Aisling Gayle (34 page)

The older woman smiled and patted Aisling’s hand. “As I said yesterday, honey, we only have one life. We’re here if you want us, but Bruce and I won’t interfere with any plans you have for the next few days. As far as we’re concerned, you’re down by the lake reading and swimming, or taking a walk.” She shrugged. “The less we actually know, the easier it is all round. I can’t tell your folks anything I don’t know.”

“Oh, Jean,” Aisling said, her eyes shining with emotion, “I don’t know how to thank you –”

“Just be happy, Aisling,” Jean said. “That’s all the thanks I want. The older you get, the more unhappiness you see around you, and I reckon a lot of it is people regretting missed opportunities.” She took a sip of her coffee. “At least I won’t feel that, and neither will you.” She tilted her head, a thoughtful look on her face. “You know I had it real difficult when I wrote home and told them I was seeing Bruce? According to everyone, he was too old, had been married before, wasn’t a Catholic, and worst of all – he was American!” She gave a roar of laughter. “How absolutely dreadful – having someone in the family who was married to an American.” Then she looked serious again. “My parents who objected are long dead, Aisling, and after all this time nobody else really gives a damn.”

“What about my mother?” Aisling asked curiously.

“Oh, your mother didn’t approve, that’s for sure,” Jean said, a resigned look in her eyes, “but it was the way we were brought up, and she always took her religion very, very seriously. She’s always been afraid of the Church.”

“And what about your own religious views?” Aisling asked.

Jean shrugged. “Oh, I have strong enough beliefs in God and all that kind of thing, but I always believed that it was people’s behaviour towards others that counted more. It’s no good kneeling in church counting rosary beads night after night, or wearing sackcloth and ashes if you’re real mean to people. I think Jesus would have wanted us to follow his example by not judging other folks.”

“You must have had real courage to go against everyone,” Aisling said.

“I’m not real sure what made me brave enough to break the mould, honey – but I think it was love.” She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I bet you’re shocked at the thought of an older woman like me talking about love.”

“No,” Aisling said, “I think it’s lovely . . . I really do.”

“Well,” Jean shrugged, “that’s the way it is, honey. Having said all that, your mom and Bruce get on real well now . . . so, what the heck. I don’t hold any grudges. As I said, time changes everything.”

“You’re right,” Aisling said, smiling. “What the heck!”

After freshening up and changing, Aisling made her way back over to Jameson’s house, and they spent the rest of the day there, swimming, talking and enjoying doing just ordinary things together. Thomas was with them for most of the time, and several times Aisling caught herself shaking her head in wonder at the easy way she had slipped into their lives.

“Da-ad?” Thomas said, as they headed back into the house for a chicken salad Jameson had organised. “Shall I put out – paints for the Saturday group later?”

Jameson stopped in his tracks. “Saturday?” he repeated, his brow creasing in confusion. “Holy shit!” he said, slapping his palm to his forehead. “I’d completely forgotten . . .”
Then, he turned to Thomas, smiling. “Yeah – okay. Thanks for reminding me. You can put the stuff out after we’ve eaten.”

“I’d better wash – hands first,” Thomas said, racing on ahead.

“I’m really sorry,” Jameson said to Aisling. “I have a painting session tomorrow with some of the kids from Thomas’s school. The last one for the summer should have been last week, but I cancelled it because of the wedding, and swapped it for this week. Do you mind having a bunch of teenagers around in the morning?”

“No,” Aisling said, an amused grin spreading on her face. “In fact I’d be delighted.”

“What’s so funny?” Jameson said, putting his arm around her.

Aisling leaned her head on his shoulder. “You got a phone call about that last week when I was here, didn’t you? From someone called Melanie?”

Jameson thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he nodded vaguely, “I did – but I’d completely forgotten about it with everything . . .”

Aisling rolled her eyes in amusement. “I thought . . .” she giggled like a schoolgirl, “I actually thought you were arranging a date with a woman . . . and I felt . . .”

“What?” he said, looking curious. “What did you feel?”

Aisling’s cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. “Oh . . .
it was stupid. I suppose I felt . . . sort of . . . jealous. I felt you were this stranger with a mysterious life I knew nothing about.”

“I hope I’m not a big disappointment,” Jameson laughed, “because instead of illicit dates, all I’m doing is splashing a bit of paint around the studio with some kids.”

“I can assure you that I’m not a bit disappointed,” Aisling said, squeezing his arm. “You’re much more interesting than I could ever have imagined . . .” Then her voice dropped. “I suppose my natural instinct is to expect other women to be in the picture . . . living with Oliver for so long.”

Jameson pulled her towards him, and tenderly took her face between his hands. “Never,” he said, “as long as there is a chance for us to be together, will there ever be another woman.” He kissed her lips. “There will never be another woman who will make me feel the way I feel when I’m with you, Aisling.”

“It’s really weird how things have turned out,” Aisling whispered. “I was nearly afraid of you when we first met – when I dropped all those parcels.”

His eyebrows raised in a question. “You mean the little lingerie parcels?”

Aisling looked at him, her face colouring up again. “So you
did
know what was in the parcels?”

He grinned. “It didn’t take a genius to work it out,” he said. “It had the name of the shop on the wrapping paper, and anyway – everyone round here knows that shop.”

“Oh, God!” Aisling said, laughing again. “I was so embarrassed when I met you that day – what with that lunatic following me around and everything – and then I went and dropped my parcels. I nearly died, but I just hoped you hadn’t spotted the name of the lingerie shop!”

“Well,” he whispered now, “if the little lacy things you wore this morning happened to come from one of those packages, then I have to be glad you paid the shop a visit that day!”

Aisling prodded his chest in her best schoolteacher manner. “You weren’t so funny that day, Mr Carroll – you were anything but funny. In fact, you had an extremely high-handed manner.”

“Oh, Aisling,” he said, looking contrite, “if you knew the number of people that speak to me when I’m with Thomas – the number of do-gooder
types who approach me, just to let me know that they don’t really think he’s some kind of freak . . .” His voice cracked a little. “I’m really sorry that I treated you like them . . .” Then, he gathered her into his arms. “I nearly made the biggest mistake of my life – I could have easily missed getting to know you. It frightens me when I think of it – all these lovely days we might never have had.”

“I’m only codding you,” Aisling said gently. “I don’t care how we met – in fact we owe it to that weird fellow who was
following me – otherwise we’d probably have never met.”

“No, “ Jameson said, ruffling her hair, “I reckon we’ll let Thomas have the credit for that.”

The day passed into evening, and after another brief visit over to Harper’s, Aisling came back to spend her first full night at Jameson’s house.

Thomas headed up to bed around nine o’clock in preparation for the art class in the morning, and Aisling and Jameson were left on their own. Since the evening was still warm, they sat out on the floodlit deck drinking cold beer and eating salted pretzels and crackers and cheese.

“I love this,” Aisling told him with a lazy, contented smile. “I’ve never had any man prepare lunch and supper for me before. I could quite easily take to this way of life.”

“I’d happily fix us lunch and supper every day for the rest of my life,” Jameson told her in a low voice. Then he looked at her for a few moments, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me you’re not going back to Ireland, Aisling.”

Aisling ran a hand through her hair, turning her gaze away from him. “I have to, Jameson. I don’t want to – but I have to go back.”

“Why?” he asked, his voice rising. “
Why
do you have to go back to Ireland? It just doesn’t make any sense. You told me earlier you didn’t love your husband.”

“This isn’t just about Oliver,” she said. “It’s all so complicated . . . I have commitments – school and family and friends. I can’t just not go back.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want to go back to Ireland – and I don’t want to go back to Oliver, but – ”

“Jesus, Aisling!” he said now, his voice cracking. “I can’t even bear you mentioning his fucking name! I feel so jealous and angry that you’re married to that guy – especially when he’s someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

“Please leave it,” Aisling said, putting a finger to his lips to silence his words. “Not
tonight.
We can talk about things like that later . . . but not tonight.” She put her glass on the wooden table, and then reached to take the glass from his hand. Then, she moved closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I have a much better idea for tonight.”

Chapter 27

Aisling woke early in the morning, hardly able to believe that she had spent the whole night with this American man in his high, dark wooden bed – this American man who was a stranger only a short time ago. She turned towards him and gently ran her fingers over the back of his neck, and then traced a path down the outline of his spine. When she reached the lower part of his back, he suddenly turned around and playfully pulled her into his arms.

“I thought you were still asleep – you cheat!” she giggled, pretending to struggle.

But Jameson merely laughed and pulled her closer, burying her protests in his warm chest. Then, just before the new day dawned – they made slow, glorious love once again.

Later, as they lay in each other’s arms, Jameson turned towards her. “Surely, there’s some excuse we could find, for you not going back just yet?” His eyes raised to the ceiling, as though searching for an answer. “What about if you were to say you were sick or something? You could stay on for another month – I’ll buy you another ticket

Aisling was silent for a few moments. “It wouldn’t work,” she said quietly. “If I said I was ill, my parents would stay on with me. They would never go back home to Ireland without me. And anyway, there’s school. I have to go back for work.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, determination written all over his tanned face. “Look, what if you just tell them
everything
? Explain it all to your parents – tell them you’ve decided to stay on here. Phone your . . .” he halted, choking on the word, “your
husband
. . . and phone the school. Just tell them you’re not coming back.”

“I couldn’t!” Aisling gasped. “I just couldn’t. It would practically kill my mother . . . and even if I didn’t have all these problems – I couldn’t just stay on here. What would I do for a living? Where would I stay?”

“Why would you have to work?” he said in amazement.
“Money’s not a problem . . . I’ve more than enough for all three of us. Money will never be a problem for us, Aisling. You can take that little issue out of the equation.” He touched her arm gently. “You would live with Thomas and me – it would make me the happiest guy in the world to look after you.”

Aisling looked at him, her eyes growing moist. Then, with a catch in her throat, she said, “I’ve only known you for just over a week . . . and yet, you’re offering to have me live out here and keep me financially.” She shook her head. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.”

“It does,” he said quietly, “if you’ll only give me the chance to make it happen. But I don’t want you to feel that I’m trying to force you into anything . . . I’m just trying to be realistic. Some things in life are real problems, and some things aren’t. We gotta get the things that aren’t problems out of the way – and money is one of them. I just wish,” he said quietly, “that I could deal with all the other problems like your family so simply.”

She pondered over his suggestion for a few moments. “Look, Jameson,” she said in a small, weary voice, “I really cannot make such monumental decisions in such a short time. When the holiday is over, I need to go home and think about everything –” She shrugged. “I need time to decide how to go about things – then maybe I could come back for a holiday at Christmas or something –”

He interrupted her. “Tell me honestly, Aisling . . . are you saying there is a chance you may decide against coming back? That I may not see you again?”

“No,” Aisling said, without hesitation. “I’m not in a position to promise anything just now, but I know in my heart and soul that we will be together again.”

He nodded slowly, but the look on his face told her that he was not convinced.

Her hand reached over to gently touch his cheek. “I know we’ll be together because I would never, never have lain in the same bed with you, had I not believed that we were actually meant to be together.” Aisling’s voice sounded strained and weary, but there was a steely determination underlying it. “I will be back here when things are sorted – if you still want me.”