Aisling looked up at him, and with the barest nod of her head risked her marriage and the life she’d known for years.
Oliver’s arms fell from her shoulders and rested on the bed-cover. “Is it . . .” he ventured, his brows deepening in disbelief, “is there another man?”
There was a brief moment’s hesitation before she took the final step. “Yes, Oliver,” she heard herself say quietly, “there is another man.”
“Holy Jesus!” There was no disguising the blow that her confession had just dealt him. “How? Who is it?”
And when there was no immediate reply, he answered his own question. “America. It was in America, wasn’t it? You met someone when you were over in America?”
She looked up at him now, surprised that the roof wasn’t falling in. Surprised that all the paralysing fear had vanished. “Yes. I did meet him in America.” Her look was direct and honest and her voice was strong. “I’m sorry having to tell you all this, Oliver – but I’m not sorry that it happened.”
“How,” he croaked, “can you just say that to me?”
“I can say it,” Aisling told him, “because you have spent years stupidly messing about with other women – right under my nose. And I’ve been even more stupid – pretending that I didn’t know – when we were the talk of the town.”
“That’s not true,” Oliver blustered now, his face reddening with denial. “People respect us, Aisling. They just see me as a bit of a Jack-the-lad . . . a ladies’ man or whatever. But they know there’s no real harm in it.”
Aisling’s eyes were wide, amazed at his perception of the situation. “But there is real harm in it, Oliver – very real harm.” Her voice was icy now and determined. “Anyway,” she snapped, “there’s no point arguing all this now – we’ve gone far beyond arguing about it.”
He took a deep breath. “Look, Aisling,” he said, calmer now. “Just how serious was the business in America? I mean, it couldn’t have been much more than a holiday fling – now, could it?”
Aisling’s eyebrows shot up as the suggestion. “Yes, Oliver – it could have been more than a holiday fling. And it was more than a holiday fling – much more.”
He moved back from her. “What are you saying?”
Aisling had never seen her husband like this before. Completely deflated – the wind taken out of his sails. “I’m saying,” she said quietly, “that I fell in love with another man in America – and that I’m still in love with him now. He’s a man who loves and respects me – and who I know would never betray me in the way that you have all through our marriage.”
He shook his head. “Let me get this straight,” he said, his voice incredulous. “Are you telling me . . . that our marriage is over – finished?”
Aisling looked up at the ceiling. “I suppose I am.”
“But, Aisling,” he said quietly, “we live in Ireland. We’re Catholics . . . and there’s no divorce.”
There was a pause. Long enough for Oliver to detect the slight uncertainty.
“I know all that,” Aisling said in a low voice, “and I know what it all means.”
“What about your mother?” he asked now. “And the rest of your family? Have you stopped to consider the effect all this will have on them?”
Aisling flinched, and he knew he had hit the most vulnerable spot. “You forced all this tonight, Oliver,” she said. “All this business with the adoption forms – you forced all this out of me.”
“Maybe,” he said, “it’s a good thing I did, before you went ahead and did something stupid. Something that could wreck more than our lives.” Oliver’s voice had returned to being calm and reasonable. “Look, Aisling,” he said, seeking her hand, “I understand how all this has happened. Sure, I take a good part of the blame myself . . .”
“No!” Aisling said, pulling her hand away. “You don’t understand anything about it at all, Oliver. I love Jameson Carroll in a way that I never, ever loved you!” She turned to look at him full on. “It wasn’t just a cheap holiday affair – don’t kid yourself. I really, really love him.”
Oliver took a deep breath. “And is he a married man?”
“No,” she answered defiantly. “He’s been divorced for years.”
“Divorced?” Oliver’s brows were deep again, contemplating this new information. “Sure, that’s no help to you, Aisling. No help at all. There’s no future here for either of you. As far as the Catholic Church is concerned, you’re both still married to other people.” He shook his head. “It would kill your mother, Aisling. No two ways around it – it would kill her. Bad enough with what Pauline got up to – how will she face people in the shop every day, if it gets out about you?”
Aisling’s mouth gaped open in shock. “How dare you?” she gasped. “How dare you?”
“OK – OK!” he said, his hands raised defensively. “But I’m only saying what others will say to you.” Then, his shoulders suddenly slumped. “I suppose I’ve only myself to blame. I’ve brought it all on myself.”
There was a long silence. Then, Aisling said quietly: “I suppose it’s better that it’s all come out. It would have had to come out eventually. At least we both know where we stand now.”
“I can’t believe it, Aisling,” Oliver said, his voice low and wounded. “When I was driving back tonight, all I could think of was us having a child of our own at long last. I thought it would make us really happy.”
“At one time, Oliver,” she told him, “it would have made us happy. But that time has long gone.”
There was another lengthy pause. “It’s late tonight,” he said. “Maybe things will seem different in the morning.”
Aisling looked at him without saying anything. Then, when Oliver could bear it no more, he turned away and switched the bedside lamp off.
Chapter 40
The following morning, Aisling pretended she was still asleep when Oliver was up and moving around, getting ready for work. She also pretended she was asleep when he bent down to kiss her, and whisper ‘I love you,’ in her ear.
Shortly afterwards she came downstairs and phoned her mother.
“You’re surely moving around bright and early this morning,” Maggie said approvingly.
“I thought I might cycle over,” Aisling said, “and see how the rest of the things we brought back fitted Pauline and Bernadette.”
“Do then,” Maggie said. “We’re quiet enough this morning, your father has Charles and Peenie to keep things going in the shop.”
When she arrived, there was some activity going on outside the shop with the men, regarding some burst sacks of flour. After greeting her flustered father and brother, and the ever-amiable, smiling Peenie, Aisling picked her way through the clouds of white dust, and headed through the back of the shop to the house.
Maggie, Pauline and Bernadette were just starting breakfast.
“I kept you some French toast and bacon,” Maggie said cheerfully. “It’s in the oven.”
Aisling joined them at the table, and both she and her mother recounted some of the places they’d seen in America, and the things they had done.
When they were washing up, Maggie turned to Pauline. “Would you go out to the shed and bring in a bucket of turf?”
Pauline looked at her mother. “We have plenty in the basket,” she said, “but I’ll get you more when Aisling has told me all about the wedding.”
“Go now, I want a bucket of small, dry pieces,” Maggie said, “to heat the oven up quick to make some bread. And anyway,” she added, “I want a word with Aisling on my own.”
Aisling’s heart suddenly leapt. Had Oliver rung her mother this morning?
When Pauline closed the door behind her, Maggie turned to Aisling. “What’s going on?” she said in a serious voice. “Don’t try to tell me any different – because I know there’s something wrong.”
Aisling took a deep breath. “It’s Oliver and me . . . we’re not getting on.”
Maggie closed her eyes and sunk down i
nto the big chair beside the fire, the dishtowel clutched in her hands. “You haven’t told him about the American, have you? I warned you – I warned you not to tell him!”
“It’s got nothing to do with that,” Aisling said quietly. “Things weren’t right long before I went to America.”
“Aisling,” her mother said, “don’t try to change the subject! Just answer my question. Have you told him about your carry-on in America?”
Aisling felt a stab of anger at her mother describing it as carry-on. “Yes!” she snapped. “Yes, I have told him. But none of that would have happened if we’d been getting on before I even thought of going to America. And you knew that.” She looked her mother in the eye now. “Tell me, did you advise Oliver to enquire about us adopting a child?”
Maggie sat up in the chair and folded her arms defensively. “I’m not going to deny it. I did suggest that you should adopt a child, Aisling – and I still think you should.” She got up from the armchair, and stood close to her daughter. “All this American nonsense has got to stop. Do you hear me?” Her voice now had a steely note in it. “It’s got to stop right now. There’s no future in it for you. You’re a married woman – and nothing can change that. Even your Auntie Jean thinks it’s for the best that you and Oliver make a go of things . . .”
Aisling’s heart skipped a beat. “Auntie Jean?” she said. “When were you talking to her?”
“Oh – one evening last week,” Maggie said with a wave of her hand. “And the impression I got from Jean was that the big American fella was getting on just fine there without you. She agreed with me that it would be the best solution all round if you just settled back in Ireland – if everyone just went back to the way it was before all this nonsense started.”
“But Mammy,” Aisling said pleadingly, “I don’t love Oliver any more. How can I stay for the rest of my life with a man that I don’t love?”
“Love?” Maggie snorted. “Love indeed!” She prodded Aisling’s shoulder. “It’s about time you grew up, Aisling. You’re living in a dream world. You need to face up to facts. You’re a Catholic – and being a Catholic means certain things. It means sticking to your marriage vows for better or worse. It means putting up with the bad – and making the best of it. There’s a lot worse husbands out there than Oliver Gayle.”
“But Mammy . . .” Aisling said, tears springing to her eyes.
Maggie held her hand up. “My advice to you is to go home and sort things out with Oliver as quick as you can.” Her voice dropped. “If he’ll have you back after your disgraceful carry-on. There’s many a man would have shown you the door as soon as he found out.”
“And what about his carry-on?” Aisling said. “I know you’re quite happy to pretend that he’s the perfect husband, just because he’s always got a smile on his face and a quick joke. If you want to know what kind of a reputation he has, you ask Pauline or Carmel!”
Maggie’s chest puffed out with indignation. “Pauline has never had a bad word to say for Oliver. In fact, I’m sure she used to have a bit of a grá for him when she was younger. I’ve often heard her say how lucky you are to have married Oliver Gayle.”
There was a sudden silence. Then, Aisling took a deep breath. “Look, Mammy . . . I don’t want this to cause a falling out between us.”
Maggie nodded her head slowly. “But it will, Aisling – if you don’t listen to reason, it most certainly will.” She halted. “The long school holidays don’t suit you, Aisling. I’ve seen you the same every summer, brooding there on your own, feeling sorry for yourself, when you should be thankful for your lovely home and all you’ve got.” More than a hint of bitterness was evident in her tone. “You’re well off and you don’t even know it.”
Just then, the door opened and Pauline came in with the basketful of turf. She banged it down on the hearth and with a loud sigh started to throw some sods on the fire.
“And there’s no point in you signalling your disapproval,” Maggie rounded on her younger daughter now. “Don’t think I didn’t see you listening there at the back door.”
“Oh, Mammy, for God’s sake give it a rest, will you?” Pauline snapped back. “Aisling’s a grown woman, and what she does is her own business.”
“Is that right?” Maggie was up on her feet now, her voice high with indignation. “And I suppose what you did was your business, too? I suppose that you coming back here with an illegitimate child has nothing to do with the rest of us?”
Aisling stood up. “Don’t start on Pauline now, or I’m going home. I’m not feeling too bright, and I don’t need all these arguments.”
Pauline grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair. “Come on, Aisling,” she said. “I’ll get Bernadette and the bike, and we’ll come back to the house with you for a while. I could do with getting out of here.” Both girls started towards the door.
Maggie’s face dropped. “Now, there’s no need for all of this,” she said in a watery voice. “I’m only trying to advise Aisling . . . there’s the Church and the school and everything to think of, and I’m only trying to do my duty as any good Catholic mother would.”
Aisling turned back. “It’s really not my fault, Mammy. If Oliver had done what he should have over the years, I wouldn’t be in this situation now.”
“Men are different,” Maggie stated. “Some of them are made that way, and it’s up to us women to keep them on the straight and narrow – not to be outdoing them.”
Aisling looked back at her mother, and then without another word, she followed her sister out of the house.
* * *
Back at her own house, with little Bernadette sleeping on the sofa, Aisling poured the whole story about Jameson Carroll to Pauline. She missed nothing out, and was so exhausted re-living the whole situation, that she finished up cradled in her sister’s arms.
“I can’t believe it!” Pauline said at the end of it, rubbing Aisling’s shoulders to comfort her. “I could never in my wildest dreams have imagined you going with another man.”
Aisling sighed, searching in her pocket for a hanky.
“Before I went to America, I would have never imagined it myself. Maybe it would have been better if I’d never gone . . . I can see it definitely would have been better for everyone else. And yet . . .”
“What?’ Pauline asked.
“And yet,” Aisling whispered, “I don’t regret a minute of it. It was the best thing that I’ve ever felt in my entire life . . . I would never have believed I could feel so happy with a man.” She looked at her sister now. “I can’t even begin to describe how he made me feel. The way I felt about Oliver at our very best . . . doesn’t even come close to this.”
Pauline bit her lip. “I really don’t know what to say . . . Mammy was right about what I think of Oliver. I’ve always felt you were really lucky being married to him.”
“But you must know the name he has around town for going with women,” Aisling said quietly.
Pauline gave a little shrug. “I’m sure most of it was harmless . . . a bit of flirting.”
“If you were married to him,” Aisling said, “then you would find out that none of it was harmless.” Her voice dropped. “Sure, he left me with hardly an ounce of confidence in myself. And I know well what you think of him, Pauline – I was head over heels about him when we met. I thought I could change him – but I couldn’t.”
Pauline turned away, embarrassed. “What can I say, Aisling? I’m the last one to offer any advice. Look at the hames I’ve made of my own life already.”
“I’m not asking for advice,” Aisling said. “It’s too late for that now’”
“What do you really want to do, Aisling?” Pauline asked.
“I want to go back to America,” she said. “I want to go back to live at Lake Savannah with Jameson and Thomas. I know in my heart that it’s the right thing to do.”
Pauline bit her lip again. “America?” she said, with trepidation in her voice. She paused. “I suppose it would ha
ve to be America . . . there’s no way you could be with him over here.”
Aisling nodded slowly. “I know all that . . . that’s why it’s so difficult.”
“Have you heard from him since you came back?” Pauline asked.
Aisling shook her head. “I said I would wait until I sorted things out with Oliver. There’s no point in writing or phoning until I have something to tell him.” She rubbed under both her eyes with her hanky, then tucked a blonde wing behind her ear. “Anyway, I’m not even sure where he is at the moment . . . he’s probably still at his parents’ house in New York.”
“Oh, Aisling,” Pauline whispered. “I can’t believe it . . . you were always the one that everything went right for. I always thought you were so lucky, with your handsome husband, your lovely house and your nice teaching job.”
Aisling smiled weakly at her sister. “You sound exactly like Mammy.”
Pauline laughed now. “For God’s sake, don’t say that! I really don’t mean it like Mammy. It’s just that I’m frightened in case you make a mistake.” She took a deep breath. “What if Oliver really has changed? What if you went ahead and adopted a baby and everything turned out fine?” Pauline realised now that that’s what she hoped with all her heart would happen. If things worked out fine with her and Jack Byrne, sure they could all be one big happy family, with her and Aisling out for Sunday walks with children running around and babies being pushed in their prams.
“I don’t believe he can change,” Aisling said. “I’m sure it would all be a big novelty for a while . . . but like everything else, it would become too ordinary and boring for him. He would be like a caged bird, hopping about to see what he could move on to next.” She looked at Pauline, tears starting again. “He’ll never change, and what chance would I have then – tied to him and a house with a baby?”
“You could be worse off,” Pauline said with a wry smile. She touched the sleeping child’s leg. “You could be in my shoes . . . stuck at home with Mammy and Daddy forever. As Mammy never fails to tell me, there’s no decent man will ever look at me again.” She still hadn’t told Aisling or her parents about Jack Byrne. The time wasn’t right. And anyway, what was there to tell at this stage? Just a few trips to the cinema, and a couple of walks out by the Mullingar lakes. There was enough going on at home with all Aisling’s problems, and Charles’s increasingly odd behaviour – coming in with cut eyes and boxed ears and refusing to say where they came from. There was enough going on, without Pauline throwing yet another spanner in the Kearneys’ works.
Aisling Gayle Page 39
