Aisling Gayle (22 page)

“Well, it’s a custom round these parts to celebrate important occasions with fireworks,” Jean said, “and my daughter’s wedding sure is an important occasion to us.” She patted Maggie’s hand now. “Your mom and I are going to head back home to check that Mrs Waters and the other women have everything in order, and to help out with the last-minute things. Bruce and your dad and Michael will be sorting the fireworks out.”

She craned her neck to look across the room to her son and girlfriend’s table. “I think Ali prefers to stay on here for a bit – she’s already made friends with the bridesmaids and some of Sandra’s friends. She’s a wonderful girl, a great mixer, and she just loves dancing.”

Aisling noticed her mother’s face stiffen at the mention of Michael’s girlfriend – but although her face gave her feelings away, at least she didn’t say anything. No matter how nice everyone else thought Ali was, or how happy she was supposed to make Jean’s son – she would never be anything else but another man’s wife as far as Maggie was concerned.

Aisling’s stomach did somersaults at the thought of how her mother would react if she knew what had gone on between her and Jameson Carroll out in the garden.

“Would you like me to come back to the house with you?” Aisling offered.

“No, honey,” Jean said, “I’m sure there’s nothing much left to do. Your mom and I plan to put our feet up for an hour before all the others come back to the house.”

“And have a nice cup of tea,” Maggie said, smiling at the thought. It had been hours since she’d had a decent cup, but she hadn’t passed any remarks about it to anyone – not even Declan or Aisling. All credit to herself now. Today above all days, she wouldn’t have dreamt of making anybody feel awkward about the watery American tea. She had gritted her teeth and drank it, but her system was getting a bit rattled now for want of a decent, strong cup of Irish tea.

Jean winked at her niece. “Oh, we won’t forget the tea. And if you run out of energy for dancing, Aisling, you can keep all my friends entertained with your stories of Ireland and your little school.” She waved her napkin towards the back of the hall. “Oh, I should have told you, Aisling. Thomas came across to ask you for a dance, so I think you might have to go look for him before the dancing finishes.” She paused. “And, honey . . . if you need a lift back to the house later, Jameson said he’d be happy to bring any guests along with him.”

Aisling nodded and reached for her glass of now lukewarm orange juice
. How have I
got away with this
? she asked herself.
I’ve done something really shocking. Something that only me and Jameson Carroll know about.

“So we’ll see you later,” Maggie said, struggling to her feet. She wasn’t used to dancing in this sort of heat. Hopefully, a cup of tea and putting her poor, swollen feet up for half-an-hour would sort her out.

Then, a tall shadow came across the table. “If it suits you all – I’ve organised a trip for us out to Cooperstown tomorrow. I hope you folks can get away.”

Aisling turned around in her chair to come face-to-face with the man who had eagerly escorted her parents around the graveyard back at the church.

“Some folks I was talking to about the interesting headstones we’d been looking at this afternoon told me all
about this cemetery in Cooperstown,” he said, pulling a chair out beside Maggie. “From their descriptions, I reckon this is a much bigger place, and the headstones are from
all parts
of Ireland. I think you and your husband will find it fascinating.”

Maggie sat up, and with elbows resting earnestly on the table, proceeded to interrogate her tour guide about the details of the journey and the type of area the cemetery was in.

“I think,” Jean said, nudging Aisling, “that you might just have another relaxing day by the lake.”

Aisling nodded and smiled, her thoughts drifting back to the stolen minutes in the garden with Jameson Carroll, and the touch of his lips on hers.

Tea and rests were forgotten for the next hour, and when Declan came back to the table, they all sat chatting, and made plans to hit several cemeteries the following afternoon.

Then, when Maggie made another move to head back to the house, all the guests gathered in a massive circle, with the bride and groom in the centre. The happy couple danced round the circle a number of times, then the guests formed a long archway, through which they both had to pass, giving each one on their side a kiss. Amidst cheers and laughter, everyone waved them off as they left in a limousine to prepare for their honeymoon.

Shortly afterwards, Aisling’s parents and Bruce and Jean set off for Lake Savannah. “I’ve told Thomas and his father that you’ll ride back with them later,” Jean reminded her as she left. “They’re across the other side of the room, near the band . . . Thomas loves the music.”

And because she had no other option – and because it was exactly what she had been waiting to do – Aisling made her way across the floor, to the table where he was sitting. Thomas was once again on the dance floor, this time with the bubbly Ali, and Jameson was sitting alone at the table, watching him.

As she approached him, Aisling was torn between anticipation and dread. Knowing deep in her heart that she should have gone home with the older group, and not given this situation the chance to grow any deeper. But she
couldn’t help herself. And worse still – she didn’t want to. The feelings that were running through her now were too new and exciting to walk or run away from.

The truth was Aisling Gayle wanted more and more of these feelings.

Jameson turned his head now, and caught sight of Aisling coming towards the table. His deep brown eyes lit up. As he rose to greet her, his whole body seemed to shift into a different gear. Easily and very, very comfortably, he reached his hands towards her and guided her into a chair beside him.

Aisling sat down, leaving her hands in his warm grasp. Her parents had gone, and suddenly she didn’t really care if anybody else saw them.

“At last,” he said smiling, his eyes taking in every inch of her face and his hands growing a little tighter around hers. “It seems like an awful long time since I last saw you.”

Aisling nodded her head and laughed. “That’s funny – it feels exactly the same for me.” Then, as he released his hold of her to pour her a glass of wine, Aisling looked at him, and she knew that it was not going to be easy to walk away from this. Whatever
this
turned out to be.

Thomas came back to the table, hot and sweaty after dancing.

“You – me!” he said to Aisling, motioning to the dance floor as the band struck up a rock-and-roll number.

“No, buddy,” his father told him firmly. “Into the washroom and splash some cold water on your face, then go and ask the lady at the bar for a cold drink with ice.”

Thomas wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, and gave Aisling a big grin. “I am – boiling!” he told her.

“That,” his father said, shaking his head, “is the biggest understatement I’ve heard all evening.” He beckoned his son to sit beside him. “Let me roll up the sleeves of your shirt, and get rid of this darn tie for you.”

As she watched Jameson Carroll gently and discreetly organise the boy’s clothing, Aisling felt a lump forming in her throat. It was obvious from his easy, but careful handling, that this man deeply loved his slow endearing son. And it was also obvious that there was nothing he couldn’t or wouldn’t do for him.

Thomas poked Jameson on the arm. “I look just like Dad now!” He beamed, pointing out his father’s loosened tie and casually rolled-back shirtsleeves.

Jameson ruffled Thomas’s hair. “Go get freshened up and then get the cold drink, otherwise the dancing will be all over by the time you get back.”

“Yessir, Mr Carroll!” Thomas said gleefully, giving his father a military-style salute, before disappearing into the dancing crowds.

“You’re so good with him,” Aisling said quietly. “You’v
e made sure he’s achieving everything he can achieve. His full potential.” She paused, picking her words carefully. “I know a few children who have a similar condition to Thomas’s. I’m not sure what words you use over here, and I don’t want to put my foot in it . . .”

Jameson Carroll sat back in his chair, his fingers laced together thoughtfully. “The only acceptable term I find is Down’s syndrome but not too many people use it or even know it.”

“I’ve never heard it called Down’s syndrome,” Aisling admitted. “But it sounds much better than the words people use back home.”

He gave a little shrug. “You won’t offend me whatever name you call his condition. I know you like Thomas, and that’s all that matters.”

Aisling felt relieved that he was happy about her attitude to Thomas. She now realised that it was the yardstick he used to measure people with. “Well,” she said, tucking a wing of hair behind her ear, “it’s just that I’m used to people back home expecting very little from kids like Thomas.”

Jameson shrugged. “It’s not just in Ireland. I’ve seen it happen with kids I grew up with. Some of the schools just leave them sitting in a corner – or have them doing stuff that pre-school kids could do.”

Aisling raised her eyes to the ceiling. “We don’t even have special schools where we live – the children are just kept at home. And the thing is, so many of these kids are like Thomas – friendly and lively.”

“You think so?” Jameson’s tone had an almost angry note in it. “You wouldn’t believe how rare your attitude is. Most people treat him like a cute little pet rather than a human being.”

“No . . .” Aisling said, frowning, “maybe you’re just being a bit sensitive . . . it’s just that some people aren’t used to children like Thomas. If they spent more time with them, got to know them properly, then they would be totally different.”

“And what,” said Jameson, “if that person happens to be the
mother
of a Down’s syndrome child?”

Aisling stared at him in shock. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she stuttered, thrown completely off the thread of conversation. She could feel she was now treading on thin ice. She was afraid she might not get the words right. She was afraid she might provoke the same cool reaction she got when they first met.

“I’m talking about
Thomas’s mother
,” he said, a bitter smile on his lips. “I’m talking about a mother who had all the time in the world to get to know her son real well. I’m talking about a mother who had all the money she needed, and all the help she wanted to cushion her from the worst of his problems.” His head lowered. “No matter what I did – she still couldn’t accept him.”

“I’m sorry,” Aisling whispered. “I’m really sorry . . .”

“It’s okay,” he said abruptly, sitting back in the chair and casually crossing one long leg over the other. Except he wasn’t casual and he wasn’t relaxed. He ran a hand through his thick, mane-like hair. “It’s me who should be saying sorry. I shouldn’t be bringing all this shit up at a wedding – this is supposed to be a happy time.” He tilted his head slightly, his jaw tense. “You must be regretting ever meeting me . . . most women would. I’m not the easiest person . . .”

Aisling reached over and took his hand. “I’m not regretting a thing – not one single thing. The longer I spend with you, the more I want to know about you. Besides,” she said, “I’ve a few problems of my own . . . if I start telling you about them, I might end up frightening you away first.”

His shoulders suddenly relaxed. A few seconds later, a smile came to his lips. “If this wasn’t such serious stuff, it would be funny. First we meet, and we’re almost fighting – and then we’re sitting here trading lonely-heart stories.”

Aisling shrugged and smiled back at him, a wonderful, warm feeling spreading all through her. God, she wanted to move right over beside him, and put her arms around his neck, and tangle her fingers in that lovely, thick, rough hair. And she wanted to press her lips hard against his, and even more to feel his body pressing hard against hers. The way it had when they were together in the garden earlier on. And yet she knew it was totally wrong. He was a married man and she was a married woman. With two anxious parents chaperoning her – who would have a fit if they thought she had the remotest interest in anyone else but Oliver.

He looked at her now, as though he were reading her thoughts. “I could listen to your lovely Irish accent all day,” he suddenly said. “I want to know everything about you, even if it means having to hear about a husband and another life back in Ireland.”

“I think there’s a lot more to know about you,” Aisling said, “and I’m half-afraid of that . . . because the bits that I know already make me feel that it’s totally ridiculous that we should become more friendly or whatever . . . ” She halted now, embarrassed.

But Jameson didn’t seem at all perturbed. He was still smiling, and looking more relaxed than before.

“Whatever happens,” he told her, “nothing about our relationship is ridiculous. It’s already making me happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.” He looked at her now, his eyes soft and shining. “We’re both grown-up people, and it sounds as though neither of our stories is the stuff that fairytales are made of – but that doesn’t matter. It’s what we feel when we’re together that matters. Now –
right now. What’s gone before and what’s coming ahead doesn’t matter at this time.” His voice lowered. “
This,”
he said, “is what’s real. What’s happening at this very minute.”