Aisling Gayle (9 page)

“This holiday,” Maggie went on, her curled head nodding earnestly, “might be the making of ye both. Indeed . . . you’ll see when we get back. He’ll have missed you, and when he hears what happened to you yesterday, he’ll realise that he doesn’t want to let you out of his sight.” She nodded away to herself. “A good-looking girl like yourself – and from a decent family.”

Aisling continued to drink her tea.

“Have you got anything to bring back to him yet?” Maggie continued.

Aisling shook her head. “Not yet . . .”

Maggie brightened up. “Sure we’ve plenty of time left,” she said, standing up now. “You’ll find something nice for him the next day we’re out, I’m sure.” She patted the bed again now. “Be down in a couple of minutes, and the breakfast will be ready to take outside.”

Shortly afterwards, dressed in a cool, pale-blue cotton dress and white sandals, Aisling joined the others as they all picked their steps down the grassy bank to the lake. Each person was armed with plates of pancakes and bacon strips, fresh rolls and Danish pastries.

“What I’d give for a good plate of black pudding, some rashers and decent Irish sausages,” Maggie commented to Aisling, “and I know your father feels the same . . . it’s just that he’s not confident enough to say it out straight.”

Aisling shook her head, and concentrated on climbing down the wooden steps to the lower part of the garden. She knew that her father was perfectly happy trying out all the different foods, just as she was.

Half an hour later, everyone sat full and contented, chatting and looking out over the shimmering lake. Then, further down the lakeside path, a red-headed figure came running into view. He slowed down as he reached the group.

“Hello, buddy!” Bruce said. “Come and join us.”

Thomas stopped and held up a hand of greeting. Then, hand on hips, made a great issue of getting his breath back.

“Don’t tell me you’ve run all the way around that lake?” Jean said, trying to sound as though she were completely shocked.

“All the way around that lake!” Declan exclaimed, sitting up straight in the deckchair. “I don’t believe it.”

Thomas nodded vigorously, grinning from one to the other, delighted with the attention.

“And I – “ he gasped, “can swim all the way – all the way – around the lake, too!” His arm swept in great wide circles to reinforce the point.

There were even more gasps of incredulity from the receptive audience.

Then, satisfied with his impact, Thomas sat down heavily in one of the empty deckchairs. He turned to Aisling. “You!” he said, running a stubby hand though his damp red hair. “Come to my house to see my medals – now!”

“That’s you told!” Maggie laughed. “You can’t get out of that one!”

Aisling smiled and nodded. “I promise you I’ll come and see your medals later.”

“I think,” Jean said, standing up, “that what you need is a drink, young man – a nice cold drink.” She winked over at Maggie. “And maybe some pancakes?”

Maggie jumped to her feet. “There’s still some of the mixture left,” she said, gathering up plates. “I’ll make him some right now. A growing lad like that needs a good breakfast.”

“Tell you what, buddy,” Jean said to Thomas, “you carry in some of those plates, and you can have some of Maggie’s famous pancakes. Her first time making them, and they’re the best I’ve ever eaten in America.”

Thomas clapped his hands delightedly. “It’s a deal!” he said, holding out his hand, palm upwards.

Jean gamely brought the palm of her hand down on his in a loud slap, then they went into a routine of slapping each other’s hands in a variety of ways.

The men stayed outside in the sun, while Maggie, Aisling and Jean went inside with Thomas. A little while later, while Maggie was serving up the pancakes, Aisling gestured to Jean to come into the hallway out of Thomas’s hearing.

“What do you think,” she asked, “about me going over to see Thomas’s medals?” She pulled a face. “I’m not too sure . . . you know . . . his father.”

“You should go across to the house,” Jean said without hesitation. “It means a lot to the boy. Don’t be put off by Jameson’s manner – when you get to know him, he’s a real nice man. I think he’s some kind of artist, and those creative types are often temperamental.” She glanced towards the kitchen. “He’s kind of wary of people – but I guess being on his own with a handicapped kid isn’t easy. Even a nice kid like Thomas.”

Aisling nodded slowly. “I didn’t realise they were on their own . . . what about Thomas’s mother?”

“Honey,” Jean said, raising her eyebrows, “your guess is as good as mine. When we moved here two years ago, there was only the two of them in the house on their own. Definitely no woman. And, as far as I know, there hadn’t been one for some time before that. ”

“Hasn’t Thomas’s father ever mentioned anything about the mother?”

“Vaguely,” Jean said. “Just odd comments about taking Thomas down to relatives in New York “ She shrugged. “I guess he’s not the kind of man who talks about personal things.”

Maggie came into the hallway now. “What’s all the whispering?” she asked, looking suspiciously at her sister and daughter.

Aisling coloured up. She didn’t want her mother to hear her asking about another man. Not after the things she had said about Oliver this morning.

Jean motioned with her hand for Maggie to keep her voice down. “I’m just filling Aisling in on Thomas’s details,” she said in a low voice.

“What kind of details?” Maggie said, all interested now. “I’ve just set him down at the table with his pancakes and syrup.”

“I’m just saying how Thomas and his father live on their own.” Jean craned her neck to make sure that Thomas couldn’t hear.

“On their own?” Maggie repeated. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s no mother.”

“Oh, the poor man!” Maggie said, shaking her head. “And that poor boy the way he is, and him with no mother. When did she die?” She looked back towards the kitchen. “Maybe we should have kept some of the pancakes for his father.”

“She’s not
dead,
Mammy!” Aisling hissed. “She’s just not living with them.”

The compassion drained from Maggie’s face, and it was replaced by a disapproving tightness. “Don’t tell me they’re divorced too,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“That’s the last thing that poor lad needs.”

“It’s OK,” Jean said. “Jameson Carroll is a very capable man. I should think he can cook his own pancakes, and a lot more besides. Thomas is very fond of his food, and he doesn’t exactly look as though he’s fading off the face of the earth, now does he?”

“True,” Maggie agreed. “He’s a fine lump of a lad, no
doubt. And he’s clean and tidy, well-turned out considering
there’s only a man looking after him.”

Aisling rolled her eyes over in Jean’s direction, and her aunt smiled back knowingly.

“Weren’t you a lucky girl yesterday, meeting Thomas and his dad?” Jean said, changing the subject.

Aisling closed her eyes at the memory of the purple and yellow shirt. “Yes,” she said nodding, “I certainly was lucky. It was awful. I was terrified – I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t met them.”

“What did Jameson actually say to the guy when he confronted him?” Jean asked curiously.

Aisling shrugged. “I really don’t know,” she said. “I was just going to ask him that yesterday when you all arrived.”

“I’d love to have seen the guy’s face,” Jean said, “when Jameson Carroll loomed over him. He’s a good six-footer.”

“Yes – but so was the weird fellow!” Aisling said. “Thank God it came to nothing.”

Maggie shook her head. “I can’t imagine what Oliver would have had to say, if we had let anything happen to you . . .”

At the mention of Oliver’s name, Aisling felt herself flinch.

“And I wouldn’t have liked to have seen the state of that fellow if Oliver had got his hands on him,” Maggie told Jean now. “Oliver Gayle mightn’t be the biggest man in the world, but he has a fierce temper on him, and he wouldn’t back down from anything.”

Then, they heard the scrape of Thomas’s chair as he got up from the table, and the three women all rushed back into the kitchen – Aisling grateful for the diversion.

“Those pancakes – swell!” he said. “Best in America!”

“You’re very welcome, ” Maggie beamed. “I’ll save you some if I make them again before I go home.”

Thomas stood in front of Aisling, waiting.

“I get the feeling,” Jean said, “that you’re not going to get out of this. You might as well go now, honey – because we don’t know what the rest of the day might bring.” She ruffled Thomas’s hair. “When this guy gets the bit between his teeth, there’s no putting him off.”

She leaned towards Aisling. “Anyway, you’ll just love the house. It’s really something else.”

“Go on now, like a good girl, Aisling,” Maggie said, “and make sure you thank that man again for saving you yesterday.”

Aisling turned to Thomas. “You go on down to the lake,” she said, smiling, “and I’ll catch up with you. I just need to pop upstairs for a few minutes.”

Thomas nodded and after politely thanking the women again, he headed on out into the garden.

Aisling ran upstairs and quickly freshened up. She piled her blonde hair in a casual knot at the top of her head and put on a touch of pale pink lipstick. She looked in the mirror and then blotted most of it off with a tissue, so that it didn’t look too obvious.

Then, as she made for the bedroom door, she turned back to dab a little perfume behind her ears.

As Jean and Maggie stood on the deck watching Aisling run down to meet Thomas, Jean turned to her sister. “She’s a lovely, lovely girl. You must be very proud of her, Maggie.”

“Oh, I am proud of her,” Maggie said. “She’s a good teacher, and a very good housewife. She manages to keep on top of everything well.”

“She’s such a beautiful-looking girl, too,” Jean went on, “with her lovely long blonde hair and her slim figure.”

“Oh, well . . . beauty is as beauty does,” Maggie stated. “But fair dues to Aisling, she’s never let it go to her head. On the whole she has a nice, quiet nature.” She looked at her sister. “A bit too quiet at times. I think it’s all that reading she does. She’s a bit of a dreamer. She’s always been the same since she was a child.”

“Well,” Jean laughed, “she’s only living up to her name.”

“True,” Maggie said, laughing now. “I often forget that. I didn’t realise when we called her Aisling that it meant “dream-vision”’ in Irish. My Gaeilge was never the best. Maybe I should have checked it out beforehand, and indeed with Charles. God knows what his name means – but all I can say is that he’s even worse than Aisling for the books.”

“Did you check what ‘Pauline’ meant before choosing her name?”

Maggie’s face suddenly darkened. “No, indeed I didn’t,” she said. She moved closer to the large window, and watched as Aisling and Thomas moved further and further into the greenery. “To me, all ‘Pauline’ stands for is a mother’s broken heart . . .” Her voice tailed off, slightly cracking now.

“Oh, Maggie,” Jean said, coming to put her arms around her sister. “Don’t keep worrying about that – it’s 1963 now and people don’t mind so much.”

Maggie stiffened in Jean’s embrace, but didn’t move away. “Maybe
here
they don’t – but back in Ireland I’m never allowed to forget it.”

“A child always brings love,” Jean said. “I wrote that to you at the time, and I mean it more now.”

Maggie managed a watery smile. “Oh, I know . . . and Bernadette’s a grand little thing. A little dote – but God love her, she’s going to have it hard with no father.” She sniffed. “There’s hardly a night goes past that I don’t shed a tear over it . . .”

“Maggie, Maggie,” Jean said, hugging her tighter, “you need to stop looking back, and start looking forward. Bernadette has as much right to be in the world as any other child.”

Maggie nodded. “The thing is, it’s easy to understand all that while I’m here. Everything seems simple and easy. Even all the religion thing with Bruce – it doesn’t bother me. Listening to him, some of his views even seems sensible – but the minute I get back home it’ll be a different story. You wouldn’t survive over there to start questioning things too much, or going against the Church.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jean told her. “The thoughts in your own head can be the same wherever you are – it’s up to you.”

“True . . .” Maggie said, but her voice was distant.

They walked out into the garden, Maggie stopping to examine the different plants and flowers. “I hope Aisling’s all right,” she said now. “There’s times it’s hard to work out what’s going on in somebody else’s head.”

“Aisling sounds just fine,” Jean reassured her, “and, aren’t you always saying what a wonderful guy her husband is?”

“Oh, he is, he is. She’s done well marrying him,” Maggie
said. “She has a lovely big farmhouse, and she goes short of nothing. Oliver’s even talking of getting her a car in the near future.”

“He sounds a real nice guy, and so full of life. Declan said he was a leading light in the local drama.”