
About Gill & Macmillan
Gill & Macmillan’s story begins in 1856 when Michael Henry Gill, then printer for Dublin University, purchased the publishing and bookselling business of James McGlashan, forming McGlashan & Gill. Some years later, in 1875, the company name was changed to M.H. Gill & Son. Gill & Macmillan as we know it today was established in 1968 as a result of an association with Macmillan of London. There was also a bookshop, popularly known as Gills, located on Dublin’s O’Connell Street for 123 years until it eventually closed in 1979. Today our bookshop can be found online at www.gillmacmillanbooks.ie.
Gill & Macmillan is proud to publish a broad range of non-fiction books of Irish interest, from history to economics, politics to cookery and biography to children’s. Since 1968, we have published outstanding authors and groundbreaking books such as the Encyclopaedia of Ireland, David McWilliams’ The Pope’s Children, Noël Browne’s Against the Tide, Garret FitzGerald’s All in a Life, Augustine Martin’s Soundings — not to mention three generations of Ballymaloe’s Allen family on our cookery list.
We also publish a wide range of educational books and resources for all levels — primary, secondary, college and university — and we provide a distribution service for the majority of Ireland’s independent publishers.
For more information about us, our titles, or to join our mailing list, please visit www.gillmacmillanbooks.ie.
Putting Out the Stars Page 28
