Putting Out the Stars (8 page)

Breffni retrieved the mandarin and sat at the table watching them. ‘You’ve her spoilt rotten, Granny. She never gets this kind of love and attention at our house.’

‘I don’t believe a word of it. She’s very lucky to have the parents she has. Now, upsadaisy.’ Mary helped Polly onto a chair by the worktop. ‘Hold on now, or
you’ll fall.’ Polly stood on the chair and grabbed the edge of the worktop, watching carefully as Mary took a scone from the wire rack and split it.

‘Me, Ganny?’

‘Yes, darling, this is for you.’ She spread it with butter. ‘Now, will you sit up at the table with Mammy, and we’ll have a little party? Careful now, getting down.
Don’t fall.’ She spotted Polly’s floury hands. ‘Oh dear, we’d better clean those hands first. Come here, lovey.’

As she took a facecloth and rubbed Polly’s hands, Breffni watched with affection, marvelling at how compliant Polly always was with Mary – she’d never have let Breffni wipe her
hands so easily. Mary was manna from heaven, no doubt about it. She patently adored her small great-grandchild, and the feeling was mutual. Mary had looked after Polly from the first time Breffni
and Cian felt able to leave her. There was never a question of finding another babysitter; Breffni’s parents in Limerick were too far away to call on, and they didn’t know anyone else
well enough in Nenagh, not then. And Granny Mary – really Cian’s granny, and one reason why they’d settled in Nenagh after coming back to Ireland – so delighted at the
prospect of Polly’s arrival, had assured them that she’d be only too happy to help out any way she could.

Breffni had spent the first few weeks of Polly’s life wondering why in God’s name she and Cian had ever imagined they could raise a child. And why on earth they had bought a house so
far from her parents – what was so wrong with Limerick? It didn’t help when Cian gently pointed out that they’d got a far cheaper house in Nenagh, that the job he’d managed
to find was here, and that his only relative in Ireland was up the road and had nobody else living nearby. And Breffni had come to thank her lucky stars for that relative – if it hadn’t
been for Mary, Breffni might well have taken Polly and gone back to live with her parents in those first fraught months. Or left Polly with Cian, and gone off herself.

But Granny Mary was a godsend. Somehow she always knew what would help the most, whether it was taking the baby for a walk, sitting down for a quick chat with Breffni if Polly was asleep, or
just getting a shopping list and heading off.

And she never came empty-handed. Half a dozen scones, a triangle of brown bread, a little knitted hat or a furry red bear for Polly. Once, after a particularly bad week of teething, she brought
a bottle of red wine. Breffni took one exhausted look at it and put her head in her hands.

‘I can’t do this, Mary, it’s too hard . . . I can’t do it.’ Her shoulders shook.

Mary set the bottle down on the table and sat next to Breffni and put an arm around her.

‘You’re worn out, you poor creature. I know it seems like there’s no end, but believe me, it will get better. I well remember Cian driving his mother to distraction as a baby,
and look at him now.’ She squeezed Breffni’s shoulder and smiled. ‘Very well-behaved most of the time.’

Breffni found herself half-laughing, half-crying. ‘Sorry, Mary – it was a tough week.’ She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with a sleeve and looked at her saviour.
‘I have simply no idea what we would do without you – you do realise that, don’t you?’

Mary reached over to the dresser for the box of tissues. ‘Rubbish – you’d manage fine, like all new parents; and you’re doing a lot better than some, believe me.
I’m just happy to be able to help now and again, that’s all.’

Breffni pulled a tissue from the box and blew her nose, then reached for the bottle of wine. ‘We’ll have a glass, Mary – purely medicinal, of course.’

‘Indeed we will not, at ten o’clock in the morning. I’m bad, but I’m not that bad.’ Mary stood up and took Polly’s tiny padded jacket from the hook on the
back of the kitchen door. ‘You’ll put that away till you and Cian find a quiet hour sometime. And now you’ll go and have a bit of a lie down, and I’ll take this scallywag
out for a breath of fresh air that’ll hopefully tire her out.’

As she spoke, she whisked the grizzling Polly from her bouncer seat and manoeuvred her flailing arms into the jacket. Then she nuzzled into the baby’s chest, talking softly. ‘Yes,
you little monkey. I’ll have you asleep before long, don’t you worry. Fast asleep, dreaming of the angels you left behind in Heaven.’ She lifted her head and smiled at the baby in
her arms, still murmuring softly. ‘Won’t you go to sleep for Granny Mary? You will. Yes, you will.’ And watching Polly looking back solemnly at her, thumb already heading towards
her tiny mouth, Breffni didn’t doubt it.

It was hard to believe Mary was well into her eighties. Her memory was better than Breffni’s, she read everything she could lay her hands on and she was addicted to card games, the more
complicated the rules the better. In the time she’d known her, Breffni couldn’t remember her ever being sick, apart from the odd head cold.

Mary admitted herself that she’d slowed down in the last few years – ‘I used to pass everyone else when I was out walking; now most people fly past me’ – but for a
woman of her age she was amazingly well preserved. She’d given up driving when she reached seventy-five, sold her ten-year-old Fiat to a neighbour’s son – ‘I felt I’d
had quite enough of that’ – and now she pottered around Nenagh quite happily.

Breffni drove her into Limerick about once a month for a shopping afternoon. They had lunch when they arrived, in the Arthur’s Quay Centre because it had a crèche for Polly, then
they browsed around the shops, sometimes splitting up for an hour or two and meeting again for coffee and cake before heading home.

And any time Breffni invited her parents out from Limerick for dinner, Granny Mary joined them for the night.

‘There we go, darling.’ As Polly scrambled up onto a chair at the table, Mary put a plate in front of her with half a scone on it. The butter pooled on its gently steaming
surface.

Breffni watched her little daughter as she grabbed the half scone with both hands. ‘Mmm – yummy. What do you say to Granny Mary?’

‘Ta ta.’ Scone poised halfway to her mouth, Polly spotted the bowl of blackcurrant jam in the middle of the table. She stretched the scone towards Breffni. ‘Mama, dam.’
Breffni reached over and spread a little jam on the scone, and Polly immediately aimed again for her open mouth.

Breffni looked sternly at her. ‘Small bite.’ Polly opened her mouth wider and lunged at the scone, sinking her tiny teeth into it and covering her cheeks with jam, watching Breffni
across the table. She looked so comical that Breffni had to struggle not to smile. ‘
Small
bite, I said.’

Mary put a plate of warm scones and a little bowl of whipped cream in front of Breffni. ‘Live a little.’

Polly eyed the bowl of cream and immediately stretched out her hand with the ravaged scone in it. ‘Me.’

‘Just a little bit.’ Breffni daubed a tiny blob of cream onto Polly’s scone before looking up at Mary. ‘You’re the devil in disguise; I shouldn’t be eating
this.’

Mary put a knife on her plate. ‘Go on, there isn’t a pick on you; you’re like a model.’

‘Model my hat – but you’ve talked me into it anyway.’ Breffni split a scone and spooned a small amount of jam onto it. Then she added a blob of cream – might as
well be hung for a sheep – and bit in hungrily as Mary sat across from her and poured tea. ‘Mmm, gorgeous.’ She couldn’t diet this week anyway, with Laura’s dinner.
‘Oh, that reminds me, Mary. Would you be free to babysit this Thursday night? We’ve been invited into Limerick for dinner.’

Mary buttered a half scone for herself. ‘I will of course, dear; I’d love it.’ She always stayed in their spare room when she babysat, leaving them very free.

Breffni talked through a mouthful of scone. ‘You’re the best. I’ll have your room ready.’ She turned to Polly. ‘Did you hear that? Granny is going to mind you. What
d’you say?’

Polly munched her scone, swinging her chubby legs. ‘Ta ta, Ganny.’

Emily reached across the supermarket aisle and waved her hand in front of Cecily’s face. ‘You’re miles away.’

Cecily blinked and turned towards her friend. She hadn’t been miles away at all, merely trying to decide on the evening meal. She’d thought about a prawn salad, but the prawns in the
fish shop hadn’t been very impressive, and they’d sold out of rainbow trout, her second choice. Maybe they’d have something here, although she normally avoided supermarket fish.
She smiled at Emily.

‘Hello, dear. Any news?’

‘Not since I saw you, unless you count pruning the shrubbery, which I spent all yesterday doing. I really need a new pair of gardening gloves; my hands are cut to ribbons.’ Emily
extended her well-manicured hands, which looked perfect to Cecily apart from a few tiny scratches.

‘How are you getting on with the new daughter-in-law? I hope she appreciates that handsome son of yours – not to mention the excellent board and lodging she’s
getting.’

Cecily laughed. ‘Well, it’s hardly five star, but everything is going fine. Ruth is very easy to get along with really, no trouble. You’ll meet her soon.’ She paused,
struck by a thought. ‘I might ask her if she’d like to sit in on our next meeting – in fact, I’ll be hosting, so she’ll be around anyway.’

Emily beamed. ‘Lovely.’

‘Yes, she’d probably enjoy it; she’s quite a reader.’ And why shouldn’t Cecily bring along someone new, since everyone else seemed to be at it? She kept her smile
in place as she watched Emily. ‘Have you noticed, by the way, how we seem to be growing in number lately?’

And Emily said, as Cecily knew she would, ‘Ah yes – Dorothy’s man.’

Cecily waited.

Emily paused. ‘He was rather foisted on us the other night, wasn’t he?’

Cecily nodded, careful not to look too pleased – Emily seemed to be of the same mind, thank goodness.

‘And it looks like he’s going to be a permanent fixture – I heard Margaret telling Dorothy to be sure and bring him along in future.’ She shrugged her cashmere-covered
shoulders. ‘He doesn’t exactly strike me as the literary type – I suppose we’ll just have to see what he makes of the new McGahern.’ And that was it. No sign of real
disapproval, no indication that she was seriously put out by his appearance at the book club.

Cecily’s heart sank; her one hope of an ally was gone. She began to edge away, keeping the polite smile in place with difficulty. ‘Well, I’d better get on; can’t dally,
now that I’m cooking for three.’

‘Right, dear. See you Thursday week.’ Emily fluttered her fingers and turned away, basket swinging from her arm. Cecily watched for a minute, then made her way towards the fish
counter.

She’d get kippers; they’d do fine. She wasn’t made of money.

‘Hello?’

Laura’s heart sank. She’d been hoping for Andrew or Ruth.

‘Hello, Mother. How are you?’ Cecily had always been ‘Mother’. Never ‘Mammy’ or ‘Mum’, even when Laura was very small.

‘Oh hello, dear. I’m fine, anything wrong?’
Because there would have to be a reason for me to ring you other than simply to find out how you are. Message received,
Mother.

‘No, nothing, everything’s fine with us too.’
God, listen to them; they sound like a bad play
. ‘I just wanted a quick word with Ruth, if she’s
around.’

‘Ruth.’ Cecily allowed just enough of a pause to create tension. ‘Yes, I believe she’s here somewhere. Hold on.’ As if the house was so huge that two people could
be unaware of each other’s presence.
Try the west wing, Mother.

While she waited, Laura marvelled at her mother’s capacity to make her feel bad with a few well-chosen words – a look, even. She could take the wind out of Laura’s sails with a
slight lift of one plucked eyebrow. How did the damn woman do it? Why had they never had the kind of relationship Breffni had with
her
mother?

Laura got on so much better with Mona than she ever had with Cecily – easygoing chatter whenever they met, not having to watch what she said all the time, not having to justify her bloody
existence. Growing up, she’d envied Breffni the noisy family teas in the Comerford house, everyone talking with full mouths and reaching across the table and planting elbows wherever they
wanted. Why wasn’t . . .