Putting Out the Stars (24 page)

‘Oh, don’t worry about that – wait until you feel ready. I was ringing about a get-together in town, actually. Thought it might be nice for the gang to have a meal out for
Christmas – maybe a Chinese, and a few jars after. What would you think?’

‘Sounds lovely.’ Ruth watched a lone brown bird – a thrush? – landing on one of the bare branches of the tree. Maybe she’d get Andrew a bird table for Christmas.
‘When were you thinking?’

‘Well, since we’ve only the one weekend left, I thought we’d try for Friday night. I know Cian has already had his work night out, and Donal’s is never till January, so
as long as you and Andrew have no plans –’

Ruth watched the thrush flit from branch to branch before suddenly flying away, off over the wall. ‘No, we’ve nothing on this weekend. Andrew’s was on a few weeks ago; he said
they always have it early. A meal out would be lovely, if we’re in time to get a table somewhere.’

‘Great; I’ll make a booking wherever I can – maybe that new little place on Denmark Street with the funny name; I’ve heard good reports of it. I’ll get back to you
and let you know.’

As she hung up, Ruth wondered why she hadn’t mentioned her news to Laura. It wasn’t that she had forgotten – the letter was sitting on the table in front of her. Short and to
the point:

And then some indecipherable scrawl – Ruth presumed it was the name of the perfectly made-up woman who’d interviewed her just over a week ago. Another one of Them.

To be honest, she wasn’t too put out by the rejection; the salon had intimidated her slightly. Everyone seemed impossibly glamorous – the staff, all leggy blondes or tight-trousered,
slim-waisted men, and the customers, flicking through
Vogue
and
Homes and Gardens
as they waited on soft leather couches to be transformed. Ruth’s interviewer had probably
taken one look at her and decided that she wasn’t half stylish enough.

In Dublin, Ruth had worked in a small, friendly salon in her own neighbourhood, with a group of regular customers who’d known Ruth since she was in short socks. She’d started there
part-time while she was still at school, washing hair and sweeping up, and the owner took her on full-time after her Leaving, gradually teaching her how to highlight and cut and style. Twelve years
on, Ruth felt that she knew a fair bit – she might need a bit of bringing up to date with the latest products and styling aids, but she could attack most hairdressing tasks with some degree
of confidence. Obviously, not a view shared by Ms Make-Up.

She took the letter and dropped it into the bin: plenty more salons where that came from. Maybe she should start walking around the suburbs, look for a similar place to Sheila’s. But there
really wasn’t much point in doing any of that before Christmas; she might as well wait now until the New Year. Maybe she’d take another trip up to Dublin then too, go to the sales with
her sisters. Pick up a few bargains for the house; they still needed so much.

Laura had sounded in good form – Ruth presumed that whatever had been bothering her lately had passed. The meal out was a good idea; it should get everyone into the Christmas spirit. She
could do with a bit of cheering up herself – it was great to be in the house at last, but Andrew had seemed distracted lately, although he kept insisting that nothing was wrong; he’d
even arrived home with a big bunch of flowers for her last night. But she still couldn’t help feeling that he’d been happier in his mother’s house. Was Ruth not looking after him
as well as Cecily had? Was he wishing he’d never got married, never gone on that holiday to Crete?

He never asked about her day when he came home, or enquired if she’d heard about the job – didn’t it occur to him that she was waiting to hear? Ruth was willing to bet that, if
she didn’t tell him about the letter that had arrived this morning, he’d never ask. He never suggested going out anywhere, seemed quite happy to sit at home night after night, watching
TV or surfing the net.

She shook herself crossly – such negative thinking, when all that was wrong with everyone was probably a big dose of the winter blues. And she and Andrew made love regularly; he was just
as enthusiastic as he’d always been in bed. Surely if he was having second thoughts, he wouldn’t be interested in that side of things any more?

Just then, she heard the side gate being opened – Andrew had promised to get oil, but he must have forgotten – and she arranged a smile on her face as she opened the back door to
Frank.

‘Hey, bro.’

Andrew swung around, smiled at her. ‘Am I glad to see you. I need help – female help.’

Laura grinned knowingly. ‘You’re trying to find a present for Ruth.’

‘Yeah – I haven’t a clue. Last year was easy; the diamond ring. This year, I’m totally stumped.’ He gestured towards the gift boxes of cosmetics stacked in the
pharmacy window. ‘I was thinking maybe one of those.’

Laura shook her head firmly. ‘Absolutely not: she’d throw it at you. Well, Ruth wouldn’t, but she should – far too impersonal. What perfume does she like?’

He shrugged. ‘Em . . . pass.’

‘Ah, Andrew, what are you like? I’d kill Donal if he didn’t know mine.’ Laura pursed her lips. ‘You could go the voucher route; impersonal too, but if you knew her
favourite shop . . . ?’

Again he shrugged, shamefaced now. ‘Sorry; I just don’t notice things like that, Laur.’

No; you’re too busy thinking about yourself
. She pushed the thought away and tucked her arm into his. ‘Come on – you can buy me a coffee while I think about it.
We’ll come up with something.’ As they walked down Cruise’s Street, she said, ‘By the way, I rang Ruth this morning to ask you to come out for a meal on Friday night, just
the six of us.’

He paused for a second, then said, ‘Yeah . . . maybe. To be honest, I’m kind of tired lately.’

She shook his arm. ‘Ah come on, it’s Christmas. You sound like a boring old fart.’

He looked more closely at her. ‘And you sound in great form yourself. Anything I should know about? Has Donal been promoted to head chef or something?’

‘Shut up; you’re so snobby about his job. I’m perfectly happy having a chef for a husband – and anyway, you know well he’s already a head chef.’

‘Ah yes – head chef at the famous five-star UL canteen.’ He caught her scowl and put up his hands in surrender. ‘Sorry, sorry, I’m just joking. So, what then? What
has you skipping around like a young one?’

Her face cleared – she could never stay cross with him for long. ‘I don’t know what you mean – I’m always this jolly and friendly. Hey, you will come Friday night
though, won’t you? I bet Ruth would love a night out.’

He lifted his shoulders in resignation. ‘Looks like I’ve no choice; she’ll hardly go without me.’

‘Good.’ They reached the coffee shop and Laura steered him towards the door. ‘Here we are. Now you can get me a coffee while I decide on the perfect Christmas present for your
wife.’

They walked inside.

‘So that’s Mam and Dad, John and Colette, yourself, and the three of us. Eight altogether, if you include Polly – who’s really only a half.’
Breffni finished counting off on her fingers and looked enquiringly at Mary. ‘Think I can handle it, and not poison everyone with half-cooked turkey?’

‘Of course you can – didn’t I have your turkey last year, and live to tell the tale? And anyway, you’ll have me to help out – you won’t be doing it on your
own. And get that man of yours to do his bit too – he’s well able.’

‘Oh I will, don’t worry. Actually, Cian’s first job will be to go around to your house and borrow two kitchen chairs.’

Mary nodded. ‘Grand. And anything else you need, extra bowls or saucepans, or glasses maybe – make a list and give it to Cian when he’s coming.’

‘I hear my name – it better be good.’ Cian’s head appeared around the door, Polly in his arms.

Breffni put her hand out towards Polly. ‘Hello, cutie pie.’ She looked at Cian. ‘We’re planning Christmas Day – you’re getting a list of jobs.’

Cian nodded placidly. ‘Fine. Well, don’t let us interrupt – we’re off to kick a ball around the park.’ He turned to Polly, wrapped in a bright blue padded jacket
and dark green hat. ‘Say bye to Granny and Mammy.’

‘Put on her scarf, Cian – it should be out in the hall.’ Breffni waved her fingers at Polly. ‘Bye, sweetie. See you later, alligator.’

‘See later, al’gator,’ echoed Polly, opening and closing her fingers. ‘Bye, Ganny.’

‘Bye, darling.’ When they’d left, Mary turned to Breffni. ‘You’re looking a bit washed out; anything wrong?’

Breffni shook her head, getting up and going over to the boiling kettle. ‘Ah no, just a head full of what I need to get done for this day week. And I suppose I’m a bit anxious about
cooking Christmas dinner for the brother’s wife; Mam told me Colette is a fantastic cook.’ She poured water into the teapot.

Mary took two mugs from the press. ‘Ah, will you stop – your cooking is fine. It’ll be delicious, wait and see.’

Breffni grinned as she set the teapot onto the table. ‘Thanks, Mary – you always say the right thing, even if it is a big fat lie. And anyway, in eight days it’ll all be over,
so who cares?’ She got the jug of milk from the fridge, and groaned as she put it on the table. ‘Oh God, I’ve just remembered that meal in Limerick with Laura and the others on
Friday night. I could do without it, to be honest.’

Mary poured tea into the mugs. ‘Go on, you know you’ll enjoy it. Christmas is a time for going out and meeting the friends. You’d probably be sorry if you hadn’t anything
planned.’

Breffni smiled. ‘I’m sure you’re right. And thanks for babysitting, yet again. What would we do without you?’

They drank their tea and listened to Chris Rea on the radio, driving home for Christmas.

The second time, it was like coming home. No awkwardness, no nervous fumbling. The room was identical to the last one – the only difference was the brass number on the
door.

‘Oh, God.’

‘Shhh.’

And afterwards, when they were still trembling, still damp and hot, he put his mouth to the hollow of her neck and bit gently. She whispered, ‘Don’t’, and pulled his head up so
she could kiss his face. Afraid he might leave a mark on her. He wanted to brand her, claim her as his. He couldn’t bear the thought that another man looked at her, touched her. He wanted to
lock her away for him, only him.

They held hands until they got to the lobby, then she gently pulled hers away. He wanted to weep with emptiness.

She turned to him as she opened her car door. ‘See you in the restaurant.’