Aisling Gayle (18 page)

“So . . . what do you do, yourself?” Jack finally asked in a low, well-spoken voice.

Pauline swallowed hard, her mouth and throat suddenly very dry. This was the difficult part, when she knew that the men were weighing up whether or not they would ask her out again. Seeing how the land lay.

“I work,” she said. “I work in the shop – my father’s shop.” She hadn’t really meant to tell him anything that personal – but for some reason she wanted to let him know that she had a decent family that owned a shop. She didn’t want him to think that she was like Rose Quinn – the type of girl that went off with young lads, who carried half-bottles of whiskey in their pockets.

There was a silence, as though he were considering her words carefully.

“Whereabouts did you say the shop was?” he asked, slowing down as they came to a bad bend in the road.

“Just outside Tullamore,” Pauline replied, hardly aware of what she was saying. She hadn’t noticed before how dark it was on this part of the road at night. She’d driven it with Rose a few times, and she’d often been on it with her parents and Aisling and Oliver. But she’d never noticed just how dark it was.

She lowered her head to look out of the car window, but there was nothing to see. Not a house-light to be seen – and nothing in the sky but shifting, dark clouds. She couldn’t even see the time on her watch it was so dark in the car.

Her mouth and throat were really dry now – and her hands clammy.

The lights of Tyrellspass came into view, and brought with them a great, silent wave of relief within Pauline. She found herself chatting again, asking whether he’d ever been inside the castle in Tyrellspass, or if he knew anyone from the village. They talked about a few of the well-known names, and before long they were back out in the dark again – heading towards Kilbeggan.

“What about yourself?” she said to fill the silence, and to steer the subject away from herself. “Do you work locally?”

“No – not locally,” he said. “I spend a good bit of the week travelling. I’m only around at the weekends in the Midlands.”

That still didn’t tell Pauline an awful lot. But then, she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming herself with information. She wondered again if Jack Byrne had something to hide. And if he had, no doubt it was the obvious thing. The thing men like that hid: a wife and family.

“I’m only back from England this last year,” he said quietly, “and I go back and forward there every couple of months.”

“You certainly get about a bit,” Pauline said, trying to sound flippant and confident. “And I suppose you have a girlfriend in every town?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t go out that much – just the weekends.” He turned his head towards her now, and she could just make out his profile in the dim light. “What about yourself?”

“Weekends,” she said. “I’m too busy during the week, unless it’s the odd play in town or something like that.”

Pauline felt almost weak with relief when at long last they came in view of Tullamore town. She lifted her bag from
the floor, and checked the buttons on her cardigan again.

Then, just as they neared the first house, the car started to slow down – and Pauline’s heart jolted in her chest.

“I’m just going to pull over for a bit,”
Jack Byrne said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. Then, before she could protest, he had turned off the road and was heading down a small, dark lane. A few moments later, the car came to a halt in the dark.

“I’d rather if we just went straight on,” Pauline said, her heart now beating quickly. “My brother will be waiting up for me.”

But Jack Byrne said nothing. He just sat there silently.

Pauline looked out of the window, her moistened palm gripping the door handle. Her mind was racing now, as she debated whether or not she could run in her high heels. She could always kick them off and run in her stocking feet. She could run fast – she had always come first or second in races in school.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said in a sudden burst.

Pauline took a gulp of air and forced herself to look at him. “What?” she said, her voice sounding strangled and hoarse – and her hand still on the handle of the door. She had slipped off one of her shoes, and if he made a move towards her – she’d brain him with it!

There was another pause. “I like you,” he said quietly,
“and I’d really like to see you again . . . but there’s something
you need to know about me.”

“What?” Pauline repeated in a feverish tone.

“I was married . . .”

Pauline felt a huge wave of relief pass over her. He was married! So what? She hadn’t expected any better from him. He would have been too good to be true otherwise.

“My wife . . .”

“Doesn’t understand you?” Pauline said.

He shook his head. “No . . .” He gave a bitter sort of laugh. “She understood me all right . . .”

Pauline waited. But her hand had slid from the door handle.

“She died . . . two years ago. My wife died after having our little girl.”

Pauline felt as though someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over her. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jack,” she whispered. “I’m really sorry.”

Chapter 16

“I’m not going to pretend that it’s been easy,” Pauline said in a slightly defensive tone, “because it certainly hasn’t – but I’ve never once regretted having Bernadette.”

“I admire you for that,” Jack Byrne said gently. “A lot of girls over in England would just have had a child adopted or got rid of it – and no one back home would have been any the wiser.”

Pauline took a deep breath, amazed at the easy way she had been talking to this fellow. They’d been sitting in the car talking for over an hour, and in that time they’d covered a lot of ground in each other’s lives. First, Jack had told her all about his wife Peggy’s heart condition which they hadn’t realised was so serious until she was giving birth, and then he had filled her in on his life since Peggy had died. And all about how he had had to move back from England to have the baby near its grandparents and people who he could trust to help him out. Kind people who insisted that he needed the odd night out to have some sort of life for himself.

“Dancing is the one thing I love,” Jack admitted, “and so did Peggy. We used to go to all the Irish dancehalls when we were over in England.”

He had a natural and easy way of talking and listening, and before she knew it, Pauline had opened up and told him the story about Bernadette. “They asked me to consider both options in the hospital – but I could never, ever have gone through with an abortion.” She fiddled with her hair. “And I spent a couple of nights lying awake thinking about having her adopted . . . but I couldn’t go through with that either.”

There was a little silence. “I don’t mean to be nosey,” Jack said quietly, “but what about the child’s father? Did he offer to stand by you or what?”

Pauline’s back stiffened. “It wasn’t like that,” she whispered heatedly. “He offered to help in any way he could, but I wouldn’t let him. It was a mistake, a
terrible
mistake . . . and it was all my own fault. I knew he was married . . .
happily
married, and I should never have had anything to do with him.” She paused to catch her breath. “I think if I’d asked him, he might have left his wife, but I
couldn’t
.”

“It must have been hard for you,” he said in a low voice.

“It was hard for
both
of us,” Pauline stressed. “I couldn’t go breaking up a marriage, and it would always have been there between us . . . all those lives changed because of one stupid incident. That would have been a terrible situation.” Then, to her horror, a huge sob suddenly came into her throat. “I’ll regret what happened to my dying day. I let myself and other people down . . . but at least I didn’t let Bernadette down. I’ve brought her up to the best of my ability so far. I’ve always put her first and I always will.”

Jack’s hand reached out and covered hers. “Well,” he said quietly. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, and I admire you for it. It’s no easy job bringing up a child on your own.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Pauline whispered.

“I’m not just being nice – I mean it.” He squeezed her hand tightly. “I’m glad we’ve had the chance to talk so honestly, and I think you and me have more in common than we might have thought.”

Pauline nodded and squeezed his hand back.

* * *

As the car pulled up outside the shop, Pauline’s eyes automatically moved up towards the bedroom window. “The light’s on – Bernadette must have woken up.”

Jack leaned across her and opened her car door. “You’d better go on in,” he told her. “You’ll only be worrying otherwise.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I really enjoyed chatting to you . . . I feel stupid for getting things so wrong about you. You’ve been so understanding about Bernadette and everything.” She halted. “And all you’ve been through yourself . . .”

“Don’t be worrying about anything,” he said, smiling. “I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

Pauline glanced anxiously towards the downstairs part of the house now. “There’s something going on . . .” she said, swinging her legs out of the car. “All the lights in the house are on!”

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Jack said, opening the driver’s door.

Then suddenly, the front door of the house flew open. “Where were you?” Charles demanded, his face bursting red. “Bernadette’s not well – she keeps getting sick. I was just going to phone for an ambulance.”

“An ambulance?” Pauline shrieked. She rushed towards the house, her high-heels clicking loudly on the flagged pavement. “Where is she – what happened?”

“I’m not sure . . .” Charles said to her disappearing back,
“but it might have something to do with the statue . . .”

“The statue?” Pauline’s almost hysterical voice echoed all the way down the hallway.

“Is there anything I can do?” Jack asked, coming to the front door. He was wary of intruding, and wary of what Pauline’s brother might have to say to a man who had kept his sister out until two in the morning.

“Come in – come in,” Charles said, a hand running agitatedly through his thick hair. “You might know what’s wrong with her.” He led the way down the hall to the kitchen. “I’m not convinced that it wasn’t the statue.”

The two men went down the long hallway and into the kitchen, where Pauline was nursing Bernadette on her knee.

“Been sick, Mammy,” the child was saying, cuddling into her mother.

“How is she?” Jack asked.

Pauline shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure . . . she’s a bit hot and clammy.” She leaned forward to look at her brother. “How long has she been like this, Charles?”

Charles looked up towards the ceiling. “Well . . .” he started, “she first woke up around . . . nine or ten o’clock.”

“And?” Pauline prompted. “What was she like then? Was she sick or anything?”

“As far as I know, she was fine,” Charles said, trying to remember back.

The knocker on the front door sounded loudly.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Pauline said, alarmed. “You didn’t actually phone for the ambulance, did you?”

Charles turned back into the hallway. “It’ll be Oliver,” he said. “I rang him just before you appeared – when I heard the car, I thought it was him.”

“Why did you have to ring
Oliver
?” Pauline snapped. “What on earth can he do?”

“Well,” Charles said, “he’s very good with her . . . and I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

“Oliver’s my brother-in-law,” Pauline explained to Jack. “My sister, Aisling, is in America with my mother and father.”

Jack nodded.

A few moments later, Oliver came rushing into the kitchen followed by Charles. He was in his shirtsleeves – the missing jacket a sign of a crisis.

“What’s happened the child?” he asked, going down on one knee at the sofa beside Pauline and Bernadette. He gave a sidelong glance at Pauline’s companion, but said nothing to him.

“We don’t know,” Pauline said. “She’s been getting sick . . .”

Oliver put a hand out to feel her forehead. “I’d say she’s running a small bit of a temperature.”

“Have you any aspirin or anything?” Jack Byrne asked quietly. “That might just bring the temperature down.”

Pauline looked at Oliver. “This is a friend of mine – Jack Byrne. He brought me home tonight.”

Oliver looked at Jack for a few moments – as though weighing him up – and then gave him the barest of nods. “I saw the car at the door and wondered who it was at this hour of the night,” was all he said.

Charles cleared his throat. “Before you give her anything,” he said – then cleared his throat again, “I think I’d better explain about the statue in the hall – the statue of Our Lady.”

“What about the statue?” Pauline asked. Then, her eyes suddenly grew wide in horror. “It didn’t fall on her?”

“No, no,” Charles said, fiddling with the leg of his glasses. “It was when I was lifting her up to kiss it . . .”

“What?” Pauline prompted, rocking the child in her arms.