Her thoughts came back full circle to Thomas again. And then she made herself move, because sitting around feeling sorry for herself was not going to help anything. As she brushed her hair out in front of the mirror, she was grateful that she had been able to freshen up. She might not look as perfectly groomed as Verity – but she looked a whole lot better than she had earlier on.
The rain had finally eased off, so she looked through her clothes for something brighter to wear. Something to lift her self-conscious mood. She pulled on her new check Capri pants and a white shirt and left her freshly washed hair hanging loose. She put on the slightest touch of lipstick and mascara, and left it at that. This wasn’t a day for vanity.
She made her way back up to the fourth floor, her heartbeat getting quicker with every step – wondering what she was going to have to face. Then, as she turned out of the lift and headed down towards Thomas’s room, Jameson stepped out of an office and came striding towards her.
“He’s going to make it!” he said, a grin from ear to ear.
The greatest surge of relief shot through her as Jameson’s arms swept her up and pressed a warm, damp cheek against hers.
“He came round about an hour ago, and he’s been able to say a few words! I know he’s going to be all right now.”
“Oh, thank God,” Aisling whispered into the hollow in his neck “Can I see him?”
Jameson gripped her hand and they walked down the corridor.
As she came into the room, Aisling’s eyes moved straight to the bed, where Thomas was in a deep sleep. But it was an easier sleep – not as laboured as it previously had been, and his face looked more relaxed.
“I can see a big difference,” she whispered to Jameson.
And then, the worst over, Aisling turned to the people on either side of the bed: the older couple who were obviously Thomas’s grandparents, and at the opposite side – Verity, dressed in a more subdued navy summer coat and matching hat, with polka dot trim.
Jameson moved forward, still clasping Aisling’s hand, and made whispered introductions to his parents. When Aisling lifted her eyes, she was hugely relieved to see the obvious warmth in the elderly couple’s faces.
Jameson’s father was an older version of his son without the beard, while his mother’s coiled hair showed the obvious link to Thomas. Although toned down with threads of silver, there was an unmistakable reddish hue.
The older woman moved from the bed and gestured to Aisling to go with her out into the corridor.
“My dear,” she said in a clear, youthful tone, “how good of you to come all this way with Jameson. We really can’t thank you enough.”
“It was nothing – ” Aisling started to reply, but her protests were waved aside.
“Nothing!” the older woman said, her eyes shining. “You’ve given up the last few days of your holiday, and you call that nothing?”
“I’m very fond of Thomas,” Aisling said simply, “and I couldn’t have gone back to Ireland without seeing that he was going to be okay.”
“And Thomas is very fond of you,” his grandmother said. “He talked about you all the time when he was with us, and . . .” she looked into Aisling’s eyes, “Jameson talked to us about you, too.”
Aisling felt herself blushing. She moved her hands behind her back, afraid the wedding band might catch the older woman’s eye.
Then Jameson stuck his head of the room. “He’s awake!”
His mother joined her hands in prayer. “Thank God . . . thank God, our prayers have been answered.” she whispered, Then, as they walked back into the room, she caught Aisling’s arm. “We’ll have a little chat together later.”
Aisling smiled back shyly, and nodded her head.
Thomas awoke to a sea of smiles, and then there were some barely concealed tears as he attempted a rather lopsided grin back. His eyes moved around the group, taking in each and every one, and Aisling could see the look of surprised pleasure on his face that his mother was there.
Jameson sat on a chair at the head of the bed, gently stroking Thomas’s hand.
“Da-ad,” Thomas whispered. “Da-ad . . . was it . . . the car?”
“Yes, buddy,” Jameson said, “it sure was that bad old car.” He lifted Thomas’s hand and kissed it tenderly. Those few words had told him that his son’s brain was functioning as it should. The relief in his eyes was enormous.
As Aisling watched, her own eyes flooded with tears.
“Thomas . . .” Verity said softly, in a little-girl voice. “When you’re better, your dad and I are going to take you on a lovely holiday. Can you guess where?”
Thomas gave a weak smile and shook his head very gingerly.
“Disneyland!” she said, her eyes wide.
Thomas’s eyes lit up at the magical word.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head, “I promise you – when you come out of hospital, and you’re all better, we’re going to have a wonderful holiday in Disneyland.”
“Swell!” Thomas whispered.
No one else reacted to what Verity had just said. Everyone else took their turn speaking quietly to the sick boy, being careful not to overwhelm him. The nurses kept a constant check, and after about half an hour, suggested that he really needed to rest for a while.
“Come back in a couple of hours,” the nurse told the group as they all stood in the corridor. “We should have the doctor’s report and some of the test results back by then.”
As they walked along the corridor, Jameson’s father suddenly came to an abrupt halt, almost falling in against the wall. “I don’t know how it happened,” he said in a choked voice. “One minute he was by my side – between us. And the next minute – the car just appeared out of nowhere . . .”
Jameson put his arm around his father’s shoulder. “Forget it, Dad. All that matters now is that Thomas gets well. It could have happened at any time.”
“But it happened when he was with us,” his mother said quietly. “And neither of us can forgive ourselves . . . we’ll always be asking ourselves what we did wrong.”
“Oh, Mom!” Jameson’s voice was weary now, almost on the edge. “I can’t handle all this stuff.” He put his other arm around her now, and drew them both close to him. “Once and for all – it was nobody’s fault.” He threw a glance in Verity’s direction. “If we’re going to blame everyone, we might as well blame Thomas, too. Even if some people feel he’s not as smart as other kids, he’s been taught how to cross roads and keep safe. Up until yesterday everything had worked fine . . . but yesterday he got unlucky. It could have been you and me – it could have been anyone.”
“OK, son – OK,” his mother said, not sounding as if things were OK at all.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Verity said, elbowing past Aisling, “but I thought we might sort out some kind of visiting rota.”
Jameson turned towards her, his brow creased in confusion. “A rota? Sorry, Verity – I think you’ve kinda lost me here.”
“A visiting rota,” Verity stressed. “You know – for visiting Thomas.” There was an edge to her voice.
“Why on earth do we need a rota?” Jameson asked.
“Because,” Verity explained, trying to be patient, “we are all going to be exhausted, if we spend our days going backwards and forwards to the hospital. And since Thomas is improving, it’s just not necessary. We all have busy lives.”
Jameson’s face turned pale. He turned to the others. “Do you folks all mind waiting in the café downstairs for me, please? I’d like to speak to Verity alone.”
When everyone was out of earshot, he turned to face his ex-wife. “Jesus, Verity!” he said, his eyes blazing. “Thomas is still dangerously ill . . . surely it’s not too much to expect you to stay close by him for a few days?”
Verity drew herself up to her full height – just a few inches shorter than his. “You deliberately misunderstand me, Jameson – but then, you always did. There’s no need to make such a drama of things. I was merely think
ing of your elderly parents and your little friend from Ireland.” Her voice dropped. “It’s different for us . . . we are, of course, his parents. And maybe if you had been more understanding of me before, we could still have been together – and none of this would have happened.”
Jameson rolled his eyes to the ceiling, his whole body rigid with anger. “Spit it out, Verity,” he said wearily. “I’m going to hear what’s on your mind anyway. I always do.”
She stared at him for a few seconds. “I was just pointing out,” she said in an even tone, “that if you had shared responsibility for Thomas with me, perhaps you needn’t have had to rely on your parents to help out.”
He shook his head. “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t know the meaning of the word responsibility. If you did, then you would still be living with your son – and not have been so mortified when he didn’t live up to your idea of perfection.”
“That’s despicable of you!” she said in an injured tone. “Absolutely despicable! You know that I was ill after Thomas was born. Lots of women have depression after giving birth. How can you still hold that against me?”
“Because, Verity,” he replied, “post-natal depression does not go on for years and years.” He lowered his head, so his eyes were looking directly into hers. “And I was willing to keep on trying to understand you, and pay for all the help you needed. I was willing to do anything, until you stated that things would only get better, if we put Thomas into an institution for morons!”
“Boy!” Verity spat back. “you really do go for the jugular, don’t you? That was all a long time ago. I’ve changed. I’ve changed a whole lot. I can see now that my fears were wrong about Thomas.” She halted for a moment to compose herself and lower her voice. “He’s turned out much better than either of us could ever have hoped. Better than any parents could ever have hoped for.”
“Oh, yeah,” he snorted angrily, “and funnily enough, so has the family business turned out better than you hoped for, too . . . and maybe even the sales of some of my paintings.”
“What exactly do you mean?”
“What I mean, Verity,” he said, “is that I’m aware that you’ve been snooping around, checking up on my finances. I was even told that you called the exhibition, checking up on what sort of money my paintings would make.”
Verity’s face flushed with indignation. “Any interest I have in your business, or your money in general, is from Thomas’s point of view.” She halted. “It’s natural enough to want reassurances that he would be financially secure if anything happened to either of us.”
“Oh, really?” There was a hint of bitter amusement in his voice. “Well, in my opinion, there sure is nothing very natural about you as a mother.”
“How dare you!” she said, her eyes wide in shock.
“If it were left up to you,” Jameson went on, “none of us would be secure financially. I’ve never seen anybody get through money the way you did.” He folded his arms and put his head to the side, studying her carefully. “Tell me, Verity – how is your love life at the moment?”
“What the hell has my love life to do with you?” she shot back. “And what the hell has it to do with this conversation?”
“To my reckoning,” he said, “quite a lot. It would appear that my money becomes of great interest to you when the latest love in your life doesn’t earn enough to keep you in your accustomed style.”
“How dare you!” she repeated, aghast at his nerve. “How dare you! I don’t interfere with your private life – even if you choose to flaunt it at such an inappropriate time.” Verity knew by the set of his jaw that she had struck a chord. “Of course a younger, impressionable woman who has a soft spot for Thomas would be very useful to you. Are you hoping that she won’t go back to Ireland? That she might stay on and be a housekeeper to you both – up at that depressing lakeside house?”
“My relationship with Aisling has nothing to do with you,” he said in a low voice, “and I refuse to discuss it with you. The only one thing I will say – is that Thomas adores her.”
“Well, yes,” she said, giving a little condescending smile. “I can see how he would. She has that childish, naïve quality, which would appeal to him. And of course, she would fit into that little rural life you have up at the lake.” She folded her arms. “But what about when this phase of your life is over? This fascination for the isolated life in the country – the bohemian artist image? What happens then? Do you really think she’ll fit in with your business life – your real career?”
The amused smile on Jameson Carroll’s face grew wider. “That is the big difference, Verity. The one thing you knew nothing about – was me. The life I’m leading now is the one I intend to go on living for the rest of my time. And if I decide to share it with anyone apart from Thomas – then it will be someone who wants the same things from life as I do.”
Verity closed her eyes for a few moments, shaking her head in exaggerated disbelief. “Well,” she said, now looking her ex-husband in the eye, “I reckon that you are deluding yourself – but – this is not the time or place to say any more.”
“Swell!” His tone was final. “Now we have established where we both stand, I must go and join the others.” He turned away from her.
“Jameson!” she said, coming after him. “Please . . . can’t we try and be friends at least?”
He turned back, and gave her a long look. “For Thomas’s sake,” he said, “I’m willing to try anything that makes life easier for him.”
She nodded. “Good.” Then she checked her watch. “I’ve got to go now – I have to meet someone.”
* * *
As he moved down in the lift, Jameson felt anxious about how things had gone between his parents and Aisling, and he felt awful for throwing them together. Bloody Verity! When he reached the ground floor he rushed along to the café, and as he entered it, he caught sight of Aisling’s blonde head bobbing up and down in conversation with the older couple.
“Coffee?” his mother said, holding the pot out to him.
“Yeah, thanks,” he smiled. He turned to Aisling. “And sorry about the situation with Verity. I don’t have to explain things to Mom and Dad . . . they know exactly what she’s like.”
“Oh, it gave us time to chat to Aisling,” his mother said airily. “She’s been telling us all about Ireland and that sweet little school she teaches in.”
His dad smiled thoughtfully. “I never got to Ireland. It’s one of the places I had a hankering to visit, to look up the place my folks originally came from.”
“There’s places where you can look up names, and find out where they came from,” Aisling said. “If you like, I could send you some information about the Carroll family. It’s quite a famous name in Offaly, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”
“That would be real good,” the older man said.
Aisling took a pen and a little notebook from her bag. “I’ll take down your address, and I’ll send anything that I find out.”
“When do you actually go back, Aisling?” Jameson’s mother asked.
“Late next week,” she said, not looking at Jameson.
When they went back upstairs, Thomas seemed easier. He spoke to them for longer, although every so often he had to stop to take deep breaths that hurt his ribs.
When their visit was over, Jameson turned to the others. “I’ll just have a look in at the office,” he said, “and see if any of the test results have come through.”
* * *
The doctor lifted a file from the drawer. “Everything,” he said, “looks as though Thomas is healing well.”
“The internal bleeding?” Jameson asked.
The doctor pushed his glasses high up on his nose. “The removal of the spleen and the other work we did seems to have stemmed it.” He paused, looking over the notes. “Of course, it’s early days . . . but all in all, he seems to be on the road to recovery.”
“What difference will losing his spleen make?” Jam
eson asked anxiously.
“When he’s all healed up, it shouldn’t make any obvious difference – but I’m sure someone will be happy to go over any technicalities with you later.” He pursed his lips. “The ribs are causing him the most pain at the moment, but the medication will help that.”
Jameson nodded. “So how long d’you reckon it will be until he’s back to normal?”
“Woah, now,” the doctor held his hands up. “Let’s not rush things . . . but I reckon that there will be a huge difference in Thomas in around a month’s time.”
Jameson let out a low sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “And if there’s anything at all that will help my son get better quick – money is not an issue.”
The doctor inclined his head. “Everything that can be done for Thomas,” he said, “will be done.”
Chapter 32
Verity reappeared on the scene later in yet another perfectly coordinated outfit. She wore fashionably short-cut beige trousers with a pale green twin-set and matching green-stoned bangle and earrings. Her attitude was much more subduedthan earlier, and she directed most of her conversation at Thomas.
Around eight o’clock that night, the nurses advised Jameson that Thomas would be best left to rest until the morning. Verity was the first to stand up. She planted a frosted pink kiss on Thomas’s forehead, then she bade everyone goodnight and hurried off.
Back downstairs, Frances Carroll turned to Jameson and Aisling. “What are your plans for the night? You know you’re both welcome back home with us.”
Jameson looked at Aisling. “I reckon we’ll stay in the hospital rooms again tonight . . . just in case Thomas needs us.”
“Do whatever you feel is best,” his mother said agreeably.
“Tomorrow night,” Jameson said, “we might take your offer up – if Thomas is continuing to mend.”
“Oh, good!” she said, clasping her hands together in delight. “I’ll have the rooms aired first thing in the morning.”
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