Putting Out the Stars (40 page)

He parked in his usual space, checking for her car. No sign yet: good. He liked to arrive before her, have the bill settled before she walked in. He wondered why it felt like a
million years since he’d been here last. It was just over a week since they’d spent the night together, in a room not a hundred yards from where he stood. Nine days since he’d
held her in his arms, breathing in the scent of her hair, wrapping his body around hers, drowning in her.

Today, they were back to their usual afternoon arrangement. They’d decided to wait till this week to meet again, in case there were any repercussions from their night together. He’d
just about managed to survive nine days without her, nine days with no contact – they’d agreed it would be safer. And now . . . his heart soared at the thought of seeing her again.
Today, they could start to make plans.

He still smarted when he thought about the meeting with Laura the other night. He’d assumed she’d take some persuading to see it from his point of view, but he’d been fairly
sure that eventually she’d come round to his way of thinking, that she’d be able to understand that what he and Breffni had was too important to ignore. Instead, Laura had insisted that
he was wrong, that his affair with Breffni had to end, that he had to concentrate on making his marriage work. So, of course, he’d promised – what else could he do? If Laura thought he
was going to go ahead and make plans for a future with Breffni, she might decide to take matters into her own hands and try to turn Breffni against him, or something.

And of course she’d been wrong about Polly – of course Breffni could take Polly with her when they went off together; she was the child’s mother – that had to count for
something. And Cian surely wouldn’t want the responsibility of bringing up Polly alone. His family were all in the States, except for his ancient grandmother – she wouldn’t be
around for much longer. And he’d still see Polly from time to time; they wouldn’t want to deny him that. It would be awkward for a while, obviously, but they’d sort it out –
they were civilised people.

And Ruth – she’d cope too. She’d probably go back to Dublin – she’d never wanted to leave her family anyway – and she’d have plenty of help there to
bring up her child. He couldn’t think of it as ‘his’ child, or even ‘their’ child. It was Ruth who’d wanted it – Ruth who’d pushed him into it. He
remembered the night it must have happened, when they went out for that meal, and Ruth kept refilling his wine glass, getting him all worked up in the taxi on the way home. She’d obviously
planned it all meticulously. He’d been careful up to that, watching for signs that she was having her period, avoiding sex when he knew she was at the dangerous time of the month, feigning
sleep if he thought there was any chance that she could get pregnant. There’d been a few times, after nights out with the others, when he’d wanted Breffni so badly, he’d turned to
Ruth in desperation – but he’d been lucky up to this. Really, Ruth had brought this on herself, forcing him into something he hadn’t wanted – not with her.

The only thing that he dreaded in all this business was his mother’s reaction; how would she take it when the truth came out? Would she understand that he and Breffni had been powerless,
that they’d been swept up in something that was huge – far bigger than either of them had anticipated? Could he make Mother see that they hadn’t acted out of malice, hadn’t
set out to hurt anyone? Would she, in time, come to accept Breffni as his new partner, when she’d been so decidedly against her the last time around? He hoped so – hoped he’d be
able to explain it all to her some day, when she’d got over the initial shock.

He settled his bill in cash, as usual, glanced at his watch as he walked to a couch by the window. Breffni was late; something must have held her up. He imagined her face when she heard that
Ruth was pregnant. He’d tell her as soon as they went upstairs, get it out of the way. He hoped to God he’d use the right words, make sure she understood that he hadn’t wanted it,
had hoped fervently that it wouldn’t happen. He’d insist that it was all Ruth’s doing, too much wine one night, just a horrible mistake.

He’d explain that it wasn’t going to make any difference to their plans, that he still wanted to go away with her. That nothing had changed. He’d show her how much he still
loved her.

Hurry up.
He willed her to arrive, impatient to see her. He pulled out his mobile – no messages. Where was she? He debated ringing her, even though he’d promised never to,
and then forced himself to relax.

She’d be here. She was just a bit late, that was all.

The face that looked out at Breffni from the bathroom mirror was hardly recognisable. Eyes so puffy that they were practically shut. Face blotchy from all the tears. Hair
hanging in damp strands, trailing limply down each side of her empty face.

Empty face – empty of hope, robbed of joy. She ducked her head and turned the cold tap on full blast. Scooping handfuls of water, she splashed her face again and again, oblivious to the
puddles she was making on the tiles. Her hair dripped into the sink, the neck of her t-shirt became soaked. The water made her gasp; before long, her hands were so cold she couldn’t feel them
any more. Shivering, she groped for a towel and tipped her head upside down while she rubbed her hair roughly, then stood upright and mopped her face. When she’d done the best she could, she
used the towel to soak up the worst of the water on the floor before dropping it into the laundry basket. Then she peeled off her soaking t-shirt and threw that in too.

She risked another look in the mirror – marginally better, face not quite so blotchy, although now her half-dry hair stuck up at wild angles, making her look like a demented cavewoman. She
picked up her wooden comb and began to coax it through, grateful that Polly and Cian weren’t due home for at least another hour.

Thank God Mary had already collected Polly when Laura rang, just under two hours ago. She couldn’t imagine how she would have coped if they’d still been here. How could she have
explained the tears that had poured out of her since then, the sobs that had threatened to rip her in two, leaving her gasping for breath, making her chest hurt with their intensity?

Since Cecily’s visit two days before, Breffni had been clinging desperately to the hope that it had all been a pack of lies – that Ruth wasn’t pregnant, that Andrew
hadn’t betrayed Breffni to his mother, making it seem like he’d been lured into some sordid affair against his better judgement. He couldn’t have done that – what they had
was far too special, whatever weird influence Cecily might have over him. And if he
was
a little weak, and a little in thrall to his mother – well, that was hardly a crime. He
wouldn’t be human without some weakness. He’d been so much younger too, last time around – it would have been easy for someone as scheming as Cecily to persuade him to give up
Breffni. No, the more she thought about it, the more convinced Breffni became that this was all some horrible gamble on Cecily’s part. Having discovered that Andrew was having an affair,
she’d been desperate to break them up, keep Andrew married to wimpy Ruth, who’d never come between Cecily and her darling son. So she’d concocted this myth, Ruth getting pregnant,
Andrew seeing the light, throwing himself on his mother’s mercy, promising to mend his ways.

And when Breffni discovered – as she would, of course, in time – that Ruth wasn’t pregnant after all, the damage would hopefully have been done. The seeds of suspicion would
have been sown. For all Breffni knew, Cecily could have spun a similar yarn to Andrew – told him she’d seen Breffni out with another man, or something. Anything, to drive a wedge
between them, to stop them from seeing each other. She wouldn’t put anything past that woman.

And Breffni’s mind whirled on and on in anxious circles, one minute convinced that Andrew would never betray her, that everything was going to be all right – the next terrified that
she’d discover that it was all true. That Ruth
was
pregnant, and that Cecily had all the ammunition she needed to keep Andrew away from Breffni forever.

The only way she’d find out, of course, was to go to the hotel as usual for their next meeting – so what if Cecily found out? It really didn’t matter now – and see if he
was there. If he was, then she had nothing to worry about. He’d have told Ruth, and she’d go home and tell Cian, just as they had planned. And some day she might even tell him about
Cecily’s visit, and maybe they’d be able to laugh at it.

Maybe.

And just two hours ago, after Breffni had waved goodbye to Mary and Polly, as she was preparing to shower herself before leaving to meet her lover, she’d picked up the phone and Laura had
told her that Ruth was pregnant.

And it was all over.

Laura heard the faint rattle of the letter box and checked her watch as she went out to the hall. Twenty past two; it got later every day. She gathered up the three envelopes
and went back into the kitchen to finish her lunch. Lovely to be able to take the odd day off again; wonderful that she’d got the latest batch of illustrations finished finally. Fantastic
that they’d got such a good reception from the publishers.

Great that she could forget about all that now, and focus on getting ready for what lay ahead. That’s if her period ever arrived; as of this morning, she was eight days late.
Wouldn’t you know, the one time she wanted it to come. No doubt Breffni was right – all her thinking about it was probably holding it up. But how could she not think about it, and what
it was going to set in motion, once it eventually arrived?

Her stomach flipped, as it always did when she thought about taking the first step towards having a child of their own. Maybe, if they were terribly lucky, the only step she’d have to take
before becoming pregnant. Who was to say it wouldn’t work the first time? She and Donal could do with a bit of luck, after two years of disappointment.

But even if it didn’t, she could go on trying, again and again. And eventually it would happen; it had to. She wasn’t thirty yet – they had plenty of time for it to work. She
thought of herself and Donal shopping for an actual baby, picking out tiny clothes and toys for real; not pretending like she’d done before. Last week she’d emptied the upstairs drawer
and the boxes under her table at work and brought everything to the charity shop. They were for a different baby – one who’d been created out of misery and desperation, by a woman Laura
hardly recognised now.

She longed for it all to begin – for all this waiting and hoping to be over at last. But it was a different kind of longing now – a kind of butterflies-in-the-tummy Christmas Eve
excitement, knowing that what you were wishing for was just around the corner. And she couldn’t remember when she and Donal had been this happy; it was almost as if taking the decision to get
the treatment had somehow signalled an end to their misery, had taken a weight off their shoulders and allowed them to move on.

And any day now . . . she smiled as she looked down at the envelopes. A phone bill, a mailing from the University Concert Hall, and – she turned the last one over. Plain white, typed
address, both their names. She ripped it open and pulled out the single, folded page. Just one sentence, also typed:

Underneath, a phone number. Laura stared at the page for a few seconds, completely at a loss. What did it mean? Why was there no name, no signature – and who was Don? Her first thought was
that it had been sent to them by mistake. She looked at the envelope again –
Donal O’Connor and Laura O’Neill.
Donal, not Don. Laura had never heard anyone call him Don.
She turned the page over; the other side was blank. She read it again, trying to make sense of it:
‘Don’s father is living in Limerick now
.’ But Donal’s father was
in Australia, wasn’t he? Could he have moved back, after all these years? And no mention of his wife, Donal’s mother. This was all very strange.

Well, only one way to solve the mystery.
She stood up, holding the letter and went to the phone.