Putting Out the Stars (38 page)

He’d cried. Wrapped his arms around her and cried. She’d never seen him cry before. Never seen anyone cry with happiness before, let alone a man.

She was so glad that he was thrilled; she knew he would be. Knew that deep down, he longed for children just as much as she did. Lying in his arms that night, Ruth had felt completely happy.
What had she ever done to deserve this? A man she never dreamt would be interested in her – let alone interested enough to marry her – a lovely home, a job she enjoyed, and now a baby
on the way.

They had everything. They were the luckiest people in the world. And the next morning, after waving Andrew off to work, Ruth picked up the phone to break the news to her mother-in-law.

The doorbell rang as Breffni was mopping up Polly’s Ready Brek spill. Polly immediately slid from her chair and tottered towards the front door, always delighted at the
prospect of visitors.

‘Hang on, baby – I’m coming.’ Breffni threw the dishcloth into the sink and walked towards the door, wiping her hands on the legs of her faded jeans.

Cecily wore an expensive-looking camel-coloured coat that stopped just below her knees. She was holding a matching bag and not smiling. For a second, Breffni stared at her, feeling something
swooping unpleasantly inside her. Then she said, ‘Mrs O’Neill, hello. Come in.’ She scooped Polly into her arms and stood back to allow the older woman to step into the hall.

‘Come through to the kitchen; it’s warmer.’ She closed the front door and walked ahead of Cecily down the hall, and held the kitchen door open with the hand that wasn’t
wrapped around Polly’s waist. ‘Sit down; can I get you anything? Tea or coffee?’ Damn that she hadn’t cleared the table, that Polly’s scatterings – milky Ready
Brek bowl, half-chewed toast – were still on show. That a knife was sticking out of the pot of apricot jam. ‘Please excuse the mess; I was just about to clear up.’

Cecily sat on the edge of the nearest chair and held her bag in her lap. ‘No, thank you. This is not a social call.’ She didn’t look at Polly, who had stuck two of her fingers
into her mouth and was watching their visitor curiously. Cecily didn’t acknowledge her presence at all, just looked past her at Breffni. Still unsmiling.

Breffni’s heart began to quicken. She turned to Polly. ‘Darling, will you play with your Lego while I talk to the lady? It’s in the sitting room.’ She forced her voice to
stay calm as she put Polly down gently, praying that she wouldn’t act up.

Polly stood, one hand planted on Breffni’s thigh, looking uncertainly at Cecily.

‘Go on, lovie – I’ll be in in a minute.’ Breffni pushed her gently towards the door. ‘Make a castle, OK? For the queen.’

Polly’s face cleared, and she trotted obediently towards the hall. Breffni followed her to the door, pushed it almost closed after her, turned to face whatever lay ahead.

‘You know why I’m here.’ Cecily’s voice was ice cold; the words sounded like they were being bitten off before they were finished. She had a twisted expression around her
mouth, as if she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her.

Breffni said nothing; she was literally struck dumb. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall, heart racing, forcing herself to meet Cecily’s stare.
Oh God, she knows.
She’s found out.

Cecily waited a few seconds, watching her, then nodded slowly. She settled back slightly into the chair, crossed her legs at the ankles. Breffni watched her and thought,
she’s enjoying
this.
She pressed her arms tightly across her chest and waited. Hoping to God that Polly didn’t come in; ready to swoop on her if she did, and bundle her back out.

‘I know what you’re doing with my son.’ Still in that clipped, cold voice.

Oh God.
Even though she had known it was coming, hearing the words out loud still made Breffni feel something plummet inside her. She wished to God she’d sat down now; crossing to
a chair at this stage would look like an admission of guilt. She’d have to stay where she was. She could feel her heart pounding inside her tightly locked arms.

‘You’re nothing but a dirty little whore.’ So hard, so cold. Cecily may as well have reached out her carefully manicured hand and whipped it across the other woman’s
face. To Breffni’s horror, tears sprang to her eyes; she blinked quickly and bit her lip, glanced quickly towards the door.

‘Oh, she’ll find out soon enough what kind of mother she has.’ Cecily’s voice began to rise slightly; her words flew out faster. ‘You threw yourself at him, forced
yourself on him. He didn’t want you, you stupid woman. He only did what any man would do if it was offered to him on a plate.’

Breffni unlocked her arms, put up a hand to brush across her face, didn’t know what to do with her hands then, jammed them into her pockets to stop them shaking. She shook her head and
found her voice; it came out cracked and low. ‘No – you’re wrong; he loves me . . . he was the one –’

‘Shut your trap.’ Cecily’s voice snapped like a whip across the room. ‘He doesn’t love you, he loves his wife. Remember his wife, the one he goes to bed with every
night? The one he chose for better or worse, for the rest of his life?’ When she stopped speaking, her harsh breathing filled the kitchen. Spots of faint colour had appeared in her
cheeks.

Breffni shook her head again, curled her hands into fists in her pockets. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Cecily’s mind was made up – Breffni was the Jezebel,
Andrew the innocent darling son. There was no point in trying to reason with her, tell her how Andrew had pursued Breffni, how she’d done her utmost to resist him. She simply wouldn’t
be believed.

‘Now listen to me, you stupid little tramp.’ Cecily’s voice lowered again; Breffni heard the menace in it. ‘I’ve got some news for you.’ She paused, and
again, it seemed to Breffni that Cecily was taking pleasure from this awful scene.

Cecily leaned forward, stretching her mouth now into what was probably meant to look like a smile, but came out like a grotesque smirk. ‘Good news, in fact. I’m going to be a
grandmother.’ She paused, watching Breffni intently. ‘And it’s not Laura who’s pregnant – it’s Ruth. Andrew’s wife.’ She sat back again, eyes locked
on Breffni. Awful smile still in place. ‘She’s going to have his baby.’

‘No.’ Breffni’s voice was barely more than a whisper; the word flew out of her mouth and disappeared. ‘No, that’s not true.’ Her throat ached, her heart beat
painfully against her chest. Her head started turning from side to side; she couldn’t seem to control it.
No, no, no.
Her face crumpled, mouth open in anguish. ‘No.’

Cecily nodded, smile rigid. ‘Oh yes, isn’t it wonderful? And how did I hear this delightful news? Why, my son phoned me, of course, just last night.’

No, no, no.
It kept pounding inside Breffni’s skull, clanging like a demented bell. Was she saying it out loud? In her pockets, her nails were digging into her palms; she welcomed
the pain, dug in deeper.

Cecily’s voice was coming at her in waves, fading, getting louder. ‘Andrew was in tears, in fact. So happy at the thought of becoming a father.’ Cecily put her head on one
side, almost whimsically. ‘He’ll make a good father, don’t you think?’

NO. With an enormous effort, Breffni stopped shaking her head, found her voice. ‘It’s not true. You’re making this up. He’s telling Ruth everything this weekend.’
The words tumbled out in gasps; she was breathless after every little phrase. But what did it matter now what she told Cecily? Soon everyone would know. How on earth did Cecily think her pathetic
lie would change anything? She squeezed her fists tighter, gathering strength. ‘You’re lying – Ruth’s not pregnant.’

Cecily seemed genuinely amused. ‘Why don’t you call her up then, and ask her?’ She gestured towards the hall. ‘Go on, I’ll wait here.’ When Breffni
didn’t move, she gestured again. ‘Go on. Phone her.’ She sat back, hands folded on her bag.

A trickle of doubt crept into Breffni’s head. Could it be possible? Could this monster be telling the truth? But Andrew had told her that Ruth didn’t care for sex, had never enjoyed
it. He’d insisted that they hadn’t made love since he and Breffni . . .

‘Go on. What are you waiting for?’ Cecily sat there, smile playing gently on her lips. ‘Why don’t you congratulate her? I’m sure she’d be thrilled.’

Something snapped in Breffni – the pleasure that Cecily was taking, coming here and trying to destroy what she and Andrew had . . . and then, suddenly, she thought
but wait –
what if it is true?
Maybe somehow Ruth had tricked him into having sex at just the right time, and he’d been too ashamed to tell Breffni. That didn’t matter, none of that mattered
– they still loved each other, they were still going away together – and Polly was coming with them.

She stood straighter, gathered herself together to launch her attack. ‘It won’t work. Even if Ruth is pregnant, you won’t break us up. We love each other – we’re
going away together; it’s all arranged.’ Her voice sounded steady, reasoned. She took a deep breath, ready to plunge on, ready to order this woman out of her house.

But Cecily got there first, smile vanished as if someone had taken a cloth and scrubbed it roughly away. ‘You idiot. Can’t you understand yet? How do you think I found out about your
dirty little affair?’ She was hissing now, eyes narrowed, cheeks spotted with colour again. ‘I saw you at your sneaky little dinner date last week, when Ruth was safely out of the way.
I saw you groping him under the table, like the slut you are.’

Breffni drew her breath in sharply. Cecily had been in the hotel, had watched them throughout their meal, when they’d been so happy, so excited at the thought of the night ahead. Had seen
her put a hand on Andrew’s thigh . . . Colour flooded her face; of all the people who could have found them out, it had to be Cecily.

‘So naturally, when he called me last night with the good news, I had to tell him what I’d seen.’ Cecily’s immaculately made-up face was contorted with rage; watching
her, Breffni marvelled at Laura’s endurance – still alive, still sane after growing up with this monster. ‘And when he realised that I knew, Andrew broke down, told me everything.
How you ran after him like a tart, wouldn’t leave him alone, kept calling him at work, begging him to meet you.’ Her mouth curled with disgust. ‘He said you found the hotel, set
it all up, told him you’d be waiting for him. Even paid, he said –’ that horrible smirk was back ‘– you obviously don’t know how prostitutes normally
operate.’

But Andrew had always paid, insisted. Always had the bill settled before she arrived. Breffni didn’t bother saying it out loud, just stood against the wall and waited for this nightmare to
finish.

Cecily’s voice dripped with scorn. ‘So it looks as if history is about to repeat itself. You come sniffing around my son, he weakens for a while, and then he sees reason and drops
you.’ She laughed harshly. ‘Poor Breffni – the only man you can hang on to is a boring slob.’

And, watching the older woman’s triumphant face, Breffni suddenly realised – or had she known it all along? – that it hadn’t been Andrew who’d ‘seen
reason’ all those years ago; it had been Cecily who’d poisoned his mind against Breffni, telling him that she wasn’t good enough for him. Wearing him down until he’d had no
choice but to give in, and give her up.

Breffni remembered her bewilderment when he’d dropped her, just like that. The tears she’d wiped away silently as he finished with her, mumbling his reasons, not looking at her
once.

And then, meeting him in Rome, discovering how attracted to him she still was, struggling to speak casually to him. Sitting as far from him as possible in the restaurant after the ceremony
– because she had no intention of going through that heartbreak again. Flying back to the States, running back to the safety of Cian McDaid, who was really quite endearing, and who would
never dream of breaking her heart.

But of course, it had all been for nothing. They’d been powerless to resist the pull between them, once they were meeting again regularly. Even with Cian, even with Polly to keep her safe
from him. None of that had mattered. ‘I must have been mad to let you go,’ he’d said to her, that first afternoon. ‘Stark, staring mad.’

No, not mad: weak. No match for his mother’s strength. Too weak then, when he was just eighteen, and certainly too weak now to struggle against his mother – not with Ruth on her
side. And his unborn baby. Because of course Cecily was telling the truth about Ruth’s pregnancy – Breffni understood that now.

She forced herself to look directly at Cecily. ‘You’ve said what you came to say. Now I’d like you to leave.’ Her voice was low, and didn’t shake.

Cecily stood up. ‘If you tell him I was here, I’ll deny it, of course. And I think you know who he’ll believe.’

Breffni felt a stab of anger; could Cecily seriously imagine Breffni would try to see Andrew again, after this? She kept her voice low. ‘You’re welcome to your precious son; you
deserve each other. And for the record, I’ve had plenty of better fucks.’ She was rewarded with Cecily’s flinch. ‘Now get out.’ Her voice rose slightly as she held the
kitchen door open. ‘Get out of my house, you mad bitch.’