Aisling held her hands up in defeat. “OK, OK – I’ve got the message, Mr Carroll. I’m going.” Then, an impish smile spread on her face. “I know you older folk need your sleep.”
Jameson raised his eyebrows. “Hell . . . does it bother you? I never really thought of the age difference.”
“Not a bit,” she said laughing. “If you want to get out your wheelchair, I’ll push you round the lake.”
Hushing their laughter as they left the house for fear of waking Thomas, they walked hand in hand along the lakeside path until they reached the entrance to Jean’s garden.
“I wish I had brought my camera,” Aisling said, as they stood at the edge of the water. “I don’t think I’ve ever really seen a dawn break before.” She kicked at a little stone. “Living with Oliver . . . I never took the time to notice things like this.”
“I never took the time myself,” Jameson said, squeezing her hand. “Not until I came out here at the beginning, when I couldn’t sleep and I took the time to watch what was happening around me.” He drew her towards him. “From now on, I’m not going to miss any of the beauty around me . . . I’m determined not to take my eyes off you.”
Aisling blushed and laughed. “I’m beginning to worry about your eyesight, Mr Carroll. I don’t know whether it’s a sign of lack of sleep . . . or maybe it’s another sign of getting older?”
“Neither,” he said in a whisper. “It’s quite simply the truth.” Then, he bent his head and placed his lips hard on hers, and they clung together as the new day dawned.
Chapter 20
There was not a sound as Aisling tiptoed through the house, then made her way upstairs carrying her sandals. She quickly undressed and washed, then slid between the cool sheets. Then, she folded her arms behind her head, closed her eyes – and replayed every single moment of the time she had spent with Jameson Carroll.
From the dance at the wedding, to their first kiss when they were sitting on the garden bench. Then, she went over the hours they had spent in his beautiful white house tonight – as though she were sitting watching it on a film. She reached out for the spare pillow and hugged it tightly to herself, until her mind eventually relaxed, and sleep finally came.
Several hours later, a panicky Jean awoke to discover that the cemetery guide was due to arrive within the next half an hour. She ran downstairs and her first task was to light the gas on the cooker and put the kettle on, knowing that Maggie couldn’t function without her morning cup of tea. Then, she ran back upstairs to waken everyone else, vaguely wondering why on earth they had agreed to go on this outing the morning after the wedding. Especially after such a late night, and maybe one too many drinks.
“What d’you think, Declan?” Maggie asked, as she paced up and down the kitchen floor. Waiting for people to arrive always made her anxious, and she felt doubly so having got the vague feeling that Declan and the others were only going on this tour to humour her.
“What do I think about what?” Declan said patiently.
“Should we waken Aisling? I’m bothered that she might think we’re leaving her on her own too much. And what about Mass? She has no transport to get to Mass if we go without her.”
“Look, Maggie,” Declan said in a distinctly fed-up tone, for he had been having this conversation all through their hurried breakfast. “You can’t expect a young girl like her to be enamoured of the same things as us. As Jean says, by the time she gets up she’ll be just as happy swimming and sunbathing.”
“And what about Mass?” Maggie demanded.
“What about it?” Declan countered. “Weren’t we all there yesterday for the wedding? Surely, for once, that’ll hold us for the week?”
“Well,” Maggie said briskly, turning to rinse her cup under the tap, “it might hold you, Declan Kearney, but I fully intend to find a church somewhere this holy day when we’re out. I’ve never missed a Sunday Mass unless I’d just given birth or wasn’t fit to get out of the bed. And just because we’re in America, I’m not going to start now!”
“Fine, fine,” Declan said in a defeated tone, “we’ll find a church when we’re out, but leave Aisling in bed for now.”
“Don’t be worrying about Aisling,” Jean said, coming into the kitchen. She’d already been through the conversation twice with her sister, and was tiptoeing around her sensitivities regarding the church. “If Aisling wants to go anywhere, there are plenty of people who will take her. Michael and Ali have offered to take her out.”
Maggie’s mouth tightened. “Oh, she won’t want to be bothering them – they’ll probably have their own plans.” And Mass, Maggie thought, most certainly won’t be high up on their list of priorities.
“Thomas’s father said if we need any drivers he’d be happy to help out,” Jean said now. “If you like, you could leave a note for Aisling with his phone number, and say that he’ll drive her anywhere she would like to go.”
“Oh, isn’t it good of the poor man!” Maggie said, her face crumpling in something between gratitude and sympathy. “He’s probably glad to have someone like Aisling who can chat to the young lad, and give him a bit of a break. I suppose it’s with her being a teacher, and used to all kinds of children.” She turned to her husband. “She’s the very same with a young spastic lad that comes into the shop. She just treats them the very same as if they were normal. Isn’t that that right, Declan?”
“It is indeed,” Declan confirmed dutifully.
Maggie shook her head, smiling. “She’s all heart, our Aisling. There’s times I think she needs to harden herself up a bit.”
Bruce caught Jean’s eye and shrugged, unable to make head or tail of what Maggie was going on about.
Then, the crunching of gravel alerted everyone to the arrival of their tour guide and the companions he had mustered up for the trip. There was a quick rush around, a grabbing of cameras and handbags, and cardigans in case it got cold, and then they all started to move out of the house, Maggie more relaxed now she had left a note to let Aisling know about the offer of lifts should she be up in time for Holy Mass.
* * *
When Aisling woke around midday, there wasn’t a sound in the house apart from the wooden ceiling fan whirring downstairs. She lay for a few seconds, working out where she was, and what time of the day it might be. Then, her mind was flooded with the scenes from the previous night. Pictures of herself dancing with Jameson Carroll, talking to him, and then lying in his arms in the house across the lake. Again, she found herself leaning across the bed to hug the spare pillow tightly to her.
She pulled on her dressing-gown and padded barefoot downstairs to see if there was anyone around. Her mother’s note was on the kitchen table, and Aisling smiled as she read it. She went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice, wondering what Jameson was doing. Whether he was still sleeping or up and about.
Then, unable to face breakfast, she showered and shampooed her hair. Later, wrapped in a dressing-gown and her wet hair in a towel, she went outside to check the temperature on the gauge on the garage wall. Just as it had for the previous week, the figures showed signs of another hot day.
Aisling stood for a while, looking at the summery dresses hanging in the wardrobe, and then decided upon a deep blue sleeveless dress scattered with brilliant red poppies. It had a cross-over neckline, and a full skirt with two casual pockets in the front. It was a favourite outfit she had bought last year, and worn only a couple of times due to the wet Irish summers. She was surprised how well it looked on her now that she had a bit of a tan, from the days spent down at the lake.
After letting her hair dry hanging loose over her shoulders, Aisling then tried tying it high up on her head in a pony-tail. Not too sure how she felt about it, she brushed it out again and then fiddled about with it in various styles. After a few tries, she caught sight of herself in the dressing-table mirror and started to laugh. What on earth are you doing? she asked herself.
Then suddenly, the smile froze on her fac
e and the laughter caught in her throat and turned to tears.
Just what am I doing? she asked herself again. I’m a married woman with a husband and home in Ireland. And I’ve got to go back there.
Then the tears started to fall, and continued to fall until she had to throw herself on the bed, and weep harder than she ever remembered doing before. She wept for the love she had lost with Oliver, and for all the time she had wasted in trying to keep her marriage alive. Then she wept for the children she had desperately wanted – but never managed to have.
And then last of all she cried because she had found something beautiful and worthwhile in her life – the happiness she had found these last few days with Jameson – and the mountain of guilt that had come with it. She had found a man she desperately wanted and she could find no reasonable way of keeping him. And she shed more tears for the fear she felt about changing things in her life – and the fear of her parents’ disapproval, anger and hurt.
After all the crying, she turned in towards the pillow, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Sometime later, she woke with a start to the sound of the porch-bell ringing. She shook her head to clear her thinking, and was rewarded by a dull throbbing at the back of her eyes. Then she remembered about the silly hairstyles and the crying.
Quickly, almost stumbling, she moved from the bed to the mirror. Unlike earlier on, she saw nothing to laugh or smile about. A swollen, red face looked back at her. The sight of it nearly made the tears start again, but instead she forced herself to go into the bathroom and splash cold water all over her face. It made little difference. Too many tears had caused the damage, and a little drop of water was not going to make it suddenly disappear.
The bell rang again, and Aisling froze at the thought of answering it with her face such a mess. What if it were her parents and Jean and Bruce back already? No, she argued with herself, they wouldn’t ring the bell. She would have to answer it now. There was obviously no one else in the house. Michael and Ali and their friends must have gone off when she was asleep.
She forced herself down the stairs, hoping whoever it was would be gone by the time she reached the ground floor. As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she could see a tall, shadowy figure through the mosquito netting on the front door.
When she heard her name called in a low tone she knew it was Jameson Carroll. Her heart lurched and a part of her wanted to fly back up to the bedroom and hide – but she didn’t. The sensible part made her stop for a few moments, gather herself together and walk towards the door.
Very slowly, she opened it. Before he had a chance to see her face, she turned away and walked back towards the kitchen.
“Aisling?” he said quietly, and when she didn’t answer he followed her inside. It was obvious by the hunch of her shoulders that something was wrong. Very wrong. She went over to stand by the window, her back to him.
“What is it?” he asked in a low voice. “What’s wrong?” Then, in a few long strides he was across the room and pulling her into his arms.
“I can’t . . .” she said, pulling away. “I’ve been so stupid . . . I shouldn’t have got involved in this . . . it’s not fair to you.”
“It’s OK,” he said soothingly. He moved one hand to gently stroke her hair. “We’ve done nothing wrong, Aisling . . . we’re just two people who have got to know and like each other. It’s natural and it’s good.” Gradually, he released his hold on her and, as she moved to a chair to sit down, he noticed her swollen face. “Hell,” he said in a broken whisper, “have I done that to you? Have I made you that unhappy in the little time we’ve known each other?”
“You haven’t caused me any unhappiness, Jameson,” Aisling said. “It’s just the opposite. I’ve never felt so happy in all my life.” She stopped. How could she explain this to him? How could she make him understand what all this meant to her? How their lives were so different. He was so totally and completely in control of his life . . . made all his own decisions. While she lived her life pleasing everyone else. “Could we . . .” she said in a halting voice, “could we just be friends for the rest of the time I’ve left?”
Jameson closed his eyes.
Aisling watched him, and waited.
And then he finally nodded. “Okay,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “If we’re going to be friends, then let’s start right now.” He gave a little cough to clear his throat. “We’ll go get Thomas, and we’ll go for a friendly trip out this afternoon.”
“Thanks,” Aisling said hesitantly, unable to look him in the face. Although her heart was sinking, one part of her was greatly relieved that he had agreed to what she’d asked. While she was hugely flattered that a man like Jameson Carroll could experience such strong feelings for her – his acceptance of the situation left her free from the guilt she would carry if she went too far with him physically. And it left her free to pick up her life back home just as she’d left it – without the burden of knowing she’d broken her sacred marriage vows. It would mean she could face Oliver and her family with a more or less clean conscience. It meant she could go back home the good, selfless wife and daughter she had always been – if that was what she wanted.
But another part of her felt suddenly bereft at losing the closeness she’d found with Jameson. Losing the person she had become with him. And losing an important bit of herself in the process.
* * *
Thomas was delighted to see Aisling, and even more delighted when he was told that he could pick where they would go for their trip. Any tension that was evident between herself and Jameson had dissolved when they reached the house, and Thomas’s enthusiasm swept over everything else.
“You wait,” he told Aisling excitedly, “you just wait – wait until you see this place!”
“Okay, buddy,” Jameson said, throwing him the car keys, “just keep it calm now, because it’s a good little ride out there.”
Aisling rode in the front of the car with Jameson while Thomas sat in the back, chatting and pointing out things as they went along. Sometimes they lapsed into an easy silence, and Aisling caught herself looking across at Jameson as he concentrated on driving. At one point her gaze took in his hands and arms and then moved down to his jean-clad thighs and she was amazed at the sudden physical effect it had on her. She felt a rush of damp heat in her face and low down in the depths of her stomach – a strong, sexual heat that left her feeling terrified that Jameson might somehow sense what she was thinking.
More than a few times he caught her eye, and she could not stop herself from looking back longingly into his – but they both said nothing. Then, as they were coasting along a seemingly endless, straight road, his hand came across to rest on Aisling’s upper leg and she instantly felt her lower body burning up again. When she looked up at him, she could see by the intensity in his eyes that touching her had had the same effect on him.
They stopped off to buy cold drinks and ice creams at a kiosk along the way, at the entrance to a waterfall. Then, with Thomas taking the lead, they had a walk along the narrow hilly path that took them in view of the gushing water. Thomas rushed further on ahead to a spot where he could safely throw in pebbles. After a spell of shouting words of praise for all his great shots, Aisling and Jameson went on a picnic bench, where they could sit in the sun and watch both Thomas and the thundering waterfall.
Aisling sat down first on the bench, and she was half-relieved and disappointed when Jameson went to sit at the opposite side of the table. Then, after a few minutes she felt his long legs collide with hers under the table. She stiffened for a second, wondering if she should move, but the feel of him against her drew her like little pieces of metal to a strong magnet – and her legs stayed still locked against his.
“I’ll have lots of lovely memories of America to take back,” Aisling said, for something to distract them from the physical tension. “The trees and flowers, and the lovely blue water at Lake Savannah and amazing places like here.”
“Y
eah,” Jameson said. “I guess it has a good effect on you. I decided to move here full-time because I reckoned that I was less tense and angry up around Lake Savannah than I was in New York City.” He raised his eyebrows. “I suppose it suits my temperament better.”
“Is that when you started painting?” Aisling asked.
He thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, “I suppose it was. I’d always dabbled about at painting since I was a kid, but I hadn’t done anything serious for years. I had more time on my hands when Thomas was little – he’s always slept a lot, and it kinda filled the time.”
“I’d love to have a proper look at your work.”
“Sure, I’ll show you round the studio tomorrow if you have the time.
Then Thomas suddenly came rushing back towards them.
“Dad! Da-ad! I’d like to dive – in there!” he said, pointing in the direction of the waterfall.
A dark frown crossed Jameson’s face, and he got up from the picnic table. “No, Thomas,” he said, shaking his head. “People don’t dive or swim in there – it’s real dangerous. You could be drowned.”
Thomas shook his head vigorously. “Not me! I’m a very good swimmer.” He grinned up at Aisling. “I’ve got lots of medals . . .”
Jameson put a hand on either side of Thomas’s face, determined to have his full concentration. “Listen, buddy,” he said very seriously, “you must never, ever, swim anywhere without checking with me. D’you understand?”
Thomas’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes looked back dolefully at his father. “Yes, sir,” he replied obediently.
“Good boy,” Jameson whispered, then he reached forward gave the boy a great bearhug, almost lifting him up off his feet. “OK,” he said, letting him go, “we’ll catch you at the car in two minutes. You have a headstart –” And before he could say another word, Thomas was off and running down the path.
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