Putting Out the Stars

by Roisin Meaney

  ‘Oh he’ll drive, don’t you worry. I drove us to a work do of his last week; someone was retiring after about seventy-nine years in the job.’

  Laura laughed again. ‘Right, so that would make him, let’s see . . . about a hundred and five?’

  ‘Yeah, about that. We got a set dinner and a man with an accordion entertaining us after; I think he was the office caretaker or something. Everyone was waltzing – it was worse than a wedding. I nearly fell asleep into the pork chops. We were the only two under fifty-five.’

  ‘Serves you right for taking up with a boring old taxman, or whatever he is.’

  ‘Accountant please – give him his correct title. And I assume “boring” refers to his job.’

  ‘You know it does; Cian is a pet . . . .’ Laura hesitated – maybe she should say something, after all. ‘Look Bref, you are OK about this, aren’t you?’

  ‘About what – meeting the love of my life again?’ Breffni sounded amused. ‘Sure didn’t we meet at your wedding, and weren’t we fine?’

  Laura wondered again if she’d imagined Breffni’s earlier hesitation. ‘Yeah, of course you were . . . but that was different. This’ll be back in Limerick – I thought it might – oh I don’t know, stir things up a bit, or something.’ She began to feel a bit foolish – she should never have brought it up.

  Breffni didn’t seem bothered. ‘Laur, I appreciate your concern, really I do, but you needn’t worry – Andrew and myself are ancient history. Haven’t I Cian now? And we were bound to meet sooner or later, with us both back in the same territory – I’m amazed that I haven’t bumped into him up to this, actually, when you think that I’ve been home nearly two years now.’

  ‘Well, you’re not exactly living a few doors up from us any more . . . so you don’t hate the thought, really?’

  ‘No; I’ll rise to the occasion, don’t worry.’

  ‘Good . . . and Bref, you won’t mention to Ruth about you and Andrew, will you? She’s not very confident really – it might throw her a bit.’

  The amusement was back in Breffni’s voice. ‘God, what do you think of me? I’m hardly going to introduce myself as the one who had a fling with her husband when he was young and innocent . . . well, young anyway.’

  ‘I know, I know; I just thought you might say it as a joke, or something – you know what you’re like.’

  ‘No worries; my lips are sealed. Talk to you later.’

  ‘See you.’ As she hung up, Laura let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

  Laura O’Neill and Breffni Comerford grew up five numbers apart in a cul-de-sac just off the North Circular Road, where Breffni’s parents, and Laura’s mother, Cecily, still lived. For six years, the girls walked to school with one mother and came home with the other. When they reached fifth class, the mothers stayed at home. As they were growing up, they went through phases of Van Morrison and James Taylor and the Smiths. They agreed to differ on Janis Ian, whom Laura loved and Breffni tolerated. They both threw away the walnuts on the tops of their Walnut Whips, and they lusted after Paul Newman (Laura) and Andy Garcia (Breffni). From fifteen to seventeen they wore only black – apart from their brown school uniforms – and they listened to Leonard Cohen and Billie Holiday in each other’s incense-filled bedrooms, and read Lolita and To Kill a Mockingbird and Wuthering Heights and Brideshead Revisited till their paperback copies fell apart. They agreed that Colin Firth was the ultimate Mr D’Arcy, and that Madonna tried too hard; and they both had secret tattoos from a holiday in Portugal – a tiny sun on Laura’s lower back and a star on Breffni’s left hip.

  They had their ears pierced at sixteen, and they gave up chocolate at seventeen. Breffni lasted three weeks, Laura almost eleven months. They traded clothes and secrets and diets. They straightened Laura’s auburn curls and permed Breffni’s silky black hair, to the horror of both mothers.

  They tried and failed to smoke. They sneaked out to drink cider from flagon bottles with local lads down by the river on long summer evenings, and were each other’s alibis the few times they stayed out all night. Once or twice they recycled boyfriends, but that wasn’t a great success. They cried on each other’s shoulders when their hearts were broken, and once they held hands and promised God everlasting good behaviour as they waited to find out that Breffni wasn’t pregnant.

  The year they left school, when Laura was almost nineteen and Breffni a few months younger, they went to San Francisco for the summer and stayed with Comerford cousins that Breffni had met once at a family wedding over six years before. They got a bus around the hairpin bends of Lombard Street and took the ferry out to Alcatraz and rode a cable car up California Avenue. They wandered around Fisherman’s Wharf and walked through the Castro district, trying not to stare at the jaw-droppingly beautiful men strolling about hand in hand. They signed up for ten Bikram yoga classes for ten dollars, and staggered home, drenched with sweat, from their first and last class.

  ‘God above – that was like doing it in a sauna.’ Breffni flapped the end of her damp pink t-shirt. ‘I’m wrecked.’

  ‘I nearly slipped when we were doing that tree thing, my mat was so wet.’ Laura quickened her pace to a trot. ‘Bags first in the shower.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’ Breffni broke into a sudden run and sped past her.

  ‘Hey – you’re supposed to be wrecked.’ Laura slowed down as Breffni disappeared around the corner. ‘Hope you scald yourself.’

  They went fishing at dawn one morning in the bay with Breffni’s uncle’s friend, and watched stripes of crimson and orange and pink lace the sky through the railings of Golden Gate Bridge as the sun floated up to face another perfect day. Later they managed to catch a salmon, Laura frantically trying to manoeuvre the struggling fish into the huge net that Breffni, weak with laughter, was holding over the boat’s rail. Their host watched in amusement, ready to take over if the fish looked like escaping.

  ‘Hold that blasted thing steady, would you?’ Laura heaved the rod in the direction of the wildly wavering net. ‘This weighs a ton.’

  Breffni braced herself against the rail, giggling helplessly. ‘I’m trying, honest – Jesus, the size of that fish! Don’t let him pull you overboard – I’ve no intention of jumping in after you.’ She looked back at the boat owner, still grinning widely. ‘Carl, I think the fisherman needs a bit of help here – she’s having trouble landing her catch.’

  They had barbecued salmon with the cousins that evening on Baker Beach, and belted out a fairly accurate version of ‘The Dock of the Bay’ after several lite beers.

  Back in Ireland, Laura started her commercial art course at the end of September and Breffni, determined never to set foot in an educational institution again, got a job behind the reception desk in a solicitor’s office. They met almost as much as ever, keeping up to date with their different lifestyles. Occasionally, Breffni stayed the night in the flat Laura had escaped to after leaving school – thank God Dad had agreed to fund the rent. He could see how things were, how they’d always been between Laura and her mother. As soon as she moved out, Laura got a part-time job in The White House pub, determined not to cost her father any more than she had to.

  Over a year later, with Christmas just around the corner, Laura got a phone call.

  ‘Brace yourself – Andrew asked me out.’

  ‘Andrew who?’ Laura tried to drag her thoughts away from the department-store logo she was trying to design. She’d never have something ready by Friday.

  Breffni snorted down the line. ‘What do you mean, Andrew who? Andrew your brother, you eejit. Andrew who grew up in the same house as you.’

  ‘Our Andrew? Andrew my little brother asked you out? You have got to be kidding.’ Laura laughed, sure it was another of Breffni’s jokes.

  Breffni sounded mildly annoyed. ‘Why? Why shouldn’t he ask me out? What’s wrong with me?’

  Laura stopped laughing. ‘God, you’re serious. My brother wants to go out with you.’

  �
��What’s so strange about that? Why shouldn’t he fancy me?’

  Why indeed? Men had always been drawn to Breffni. But Andrew . . . ‘I’m not surprised that he fancies you, it’s not that; it’s just that he’s my little brother –’

  ‘Stop calling him your little brother. He’s a head taller than you, and he’s eighteen, only a year and a bit younger than me. And you know I’ve always thought he’s a right hunk.’

  ‘God, stop – I can’t think about him like that. You’re not really going to go out with him though, are you?’

  Breffni’s voice had more than a hint of annoyance in it now. ‘Yeah, I am actually. We’re going to Gerry Flannery’s for a drink tomorrow night.’ She paused before addding, ‘I hope you’re not going to be funny about it.’

  Laura considered: her brother and her best friend. It definitely felt . . . odd; but then again, why shouldn’t they go out together, just because Breffni was her friend? ‘No, of course I’m not going to be funny about it . . . it’s just – I suppose it’s just a bit . . . unexpected, that’s all.’

  Breffni’s voice softened. ‘So you won’t disown me if I fall head over heels?’

  Laura laughed again. ‘With my little – oh sorry, I mean with my much taller brother? Hardly. Ah, what the heck – go for a drink with him. Where’s the harm?’

  And they did go. And a few days after that, they went to the cinema. And then Laura got used to the idea of her brother and her best friend together, and stopped marvelling at the fact that she’d never seen Breffni so . . . contented. It wasn’t that she and Laura spent all day talking about Andrew – on the contrary, it was the first relationship they didn’t dissect in great detail – but something had changed in Bref, definitely. There was a sort of excitement there that Laura had never seen before.

  She and Andrew met at least twice a week, sometimes more. Occasionally they called in and sat at The White House counter, chatting to Laura – one night the three of them went to see a play at the Belltable – and Laura was just beginning to play with the possibility of her friend and her brother getting serious, when Andrew brought Breffni home to ‘meet’ his parents.

  Of course, Brian and Cecily already knew Breffni well; she’d been in and out of their house practically all her life, sitting at the table during all of Laura’s birthday parties, playing in the back garden with other little girls during summer afternoons, spending hours upstairs with Laura when they were older, even occasionally staying overnight on a camp bed in Laura’s room.

  But this was something new; now she was Andrew’s friend.

  Laura would have loved to be there, just to see the reaction of her mother, in particular, to this new development. But since she’d moved out, invitations to dinner at home, much to Laura’s private relief, had been limited to special occasions – birthday celebrations, Christmas Day, Easter Sunday – so she had to rely on Breffni’s account of the night. Apparently Cecily had behaved perfectly all evening.

  ‘We got a gorgeous quiche, and a very posh salad with pine nuts. And strawberries for dessert – only Cecily would produce strawberries at the end of January.’

  ‘But what was it like – what did ye talk about?’ Laura couldn’t imagine it: Andrew and Breffni sitting down to dinner as a couple, with Cecily playing hostess. Much as Laura adored her father, he couldn’t really be depended on to contribute much to the conversation – he usually preferred to leave that to Cecily, who was rarely lost for words. But what on earth would she have found to talk about with Laura’s friend, in this unfamiliar social situation?

  Breffni was amused. ‘Can you not give your mother some credit? We chatted away quite pleasantly, actually – she asked after my parents, although she probably bumps into one of them every time she goes outside the door. Oh, and she wanted to know all about my job – you never told me she was a secretary before she got married. And I asked her about the book club, pretended I was thinking of starting one up with the work crowd. It was grand, really – all very civilised and polite. And, of course, your father was a pet, as usual. Didn’t say too much, but kept making sure I had enough to eat – he must have passed me the salad half a dozen times.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘Well, that’s good; you’ve done the meet-the-parents thing and survived.’ She didn’t add let’s wait and see what the verdict is when it comes in, but she knew Breffni was thinking it too.

  And then two weeks later, on a bitterly cold February afternoon, Breffni walked into the travel agency next door to her workplace and bought a ticket back to San Francisco.

  Laura was stunned when Breffni called around to her that evening. ‘What do you mean, leaving? You can’t leave, just like that. What about Andrew?’

  Breffni looked straight at her. ‘Actually Laur, Andrew finished with me last week.’

  Laura’s jaw dropped further. ‘What? Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?’ She crouched beside Breffni’s chair and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’ll live.’ Breffni shrugged. ‘I would have told you, but you’ve been a bit caught up in college stuff lately; I didn’t want to distract you.’

  ‘Bref, are you crazy?’ Laura looked bewildered. ‘As if my stupid course work would be more important than you. What happened?’

  Breffni shrugged again. ‘Just that, really. He said he didn’t think we were going anywhere, blah blah blah. What could I say?’

  Laura considered. Andrew and Breffni hadn’t been going out for long – six, seven weeks? – but when Laura had seen them together, she’d have sworn that Andrew was just as taken with Breffni as she seemed to be with him. And hadn’t everything been fine when Breffni had gone to dinner with Brian and Cecily the other week?

  Cecily, of course. Laura could have hit her, the way she ran Andrew’s life. Or hit Andrew, for letting his mother dictate to him. There was no doubt in Laura’s mind that Cecily was responsible for this latest development. She took Breffni’s hand. ‘Look, maybe he’s just got cold feet; maybe I could talk to –’

  ‘No.’ Breffni pulled away from Laura. ‘Absolutely not. I’m not having you begging Andrew to take me back. Anyway, I’m quite looking forward to heading back to the States – especially in this weather.’ She got up and walked to the window. ‘And the job was driving me mad, you know it was. Nothing to do all day except answer the phone and smile at the few people who came in – deadly boring.’ She kept her back to Laura, looking out into the dark garden.

  Laura was still struggling to gather her thoughts. ‘But you could have just got another job here in Limerick – you don’t have to go halfway around the world.’ It was the first time either of them had made a decision without talking it over with the other; and now Breffni was doing this huge thing all by herself.

  When she didn’t respond, Laura tried again. ‘Look Bref, why don’t you wait a while? Maybe we could go back in the summer – I’ll be off for three months. We could do a bit of travelling, maybe go up –’

  But Breffni shook her head, still looking out. ‘Sorry Laur – I’ve my mind made up; and I have the ticket bought. But do come out in the summer – I’d love that.’ She turned around and leant against the window sill, smiling gently. ‘You know, the more I think about it, the more I can’t wait to go back – remember the buzz of San Francisco? I bet you could be tempted back yourself right now if you weren’t up to your armpits in arty-farty stuff.’

  Laura considered. ‘Well, yeah, I’d love to go back for another holiday – but I don’t know about living there . . . you might start doing daily yoga and eating bean sprouts and chanting.’

  Breffni shook her head again, made a face. ‘Can you see me doing daily anything, except eating? I might do the odd yoga class, but no bean sprouts unless they’re in a big fat stir-fry – and definitely no chanting.’

  ‘You might start saying “have a nice day”, and talking about your feelings.’

  She smiled faintly. ‘I won’t, honest. No nice days, no feelings.’ She turned an
d looked out into the night again, and after a minute Laura knew, by the way she bent her head slightly, by the subtle change in her breathing, that she was crying.

  Laura went over and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘I could kill him.’

  ‘Ah no.’ Breffni rubbed a sleeve across her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘These things happen; don’t blame him. I’ll survive.’

  ‘But what’ll you do there? How will you make enough to live on?’

  ‘Ah, there’s plenty of work there. I’ll probably look for house-cleaning – remember all the notices we saw in the supermarkets? Looks like they’re crying out for cleaners. Or I could babysit, couldn’t I?’

  ‘And where’ll you stay?’

  ‘With the cousins to start with – I’m sure they won’t mind having me back. And then I’ll look around for a place once I’m settled.’

  ‘Rents are sky high there – you’ll never afford it without a proper job.’

  The ghost of a smile flashed across Breffni’s face. ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to sell my body then. That should make up the shortfall.’

  ‘Bref, be serious.’

  ‘I am serious – about going back, I mean.’ Breffni squared her shoulders, and Laura thought that maybe she was right; maybe the change of scene would do her good.

  She grinned. ‘Hey, remember the secondhand stores, ‘Goodwill’ and ‘Thrift Town’ and that huge Salvation Army shop on Valencia Street?’

  Breffni nodded, smiled back. ‘Remember when I got the Calvin Klein jeans for five bucks? You were raging with me for spotting them first.’

  ‘Remember the giant pizzas in that little place on Twenty-first Street – what was it called?’

  ‘Oh God, yeah – Serrano’s. The size of them, as big as the wheel of a High Nelly. Remember the Greek pizza, with the feta cheese and the olives –’

  ‘And Mitchell’s Ice-cream Parlour – the ginger ice-cream we couldn’t get enough of. And Trader Joe’s sourdough bread.’