For several minutes she watched, until she was rewarded with the sight of the bird taking itself several feet up into the air. It then disappeared into the depths of a small fir tree. Aisling smiled and clasped her hands together in pleasure.
A few moments later she turned from the window, a thoughtful look on her face. She picked up her dressing-gown and made for the bathroom. A few minutes later she sighed out loud with annoyance when she realised that Oliver had used up most of the hot water. Thankfully, she had bathed and washed her hair yesterday morning in the hotel. Her long, thick hair took ages to dry, and she had to get up a good half-an-hour early on schooldays when she washed it. She filled the bath a third of the way up with the barely lukewarm water and got in. At least it was a warm, early summer morning. There had been many winter mornings when she’d shivered in the freezing cold, after Oliver had gone off early, leaving a grate full of ashes and a tank of cold water. It would rarely cross his mind to stack the fire up before he left. Aisling did all that before setting off for school. There was no room in the house for two sets of vanity. Oliver’s vanity took all that space up for him alone.
Later, as she towelled herself dry, a small seed of an idea started to grow in Aisling’s mind. A seed sown by her mother a few weeks ago – buried and forgotten but now brought to life again after Oliver’s behaviour this morning, and further nurtured after watching the little bird’s determined attempts to fly.
Aisling Gayle was going to fly. She was going to rise up and leave her home. She was going to fly – far, far away. Even if it was just for a short time. She was going to leave Oliver – and everyone who pitied her for being his wife – a long, long way behind. She was going to join her parents on a trip to attend a wedding in a sunny, beautiful place. A place with a beautiful name: Lake Savannah.
She made up her mind as she rubbed the towel vigorously over her firm, attractive body.
She was going to fly away to America.
She was going to fly to Lake Savannah.
Chapter 2
“Surely you can do better than that?” Oliver said, an encouraging smile on his lips. “Surely you can do a better deal than that? An’ me an oul’ Dub like yerself.” He put his wavy black head to the side, and a finger to his lips. He was putting on a good show, knowing that Fergal, the young salesman at the back of the shop, was listening to every word, and possibly the two women who were through the side door in the ladieswear department. “Now . . . what if I was to take three dozen of the ties and the hankies, would you do me a good deal on the scarves and the braces?”
“I would!” the salesman said, slapping a hand on the counter. “Begod, I would.” He went back to his case, which lay open on the counter behind him. “Now, these new long-johns. I’d say they’d go down well with the farmers round here. They’re a new make – just over from the States . . .”
Oliver shook his head, and tried to conceal his amusement. He had already knocked the fellow down half-price with the fancy ties and hankies, and anything further would be a bonus. “Oh, you’re some man,” he said, clapping him on the back. “You speak the same language as meself.” While the commercial traveller checked some sheets on a clipboard, Oliver turned and winked over at the young sales assistant, delighted with his victory.
That was the great thing about Oliver Gayle. He could bend either way. Sideways, up or down. It didn’t matter to him. He could speak the language of the farmers or the gentry, the young and the old. As long as he got what he wanted, and was paid a fair price. And people loved him for it. That was why Gayle’s Drapery was the prosperous business that it was. Whether he was buying stock from salesmen or selling underwear to customers, Oliver Gayle enjoyed every minute of it. Oliver just enjoyed people generally. The more the merrier. And particularly the females.
It’s just a pity that Tullamore town wasn’t Dublin city. A town like Tullamore could never provide enough life or excitement for the likes of Oliver Gayle.
So Oliver had to provide the excitement for himself.
And he did. Almost every day at work. On his good days – which were often – he brought energy and enthusiasm in abundance to all who worked in his shop. He was good-natured and fair, jokey and flirtatious with staff and customers alike.
On his bad days, his dark mood was like a hurricane blowing through the shop. Wreaking havoc with everybody’s nerves, and making them pray that he would disappear off for a lunch-break which would extend well into the afternoon. Which he often did.
“Now, Fergal,” he said to the thin, younger man who was training as an under-manager in the shop, “did you pay close attention to that little bit of business? Did you see how I managed the fellow?” He smiled, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Oh, I did, Mr Gayle,” Fergal said, nodding his gingery-coloured head. His eyes were wide with admiration. “I was watching you and learning – just like you said.”
“Good man,” Oliver said, giving him a jovial punch on the shoulder. “Now, that’s exactly what you should be doing.” He motioned Fergal over into the corner of the shop, out of earshot of the women. “Now, Fergal,” he said in a more serious manner, “I’m off out on a bit of business, which means you’re in charge. I could be gone well into the afternoon . . . I’m not sure when I’ll get back. Are you up to it?”
“Oh, I am, Mr Gayle,” Fergal assured him quickly. “I’m up to it all right. I’ll make sure that everything’s just grand. There’ll be no long dinner-breaks or anythin’ like that. It’ll be just the way it is when you’re here.”
“And if anybody phones or calls to the shop looking for me?”
“You’re out on business, and can I take a message for you,” said Fergal, proving he was no slouch at picking up his boss’s commands.
“And young Dymphna?” Oliver raised his eyebrows, waiting to hear proof that Fergal had been paying good attention when he had last brought up the subject of time-keeping with the staff.
“Don’t be worryin’ about Dymphna,” Fergal said, straightening his tie in an important manner. “I’ll see she’s back in good time – and on her own. I won’t be slow in remindin’ her to leave her friends outside the door.”
“Good man!” Oliver said, going over to lift his car keys from the sales desk. “You’ll make a great manager some day.”
“Thanks, Mr Gayle,” Fergal beamed, as his boss made his departure through the front door.
Chapter 3
“Isn’t Oliver a great man that he doesn’t mind Aisling having a month away in America, without him?” Sister Concepta said, beaming around the group of teachers congregated in one of the classrooms for their tea and sandwiches.
Aisling’s face started to burn with embarrassment. She lowered her head so that her blonde hair draped in front of her face, and concentrated on taking the brown-paper wrapping off her sandwiches.
Then, thankfully, one of the other teachers chipped in. “Sure, Oliver Gayle has no worries. Aisling will be well chaperoned. Isn’t she being accompanied by her parents? You can’t get safer than that.”
Everyone laughed, and Aisling was relieved and grateful when the conversation drifted away from Oliver to the travel details of her trip.
It made her angry and resentful, the way that her marriage had tainted other parts of her life. Her social life was often filled with awkward moments, with people suddenly announcing that they had seen him here and there. Places she never knew he had been. It was worse when she was out with Pauline, or one of her close friends who knew all about his other women, for the evening would be completely spoiled. Harmless evenings at concerts in church halls and more exciting evenings at dances – all spoiled – just waiting on someone dropping a little nugget of information that they knew about her husband. Information she would never know about her husband if it weren’t for strangers and friends telling her.
This was what she had become used to. This was married life with Oliver Gayle.
Aisling had been through all the ups and downs o
f marriage to Oliver with her sister Pauline and her closest friend Carmel. She knew that at times they thought she was an awful fool for putting up with him, but after all their advice on the ultimatums she should give Oliver and the threats she should make, they always arrived back at where they started. Of course she should leave Oliver – but that was only in theory. Where would she go? And what about her family and the Church? And maybe the rumours were only rumours, and that it was just a kind of flirtation he had with women rather then anything that serious. And then it was back to the beginning again.
Because women like Aisling Gayle never left their husbands.
Women like Aisling Gayle didn’t do lots of things. Admittedly, things were not as bad as a few years ago, when married women weren’t even allowed to work in certain jobs. Aisling watched her sister struggle in a country that was a long way off approving of single mothers. She watched the curvaceous, pretty Pauline having to explain to boyfriends and prospective boyfriends about little Bernadette. None of them lingered around long, for if they didn’t mind the situation themselves, then their mothers certainly did. None of the older women were prepared to become mothers-in-law to a fallen girl. And her pretty face cut no sway with them either.
Aisling’s best friend Carmel was a teacher in the local secondary school. She was thirty next year and still single. She was a slim, vivacious, dark-haired girl who had missed her chance ten years ago. A local hotel-owner had set his cap at her, and Carmel had not been ready. After ‘doing a line’ with the steady, but predictable Seamus Donnelly for three years, she took fright at the thoughts of never having another boyfriend. Of never knowing any other man hold her, or kiss her – or do more exciting things to her.
She took to her heels to her uncle’s in London, and stayed there for two breathtaking, exciting years. During which time she met several men – very attractive and very interesting – but none of whom were suitable, marriageable material. Well, not marriageable material for Carmel. In fact, she discovered almost too late, that one of them was already married. When she came back, Seamus Donnelly was engaged, and they were hanging up the bunting outside the hotel for his wedding to a more sensible, local girl.
A girl who knew a good thing when she saw it.
“The thing is,” Carmel often told Aisling, “I thought I would get better. I thought there was someone out there more suitable for me. Somebody exciting and really interesting . . . but I was wrong. Now all the half-decent local fellows are married.” There was usually an ominous pause. “Be careful yourself, Aisling . . . you could be left on your own, like me. The odds are stacked higher when you reach your thirties . . . and it’s not as if you could get married again.”
Weighing it up, Aisling wondered at times if she was any better off than Pauline or Carmel.
She knew there were plenty of women who would envy her. They would say that at least she had him most of the time, and there was always the hope that he would settle down. That there weren’t too many handsome, financially sound men around Tullamore town.
When they’d first got married, Oliver had started married life off in a promising fashion. He was new in town, and for the first year or two he had put all his energies into setting up the shop and organising the work that needed doing in the old farmhouse Aisling had inherited from an old bachelor uncle.
Oliver had loved being the foreman on the job, advising the builders where he wanted walls knocking down, and walls putting up. Then he had taken a great interest in the furniture they chose – the most modern available from Dublin. From a fellow who knew a friend of Oliver’s, and who could get him the latest styles at discount prices.
All the to-ings and fro-ings up to Dublin had kept him busy for months. All the visits to his family and friends while he was up there, and the overnight stays because it wasn’t worth the trip back late at night. But eventually, the reasons for the trips had run out, and so had Oliver’s interest.
The house was completed, and the builders gone, taking with them all the energy and buzz that Oliver needed constantly around him – the buzz that Oliver had since found in his amateur dramatic groups.
As Aisling ate her cheese and tomato sandwiches, she looked around the group of six teachers – two nuns, two female teachers, the headmaster and another male teacher – and wondered if they knew about Oliver’s philanderings. In all probability they would have heard rumours. Especially now that he had such a close relationship with the nuns on the staff. He was now producer of the drama group and they donated the bulk of their funds to local charities. The nuns were grateful for any help for their order’s orphanages and the likes. They were so grateful that they worked hard at encouraging people in the town to support the group’s plays.
Aisling was sure that everyone – apart from her parents – knew of Oliver’s weakness for the female members of his cast. The one he had been speaking to on the phone this morning was probably his latest leading lady.
“So when do you set off for New York, Aisling?” Martin the youngest teacher asked. He was a shy young fellow, and Aisling was sure that the headmaster had told him to make more of an effort chatting to his colleagues. Normally, she was happy to chat to him about difficult pupils and books and the like, but now she could have killed him for bringing attention to her business again.
She swallowed the last of her lukewarm tea. “Saturday morning . . . the day after we finish school.” She managed a smile. “And it can’t come quick enough!”
“You’re going out for a wedding, aren’t you?”
Aisling nodded. “A cousin.” She stood up now and walked over to the wastepaper bin. She threw the greaseproof paper in the bin, and then held the brown paper over it and shook off the crumbs. Then, she came back to her chair, and started to fold the paper into small squares to use again the following day.
“Parts of Upstate New York are very green,” Sister Concepta chipped in now. “Sister Monica has travelled all over the area, and I was looking at some of her letters the other evening, describing the places she’d been.” The nun finished the last of her tea now, too. “I thought everywhere was like New York City, all tall buildings and shops. Still – you live and learn.”
“My mother has photos of the place we’ll be staying in,” Aisling said, much more comfortable with the general turn that the conversation had now taken. “It looks like a beautiful place, with trees of every colour and unusual wooden houses. It’s by a lake too, so I hope to get some swimming practice in while I’m there.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I could do with getting some exercise and toning up a bit.”
Sister Concepta laughed. “Would you just listen to that! And not a pick on her! You’re the last person who needs to worry about her figure, Aisling.” She grabbed a handful of the material in her black, voluminous habit. “Thank God for these garments we nuns have to wear – they hide a multitude of sins. ‘Tis their only saving grace. I wouldn’t want to be displaying what is hidden underneath in a bathing-suit!” She leaned towards the other, older nun. “What do you say, Sister Mary?”
“Indeed,” said Sister Mary rather stiffly, not finding the conversation about matters of the flesh quite so entertaining as her colleague. “But Aisling will have a wonderful time. It will be a lovely change altogether for you. Sitting by a lake, sunbathing and reading.”
“It’s sitting by a lake that we’d all like to be,” said Mr Duffy, lifting the heavy copper bell from the window-ledge, “but it’s back to class I’m afraid, until the summer is upon us.”
Aisling gathered her bag and copybooks and stood up, grateful for the routine of her schooldays that would get her through the next few weeks. Grateful for the nice people she worked with, and the innocent children she taught, who allowed her to escape from the reality of life with Oliver at home.
Chapter 4
Saturday morning came bright and cheerful, reflecting Oliver’s humour as he drove Aisling and her parents up to Dublin airport. He had been up at the crack of dawn, making A
isling tea and toast and generally making sure that everything went like clockwork. There had been no early-morning phone calls recently, but Aisling was in no way comforted by this. She knew that he would make good use of the time she was away.
In fairness to Oliver, he had been more than helpful with regards to the trip. He had insisted on her going shopping for several new outfits, and had even accompanied her to make sure that she bought all that she needed.
Then two days before her holiday, he turned up after work with a brand new suitcase for the journey. “A commercial traveller owed me a favour,” Oliver said, lifting the leather case out of the boot of his car. “You won’t see many like them around.” He brought it in and set it down on the kitchen table. “Reinforced corners,” he pointed out, “so it won’t get banged around in the luggage departments, and pockets inside for all your bits and pieces.” He laid the case wide open now, awaiting Aisling’s admiration and gratitude.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, giving him the warmest smile she could muster up. “It’ll hold everything I need, with room to spare. It was very good of you.”
Oliver waved away her thanks. “I thought you’d need room for any extras you buy in America,” he said. “I believe they have shops over there that we could only dream of. And dreaming about America is the closest most people will get to it. You’re very lucky getting the chance to go there.” He gathered her into his arms now, rocking very slightly from side to side. Holding her the way that used to make her feel secure and loved and happy. “I’m proud of the fact you’re going to America, Aisling, and I hope with all my heart that you have a wonderful, wonderful time.”
Aisling had leaned her head against Oliver’s chest, wishing with all her heart that he could change into the husband she had hoped she’d married.
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