Aisling Gayle (43 page)

Aisling felt a wave of relief at Jameson’s clever suggestion. It would just have been awful for her and Jameson and Verity to sit around the bed making polite conversation.

“Shall we go downstairs to have something to eat?” Verity later suggested when the nurses came to give Thomas his lunch. She gave them both a big friendly smile, and there was nothing else to do but agree.

Surprisingly, Aisling found her much more pleasant company than on the previous occasions. She chattered away about the weather, and suggested places that Aisling might like to visit in New York, before heading back upstate.

When Jameson went off to make some phone calls, Verity leaned her elbows on the table, moving closer to Aisling. “You’ve been teaching a number of years,” she suddenly said, “so I presume that would make you a dedicated career woman?”

Aisling raised her eyebrows. “Well,” she said cautiously, “I do enjoy my work – but I enjoy other things as well.”

Verity nodded her head. “But you’ve obviously dedicated your whole working life to teaching so far?”

“Yes,” Aisling said, wondering where the conversation was leading.

“I presume,” Verity said, smiling, “that you’ve forsake
n both marriage and children to pursue your career?”

Aisling suddenly realised the point she was making, for Verity’s gaze was now firmly fixed on her wedding ring.

After a long, painful pause, Aisling finally found the words she had dreaded having to say to anyone who knew about her and Jameson’s relationship. “I am actually married . . . although – ”

“And
children?
” Verity cut in, her eyebrows arched in interest. She was determined to waste no time in getting the information she needed in order to work out the
relationship between Jameson and this young Irishwoman.
How she had missed the wedding band before, she did not know. But she was determined that she would not miss anything else.

After another pause, Aisling said, “I don’t have any children.” She looked around the coffee-shop, wishing that Jameson would appear and rescue her, but there was no sign of him. She took a sip of her coffee, hoping that the conversation had ended, now that Verity had got all the information she wanted.

“So,” Verity said, fishing in her handbag for her lipstick and compact, “I presume this relationship with my husband is nothing more than a holiday fling?”

“We’re very good friends,” Aisling answered carefully. “What the future will bring . . .”

A few deft strokes of lipstick left Verity’s lips scarlet and perfect. She snapped the compact case shut, then leaned across the table, closely enough for Aisling to smell her expensive floral perfume. “I should think,” she said, staring straight into Aisling’s eyes, “that when you go back to Ireland, and have had time to think everything over – that you’ll decide to forget all about Jameson.”

“Why should I want to forget him?” Aisling said.

Verity could see she had the Irish girl’s attention now, and was not going to waste one second lest Jameson should return now and cut the conversation short. “I married Jameson when I was much younger . . .” She narrowed her eyes. “Much younger than you are now.
And, it was the right thing to do – but rather unfortunately,
it was the wrong time.” She leaned closer. “Jameson wanted different things from me in those early days of our marriage.” She paused. “And then of course, along came Thomas, with all the problems that a mentally-handicapped child brings . . .”

Aisling reached across the table for her handbag. “I don’t think you should be telling me all this . . .”

Verity clamped her hand down on top of the bag. “Make no mistake,” she said, her eyes glinting, “being all
buddy-buddy
with a handicapped teenager is a very different ballgame to giving birth to a handicapped baby, and then struggling to bring him up.”

Aisling stood up and pulled her bag away from Verity’s grasp. “What happened between you and Jameson and Thomas has nothing to do with me.” Her eyes glinted with anger. “And what happens between Jameson and me has nothing to do with
you.
”

“But it
has
, my dear,” Verity said. “It
has
.” She tilted her head to the side. “Am I correct in assuming that you are going to stay with Sam and Frances for a few days?”

Aisling took a deep breath. “As I’ve just told you – it’s none of your damned business.”

“But won’t you feel intimidated?” Verity continued in a low voice. “The grandeur – all the rooms – the tennis courts and swimming-pool?”

The look on Aisling’s face and the resulting silence was Verity’s reward. She had correctly deduced from the little information that she had gleaned from Aisling, that there was more than just a difference in nationality between her and Jameson.

Verity’s eyes were well trained to detect clothes that were not expensively hand-stitched, and shoes and handbags which were not of the finest leather. Her first glance at Aisling’s perfectly adequate – but rather ordinary clothes – had told her all she needed to know about her lifestyle in Ireland. Her teaching salary would earn her no more than a bare subsistence-level standard of living.

And the fact that Aisling had never travelled out of Ireland before, and was staying with relatives rather than at a plush hotel said it all. Verity was very good as working people out – and it was a talent which she had found very useful.

“I don’t feel intimidated in the slightest,” Aisling snapped. “Jameson’s parents are very nice, and I’m looking forward to visiting them.” Then she lowered herself back into the hard metal chair. All her instincts told her that she should walk out on this awful woman – but there was something compelling her to stay. Something that told her to wait and listen – and maybe learn something that would finally make her able to walk away from this dangerous affair.

“I’m sure they’ll be very kind to you,” Verity went on, taking her cigarettes and lighter from her handbag. She had more or less given them up, but at certain times she felt the need overwhelming. “I take it that Jameson hasn’t told you about his folks’ home – or about the change in his fortunes with the family business?”

“We’ve talked about lots of things,” Aisling said, “but Thomas is our main concern at the moment.”

“Of course,” Verity said, taking a deep drag on her cigarette, “and I know Jameson has been just wonderful during this awful hospital business. He can be a strange man at times. Very difficult to live with. He’s so deep – at times almost unable to express himself And I am so afraid that there’s going to be an aftermath to all this awful business with Thomas.”

“In what way?” Aisling said, hating herself for engaging in this kind of conversation, because she knew that Jameson was so intensely private and would be horrified to hear himself being discussed in such a way.

“I imagine that Jameson will need my help – as Thomas’s mother, of course.” She paused, then put the cigarette to her lips again. “It’s obvious that his parents are too old to be of any support to him. In my opinion, they should never have been left in charge of the boy. He’s too much for them to handle.”

“I don’t agree,” Aisling said. “He’s a well-behaved, sensible boy. He doesn’t need much handling.”

Verity just smiled, as though she had never spoken. “I really want to thank you, Aisling,” she said now, reaching a hand out to cover Aisling’s. “I want to thank you for looking after the two men in my life. And for giving up your holiday to come all the way up to New York to visit Thomas in hospital.”

Aisling snatched her hand out of Verity’s reach. “I don’t need any thanks from you. I did it for Thomas and Jameson.”

“
And
,” Verity continued, the smile growing sweeter, “I want to give you a piece of advice.
Go home
. Go home back to Ireland – and go home back to your husband. It’s where you belong, and where you’ll be happiest.”

Aisling felt a tight knot forming in her stomach.

“Jameson is not for you,” Verity went on. “I’m sure you’re a very nice girl – but I’m sorry to say that you’re just a holiday fling. A novelty which will soon wear off – just like all the other girls he’s had.”

Aisling got to her feet, unable to listen to any more. She placed both hands on the table squarely in front of Verity. “I don’t need advice from a mother who deserted a helpless child when he needed her most!” She stared directly into Verity’s eyes. “If I want to stay on in America – as Jameson has asked me to do – then that’s exactly what I will damn well do!”

Verity ran a hand through her immaculate black bob. “When you think this over,” she said, “you’ll thank me for my plain speaking. Your naïve, optimistic outlook on life would not last long living with Jameson.” She rolled her eyes. “His morose, so-called
artistic,
ways nearly drove me mad when I was younger.”

“And you think you could cope with it better now?” Aisling challenged.

“
Experience
, honey,” Verity said, with a bitter little smile, “
experienc
e. I wouldn’t let it get to me again. I would make sure that I had compensations.” She raised her eyebrows. “It really would be much better all round, if you just head back home to your little husband in Ireland.”

Without a further word, Aisling swept her bag up, turned on her heel, and marched straight out of the coffee-shop – out through reception until she reached the front door of the hospital and the fresh air outside.

Verity crushed her cigarette in the ashtray, and then clicked her fingers to a waitress clearing a nearby table. “I’ll settle up now,” she said, without looking at the girl. And as she took a note from her purse, she reckoned that the time with Aisling had been worth every cent.

* * *

“So you managed to get rid of Verity?” Jameson said, grinning. He pulled a chair out and sat down at the café table.

“I don’t know where she went,” Aisling replied. “I just left for a bit . . . and when I came back, she was gone. The waitress told me that she paid the bill.”

“Wonders will never cease,” Jameson said, raising his eyebrows. “Do you want another coffee, or shall we go back up to Thomas?”

“Back to Thomas,” Aisling said in a flat tone.

“You OK?” Jameson said, looking worried. “You seem kind of . . .” He stopped. “Verity didn’t upset you or anything? She’s good at getting to people. She has it down to a fine art.”

Aisling hesitated. She didn’t know how she felt. She could hardly take in all the things that Verity had said. Verity, whom Jameson
must
have loved at some time. Verity, who seemed to know a side of Jameson that she didn’t.

“She has said something – hasn’t she?” Jameson persisted. “Lies about me . . . or about my folks? Tell me, Aisling – please. If you don’t tell me I can’t sort it out.”

“Look,” Aisling said, “she just mentioned something about you and other girlfriends . . . and about how you get fed up of them when the novelty wears off –”

“That fucking, goddamned woman!” he hissed. “There is nothing she won’t stoop to!” He stopped for a second. “You didn’t believe her – did you? Please don’t tell me she got to you – because that’s all she wants.” He suddenly looked almost frantic. “Don’t let this put you off, Aisling,” he said, taking her hand in his. “We have enough problems with the Irish side of things without that bitch making things worse.”

Aisling suddenly felt lost, out of her depths with everything. At this point in time, she didn’t know what she believed – and she couldn’t face another scene with Jameson about their relationship. “I think I know exactly what Verity was trying to do,” she told him. “And I really don’t want to have another argument with you, Jameson – I’m tired and weary of all these problems.” She took a deep breath. “I was just thinking that now Thomas is getting better . . . maybe I should be thinking of getting back up to Jean’s . . .”

Jameson looked at her now, worry written all over his features. Worry that he was going to lose her sooner than he’d even dreaded. “There’s no need to rush back yet,” he said. “Why don’t you give your folks a ring tonight if you feel you need to check on them.”

“Yes,” Aisling said quietly, “I might do that.”

* * *

Thomas was delighted to tell them that he was now able to eat proper food. He gave them a run-down on all the things he had eaten, and what the nurse had said about the menu later on that evening.

The afternoon passed with conversation being directed at – and through – Thomas, rather than to each other. Every time Jameson looked at Aisling or spoke to her, she found herself thinking of all the things that Verity had said . . .
or hinted at. About him having lots of different girlfriends, and about his parents’ house.

Once or twice, she thought she should maybe tell him everything that Verity had said – so that he would reassure her – but she just couldn’t find the words. Suddenly, this man with whom she had spent most of the last few weeks had become like a stranger she hardly knew.

A dark, deep stranger who was asking her to give up
everything
she knew for him.

* * *

They left Thomas for his afternoon rest and headed out to Jameson’s parents’ house. As before, the conversation centred around Thomas. Whenever she spoke, Aisling felt as though she was listening to someone else speaking and not herself. She could feel a tight knot in her chest. A mixture of hurt that Jameson hadn’t warned her about the grand house he was now driving her to, and a feeling of mounting anger because she was so completely dependent on him while they were here.