The Town Bookstore was a wonderland. It seemed to go on for miles, with corners turning here and there, revealing yet more shelves stacked from floor to ceiling with every sort of book imaginable. Within minutes, Aisling had picked out several titles by American authors that she had been looking for. She hugged them to herself, delighted with her finds. She found one of Charles’s books on space exploration, and then she picked out a nice fashion book for her friend Carmel. After that, she headed into the children’s section where she found two BobbseyTwins books and an illustrated copy of Little Women to take back to school.
On her way out, armed with her gift-wrapped parcels, she spotted a book on American fishing that her father might like. She was reaching on tiptoe for it, when she suddenly felt someone watching her.
“Can I do anything for you, ma’am?” a deep male voice said.
Startled, she turned to find a man standing close to her. Standing too close for comfort.
“No . . .” Aisling said, stepping back to a more comfortable distance. “I’m grand . . . thank you.”
He looked her up and down, then he flashed a smile of perfect white teeth, showing under a well-trimmed moustache. “ I would agree with that statement, ma’am – you sure look grand.” He spoke in a slow American drawl, which sounded to Aisling as though he were mimicking a film star.
Instinctively, Aisling found herself moving away from the shelf, and away from the man. He looked to be in his late thirties and almost six foot tall, dark-headed and quite good-looking in an obvious sort of way. He was dressed in a Hawaiian-style shirt and shorts, and Aisling wondered at a shop-assistant being dressed so casually. He looked more suited to the beach than working in a bookshop.
Aisling hurried off to the pay-desk with the American fishing book, feeling horribly self-conscious under the man’s gaze. She wondered had she taken too long choosing her books, and was this the shop’s polite way of hurrying people up. She paid for her book, and this time declined the saleslady’s offer to gift-wrap it. She didn’t want to loiter around in the shop with the weird salesman, and anyway – her father wouldn’t care how the book came. He would just be grateful she had even thought of him.
Out in the sunshine of the main shopping area again, Aisling drew a deep breath, and looked around, deciding which way to go next.
She turned down a quiet side-street and she wandered along it, coming to a standstill outside a ladies’ lingerie shop. The window display drew Aisling’s gaze to it like a magnet.
Delicate lace and satin underwear peeped out of antique chests of drawers and pink and yellow and white-painted baskets. A row of tiny polka-dot knickers with matching bras hung on a piece of white rope as though on a washing-line. Aisling had never seen anything so feminine and lovely. Not even in the bigger stores in Dublin did they have anything like this. Underwear was a most discreet, serious business there, and certainly not something to be flaunted in the front window of a shop, under the gaze of all the men passing.
In a few seconds she was standing inside the shop.
“Good day, ma’am,” a middle-aged shop assistant greeted her, “would you like some help or would you like to browse?”
“Thank you,” Aisling said, blushing, “I’m just having a little look around.”
“You just go straight ahead,” the lady told her, smiling. She motioned to a space at the side of the counter. “You can leave your parcels here, and it will leave you free to have a good look at the merchandise.”
And that’s exactly what Aisling felt – free. Free to wander about on her own, and free to look at these, delicate, feminine things that she would love to own. She moved about the shop, gently fingering the silky garments.
There was a time when she would have loved Oliver to see her in skimpy little things like these, but not any more. Especially after finding another woman’s brassierre under the seat of his car when she was cleaning it out last year. A much fancier sort of brassiere than the type she wore herself. Since then, Aisling had constantly been aware of being in competition with someone else.
Even when they were staying in the hotel at their anniversary, she found herself covering up in pyjamas and long nightdresses – unwilling to have her body compared to another woman’s.
Her hand lingered now over a beautiful, sleeveless, Victorian-style nightdress. It had thin blue ribbon threaded through broderie-anglaise cotton, and had rows of delicate lace stitched down the front and hem. This was something that she could happily wear in front of her mother and father, and it was perfect for the lovely, warm weather in America.
She picked a nice cotton brassiere and matching knickers, and one of the polka-dot sets. Then she left them, along with the nightdress and a matching dressing-gown she’d spotted, for the lady to wrap, while she wandered around picking up a heart-shaped nightdress case for Carmel and some small lace lavender-bags as gifts for the women teachers.
As she walked out of the shop, childishly examining the beautifully wrapped contents of yet another attractive American carrier bag, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Buy anything nice?”
The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. It was the man from the bookstore. She turned around, and there he was – just standing looking at her. And just like before, he was moving too close for comfort. She backed off now – realising that he must have been watching her while she was inside the shop, watching her as she walked around looking at all the lovely underwear, watching her as she picked up brassieres and knickers and nightdresses, watching her as she held the nightdress to her body, and looked at herself in the mirror.
Watching her do things that she would never even want her husband to see her doing. Even at the best moment in their relationship, she would have felt embarrassed choosing underwear in front of Oliver.
But this wasn’t Oliver. This man who had been watching her was a complete stranger. And he had been watching her and waiting for her outside the shop.
This time Aisling did not make any pretence of being polite. Instinctively she knew she should not acknowledge him – that this was not a normal, friendly encounter. For all she knew he could be a rapist or even a murderer. The street was almost empty and he could easily grab her and drag her into one of the parked cars. He might even have a gun. You often heard in the news of people being shot in America.
Anything could happen – and no one would know where she was.
Aisling turned on her heel, gripping her shopping tightly to her and headed for a gift shop further along the street. She walked straight into the shop, and then raced up one aisle and down another, without giving a glance to any of the merchandise. She was suddenly aware of feeling breathless and her heart was pounding. She slowed down, and after a few moments – safely near a pay-desk – she halted and looked towards the shop window.
Then, her hands gripped her bags so tightly that the knuckles turned white.
Just as she had dreaded – there – pressed up against the window – was the brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt.
Aisling willed herself to stay calm, reassuring herself that he wouldn’t dare approach her when she was beside two shop assistants.
He turned now – arms folded casually – to look in at her. Aisling turned away and walked over to stand by an elderly woman who was stacking soft toys on a shelf. She put her shopping bags down, as the books were fairly heavy. Then, just as she was planning on what to say to the woman – something that wouldn’t sound too paranoid or stupid – the shop phone rang. The woman hurriedly dropped the toys and rushed off to answer it.
Aisling stifled a little sigh of dismay. Then, her heart suddenly froze as she felt a heavy hand gripping her shoulder.
Chapter 7
Aisling took a deep breath and then whirled around to face the owner of the heavy hand.
“Hi!” a cheery young voice said. “I called for you – I called at Jean’s house – this morning. To show you medals – my swimming medals!” Thomas Carroll was beaming wit
h delight at meeting up again.
“Oh, Thomas!” Aisling was more than delighted herself. In fact, she was almost faint with relief. She looked over his head, her eyes searching. “Who are you with?”
“Dad,” he said brightly, “I’m with Dad. He’s – he’s over there.” Thomas pointed towards the queue of people at the till.
Thank God! Aisling said quietly to herself. Then, she stole a quick glance in the direction of the door, and all she saw was a wide expanse of glass. The weird man had gone!
She was still staring when she felt Thomas tug at her hand. “Da-ad! Da-ad! This my buddy, Ash-leen. She’s staying – at Jean’s house.”
Aisling turned to her young companion, still half an eye on the window. “Sorry, Thomas . . . ” she said distractedly, “what did you say?”
“This is my dad!” he said, beaming proudly at her.
Aisling looked above his head to the tall, fairish-haired man he was referring to. He had a light growth of beard that was slightly darker than his longish hair. Their eyes met, and Aisling suddenly found herself completely tongue-tied. She leaned forward to shake hands, forgetting about the bags of books and parcels she had sitting on the floor in front of her. “Oh, sorry!” she cried, stumbling forward..
A large, tanned hand came forward to steady her. “You, okay?” he said in a low, concerned voice.
Aisling straightened up, completely mortified. “I’m really sorry,” she said again. “I’ve just had a bit of a . . .”
His hand came out again now in a handshake before she could explain. “Hi . . . I’m Jameson Carroll – Thomas’s father.”
Aisling nodded, and shook his hand. “Hi,” she said, her face burning. “I’m Aisling Gayle . . . Thomas told me about you yesterday – I met him down at the lake. I heard you calling across to him – something about a burger and a milkshake?” Then, she felt even more uncomfortable at saying such an inane thing.
Jameson Carroll looked back at her without saying anything.
How could she start telling him about the man in the Hawaiian shirt now? He would think she was completely mad. She gave a quick glance at the window, and thankfully, there was no one there. Hopefully he had gone away – so maybe there was no point in mentioning it now.
Thomas pulled a small package from his pocket. “New tie!” he told her loudly, and started to pull the bright red tie from its wrapping.
“Okay, Thomas, put it away now.” His father’s tone was patient but firm. “We don’t want to hold everyone in the shop up.”
Aisling blushed again. “Sorry,” she said blusteringly, “I shouldn’t be holding you up like this.”
Again, Jameson Carroll said nothing. Instantly, Aisling decided that even if the weird man returned, she would definitely not ask this boorish man for help.
She bent now, and quickly sorted out her packages, and in her rush as she stood up again, she dropped one of the smaller bags which had been inside a larger one. She bent to pick it up at the same time as the tall American, and her self-consciousness was increased when their heads collided. Aisling could not bear to look at his face this time. She muttered a ‘thank you’ as he handed her the small bag bearing the name of the ladies’ lingerie shop.
Oh, the embarrassment! Could it possibly get worse? Aisling thought. A strange man aware that she had bought underwear from a sexy lingerie shop. Thank God she was in America! If this had been one of the men from the village back home, she would have been the butt of suggestive remarks in the local pubs for the next month.
Thomas turned towards her, as they headed out of the shop. “Will you come and see . . . my medals?”
“Pardon?” Aisling stuttered, her mind still cringing from the underwear incident.
“Swimming.” He arms moved in breast-stroke fashion.
“Oh, yes . . . but I’ll have to see Jean,” she said, “when I get back to Lake Savannah. I’ll have to see what plans the others have made.” She gripped her bags tightly. “I’m just not sure . . .”
“That’s okay.” Jameson Carroll’s voice had an icy edge. “I’m sure you have a real busy schedule while you’re over here. Thomas won’t take up your time.” He guided his son firmly through the door. Plainly, he thought that Aisling was giving his son the brush-off.
“I’ll know better tomorrow, Thomas,” she called quickly, “when I’ve had time to check what’s happening.”
But the tall, long-haired American hadn’t heard or wasn’t in the least interested in her explanations. Thomas struggled from under his father’s arm to give her his ‘thumbs-up’ sign, before being propelled down the street.
Aisling wondered what on earth had she done that had made this man so defensive. Surely there was nothing that he could have misconstrued? They had hardly spoken at all. She shook her head now, vaguely deciding which direction to take. She took a few steps into the street when someone moved out from a doorway and stood directly in front of her. It was the man in the Hawaiian shirt.
“Hi,” he said, with a dazzling smile. “Can I take some of the weight from your pretty little arms?” He reached his hands out towards her parcels.
“Don’t touch me,” Aisling heard herself say in a threatening hiss. “Go away!”
She turned around, expecting a crowd to have gathered to see what was going on – but apart from the odd curious glance, nobody paid any attention. Aisling pushed past him, expecting him to be shocked – but he actually laughed.
“OK, OK!” he said, holding his hands in the air. “I guess I used the wrong tactics . . .”
Aisling started to move away.
“I’m sorry,” he called, coming after her. “Give me another chance . . . please! I just wanna get to know you.”
Aisling could hear him, but she kept going. Her heart thudding so hard it felt as though it were going to come up into her throat. She kept going, past all the shops and the other people, who were either oblivious as to what was going on – or just simply didn’t care. They were moving down into a busier, more crowded area. Aisling scanned the crowds, silently praying for the familiar faces of her parents or Jean and Bruce. But all the people were strangers, and she was still sure that the man was behind her.
If he didn’t leave her alone soon, she knew that she would have no option but to hit him. She knew that it would be the only way to get rid of him. She was so afraid of him now that she didn’t care what she did – as long as he left her alone. Even if it meant being hauled into an American police station. She could feel the muscles and tendons tighten in her fists as they clenched the handles of the carrier bags.
Yes, she decided, if he comes near me again – I’ll hit him with the bag of books.
Then, two familiar faces appeared. But Aisling’s heart sank rather than soared. It was not her father or Bruce as she had hoped and prayed for. It was the smiling Thomas and his dour-faced father.
In normal circumstances, she would have died rather than approach them. But these weren’t normal circumstances – and the man who was following her was not normal either.
She had no alternative. She walked straight up to the Carrolls – hoping that it looked to the weird man as though she had arranged to meet them.
“I know I’m being a nuisance,” she said to Jameson Carroll, “but there’s a strange man following me – and he’s really frightening me. Can I please just stand here for a few minutes until he goes away?”
Jameson Carroll turned around, and looked down at Aisling’s smaller, trembling figure. The look of disdain slid from his face when he saw the tears welling up in her blue eyes.
His brow creased. “Where is he now?” he asked, his voice concerned.
She dropped her bags on the ground. “He was right behind me . . .” She couldn’t bear to look round, for she suddenly felt weak at the thought of seeing the gaudy shirt again.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “You’re OK now – but you’re going to have to point him out to me.”
Aisling nodded, wishing she could just collapse into his arms completely.
Then, he turned her back to face into the crowds. He bent his head towards her. “What does he look like?” he said in a quiet tone.
“Tallish and dark – with a moustache,” she said in a breathless voice. “He was wearing a coloured – Hawaiian-type shirt.”
“OK,” Jameson Carroll told her, “there’s no one like that around right now. He must be gone – or hiding.”
Aisling felt the tears come, and this time she could not stop them. “Oh God . . . I’m so sorry . . . I feel so stupid.”
Jameson Carroll bent down and picked up Aisling’s bags. He gave the lighter ones to Thomas, and the ones with the books he hooked on one finger. He put his free arm around Aisling’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said softly, “I think you need a coffee. You’ll feel better after sitting down for a bit.” When Aisling started to protest he smiled and said, “Look, I never get away with bringing this guy shopping and not having a Coke or a milkshake. We would be stopping anyway.”
“I love Coke and milkshakes,” Thomas gleefully confirmed, pointing to a restaurant further up the street.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling overwhelmingly grateful.
Aisling sank down into a deeply cushioned cane chair while Thomas and his father went up to give the order. Then, she took out her compact and a hanky to check what the damage to her face was.
Her reflection was every bit as bad as she expected. Red eyes and smudged mascara. She wiped away the traces of mascara, and ran a hand over her thick hair. She would have to do, for Jameson Carroll was making his way back to the table now with two tall mugs and saucers. Quickly, she stuffed the compact and hanky back into her handbag.
Jameson stood back to let Thomas put his tall glass of Coke on the table, and then the boy went hurrying back to the counter in a purposeful manner. Jameson set the mugs of coffee down, and slid one across to Aisling.
She could feel his eyes on her now, and momentarily distracted herself by reaching for a spoonful of brown sugar.
Aisling Gayle Page 5