Aisling Gayle

by Geraldine O'Neill

  Inevitably, her mind drifted to the endlessly difficult situation they were in. She wondered for the hundredth time whether it was madness to keep this holiday romance going. Were they merely torturing themselves with something they could never have?

  The soulful words dug deep into her heart.

  As the song came to a close, Jean slowed up the car to point out an unusual building. When she got no response, she turned her head and caught sight of the tears trickling down Aisling’s cheek. “Are you feeling homesick, honey?” she asked worriedly. “Are you missing Oliver? You know you’re welcome to ring home any time – ring as soon as we get back. It won’t be too late Irish-time.”

  Aisling shook her head. “Thanks,” she said, gulping back the tears. “I honesty don’t want to phone home. There’s no reason to get in touch – Oliver will manage perfectly well on his own. He doesn’t really depend on me for anything.”

  “OK,” Jean said, wary of saying the wrong thing. “Is anything else wrong?” she ventured. “Has anyone upset you . . . is there something you’re not happy about?”

  “No, no,” Aisling reassured her. “I’m grand – honestly.”

  “If you want to talk about anything, honey,” her aunt said carefully, “I’m a real good listener. Anything you tell me will be entirely confidential. You needn’t worry about me telling your mom, or that sort of thing.” She slowed the car down again, taking her eyes from the road to have a good look at Aisling. “I promise you that I’m not easily shocked.”

  Aisling looked out of the car window, wondering if she had the courage to tell her. A few moments passed, and then she found herself searching for the words to start. “I don’t know where to begin,” she heard herself say feebly.

  “Wherever you feel like to begin, honey,” Jean said. “We have all the time in the world.”

  “Well . . .” Aisling started, her voice a little hoarse, “things at home with Oliver aren’t as perfect as my mother makes them sound.”

  “She has kind of contradicted herself a few times,” Jean admitted, “and I did wonder about things. But I think I get more a feeling about it from you . . .when Oliver’s name is mentioned.”

  “Is it that obvious?” Aisling whispered.

  “No,” Jean said, “not really. I’m sure no one else would have picked it up. It’s just that you sometimes have a kind of startled look when he’s mentioned – as though you’ve forgotten all about him.”

  “I wish I could forget all about him,” Aisling said. “I wish I had been brave enough to forget about him years ago.”

  “Is it that bad?” Jean asked.

  Aisling turned her face towards the window, looking out at the vividly coloured trees flanking either side of the highway. “It depends on how you look at it. For years I put up with being left on my own, while he carried on with his life – and carried on with other women.” She joined her hands together tightly, the way she did in the confession box. “Oh, he was good to me in other ways. And when we were first married, I thought he would change. But of course he didn’t.” She paused. “And now, the thing is, I’ve suddenly changed. I don’t want to put up with him any more – and I really, really don’t want Oliver any more.”

  “And you’ve just realised this?” Jean said, her voice high with surprise. “Has being over here made you feel differently about him?”

  Aisling shrugged. “In some ways . . . but my feelings had changed earlier on this year. I decided to come on this trip to get away from it all for a while.” She ran a hand through her hair now. “I think being away has made me see the situation more clearly. I realise now that even if he’s glad to see me when I get back, that it will soon go. He’ll soon be seeing some other woman, when the novelty of having me home wears off on him.”

  There was a long pause.

  “So what do you plan to do when you get back home?”

  “I really don’t know . . . it all depends on a number of things. And whether I’ve got the guts to go through with it.”

  “And would Jameson Carroll have anything to do with your decision?”

  Aisling felt her heart start to pound and the blood rush to her face. And for a moment she considered denying it all. But she knew there was no point. And she knew that she needed to talk this out with someone. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, “how did you know?”

  “Just a guess,” Jean said, “just an older woman’s guess.”

  Aisling took a long, deep breath. “Yes,” she admitted. “There is something between us . . . but exactly what it is, and where it will lead . . . I just don’t know.”

  Jean gave a low whistle. “Boy . . . that sure complicates things for you, Aisling.”

  They drove along for a bit in silence, then Aisling realised that they had pulled off the highway, and were now coming to a halt in front of a small diner.

  “Come on,” Jean said cheerily, getting out of the car. “I think a nice, long coffee-break is called for. I know we’re only a short drive from home – but we can chat here without having to explain anything to Bruce.”

  Over several cups of coffee, Aisling poured the whole story of her marriage out, while Jean just listened.

  “Okay, honey,” Jean said, patting Aisling’s hand when she had finished recounting the anniversary scenario. “Don’t upset yourself going over any more of it. You’ve been through hell with that rat, and how you’ve hidden it for so long from your mom and dad, I’ll never know.”

  “I think it would nearly kill my mother if she knew,” Aisling said tearfully. “She still hasn’t accepted Pauline’s situation.”

  “Oh, pity about your mother!” Jean said angrily. She leaned across the table. “Listen, honey,” she said, prodding the table for emphasis, “you must live your life for yourself. You can’t live it for your mom or anybody else. It seems to me that you’ve wasted enough of your youth on that no-good husband of yours. Don’t waste any more of it.”

  Aisling nodded slowly. Then she said, “What about Jameson . . . are you shocked? Do you think I’m terrible?”

  “Shocked?” Jean repeated, a smile coming to her lips. “No, sir . . . I’m not shocked. It takes a whole lot more to shock me than that. People feuding and being hateful to each other shocks me – but not two people having loving feelings towards each other. Whatever people like your mom have to say – love affairs have gone on throughout all the ages. They even went on when we were young back in Ireland.” She shrugged, her eyes glinting mischieviously. “It really ain’t all that new, honey. Besides, you’re a very attractive young woman, and he’s a very charismatic, attractive man.” She rolled her eyes. “A little bohemian for an old dame like me – but I can certainly see his charms.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “Go on – tell me all about it. When did this thing start?”

  Aisling blushed and covered her face with her hands, like an awkward teenager. “I’m not even sure . . . probably at the wedding.” She moved her hands a little, and when she looked at her aunt, suddenly they were both smiling. “Actually, it was before that – shortly after we met.” She gave a shy giggle. “When we first met, it was the opposite – we were very hostile to one another.”

  Jean nodded. “That didn’t last long, though? I could tell there was something at the firework display. I wasn’t sure what, and I kind of forgot it with everything going on at the house.”

  Aisling’s face suddenly reddened. “I haven’t done anything wrong – we haven’t – I haven’t been unfaithful to Oliver.”

  Jean held her hands up. “That’s your business, honey – you’re a grown woman.”

  “Oh, God,” Aisling said, her voice barely a whisper, “I’m so scared. I’m scared of committing myself . . . and I’m more scared of what will happen if I don’t. I could regret this for the rest of my life.”

  Jean’s hand came across the table to cover Aisling’s. “You still have time to find out. You have a couple of weeks left. Just spend as much time with him as you can, and find out as much as you
can about each other. It’s the only way.” Her grip tightened on her niece’s hand. “Do you have any idea of the extent of Jameson’s feelings for you? How serious do you think it is?”

  Aisling bit her lip. “I know he likes me a lot,” she admitted. “An awful lot considering the short time we’ve known each other.”

  “He’s a real decent man,” Jean said, “and I would have complete trust in anything he said. Any man who would take on the responsibility of Thomas the way Jameson Carroll has is a real special guy.” She paused. “I don’t want you to think I’m encouraging you into some kind of cheap holiday affair – but I don’t want you to miss something that could change your life in a wonderful way. Like meeting Bruce changed mine.”

  “What about my parents?”

  Jean gave a toss of her head. “Forget them just now. They’re safely in Connecticut for the next few days.” She gave a devilish grin. “At least we hope they are, and not wandering round some train station in New York!”

  Aisling managed to raise a little smile at the thought herself.

  * * *

  It was evening when they arrived back at the house, and Bruce met them at the door with news that some neighbours had dropped by to invite them over for supper and drinks. The Ashtons were a nice, friendly couple who had talked to Aisling at the wedding. They had four young boys, and they were very interested on Aisling’s views on the best way to teach children to read. They had also told Bruce that they had some good photographs of the wedding reception that the family might like to see.

  “You don’t have to come,” Jean whispered to Aisling. “If you have something else you want to do, then you just go right ahead.”

  “I think,” Aisling said cagily, “that I’ll have a quick shower and change, and then see how things are . . .”

  “That’s fine by me, honey,” Jean said, “but I’m real happy to have supper at the Ashtons’ tonight. Lesley always does fabulous food, and it’ll save me cooking for Bruce.” She rolled her eyes mischievously. “I’ll go get him to fix us some nice cocktails, since I don’t have your mom here, worrying about us all ending up gin-soaked in the gutter!”

  Aisling laughed and headed upstairs. She showered, dried the worst of the dampness off her hair with the hair-dryer and then combed it out to finish off drying naturally.

  She picked a yellow floral dress that Jameson hadn’t seen. It was a simple shift-style dress that came just below the knee. She quickly zipped it up and slipped on her cream sandals. She took a few moments to touch some light perfume between her breasts and behind each ear, then she went downstairs to join her aunt and uncle who were watching the I Love Lucy Show on television.

  “This is an experiment,” Bruce warned Aisling, handing around the V-shaped Martiniglasses. “So blame my darling wife if it tastes damned awful.”

  “Oh, shush, Bruce!” Jean laughed. She turned to Aisling. “It’s a new recipe I got from a magazine,” she explained enthusiastically. “It’s called Magic Lady. It has brandy, coffee liqueur and Dubonnet shaken up and poured over crushed ice.” She tossed her head in her husband’s direction. “That’s if the goddamned bartender got all the measurements correctly!”

  Everyone roared with laughter and tipped their glasses together in a toast.

  “I’ll give it a go, anyway,” Aisling said gamely. She had never heard of half the drinks, far less tasted them. She took a little sip of the cocktail. It had a lovely, syrupy-sweet taste.

  “Well?” Jean said, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “What’s the verdict?”

  “Delicious!” Aisling pronounced. “Really, really nice.”

  “Oh, good!” Jean said. “I can add that to my list when we have friends over next. It’s really supposed to be drunk after a meal – but what the heck!”

  When she’d finished the sweet drink, Aisling turned to her aunt. “I’m just going to call over to . . .” she nodded in the direction of the Carroll’s house. “Then I’ll phone or come back over to let you know what I’m doing.”

  Jean patted her hand in answer – her eyes discreetly fixed on the comedy show.

  Aisling pushed the lightweight mosquito-door open and headed towards the now-familiar lakeside path.

  Twenty minutes or so later, she was back – sorely disappointed.

  There was no sign of any life around the big white, wooden house. The car had gone and the house was all locked up. Aisling wondered if something had happened – if Jameson had had to go off to New York. Or maybe someone had called him up and invited him and Thomas out. Maybe another woman. Maybe one of the women who had phoned him up the first day she was in the house. And maybe he’d gone – because he’d given up waiting for her.

  * * *

  The evening passed pleasantly. The Ashton family were like most of the other Americans she had met – extremely hospitable and welcoming – and the kids had kept Aisling very well occupied. They ranged in age from two up to seven – and she quickly discovered that Lesley and Alan needed no advice on how to help the boys read. The eldest three were already fairly adept at it, and their love of books and the pictures in them was more than obvious. There were children’s books in every room in the house, and the boys all sat in a perfect row – with Aisling in the middle – as she read them several stories before they went off to bed.

  The adults then sat down to eat at a friendly round table set with large wine glasses and sharp steak knives, and some easy music playing in the background. The meal was casual and relaxed with roast vegetables and beef in a spicy sauce, mopped up with large chunks of crusty bread. A home-made pudding of apple strudel and cream followed.

  Aisling was surprised that she felt hungry, and she polished off most of the meal with a couple of glasses of wine that helped to relax her into the whole thing.

  Since meeting Jameson Carroll, Aisling’s appetite had suddenly vanished, and food now no longer seemed either important or comforting. But tonight, she didn’t want to think of him, because he could be off out anywhere. Maybe even off out with another woman.

  She didn’t really think that was the case. In fact she knew that he wasn’t with another woman. But there was a childish, jealous little bit in her that entertained the idea every so often over the evening.

  He was off out somewhere, and Aisling didn’t have a clue where that somewhere might be.

  The night passed fairly quickly, and if Aisling’s thoughts hadn’t been dictated by her feelings for Jameson then it would have been a perfect night out. She enjoyed the food, the company and the conversation. And later she enjoyed looking at the photographs that the Ashtons had taken at the wedding and back at the lake later that night.

  Aisling’s heart had almost stopped several times when she caught sight of Jameson or Thomas in one of the frames. Thomas figured prominently in several of the photos, but his father was always in the background – where she knew he preferred to be.

  Aisling glanced over at Jean as they passed the photographs to each other, but apart from Jean commenting on how nice Thomas looked in one of the photos, she made no issue of Jameson in front of Bruce or their neighbours.

  * * *

  It was close to midnight when they got back to the house, and Aisling fought back the urge to walk down to the lake and look across at the white house. Just to check whether a light was on – a sign that Jameson was back home, a reassuring sign that he wasn’t too far away from her, that she could lie in bed and know that he was a lakeside path away from her. She could have made some excuse to Bruce and Jean about wanting to look at the stars, or feeling like a last walk out in the fresh air before bed.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she sat and had a hot cocoa with her aunt and uncle, and then headed upstairs to bed around half-past twelve. She lay for a while, staring at the same page in a magazine, and eventually dropped it on the floor unread. Then she turned out the light and closed her eyes, and finally drifted off into sleep.

  At some early hour in the morning she awoke with
a start, her heart pounding, her mouth dry and the palms of her hands damp with perspiration. She sat bolt upright in bed, wondering what on earth had brought this awful bout of anxiety on. And then a picture flashed in her mind – and she knew exactly what had caused it.

  It was the thought of losing the American artist from across the lake. The thought of never seeing him again.

  Whilst she had successfully managed to block him out of her mind for some of the time earlier on, at night her mind had refused to ignore it. She now knew, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that nothing was going to stop her from seeing Jameson Carroll.

  The decision made, the panicky feelings immediately started to subside, and were replaced with a feeling of energy. She threw back the bedcovers and quietly made her way downstairs and into the kitchen. She gulped down a glass of cold water, and then went over to the window to look out into the darkness.

  It would be several hours until it was daylight, and there was no point in staring out at the shadowy trees until then.

  She forced herself to go back upstairs to bed, and to close her eyes. To convince herself – like a child who is waiting for Christmas to come – that sleep is the quickest way to pass the time.

  Chapter 24

  Tullamore, County Offaly

  The shop doorbell tinkled and Pauline looked up from the bacon slicer which she had just washed and was now putting back together. Her face stiffened as she saw the blonde head of Rose Quinn appear through the door. She put the last piece of the machine back in its place, then she turned to her co-worker.

  “Are you all right there, until it’s time to close the shop up, Peenie?” she asked, her arms folded over defensively. She glanced back at Rose then gestured for her to go on through to the house. “You can make a start on lifting in the potato sacks,” she told the assistant, “and the vegetable boxes from the front door. And Peenie – would you keep an eye on Bernadette? Two of the Murphy girls are playing with her outside.”