She came back across the room, her feet cold now on the wooden floor, and climbed back into the bed. She sat upright, the covers draped around her, and her gaze fixed on the closed window. It was unusually cold, the first time Aisling had felt properly cold in America. It reminded her of the nights that she had sat up in Ireland, waiting on Oliver to come home. The nights when she had dozed over, curled up in front of the turf fire, only to waken hours later, the fire dead and her limbs stiff and aching from the cold. The difference now was that she had a choice.
She now had somewhere to go – and someone who wanted her.
Even after wrapping extra blankets around her, Aisling could not warm up. She toyed with going downstairs to the kitchen for one of the hot-water bottles that Jean had hung behind the door for them. Jean had warned them that the temperatures sometimes plummeted at night like this.
She threw the bedcovers off, but instead of grabbing her dressing-gown, she found herself pulling on jeans and a blouse, and then she went to the wardrobe and found a heavy cable-knit sweater that she’d brought for this type of weather.
She went downstairs quietly, lifted her hooded jacket from the coatstand, then silently headed out of the front door.
The garden was eerily quiet, with just the background noise of the rain and the odd chirrupy cricket sound. She half-walked and half-ran down the moonlit garden and then she reached the lakeside path – that she now felt she knew every step of – and she kept moving until at last the familiar white house came into view. But even before she reached it, she knew that Jameson Carroll was not there.
She walked up the garden path and knocked hard on the door, but – just as she had dreaded – there was no reply. She gave it a few seconds, then walked around the side of the house to the garage. The door gaped open, the way it had been left a few days ago when they departed.
Disappointed – and suddenly aware that she was out alone in the middle of the night – Aisling drew the hood of her jacket tightly around her damp hair, and ran all the way back to the safety of the Harpers’ house.
A steaming cup of coffee put some warmth back into her, and then she headed upstairs very quietly and had a hot shower. She felt the tension leave her muscles as she lathered soap over her body and then turned around and around, rinsing it off under the hot jets of water. She stood there under the water, her mind running over the situation with Jameson again and again. What if he didn’t come back? Maybe he had decided that the relationship was going nowhere – because of her cowardice, and fear of taking control of her own life. Maybe he thought it was easier if they didn’t see each other again.
How long she stood in the shower she didn’t know. It was only when she became aware of the water having suddenly turned cold that she reached to turn it off. And then, when she stepped out of the shower, she realised the water still pouring down her face was in fact tears.
Chapter 29
The early part of the following day passed with a visit to an art gallery in a nearby town, lunch at a favourite steakhouse of Bruce’s, and shopping in another small town they had not yet visited. As she walked around the art gallery, Aisling’s thoughts were drawn to Jameson’s work, and the exhibition she wished she had been able to see in New York.
Later the time passed more quickly as she busied herself buying more presents to take home. She was delighted to find a really nice blue swing-jacket for Pauline at a good price. She knew her sister would be delighted, because she had very little money to spend on herself, and she would never get these sorts of styles locally. Then, a few shops further down, she bought a pair of red-check Capri pants for herself, and when she reached the pay-desk, she ran back and got another pair in a blue check to match Pauline’s jacket.
Later that evening, more friends of Bruce and Jean called around with photographs they’d taken at the wedding, and to see the ones that Bruce and Jean had picked up in town that afternoon. It passed another drizzly evening, chatting and sorting food and drinks.
Aisling looked at the pictures of the smiling bride and groom and thought how optimistic and happy they looked. Just like her and Oliver. Then she looked at the photographs taken at the wedding – of her in her pink suit and pink shoes – and wondered in amazement at how long ago it seemed. And yet it had only been little more than two weeks ago. So much had happened in so short a time, and she knew she would never be the same again.
It was only a matter of time until she would be walking off the plane to be greeted by Oliver. Only a matter of time until she would be back in the life she led before she met Jameson Carroll.
The visitors stayed until quite late, and Aisling forced herself to remain downstairs laughing and chatting, and being generally sociable for her aunt and uncle’s sake. When they left, around midnight, Aisling went outside with her mother and Jean to wave them off.
“Thanks be to God that the rain has eased off,” Maggie commented as they walked back in the drive, being careful to dodge the heavy drops of rain from the dripping branches.
“The forecast is for the hotter weather to return,” Jean said, “so you’ll be able to get back to your swimming again, Aisling.”
The kettle was put on for a final hot drink of the night, and everything tidied up.
“I’m going to head on upstairs,” Aisling said, unable to contain a fairly large yawn.
Then as she was bidding everyone goodnight, a loud knock sounded on the door.
“I wonder if it’s our guests . . . maybe they left something behind?” Jean said, rushing to check.
Maggie looked in alarm at Aisling. “Who else could it be, at this hour of the night?”
Aisling shrugged in answer, but her heart lurched a moment later when she saw the tall figure of Jameson Carroll walking in behind Jean – and one glance at his serious face told her that something was wrong.
“Hi . . .” he said, looking round at everyone. “I’m real sorry for disturbing you folks at such a late hour, but I’ve just got back from New York, and I’ve . . .” His hand came up to his forehead. “Well . . . I reckon I’ve just got some very bad news.”
Aisling felt her legs suddenly go weak. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Sit down, Jameson – sit down,” Jean said, rushing over to pull a chair out at the kitchen table for him.
“Thank you, Jean.” He sat. “You see, I just walked in the door and the phone was ringing, and it was a hospital in New York to say that Thomas had been brought in after a car accident.” He lowered his eyes. “It seems he’s pretty bad.”
Aisling stood rooted to the spot. Then, her legs eventually moved and she went over and put her hand somewhere between his shoulder and his tanned neck. “What happened?” she whispered.
“It seems,” he said hoarsely, “that he was in a parking lot with my parents . . . and he was carrying some boxes. He had them piled up, and a car came tearing round . . . and he didn’t see it.”
Aisling’s eyes were wide with horror. “Oh, Jameson! How – how bad is he?”
He turned to look up at her, and she could see the pain written all over his face. “He’s in theatre right now. Apparently there’s internal bleeding . . . they reckon it might be from his spleen, and broken ribs . . . and whatever else they find.”
“Oh, dear God above!” Maggie said, blessing herself.
Jean now moved across to Jameson, and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Jameson – I’m so, so sorry . . . poor little Thomas!”
“I’m going to have to do a return journey to New York, right away. My parents have had to give consent for the operation since I wasn’t there . . . and I want to be right by his side when he comes round.”
“Of course, of course . . . the poor boy,” Maggie said, dabbing a hanky to her eyes. “It’s his daddy he’ll be looking for when he wakes up.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be up to the drive?” Jean said quietly. “It’s a lot after the drive you’ve just made back here.”
Jameson’s head moved up and
down slowly. “If I have to drive for the next twenty-four hours solid – I’ll be there for him.”
“I’ll come with you,” Aisling suddenly blurted out. “I’ll help to keep you awake.”
“No, Aisling,” her mother said, giving her a strange look, “we’ll ask one of the men. It would be far better if a man went with him.”
“I actually came over to ask Aisling to come along,” Jameson said, standing up. “Thomas would love to see her more than anybody else.”
That was all Aisling needed to hear. She touched his hand. “I’ll only be a minute – I’ll just go and pack a few things.” Then she bounded off upstairs.
“There’s some hot coffee in this pot,” Maggie said, her manner distracted. “Or maybe you should have something to eat?”
“I’d appreciate the coffee, ma’am,” Jameson said quietly, “but I couldn’t eat anything just now.” He looked from Maggie to Jean now. “I’m real sorry about all this . . . I hope I haven’t spoiled any plans you all had. You know . . . with Aisling and everything.”
“This is far more important,” Jean said. “Aisling would only be fretting about Thomas in any case. She’s become extremely fond of him – hasn’t she, Maggie?”
Maggie nodded her head. “Oh, she has indeed.” She came over and placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of Jameson. “I’ll just go and see if I can help Aisling . . . and maybe talk her into letting one of the men go . . .”
Jean followed her out into the hall. “I wouldn’t do that, Maggie,” she told her sister quietly. “Aisling’s a grown woman – and a very kind and good woman. She’s got to do what she feels is the right thing for herself.”
Maggie’s face tightened. “We’ve all got to do what we feel is the right thing,” she said, turning on her heel and marching up the stairs.
She met Aisling coming out of the bedroom as she reached the final step.
“I’m going, Mammy,” Aisling said, not meeting her eyes. “Please don’t say anything . . .”
Maggie shrugged. “What’s there to say? You’ve obviously made up your mind.”
“Jameson needs me . . . and so will Thomas when he comes out of the operation.”
“It’s his mother the child needs,” Maggie said, her eyes full of anger, “not someone he’s just met – a black stranger.”
Aisling took a deep breath. “If the world was perfect, then that’s the way it would be – but it’s not. The fact is, Thomas is in a strange hospital with his elderly grandparents, and he needs as many people who care for him around as possible.”
“I’m not a fool, Aisling,” her mother said slowly. “If it was only helping out that you were doing – I wouldn’t say a word. But it’s just dawned on me – God help my foolishness – that there’s more between you and the boy’s father than you just being helpful. It was written all over both your faces.”
Aisling flushed a deep red. “Look, Mammy – if this accident hadn’t happened, it’s likely that I wouldn’t have seen him again before we go back. He was in New York, and he could have stayed there for weeks . . . he often does.”
Maggie shook her head, her eyes pained. “You know perfectly well what I’m saying, Aisling.” Then, after a long, awkward pause she said in a strangled little voice, “You’re a married woman, and if you do anything you shouldn’t with that man – you’ll be breaking your marriage vows. The vows you took in front of God.” Her voice dropped. “Make no mistake about it, Aisling. You’ll be committing a mortal sin.”
* * *
As they pulled out of the drive, Jameson stretched a hand across to Aisling. “I’m sorry that I put you in an awkward position – but I really needed you to come with me.”
“Don’t worry,” Aisling said quietly. “Thomas is all that matters . . . I still can’t believe what’s happened.”
“I can’t either,” Jameson said, looking out into the damp, dark road that stretched way ahead of them. “It’s like I’m in the middle of some kind of nightmare . . .”
She stroked his arm gently. “We’ll just concentrate on getting there. Who knows, by the time we arrive, things might be much better.”
Jameson moved the car into a higher gear. “Yeah,” he said, disconsolately, “but on the other hand, they might just be a whole lot worse.”
Chapter 30
New York
Apart from a quick stop for coffee to help keep them awake, they made the journey in good time considering the wet conditions. Any conversation between them was overshadowed by the thoughts of Thomas lying on an operating table fighting for his life.
As they pulled up in the deserted hospital carpark, Aisling was grateful to be able to move her cramped limbs and climb out of the car. She closed her door and went round to the driver’s side – but there was no attempt from Jameson to get out of the vehicle.
She bent down to the window, and then she saw him – his head on the steering-wheel, cradled in his arms – and his whole body heaving with racking sobs.
Aisling hauled the heavy car door open and pulled him into her arms.
“I don’t think I can face it, Aisling. I can’t go in.” He shook his head. “What if. . .?”
Aisling took a deep breath. “We have to go in, Jameson.” She ran her fingers gently through his thick, wiry hair. “And if he has come round from the operation, then he’ll be looking for you, and wondering why you’re not there.”
Then, slowly, he moved – and together they walked into the hospital building, Aisling holding on to his hand very tightly.
When they checked in at reception, they were informed that Thomas had come through his operation, and was in a special care unit on the fourth floor. Jameson was relieved that he was safely over the first hurdle, but as they rode upstairs in the lift, Aisling saw the colour suddenly drain from his face.
“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.
“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s just that the thought of seeing him sick . . . he’s always been so healthy.” He paused. “Considering he’s a Down’s syndrome kid, he’s had very few problems apart from the expected chest infections and stuff like that.”
“And he’ll be healthy again,” Aisling told him confidently. “You’ll soon see.”
When they reached the unit, Jameson had to spend a frustrating few minutes convincing the staff that he was indeed Thomas’s father before being allowed in to see him. They then started checking on Aisling’s relationship to Thomas – and Jameson’s temper broke.
“For Chrisssake!” he snapped at the officious receptionist. “We’ve just travelled hundreds of miles to be with my son! If you don’t show me where he is – I’m going to barge right through and find out for myself!”
The lady’s hands came up in defeat. “Okay,” she said, “but we have to obey regulations. He’s a pretty sick boy – and he hasn’t come round fully from the anaesthetic.” Her face softened a little. “It’s nothing personal, Mr Carroll – we have to check out all our visitors.”
They followed a nurse down the corridor, and then they had to wait outside the room while the nurse checked on Thomas. She stuck her head out of the door a few moments later, beckoning them to come in. “Just for a few moments,” she whispered.
Jameson went in first, with Aisling following close behind. She felt herself stiffen up when she heard the gulp of air that Jameson took when he saw Thomas lying on the bed.
He stood like a statue just staring down at the prone figure.
Then, mechanically, he turned to the side to allow Aisling to move in closer. As she looked at the almost unrecognisable shape on the bed, her earlier confidence plummeted. He was fast asleep . . . or still unconscious. Aisling couldn’t tell which. And he seemed to have an endless number of tubes and drips attached to his arms, face and chest.
His chest was also heavily bandaged and swollen to twice its normal size.
All in all – he looked barely alive.
“Thomas?” Aisling said softly.
But th
ere was no reaction. Nothing to tell that he was there, apart from a slight rise and fall in his bandaged chest.
Aisling kept watching – frightened to take her eyes off him in case she missed something. And frightened that if she did move her gaze – she might have to look into Jameson’s eyes.
She couldn’t bear that. Not just yet.
They stood in silence, close together, without saying a word. Just watching and waiting. Then, the nurse came back in, and indicated that the doctor was now available to speak to them. Aisling looked up at Jameson – and his dark eyes were every bit as hollow and empty as she had feared.
The doctor was in the ward office waiting to see him. “Technically speaking,” he said, “the operation to remove your son’s spleen has been a success. “ He halted for a moment. “But – there are unfortunately some complications.”
Jameson’s eyes glazed over.
“He has a number of fractured ribs – and his arm is badly broken.”
“They’ll heal,” Jameson said, “won’t they?”
The doctor hesitated. “Normally they do . . . but at the moment we’re more concerned about any recurrence of internal bleeding. When Thomas comes round from the anaesthetic fully – we’ll have to keep him very still for a while to give him every possible chance of recovery.”
Aisling glanced at Jameson. He had a finger poised on his lips, preventing any questions from slipping out. Questions that just might provoke answers he didn’t want to hear.
He gave a jerky kind of nod, indicating that he’d taken in the information.
They walked along the corridor, and went back down in the lift to the ground floor where the restaurant and restrooms were.
“If you want to freshen up,” Jameson said, “I’ll order us some breakfast and coffee.”
Aisling Gayle Page 28
