Aisling looked at him now – really looked at him. Then she felt the tears threatening again. “But we’re very different,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “Even though I don’t know much about you, I know that we’re completely different in loads of ways.”
“We can learn about each other,” he said, his hand moving to stroke her blonde hair. “I’m kinda looking forward to that. I like everything I’ve learned about you up to now.”
But you don’t know that I’m married, thought Aisling. She leaned towards him, drawn by the strength and the warmth of his body. “I’m only here for a couple of weeks,” she said weakly.
He nodded, still smiling. “That’ll do for now . . . it just means that we have to go faster at getting to know each other.” He bent and kissed her lips again. “I want to know everything about you. I’m not real good at talking – I’ve kinda lost the habit. Apart from Thomas, it’s a long time since I’ve wanted to talk like this to anyone.” His voice dropped a little. “It’s a long time since I’ve needed to talk.”
Aisling nodded – warmed by his rich deep voice, his lovely American drawl, and the wonderful words he was saying. Then, a movement in the bushes behind them made her suddenly aware that they were not on their own. She rose up from the bench, alarmed that someone might have seen them.
Jameson stretched back over the bench, and parted some of the greenery. Then he turned and looked back at her. “Relax,” he said quietly. “It’s only a cat stalking a bird.”
Aisling gave a deep sigh, then came to sit back down.
He stretched a hand out towards her and pulled her close towards him, and although she knew she was taking a risk, she could not help herself. She was in his arms again, and he was kissing her and holding her so close it almost hurt.
And she found herself clinging to him in a way she had never clung to Oliver Gayle.
Eventually, when she felt she was almost drowning in this wonderful feeling, a little voice at the back of her head told her that it needed to stop. She knew from the way their bodies were meeting so naturally and easily together, that she would have to pull away from him. Breathlessly now, she eased out of his grip and somehow managed to stand up. She straightened her pink suit skirt, and smoothed down her hair.
He looked up at her, with a smiling but shy sort of look on his face. “You okay?” he asked her gently, vaguely straightening the tie he had loosened earlier.
“I’ve got to go back in,” she told him, her voice halting. “I don’t want to – but I’ve got to. My parents and Jean – they might be looking for me.”
“Sure,” he said, nodding slowly. “I guess I’d better check on Thomas.” The smile appeared again. “He was dancing when I left. He loves it – but sometimes he gets carried away, and doesn’t know when to take a rest.”
He stood up, and then reached to take her hand. He held on to it, taking it in both of his. Then he lifted it to his lips and kissed each finger very gently.
Aisling caught her breath, a wave of desire rushing over her at his touch.
“Look,” he said now, “I don’t know what’s happening here between us . . . and I can sense that it might be full of problems. But for now, it feels real good to me.” His voice dropped a little. “Later . . . whenever you can find the time . . . we can talk and see what we can sort out . . .”
Aisling looked up into the deep brown eyes again, and she felt as though her whole insides were turning upside down. “I’m not sure,” she whispered, then had to close her eyes tight to stop the tears from spilling down again.
“What’s so bad?” he said, cupping her face in his hands.
“The fact that I’m married,” she told him in a flat voice.
He nodded slowly. “Yup,” he said, reaching for her left hand. “I noticed your wedding band the first time I met you . . . within a couple minutes I looked to see if you were wearing one.” He touched her hair. “Things in life are not always black and white . . . I’ve been married myself.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Hell, Aisling,” he said, drawing her close again, “don’t take on so . . . we haven’t done anything too terrible . . . a kiss isn’t such a bad thing.”
Aisling managed a watery smile. “I’ve never, ever done anything like this before,” she said. “I’ve never even contemplated it. I’ve never kissed another man since I got married.”
“Okay,” he said soothingly. “I can tell this is real difficult for you, and I sure don’t want to upset you.” He drew a carefully ironed hanky from his inside pocket, and dabbed it to her eyes. “We’ll leave things for now – we’ll go back inside and join the party.”
They walked across the grass very slowly, without speaking, touching or looking at each other. But both reluctant to start the separation. They paused at the bottom of the steps and when Jameson looked into Aisling’s eyes again, the intensity of his gaze started the hot burning feeling inside her again.
“I think,” she said, “we’d better – you know, go back to our own tables.” She lowered her head, feeling like an awkward schoolgirl. “It’s just that my parents and Jean might notice something . . . if we’re together.”
He nodded his head slowly, not taking his eyes off her. “If that’s what you want, then that’s okay by me. But . . .” a little unsure note had crept into his tone, “I will see you later tonight . . . won’t I? You won’t just leave it this way?”
Aisling couldn’t stop herself from touching his arm – the arm that had held her close to him just a few minutes ago. “I promise I’ll see you later, but I have to go back inside now.”
Then, she turned and made her way into the foyer of the hotel and straight to the ladies’ room. She rushed to the mirror, checking for any obvious signs of what had just happened to her. But she was surprised that there were none. Apart from most of her lipstick having been kissed away, she looked more or less the same as she had earlier in the day. She scolded herself for rushing out without her handbag and make-up, and after cooling her wrists under the cold tap, she pursed her lips together to make the traces of lipstick more even, and combed her fingers through her hair. Then, she took a deep breath and headed back out to the main function room.
As she neared the table, she was relieved to find only Declan and Bruce sitting there chatting, and it was obvious from the way they greeted her that they hadn’t missed her at all. While they chatted on about American baseball, Aisling discreetly retrieved her handbag, took out her compact and dotted a bit of powder over her nose and cheeks, and then reapplied her lipstick.
Maggie and Jean appeared some ten minutes later. “Where on earth did you disappear to, Aisling?” Maggie queried. “I had a look around the hall and outside in the corridor, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
“Did you go for a breath of fresh air, honey?” Jean cut in, wafting her own face with a paper napkin. “You mentioned feeling very hot earlier.”
Aisling gave a vague nod, grateful for her aunt’s intervention. “I had a bit of a walk in the garden . . .”
“Don’t mention hot,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just not used to this heat in Ireland. I don’t know how you stick it all the year round.”
“Oh, we get cold winters here, too,” Jean told her, “and it can get very cold at night, even in summer.” She turned to Aisling now, still fanning the napkin. “Talking of night – the plan for the evening is food and drinks back at the house, and fireworks down at the lake.”
“I’m really looking forward to that,” Aisling said. “I’ve never seen a proper firework display before – only in the films.”
“Well, it’s a custom round these parts to celebrate important occasions with fireworks,” Jean said, “and my daughter’s wedding sure is an important occasion to us.” She patted Maggie’s hand now. “Your mom and I are going to head back home to check that Mrs Waters and the other women have everything in order, and to help out with the last-minute things. Bruce and your dad and Michae
l will be sorting the fireworks out.”
She craned her neck to look across the room to her son and girlfriend’s table. “I think Ali prefers to stay on here for a bit – she’s already made friends with the bridesmaids and some of Sandra’s friends. She’s a wonderful girl, a great mixer, and she just loves dancing.”
Aisling noticed her mother’s face stiffen at the mention of Michael’s girlfriend – but although her face gave her feelings away, at least she didn’t say anything. No matter how nice everyone else thought Ali was, or how happy she was supposed to make Jean’s son – she would never be anything else but another man’s wife as far as Maggie was concerned.
Aisling’s stomach did somersaults at the thought of how her mother would react if she knew what had gone on between her and Jameson Carroll out in the garden.
“Would you like me to come back to the house with you?” Aisling offered.
“No, honey,” Jean said, “I’m sure there’s nothing much left to do. Your mom and I plan to put our feet up for an hour before all the others come back to the house.”
“And have a nice cup of tea,” Maggie said, smiling at the thought. It had been hours since she’d had a decent cup, but she hadn’t passed any remarks about it to anyone – not even Declan or Aisling. All credit to herself now. Today above all days, she wouldn’t have dreamt of making anybody feel awkward about the watery American tea. She had gritted her teeth and drank it, but her system was getting a bit rattled now for want of a decent, strong cup of Irish tea.
Jean winked at her niece. “Oh, we won’t forget the tea. And if you run out of energy for dancing, Aisling, you can keep all my friends entertained with your stories of Ireland and your little school.” She waved her napkin towards the back of the hall. “Oh, I should have told you, Aisling. Thomas came across to ask you for a dance, so I think you might have to go look for him before the dancing finishes.” She paused. “And, honey . . . if you need a lift back to the house later, Jameson said he’d be happy to bring any guests along with him.”
Aisling nodded and reached for her glass of now lukewarm orange juice. How have Igot away with this? she asked herself. I’ve done something really shocking. Something that only me and Jameson Carroll know about.
“So we’ll see you later,” Maggie said, struggling to her feet. She wasn’t used to dancing in this sort of heat. Hopefully, a cup of tea and putting her poor, swollen feet up for half-an-hour would sort her out.
Then, a tall shadow came across the table. “If it suits you all – I’ve organised a trip for us out to Cooperstown tomorrow. I hope you folks can get away.”
Aisling turned around in her chair to come face-to-face with the man who had eagerly escorted her parents around the graveyard back at the church.
“Some folks I was talking to about the interesting headstones we’d been looking at this afternoon told me all about this cemetery in Cooperstown,” he said, pulling a chair out beside Maggie. “From their descriptions, I reckon this is a much bigger place, and the headstones are from all parts of Ireland. I think you and your husband will find it fascinating.”
Maggie sat up, and with elbows resting earnestly on the table, proceeded to interrogate her tour guide about the details of the journey and the type of area the cemetery was in.
“I think,” Jean said, nudging Aisling, “that you might just have another relaxing day by the lake.”
Aisling nodded and smiled, her thoughts drifting back to the stolen minutes in the garden with Jameson Carroll, and the touch of his lips on hers.
Tea and rests were forgotten for the next hour, and when Declan came back to the table, they all sat chatting, and made plans to hit several cemeteries the following afternoon.
Then, when Maggie made another move to head back to the house, all the guests gathered in a massive circle, with the bride and groom in the centre. The happy couple danced round the circle a number of times, then the guests formed a long archway, through which they both had to pass, giving each one on their side a kiss. Amidst cheers and laughter, everyone waved them off as they left in a limousine to prepare for their honeymoon.
Shortly afterwards, Aisling’s parents and Bruce and Jean set off for Lake Savannah. “I’ve told Thomas and his father that you’ll ride back with them later,” Jean reminded her as she left. “They’re across the other side of the room, near the band . . . Thomas loves the music.”
And because she had no other option – and because it was exactly what she had been waiting to do – Aisling made her way across the floor, to the table where he was sitting. Thomas was once again on the dance floor, this time with the bubbly Ali, and Jameson was sitting alone at the table, watching him.
As she approached him, Aisling was torn between anticipation and dread. Knowing deep in her heart that she should have gone home with the older group, and not given this situation the chance to grow any deeper. But she couldn’t help herself. And worse still – she didn’t want to. The feelings that were running through her now were too new and exciting to walk or run away from.
The truth was Aisling Gayle wanted more and more of these feelings.
Jameson turned his head now, and caught sight of Aisling coming towards the table. His deep brown eyes lit up. As he rose to greet her, his whole body seemed to shift into a different gear. Easily and very, very comfortably, he reached his hands towards her and guided her into a chair beside him.
Aisling sat down, leaving her hands in his warm grasp. Her parents had gone, and suddenly she didn’t really care if anybody else saw them.
“At last,” he said smiling, his eyes taking in every inch of her face and his hands growing a little tighter around hers. “It seems like an awful long time since I last saw you.”
Aisling nodded her head and laughed. “That’s funny – it feels exactly the same for me.” Then, as he released his hold of her to pour her a glass of wine, Aisling looked at him, and she knew that it was not going to be easy to walk away from this. Whatever this turned out to be.
Thomas came back to the table, hot and sweaty after dancing.
“You – me!” he said to Aisling, motioning to the dance floor as the band struck up a rock-and-roll number.
“No, buddy,” his father told him firmly. “Into the washroom and splash some cold water on your face, then go and ask the lady at the bar for a cold drink with ice.”
Thomas wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, and gave Aisling a big grin. “I am – boiling!” he told her.
“That,” his father said, shaking his head, “is the biggest understatement I’ve heard all evening.” He beckoned his son to sit beside him. “Let me roll up the sleeves of your shirt, and get rid of this darn tie for you.”
As she watched Jameson Carroll gently and discreetly organise the boy’s clothing, Aisling felt a lump forming in her throat. It was obvious from his easy, but careful handling, that this man deeply loved his slow endearing son. And it was also obvious that there was nothing he couldn’t or wouldn’t do for him.
Thomas poked Jameson on the arm. “I look just like Dad now!” He beamed, pointing out his father’s loosened tie and casually rolled-back shirtsleeves.
Jameson ruffled Thomas’s hair. “Go get freshened up and then get the cold drink, otherwise the dancing will be all over by the time you get back.”
“Yessir, Mr Carroll!” Thomas said gleefully, giving his father a military-style salute, before disappearing into the dancing crowds.
“You’re so good with him,” Aisling said quietly. “You’ve made sure he’s achieving everything he can achieve. His full potential.” She paused, picking her words carefully. “I know a few children who have a similar condition to Thomas’s. I’m not sure what words you use over here, and I don’t want to put my foot in it . . .”
Jameson Carroll sat back in his chair, his fingers laced together thoughtfully. “The only acceptable term I find is Down’s syndrome but not too many people use it or even know it.”
“I’ve never heard it c
alled Down’s syndrome,” Aisling admitted. “But it sounds much better than the words people use back home.”
He gave a little shrug. “You won’t offend me whatever name you call his condition. I know you like Thomas, and that’s all that matters.”
Aisling felt relieved that he was happy about her attitude to Thomas. She now realised that it was the yardstick he used to measure people with. “Well,” she said, tucking a wing of hair behind her ear, “it’s just that I’m used to people back home expecting very little from kids like Thomas.”
Jameson shrugged. “It’s not just in Ireland. I’ve seen it happen with kids I grew up with. Some of the schools just leave them sitting in a corner – or have them doing stuff that pre-school kids could do.”
Aisling raised her eyes to the ceiling. “We don’t even have special schools where we live – the children are just kept at home. And the thing is, so many of these kids are like Thomas – friendly and lively.”
“You think so?” Jameson’s tone had an almost angry note in it. “You wouldn’t believe how rare your attitude is. Most people treat him like a cute little pet rather than a human being.”
“No . . .” Aisling said, frowning, “maybe you’re just being a bit sensitive . . . it’s just that some people aren’t used to children like Thomas. If they spent more time with them, got to know them properly, then they would be totally different.”
“And what,” said Jameson, “if that person happens to be the mother of a Down’s syndrome child?”
Aisling stared at him in shock. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she stuttered, thrown completely off the thread of conversation. She could feel she was now treading on thin ice. She was afraid she might not get the words right. She was afraid she might provoke the same cool reaction she got when they first met.
“I’m talking about Thomas’s mother,” he said, a bitter smile on his lips. “I’m talking about a mother who had all the time in the world to get to know her son real well. I’m talking about a mother who had all the money she needed, and all the help she wanted to cushion her from the worst of his problems.” His head lowered. “No matter what I did – she still couldn’t accept him.”
Aisling Gayle Page 16