Putting Out the Stars (33 page)

Andrew stirred, and Ruth waited until he’d settled again before putting her hand back on his stomach. Tonight had been lovely . . . just like she’d wanted it to be. They’d both
drunk a little too much with the meal, getting nicely mellow, laughing at silly things. In the taxi, Andrew had put an arm around her shoulder, lips against her forehead, and Ruth had turned her
face up to his, stroking his thigh gently. At home they’d gone straight upstairs, and he had lifted her top over her head and she had unzipped her skirt, feeling a bit brazen in her new
underwear, letting his hands move over her body as she began to unbutton his shirt.

And even when he fell asleep immediately afterwards, Ruth wasn’t put out. Nothing could ruin this night for her. She sighed deeply and stroked his stomach gently. He loved her, of course
he did. He wasn’t regretting their marriage – it was just settling into the new house, getting used to life as husband and wife. Anyone would find that hard to do.

Everything was going to work out fine; she knew it was.

‘Hi. Sorry nobody’s here to take your call. Leave a message for Laura or Donal, and they’ll get right back to you.’

‘Laura, it’s Andrew. Listen, I’ve just got a call from St John’s – they tried to get hold of you. Donal’s been in an accident; he was knocked off his bike. I
haven’t any –’

He heard the phone being picked up. ‘Oh God, is he OK?’

‘They didn’t tell me anything – I’ll come and get you now and we’ll go to the hospital together.’

‘No, that’ll take too long. I’ll drive myself.’

‘Laura, hang on – that’s not a good idea. Laura?’ But she was gone.

‘Hello?’ Cian’s voice was slurred with sleep. Was it the middle of the night? Laura had no idea.

‘Cian, it’s Laura – I need to talk to Breffni.’

Mercifully, he didn’t ask anything. ‘Hang on.’ She heard muffled thumps – steps on stairs – and an agonisingly slow few seconds (minutes? hours?) later, the phone
was picked up.

‘Laura? What’s –’

‘Donal’s been knocked down, he’s in St John’s. I’m just going there; can you come?’ It spilt out in one rapid breath.

‘Oh God, I’m on my way. See you there.’

‘The thing that probably saved him from much worse injuries – and you needn’t quote me on this – was the fact that he had a fair amount of alcohol in his
system.’ The doctor looked from Andrew to Laura. ‘He didn’t tense his body when he hit the ground, so apart from the broken arm, and a fractured collarbone, he got off pretty
lightly really – a couple of bruised ribs and a few cuts here and there.’

‘And he’s been checked for any . . . internal injuries.’ Andrew had an arm firmly around Laura’s shoulders – she was quite sure she’d have collapsed in a heap
on the grey carpet tiles without it. Thank God he’d got to the hospital just after her. She clung on tightly to his jacket, willing the doctor to shut up and take her to Donal.

‘No internal injuries; we’ve done all the tests, and he seems fine. Obviously we’ll keep him under observation for the rest of the night, and we’ll review his situation
in the morning.’

‘You know he’s allergic to penicillin?’ She found her voice from somewhere, but didn’t recognise it when it came out.

The doctor nodded. ‘Don’t worry – we saw the bracelet.’

And suddenly she couldn’t wait any longer. ‘Please, I want to see him.’ Her whole body felt as if it were shaking.

‘Of course.’ The doctor walked ahead of them down the corridor. ‘He’s on a trolley, I’m afraid – the beds we have are all in use – but he’s been
sedated, so he’s getting some sleep. Don’t be alarmed at the cuts; they’re all pretty superficial.’

And there he was, lying on his back, hooked up to some kind of beeping machine, bruised and bandaged. And asleep. The broken arm, plaster-casted from wrist to elbow, lay on top of the sheet that
covered him. All his knuckles were grazed. He looked pale, and sad. His stubble stood out starkly against his white face. Laura put out a shaking hand and stroked the cheek that hadn’t a
gash.

She blinked hard, took a deep breath and turned to Andrew. ‘I’ll stay with him. You go home.’

‘No, I’ll stay.’ They were whispering.

Laura shook her head wearily. ‘Breffni is coming; I’ll be OK.’

Andrew’s arm was still cradling her shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll stay until she comes; she might be delayed. I’ll wait for her outside – give a shout if you need
me.’ And without waiting for a response from her, he walked off down the corridor.

The doctor left her, promising to send someone with a cup of tea, and Laura was alone with Donal, finally able to let out the tears that had been threatening since she’d heard
Andrew’s voice on the answering machine. She leant over him and let them come, and they spilled onto the sheet and onto his sad, battered face.

‘Sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . .’ The tears flowed out and she wiped them from his face with her fingers. ‘It’s all my fault, I’m sorry . . .’

His eyes fluttered open, and his face creased awkwardly into a faint smile. ‘Hey.’ His voice was hoarse.

She made no attempt to stop crying; she didn’t think she could stop if her life depended on it. ‘I’m sorry . . .’ She gulped the words out through her sobs.
‘I’ve been such a bitch; this is all my fault . . .’ The tears plopped onto his good hand as he lifted it to touch her face.

‘Hey – I’m the one who should be crying. Look at the state of me.’ His words were slurred.

She knew he was trying to make her smile, but it only brought more tears. ‘You could have died . . . you could be dead now.’ She put a hand to her mouth, letting the tears run over
it.

‘Shh – you’ll wake the nurses; they’re trying to sleep. I’m fine, just a bit battered. Serves me right for getting legless.’

Still her tears poured out. ‘You wouldn’t have got legless if I hadn’t driven you to it . . . I’ve been a right bitch to you.’ She wiped her wet face and sniffed
noisily, rummaging in her pocket for a tissue.

‘Use your sleeve – or the sheet.’ Donal reached for the hand nearest to him, gave a weak grin. ‘See? Made you come back to me.’

She laughed, half-hysterical with relief and shock. ‘Stop joking about it.’ She held on to his hand tightly. ‘You did make me come back though.’ She’d come so close
to losing the best thing in her life; served her right for being so wrapped up in herself, so sorry for herself. Allowing her obsession to take over, blinding her to the precious thing she already
had. Pushing him away whenever he tried to get near. Saying the most horrible, bitchy things; ignoring him, even. She’d shut him out, blamed him for her unhappiness, when it wasn’t his
fault – there was nothing he could do about it. It was his unhappiness too, wasn’t it?

He groaned quietly, and she clutched his hand. ‘Are you OK?’

He closed his eyes. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any chance of an Alka-Seltzer? My hangover’s started.’

And somehow, that made her cry all over again.

‘He’s fine; no serious injuries, thank God.’ Breffni pulled the red strip from around the packet of digestives and shook a few onto the plate in front of her.
She was still in her dressing gown, up late after the broken night.

‘Thank God is right. I don’t know how anyone cycles around that city – I’d be terrified. I wouldn’t even chance Nenagh.’

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.