Aisling Gayle

by Geraldine O'Neill

  “Grand, grand,” the old man said, taking his flat cap off. “She has me tormented since she got the teeth out. All she can eat is oul’ mushy stuff at the minute, and they’re the only biscuits that don’t break up in the tea.”

  Pauline turned away now, trying not to laugh obviously. She pretended she was looking in the car window for something.

  “Peenie will sort you out,” Charles said, lifting the cloth again and re-folding it into a more perfect square.

  “He will that,” the man said, folding his cap and putting it in his pocket. “Peenie’s the boy to sort us all out.”

  When the customer was safely inside, Pauline followed her brother round the side of the car – all laughter about teeth and soft biscuits forgotten. “Well?” she demanded. “What’s the story? Where did you go?”

  Charles moved towards the bonnet, swiping out again with the cloth to where the muddy mark had been. “I told you,” he said testily. “I went for a bit of a run.”

  Pauline sighed and folded her arms. “Rose Quinn called for me last night, and we waited and waited and eventually I had to tell her to go on ahead without me. I felt a right eejit, sitting there all dressed up and you nowhere to be seen.” She moved closer to Charles, jostling his elbow. “Rose was in a fierce huff with me and it’s all your fault. Apart from the fact she’d managed to get her father’s car for us, she didn’t know if she’d get anyone else to go out with her at such short notice.”

  “Where were you supposed to be going?” Charles asked, backing out of his sister’s reach.

  “To a dance in Tullamore,” Pauline said. “I told you yesterday afternoon.”

  Charles shrugged. “I don’t remember you saying you were going to any dance.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t – would you?” Pauline retorted. “You had your nose stuck in a book as usual.” She surveyed him now, arms still folded. “You need to waken yourself up, Charles Kearney,” she told him. “You live in another world. Nobody can depend on you for anything. I’ve never met a fella like you in my life.”

  Charles rubbed a finger over the mark, checking for any scratches he might have missed. “My mother would go haywire if she heard you were going to a dance with Rose Quinn,” he said. “You know she doesn’t like that family.”

  “Mammy’s not here though – is she?” Pauline said, waving an arm around the front of the shop. “Not that you’d notice, for all the attention you pay to anybody. We could drop dead in front of you, and you’d walk straight over us.”

  Charles sighed and straightened up. “Listen,” he said. “I’ll look after Bernadette tonight, if it’s any good.” It would mean missing a visit to Mrs Lynch later on to pick up the items she had mended – but that might be no harm after his encounter with that lunatic last night. Give the man a chance to sober up – or sort out whatever was going on in his deranged mind, that made him go round attacking innocent drivers. And anyway, he thought, it would be worth it to get Pauline off his back. There were times she was nearly as bad as his mother. It was a pity that it had to be Aisling who went off to America. She would have been far easier to work with in the shop.

  Pauline paused. “There probably won’t be anybody going out tonight,” she said in a disgruntled tone. She knew perfectly well that there was a dance in Mullingar tonight, and if she phoned Rose and went to great rounds apologising, then maybe they would go there instead.

  “Please yourself,” Charles said, wondering what Mrs Kelly had on the menu today. He checked his watch. It would be dinner-time in twenty minutes. He’d finish off the car now in a few minutes, and then he’d go in and re-arrange that shelf with packets of Bistoand Bird’s Custard Powder that Peenie had stacked this morning. That fellow had no eye for keeping things in a straight line, and threw things up on the shelf in any old way at all.

  “OK,” Pauline said, heading into the shop. “I’ll ring round and see if anybody is going out – and don’t you dare forget this time!”

  Chapter 12

  Pauline leaned her elbows on the deep window-ledge in her upstairs bedroom, and looked out at the showery Irish weather, imagining Aisling and her parents basking in the hot American sunshine.

  She gave a little sigh, thinking that if things had been different how she might have been out there along with them, enjoying her aunt’s luxurious house and the wonderful weather. The wedding in America was just another of the occasions that she was now no longer considered suitable for.

  Then, she turned her gaze towards the cot-bed in the corner of her bedroom, where her little curly-headed daughter lay sleeping – just six foot across from her own single bed. The bed she had slept in as a young schoolgirl, in the room she had shared with Aisling. The bed she thought she had left forever five years ago, when she went to England.

  Her chest tightened as she looked at the sleeping child. The sight of her, as always, provoked a mixture of emotions.

  Without a doubt, Bernadette was the very centre of her life. She loved and adored her. And she would strangle – with her bare hands – anyone who would harm her. But – and it was a big but – the child had now taken her life in a completely different direction from the one she had planned.

  Bernadette’s arrival into the world had heralded the departure of every dream that Pauline had ever had. As one came in the door, the others went straight out the window. The big white wedding for one. Oh, her mother never let her forget that dream. How, if any man was prepared to take her on, the wedding would have to be a hole-in-the-corner, two-piece-suit wedding. No white dress – symbolising virginity – for her.

  Then the dream of finishing her nursing course in England was smashed into little pieces. Along with her third dream of travelling around the world. Maybe working for a few years in America or Australia. Somewhere warm and exciting. Somewhere like the place Aisling was now.

  Still, there was no use in whining. Pauline knew perfectly well that she was only reaping what she had let a handsome man sow. She’d taken the good times, and now she had to pay the price for it. And there was no way she’d be allowed to forget it.

  She turned back to the widow. Watching for Charles in the van, or Rose Quinn’s car coming down the road.

  Maybe, she thought, just maybe she would meet a nice lad at the dance in Mullingar tonight. Someone who would know nothing about Bernadette. A nice, decent fellow who would fall head over heels in love with her – and by the time she told him about her illegitimate daughter, he wouldn’t care. He would be so besotted with her that he wouldn’t let any obstacle stand in their way.

  No interfering mothers, who didn’t want a fallen woman for a daughter-in-law. No interfering priests to warn him against taking on another man’s child. And no disloyal friends who would slyly hint at him marrying an easy woman, then try to make a move on Pauline herself when the decent fellow wasn’t around.

  Pauline sighed, and looked down at her newly painted, pink fingernails.

  She had seen them all: the would-be mothers-in-law, the priests who would say anything that the families with money wanted them to say – and the sly, backstabbing friends.

  The sound of a car engine made her move to the side of the sash windows to see further along the street. The vehicle that came into view was neither Rose Quinn’s father’s car or Charles’s van – but it was a familiar vehicle none the less. And one that she had mixed feelings about seeing.

  The car came to a halt outside the shop, and a youngish man got out – dressed in an immaculate suit and carrying a sober black hat. But there was a jaunty air about him that left you in no doubt as to his self-confidence. Just as there was no mistaking the quality of his clothes.

  Pauline moved from the window, and pulled across the pink damask curtains – that went with the pink rose wallpaper. She left a bit of a gap in the curtains, allowing enough light in the room should Bernadette wake up. The child was afraid of the dark, and the curtains were never closed completely against the orangey streetlamp that was just outside the shop.
/>
  Then Pauline tiptoed across the room and went downstairs to open the front door of the house. Charles had closed the shop door at six o’clock this evening, and now visitors had to use the main entrance to the house.

  “Good evening, Miss Kearney,” the smooth, Dublin voice said. “And looking as gorgeous as ever!” His eyes took in the floaty, lilac chiffon dress with the low neck and the wide belt that emphasised her small waist.

  “Get away with you,” Pauline said in a light, breathy voice. “Sure, you say that to every woman you meet – young and old. You needn’t think you’re fooling me. I’m not one of your customers.” She closed the door behind him, and then they both stood in the hallway. Pauline folded her arms over her bust, attempting to cover her cleavage.

  “There’s a big difference,” he said quietly, his eyes moving downwards from her long, slim neck. “That’s only ould business chat. Any compliments I ever gave you were genuine. From the first time I ever saw you.” His eyes now flitted upwards to meet hers square on. “And well you know it.”

  There was a small silence. Then he moved forward to place his hands on her shoulders and draw her close enough to place a light kiss on her lips.

  Pauline caught her breath, and her heart quickened at the touch of his lips on hers. She pulled away – laughing to cover her embarrassment.

  “You don’t fool me for one minute, Oliver Gayle,” she said briskly. “Now head on into the kitchen, and I’ll make you a cup of tea while I’m waiting for that Charles to come back.”

  Oliver did as he was told, but guided Pauline to walk on down the hallway ahead of him. As she walked, she could almost feel his eyes taking in every inch of her back view and legs.

  “Charles sounds as if he’s in the bad books,” Oliver said lightly. “What’s the poor oul’ divil done this time?”

  “Don’t ‘poor oul’ divil’ Charles Kearney to me,” Pauline sighed as they reached the end of the hall. “He has me driven mad already, and my mother and father are hardly gone out of the place. You can’t depend on him being in the right place at the right time.”

  “You shouldn’t be giving out to him so much,” Oliver said, following her in the kitchen door now. “In his own way, Charles is the finest.”

  “You wouldn’t think so if he let you down the way he did with me last night,” Pauline said crossly. She looked up at the clock. “And he’s cutting it fine again tonight.”

  “You’re off out then?” Oliver said, pulling one of the old pine chairs out from under the long, heavy table. “I thought you were looking even more ravishing than usual.”

  “Yes, I’m going out,” Pauline replied, lifting her white cardigan from the back of a chair and quickly pulling it on. She did up all the buttons up to cover her cleavage. It felt more decent than walking around in front of a man in bare arms and low neck. Especially a man like her brother-in-law. Then, she moved about the kitchen, busying herself with the kettle and the tea-caddy.

  “And who’s the lucky man tonight?” he said lightly.

  Pauline scooped two large spoons of Lyons tea into the smaller of the two teapots that sat beside the cooker. “You must be joking,” she said, turning towards the large pine dresser now. “A man’s the last thing I need at the minute. And anyway – who’d give me a second glance when they know about the little angel sleeping upstairs?” She lifted down two teacups and matching saucers and a small sideplate.

  She put the china down in the middle of the table, conscious of his eyes following her every move. Then, she set one cup in a saucer, and slid it over in front of Oliver. As she went to move away he caught her by the wrist. Gently – but firmly enough to halt her in her tracks.

  “You shouldn’t put yourself down like that, Pauline,” he said softly. “How many times have I told you? People will only have the opinion of you that you have of yourself. You’re worth ten of the other girls around here – and you know I mean that.”

  Pauline nodded her head, but kept her eyes lowered. “It’s okay you saying it, Oliver,” she replied, “but not everyone around here would have that same outlook.”

  He released his grip now.

  She went back to the cooker and busied herself with pouring boiling water into the teapot.

  “Don’t mind what anyone around here has to say,” he told her. “What you do is your own business. Sure, they’ll talk anyway. If you didn’t have Bernadette, they’d find something else to say.”

  Pauline gave the tea a good stir with the long, thin silver spoon that her mother kept next to the caddy. Then, she moved around the kitchen cupboards locating the fresh cherry and sultana cake that Mrs Kelly had baked that morning, and the fancy gold tin of biscuits that only appeared when they had special visitors.

  And Oliver Gayle was a special visitor as far as she was concerned.

  He was the one man that had spoken up for her – properly spoken up for her. When she had come home from England with Bernadette, both he and Aisling had made sure that she never had to go to Mass on her own or into Tullamore on her own, until she felt ready to face everyone again.

  Oliver and Aisling had been the first ones to go out walking with her with the baby in the pram. One at either side. Daring anyone to look sideways at her.

  God, if only Oliver wasn’t married to Aisling, she thought now as she came back to the table to pour the scalding tea. Anybody else but Aisling.

  * * *

  “I told you I’d be back in plenty of time,” Charles said piously to his sister, pouring himself a cup of lukewarm tea. Then, he wandered across to the window at the sink, where he stood drinking the tea and staring out over the herd of black and white cows that lived in the field behind the house.

  “Well, Charles, how’s business?” Oliver asked him. “I hope you’re not losing any good customers while your mother and father are away.”

  Charles took another drink of his tea, and continued staring at the cows and thinking about the entry he would make in his diary when he got peace and quiet this evening.

  “Would you look at him,” Pauline sighed. “His mind’s in another world as usual.”

  Oliver winked and patted her hand. “Sometimes our minds are happier places than the real world.”

  Pauline felt herself start to blush again, so she got up from her chair and put the lid back on the gold biscuit tin and started to tidy up. “Charles –” she said in a sharp tone, “be sure and listen for Bernadette upstairs. Don’t have the radio on too loud – or get carried away reading or anything.”

  Charles drained the remains of his tea, and then walked over and put the cup into the sink. “I’ll be fine,” he said with an edge to his voice. “If she wakens then I’ll just humour her until she falls asleep again.” He shrugged his rounded shoulders. “It’s not exactly brain surgery, Pauline . . . is it?”

  Pauline’s eyebrows shot up dangerously, then – before she got her answer out – the door knocker sounded.

  “I’ll get it!” Pauline snapped, looking daggers in her brother’s direction. He could be so damned irritating at times, and she didn’t need it this evening. Her high-heeled shoes tapped quickly out of the kitchen, and down the tiled hallway.

  Rose Quinn came in behind Pauline, and halted to lean up against the jamb of the door, chewing furiously on a piece of spearmint gum. She was pretty in a slightly too obvious way – which did not endear Maggie Kearney to her – and was dressed up to the nines for her night out, sporting a tight-looking outfit and her bleached blonde hair carefully curled.

  “Good evening to you, Rose,” Oliver said, leaning forward in his chair. He gave her one of his charming smiles, taking in her tight blouse with the pearl buttons undone to her cleavage. Rose was a bit on the skinny side for his taste – and her manner not quite classy enough. “I believe you two ladies are out on the town tonight?”

  Rose folded her arms and nodded, still chewing on the gum. She could be quiet when she liked, but she was known to have a watchful eye. Saying nothing – but taki
ng everything in. She also had an eye for the men. Even married men like Oliver Gayle.

  “Oh, sure it’s only a church dance,” Pauline said briskly, lifting her handbag and silk scarf from the back of a chair, “nothing to get too excited about.”

  “And what time,” Charles said suddenly, “did you say you’d be back?” He took his spectacles off now, and proceeded to rub at the glass with the carefully ironed hanky he kept in his cardigan pocket exactly for that purpose.

  “I didn’t,” Pauline said, checking that she had everything she needed in her handbag. Compact with mirror, lipstick, money, a comb and a small bottle of Coty Le’ Maint cream perfume to re-apply later in the night. They were all there. “You head off to bed whenever you like, Charles,” she said, clicking the bag shut. “You needn’t bother waiting up. As long as Bernadette is settled, then you needn’t worry yourself about anything.”

  Charles nodded vaguely, his thumb working hard on a smear on the glass, and his mind wondering where he’d left his good fountain pen. Hopefully, not in the shop. He’d be lucky to see it again, if it had come anywhere near the bold Peenie. It would have been straight into his overall pocket, and kept for writing out his bets at the bookie’s shop in Tullamore.

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said, Charles?” Pauline snapped.

  Charles looked up from the glasses and grinned at his sister in a superior manner. “Yes,” he said. “You’ve just been going on about me not having to worry about anything.”

  “And?” she said.

  “And I’m not worrying,” Charles said, still grinning. “As far as I can see – it’s you that’s doing any worrying . . .”

  Pauline shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  Oliver got to his feet now. There was no point in hanging about since there would only be Charles left here to entertain him. There wasn’t even Peenie around in the shop for a bit of ould banter. “Sure, I suppose I’d better head back to my cold, empty house, and see if there’s a bite in to eat.”