Putting Out the Stars (29 page)

In the room, she wept against him, and murmured his name, and he kissed her tears and rocked her and told her he loved her.

Ruth put the dish of asparagus on the table, hoping to God that she’d got it right. Imagine, thirty years on this earth and she’d never once cooked asparagus.
According to the recipe – taken from page 68 of
Classic Dishes
, presented to her by Cecily when she and Andrew had moved out – the asparagus heads should be cooked in steam,
and the ends in water. But it didn’t tell you where exactly the water stopped and the steam began. Halfway up? An inch of water in the bottom of the saucepan? Ruth supposed it was asking for
trouble, cooking something new for a visitor; she’d played it safe with the salmon steaks, bought already poached and ridiculously overpriced, but at least they’d be edible, and she
knew Cecily liked salmon. And the baby new potatoes that some French farmer had managed to grow in January – they should be fine too. Which just left the asparagus.

Andrew picked up a few spears with the little tongs Ruth had bought the day before, and looked questioningly across the table. ‘Mother?’

‘Thank you.’ Cecily accepted the asparagus and waited while Andrew served himself and Ruth. ‘Well, this is nice; thank you both.’ She picked up her water glass and looked
from one to the other. ‘I do hope you’ll both be very happy here.’

‘Thank you, Cecily.’ Ruth smiled placidly at her mother-in-law. ‘I’m sure we will.’ She glanced at Andrew, cutting into an asparagus spear.
‘Darling?’

He looked up. ‘Sorry – I was miles away.’ He lifted his glass. ‘It’s great to have you here, Mother; we must do it regularly, now that we’ve settled
in.’

Just then, his mobile rang. He put down the glass and stood immediately, pulling it out of his pocket as he went towards the hall. ‘Sorry about that; I thought it was switched off.’
Cecily and Ruth exchanged a look as he left the room.

In less than a minute, he was back, without the phone. ‘One of the lads from work, looking for a lift in the morning. His car is in for a service.’ He took his seat at the table, and
raised his glass again. ‘Here’s to my two favourite cooks; I’m a lucky man.’ And he tipped back his head and emptied the glass. ‘So, Mother, what do you think of our
new home? Any decorating ideas for us?’

As Cecily responded, Ruth watched her husband with relief. He’d been so off-form lately, she’d wondered if this dinner was going to be a bit of a strain. Of course she should have
trusted him – Andrew was well able to turn on the charm when he needed, especially for his mother.

She turned her attention to Cecily, who was looking out the window in admiration ‘. . . and I must say, the garden is going to be just lovely.’

Ruth nodded; she was delighted with the way the garden was shaping up. Frank was able to describe so clearly what was going to go where, she could almost see it. And he was full of ideas –
camomile seeds scattered on the lawn, so when you stepped on it, you released the scent; lavender planted by the clothesline – ‘I came across that in France once; gave the laundry a
wonderful smell.’ He talked about a winding path down to the shed at the end – ‘and of course we must plant some bluebells around the tree’ – and a display of wild
poppies against the wall just outside the patio window: ‘They look magnificent in bloom; a real talking point if you’re sitting in the kitchen.’

Ruth must arrange for Laura to call around sometime when Frank was there; she was sure they’d get on. And maybe Laura would spot who Frank looked like – it was still niggling at
Ruth; she was sure he reminded her of someone. She thought of asking Cecily if she’d ever felt that, but decided not to; it might sound a bit odd. And anyway, Ruth got the impression that
Cecily hadn’t much time for Frank – she probably never looked properly at him during the meetings. Pity – he was such a nice man, and Cecily could do with someone to take her out
and about, now that she was living on her own. But of course they’d never be suited; they were far too different.

Listen to her – she sounded like a matchmaker. She looked over at her mother-in-law’s plate. ‘Cecily, more asparagus?’

Laura looked up as the waiting-room door opened.

‘Now, Mrs O’Neill.’ Dr Sloan’s young receptionist – surely no older than sixteen – held the door open as Laura closed the magazine she hadn’t been
reading, and walked through. The urge to urinate was very strong; her full bladder ached dully. Dr Sloan smiled as Laura walked into the surgery.

‘Good morning, Laura. All set?’

Laura nodded, forcing an answering smile, resisting the urge to say
I’ve been set for two years.
She wasn’t nervous; she’d often given blood, so that test was nothing
new. And the thought of an ultrasound didn’t bother her; she’d seen pregnant women having them on TV – a kind of jelly spread on your stomach and a harmless-looking instrument
moved backwards and forwards over it. There was nothing to be nervous about. Terrified of what might be revealed, yes. Nervous, no.

Donal had wanted to come with her, but she’d stopped him. ‘I’ll be in and out very quickly; there’s really no need for you to be there. Anyway, you might need time off
next week, so it’s better if you go in to work today.’

If today’s tests proved inconclusive, or didn’t provide them with all the information they needed, Dr Sloan would have to perform a laparoscopy. She’d explained the procedure
during their initial visit. ‘It’s a straightforward operation, takes about twenty minutes – just to check that there’s no blockage in your fallopian tubes – but it
does require you to have a general anaesthetic, so you’ll need someone to bring you home when you wake up.’ She’d looked enquiringly at Donal.

‘He doesn’t drive.’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Laura regretted them. Somehow they sounded like an accusation; another crime that he was guilty of.
Won’t give me children, won’t drive me home.
And how ridiculous she was being now, making it sound like Donal was doing it on purpose – keeping a child from her just
because he felt like it, just because he didn’t fancy the thought of being a father. Anyway, it might turn out to be Laura’s problem, not his at all. She put out a hand and grabbed his.
‘But you’ll come in with me, won’t you, if I need a laparoscopy? We can get a cab home.’

Dr Sloan had shown them an x-ray of some anonymous woman’s uterus, and pointed out the fallopian tubes – impossibly narrow, wiggly threads, hardly visible to Laura’s searching
eye. So that was the pathway for the egg; all the little turns and twists it had to wriggle through on its journey. So many potential obstacles to herself and Donal creating life . . .

She dragged her head back to the present, where Dr Sloan was releasing the air from the rubber strip around Laura’s arm. ‘Your blood pressure is down slightly, nothing to worry
about.’ She unwrapped the strip. ‘You also look like you’ve lost a bit of weight since I saw you last. Is your appetite all right?’

Laura hesitated. ‘I’ve a lot of work on at the moment – I suppose I don’t always remember to eat properly.’

‘Be careful; you need to keep healthy when you’re trying to get pregnant. Make sure you have regular, balanced meals, plenty of green leafy vegetables. Did you start on the folic
acid?’

Laura nodded.

Dr Sloan walked to her desk and pulled a pad towards her. ‘Now, will you take a seat there for a minute?’

After writing rapidly on the pad, she looked up. ‘Laura, there’s one other thing. Your husband’s semen analysis proved inconclusive. We’ll need another sample, so maybe
you can discuss this with him? I feel it would be better coming from you.’

‘Inconclusive? In what way?’ Laura’s hands tightened on the strap of her bag.

‘Nothing to get alarmed about – we just didn’t get an accurate reading, or not one we were completely satisfied with. We need to do a repeat analysis, so we can be sure of our
findings.’ Dr Sloan paused. ‘It’s really not something you should worry about, not at this stage. Any number of factors can affect these tests – even a bout of flu from a
few months ago. And if Donal prefers, he can produce the sample at home and bring it in to us right away; we’d need to get it to the lab within ninety minutes. Remember to abstain from sex
for two days beforehand.’

Driving home, Laura tried to concentrate on the traffic, heavy as usual at this late-afternoon hour. A people carrier full of children drove through an intersection in front of her, seconds
after her light turned green. Two cars cut ahead of her as she drove down Henry Street, causing her to brake hard. On the road out to Corbally, she was stuck behind a bulldozer as it crawled along
uncaring, before mercifully turning in to a building site.

She was glad of the traffic, relieved not to be able to think, and worry, and despair. Not to be able to wonder, if it did turn out to be Donal, whether they’d survive – because of
course they would. Nothing in this world, not even the thought of no children with him, could ever make her love Donal the tiniest bit less.

Nothing at all.

Ruth dropped the magazines on the table and sat back, leaning her head against the soft plaid behind her. The carriage was empty so far; she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply
before letting the air whoosh out of her open mouth. She wondered what the weather was like in Dublin, and imagined stepping out of Heuston Station in two and a half hours, hopping on the LUAS to
Abbey Street, and then catching a bus home

She hadn’t told anyone she was coming; she wanted to surprise them this time. Behind her closed lids, she imagined her mam’s face when she walked in the kitchen door. Would Dad be
around, or was he on early shift this week? If he was, she’d have to wait till he came in around two. She and Mam could have a cuppa; Irene might be around too, if Friday was her day off this
week.

And she had the whole weekend. Three whole days, almost – she’d get the latest train back on Sunday. Andrew hadn’t minded a bit when she brought it up with him.

‘Of course go – why not? I’ll manage fine.’ He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Just remember to come back before you’ve spent all our money.’

She laughed. ‘I’ll do my best.’ She’d said she was going to have a look in the sales for stuff for the house. She supposed she should be honest with him, give him the
real reason, but she wanted her family to know first. Maybe that wasn’t how it should be, but she didn’t care. She’d tell them first, then come home and tell Andrew. He need never
know that he wasn’t the first to hear.

She opened her eyes – the carriage was nearly full now – and picked up one of the magazines as the train pulled slowly out of the station.