Putting Out the Stars (34 page)

Three months into the job, Ruth still looked forward to going in every day. She’d got to know most of the regular faces at this stage, although she still mixed up the odd name. No one
seemed to mind though; people obviously looked forward to their visits to Helen’s. Everyone seemed in good humour, sitting under dryers or waiting to be washed, or cut, or highlighted. And
they all seemed to know each other; conversations constantly flew around the salon.

‘Helen, would you ever invest in some up-to-date magazines – I’m sick of reading about last year’s scandals.’ This from a plump, dark-haired woman on the couch
– Ruth thought her name was Shirley, or maybe Stacey.

‘Last year’s – that’s a good one. I just read about Charles and Di getting married.’ A voice from a head that could barely be seen under one of the big dryers
– Mrs McCoy from next door, who’d been Helen’s very first customer. Ruth marvelled that she could hear anything under there.

‘Listen, you lot – you’re lucky I have any mags at all, the pittance you pay me.’ Helen held a section of hair out with her brush and aimed the dryer at it. ‘If I
was in the city centre, I’d be charging twice as much.’

‘And paying twice as much rent.’ Shirley/Stacey again, rummaging through copies of
Hello!
on the coffee table. ‘Oh look, here’s one that’s only six months
old – wonderful.’

Helen looked across at Ruth. ‘Listen to them – they walk out their doors and they’re here in less than a minute. They get top-class service, free coffee, and all the latest
neighbourhood news, and they’re still not happy.’

‘You should take on a man, spice the place up a bit.’ Mrs McCoy winked at Ruth as the dryer was lifted from her head. ‘We could do with a bit of hanky-panky in here,
couldn’t we, girls?’ Ruth smiled; Mrs McCoy was eighty if she was a day.

And on it went, laughter and cups of coffee, and Saturdays so busy sometimes that all you had for lunch was a sandwich grabbed in the back room when you had a minute, and people rushing in,
wanting a wash and blow-dry without an appointment, and Helen always squeezing them in. Ruth loved every minute, and thanked her lucky stars that she’d ended up there.

And it was good at home too. Frank had almost finished in the garden, and declared himself well pleased with how it was turning out. ‘You’ll have a fine bit of a garden in a couple
of years’ time, when those shrubs start to mature a bit, and the climbers take off. The tree adds a bit of character too.’

‘D’you think there’s any hope of apples?’ He’d told her he thought it was a Cox’s Pippin.

‘Hard to say; it looks quite ancient. And of course it would depend on whether there are other trees in the vicinity. But we’ll live in hope.’

The house was practically fully furnished – Ruth had picked up a few nice bits in the Dublin sales – and they were getting to know a few of the neighbours too. Mrs O’Brien, on
their left, limited herself to a nod and a brief smile if they passed each other on the path, but the Phelans on the other side were much more chatty. Betty Phelan arrived during their first week
with a still-warm apple tart, and Jim, her builder husband, had already offered them the use of his van if they had any furniture shifting to do.

Farranshone was so handy for town too – every place was so close by in Limerick, compared to Dublin. And even the weekly visit to Cecily’s, and her mother-in-law’s return
visit, seemed to have got easier. Was Cecily mellowing, or was Ruth becoming more used to her?

Or was it simply that, for the past week, nothing at all was bothering Ruth?

‘I think I can manage next week.’

His mouth felt dry. ‘Really?’ Next week, after an eternity of waiting and hoping. After several attempts to slot all the factors into place, to leave no loose thread that could be
unravelled by a curious partner.

She nodded. ‘If nothing happens in the meantime. I’ve made . . . arrangements for Wednesday night.’ She took the hand she was holding and kissed the tips of his fingers, one by
one. ‘The whole night.’ She sucked his little finger gently, and he closed his eyes and turned to press against her, ran his other hand along the back of her thigh.

She slid his finger from her mouth. ‘Will you manage it?’

‘Yes.’ Yes, yes, yes. If he had to crawl here on his hands and knees, if he had to swim the Atlantic in a hurricane, he’d manage it. ‘We can have dinner downstairs
first.’

He felt her stiffen slightly. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

‘Why not? We’re miles from anyone we know. I want to show you off to a crowd of perfect strangers.’

He heard the smile in her voice. ‘You just want to get me sloshed so you can have your wicked way with me.’

He grinned and opened his eyes. ‘Er . . . darling, you may not have noticed, but we’ve been having our wicked ways with each other stone-cold sober for quite a while now.’

‘Mmm . . . we have, haven’t we?’ And she ran her nails lightly down his back, and he started to breathe faster.

‘So, how are you enjoying having the house to yourself?’ Emily used the side of her fork to cut through the layers of custard and flaky pastry on the plate in front
of her. A creamy-yellow blob of custard came oozing out the edge.

‘Very well; in fact, I’m really surprised at how much I’m relishing the freedom.’ Cecily paused to sip her Earl Grey tea, and then lifted her serviette to dab lightly at
her lips. She marvelled that Emily could eat that sugary, fatty creation – even enjoy it, by the looks of her – and still keep her perfect figure.

‘Yes, it’s nice to have a bit of space to yourself. I must say, I’m quite happy when Derek heads off for his evening of bridge; thank goodness he’s given up asking me to
take it up.’ Emily’s narrow, meticulously plucked eyebrows rose. ‘I couldn’t think of a duller way to pass the time.’ She forked a small portion of pastry to her
lips.

‘They say it’s very interesting, the ones who play it. There must be something in it.’

‘Well, if it amuses them, I suppose – oh lord, don’t look now –’ She broke off and ducked her head behind a hand, and Cecily risked a small look behind her.

Immediately Emily hissed, ‘Don’t – he’ll spot us.’

‘Who are you – oh.’ He was standing at the checkout, paying his bill. Not looking remotely in their direction; and now walking away from them, towards the door of the coffee
shop, tucking his wallet back into his jacket as he went. Cecily liked that jacket – the dark green in the small check suited his colouring.

She turned back to Emily. ‘He didn’t see us.’ Something made her add, ‘Anyway, I thought you had no objection to him.’

Emily picked up her fork again. ‘Not at the book club, I suppose. He actually seems to have some worthwhile opinions from time to time. But my dear –’ her eyebrows travelled
again in the direction of her hair, ‘– he’s not really our sort, is he? I mean, seriously, could you see yourself socialising with him?’ Her laugh tinkled. ‘It would
be a bit like Lady Chatterley and her groundsman.’

And Cecily watched her put another dainty piece of pastry into her elegant mouth and thought,
what a silly creature.

‘I’m so glad you decided to come back and see me.’

Laura smiled at Dr Sloan. ‘We’ve spoken about it, and we feel ready now to . . . explore the alternatives.’ Beside her, Donal gave her hand a squeeze, and she returned it.
‘We’re wondering about . . . a donor.’

Dr Sloan nodded. ‘Yes, that’s the direction I would be recommending. There’s a high success rate, although it could take some time – you could be looking at between five
and ten treatments before you get pregnant. On the plus side, donor insemination is quite cost-effective, and it’s a simple enough procedure . . .’

As the gynaecologist continued, Laura glanced over at Donal. The bruises on his face had all but disappeared, and the cut on his cheek was healing nicely. His arm was still in a cast – it
was due to come off in a couple of weeks – but otherwise, he was pretty much back to normal.

And thanks to the shock of the accident, they were pretty much back to normal too. Back in that place they’d been after he’d proposed, when they were everything to each other. When
her thoughts were full of him, even when he was with her. And the second time round, it was even better.

She didn’t deserve him; but mercifully, he’d stayed. And now they’d work it out, she was sure. Today they were taking their first, shaky step. And while the thought of being
inseminated with another man’s sperm, of creating a baby with a stranger, still made her stomach lurch with disappointment, she’d cope.
They’d
cope. She had to focus on
the baby – picture herself and Donal raising the child that would be legally his. And hers.
Her baby.

She thought of the drawer of tiny clothes at home, and the boxes under her desk at work, and her heart lifted. They’d cope. Whatever it took, they’d cope together.

As she took the white envelope, Ruth looked questioningly at Andrew. He smiled and shook his head. ‘No hints. Open it.’

She laughed in delight – she loved surprises – and looked at the front. Blank, no clues there. Turning it over, she put a finger into the small opening at the edge and slid it
across. The vellum came apart raggedly. She put in a hand and pulled out four thin pieces of blue paper.
Gate Theatre: Admit One
, she read on the top one.
April 22nd, 8.00pm.
The
date was for the following Wednesday night. She flipped through the other three tickets – all the same night, four seats in a row.

‘What’s all this?’ She looked up at him, the smile still playing on her lips. ‘Theatre tickets – in Dublin?’

Andrew shrugged his shoulders. ‘A surprise, a belated present for the new job, a moment of madness – call it what you like. I thought you were due a trip to see the family; and
I’m sure you can persuade the three of them to go to the play with you.’ He pointed at the tickets. ‘It’s Brian Friel – you like him, don’t you? And I assume
your boss will let you off a bit early to get the train up; you work through enough lunch breaks there.’

He seemed almost nervous – did he think she wouldn’t like the present? She kissed his cheek. ‘Darling, thank you so much, that’s . . . a lovely thing to do – and
yes, I’m sure Helen will let me off early – I’ll just have to change my day off from Wednesday to Thursday.’