Aisling Gayle (38 page)

“It seems,” he said hoarsely, “that he was in a parking lot with my parents . . . and he was carrying some boxes. He had them piled up, and a car came tearing round . . . and he didn’t see it.”

Aisling’s eyes were wide with horror. “Oh, Jameson! How – how bad is he?”

He turned to look up at her, and she could see the pain written all over his face. “He’s in theatre right now. Apparently there’s internal bleeding . . . they reckon it might be from his spleen, and broken ribs . . . and whatever else they find.”

“Oh, dear God above!” Maggie said, blessing herself.

Jean now moved across to Jameson, and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Jameson – I’m so, so sorry . . . poor little Thomas!”

“I’m going to have to do a return journey to New York, right away. My parents have had to give consent for the operation since I wasn’t there . . . and I want to be right by his side when he comes round.”

“Of course, of course . . . the poor boy,” Maggie said, dabbing a hanky to her eyes. “It’s his daddy he’ll be looking for when he wakes up.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be up to the drive?” Jean said quietly. “It’s a lot after the drive you’ve just made back here.”

Jameson’s head moved up and down slowly. “If I have to drive for the next twenty-four hours solid – I’ll be there for him.”

“I’ll come with you,” Aisling suddenly blurted out. “I’ll help to keep you awake.”

“No, Aisling,” her mother said, giving her a strange look, “we’ll ask one of the men. It would be far better if a man went with him.”

“I actually came over to ask Aisling to come along,” Jameson said, standing up. “Thomas would love to see her more than anybody else.”

That was all Aisling needed to hear. She touched his hand. “I’ll only be a minute – I’ll just go and pack a few things.” Then she bounded off upstairs.

“There’s some hot coffee in this pot,” Maggie said, her m
anner distracted. “Or maybe you should have somethin
g to eat?”

“I’d appreciate the coffee, ma’am,” Jameson said quietly, “but I couldn’t eat anything just now.” He looked from Maggie to Jean now. “I’m real sorry about all this . . . I hope I haven’t spoiled any plans you all had. You know . . . with Aisling and everything.”

“This is far more important,” Jean said. “Aisling would only be fretting about Thomas in any case. She’s become extremely fond of him – hasn’t she, Maggie?”

Maggie nodded her head. “Oh, she has indeed.” She came over and placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of Jameson. “I’ll just go and see if I can help Aisling . . . and maybe talk her into letting one of the men go . . .”

Jean followed her out into the hall. “I wouldn’t do that, Maggie,” she told her sister quietly. “Aisling’s a grown woman – and a very kind and good woman. She’s got to do what she feels is the right thing for herself.”

Maggie’s face tightened. “We’ve all got to do what we feel is the right thing,” she said, turning on her heel and marching up the stairs.

She met Aisling coming out of the bedroom as she reached the final step.

“I’m going, Mammy,” Aisling said, not meeting her eyes. “Please don’t say anything . . .”

Maggie shrugged. “What’s there to say? You’ve obviously made up your mind.”

“Jameson needs me . . . and so will Thomas when he comes out of the operation.”

“It’s his
mother
the child needs,” Maggie said, her eyes full of anger, “not someone he’s just met – a black stranger.”

Aisling took a deep breath. “If the world was perfect, then that’s the way it would be – but it’s not. The fact is, Thomas is in a strange hospital with his elderly grandparents, and he needs as many people who care for him around as possible.”

“I’m not a fool, Aisling,” her mother said slowly. “If it was only helping out that you were doing – I wouldn’t say a word. But it’s just dawned on me – God help my foolishness – that there’s more between you and the boy’s father than you just being helpful. It was written all over both your faces.”

Aisling flushed a deep red. “Look, Mammy – if this accident hadn’t happened, it’s likely that I wouldn’t have seen him again before we go back. He was in New York, and he could have stayed there for weeks . . . he often does.”

Maggie shook her head, her eyes pained. “You know perfectly well what I’m saying, Aisling.” Then, after a long, awkward pause she said in a strangled little voice, “You’re a married woman, and if you do anything you shouldn’t with that man – you’ll be breaking your marriage vows. The vows you took in front of God.” Her voice dropped. “Make no mistake about it, Aisling. You’ll be committing a mortal sin.”

* * *

As they pulled out of the drive, Jameson stretched a hand across to Aisling. “I’m sorry that I put you in an awkward position – but I really needed you to come with me.”

“Don’t worry,” Aisling said quietly. “Thomas is all that matters . . . I still can’t believe what’s happened.”

“I can’t either,” Jameson said, looking out into the damp, dark road that stretched way ahead of them. “It’s like I’m in the middle of some kind of nightmare . . .”

She stroked his arm gently. “We’ll just concentrate on getting there. Who knows, by the time we arrive, things might be much better.”

Jameson moved the car into a higher gear. “Yeah,” he said, disconsolately, “but on the other hand, they might just be a whole lot worse.”

Chapter 30

New York

Apart from a quick stop for coffee to help keep them awake, they made the journey in good time considering the wet conditions. Any conversation between them was overshadowed by the thoughts of Thomas lying on an operating table fighting for his life.

As they pulled up in the deserted hospital carpark, Aisling was grateful to be able to move her cramped limbs and climb out of the car. She closed her door and went round to the driver’s side – but there was no attempt from Jameson to get out of the vehicle.

She bent down to the window, and then she saw him – his head on the steering-wheel, cradled in his arms – and his whole body heaving with racking sobs.

Aisling hauled the heavy car door open and pulled him into her arms.

“I don’t think I can face it, Aisling. I can’t go in.” He shook his head. “What if. . .?”

Aisling took a deep breath. “We have to go in, Jameson.” She ran her fingers gently through his thick, wiry hair. “And if he has come round from the operation, then he’ll be looking for you, and wondering why you’re not there.”

Then, slowly, he moved – and together they walked into the hospital building, Aisling holding on to his hand very tightly.

When they checked in at reception, they were informed that Thomas had come through his operation, and was in a special care unit on the fourth floor. Jameson was relieved that he was safely over the first hurdle, but as they rode upstairs in the lift, Aisling saw the colour suddenly drain from his face.

“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s just that the thought of seeing him sick . . . he’s always been so healthy.” He paused. “Considering he’s a Down’s syndrome kid, he’s had very few problems apart from the expected chest infections and stuff like that.”

“And he’ll be healthy again,” Aisling told him confidently. “You’ll soon see.”

When they reached the unit, Jameson had to spend a frustrating few minutes convincing the staff that he was indeed Thomas’s father before being allowed in to see him. They then started checking on Aisling’s relationship to Thomas – and Jameson’s temper broke.

“For Chrisssake!” he snapped at the officious receptionist. “We’ve just travelled hundreds of miles to be with my son! If you don’t show me where he is – I’m going to barge right through and find out for myself!”

The lady’s hands came up in defeat. “Okay,” she said, “but we have to obey regulations. He’s a pretty sick boy – and he hasn’t come round fully from the anaesthetic.” Her face softened a little. “It’s nothing personal, Mr Carroll – we have to check out all our visitors.”

They followed a nurse down the corridor, and then they had to wait outside the room while the nurse checked on Thomas. She stuck her head out of the door a few moments later, beckoning them to come in. “Just for a few moments,” she whispered.

Jameson went in first, with Aisling following close behind. She felt herself stiffen up when she heard the gulp of air that Jameson took when he saw Thomas lying on the bed.

He stood like a statue just staring down at the prone figure.

Then, mechanically, he turned to the side to allow Aisling to move in closer. As she looked at the almost unrecognisable shape on the bed, her earlier confidence plummeted. He was fast asleep . . . or still unconscious. Aisling couldn’t tell which. And he seemed to have an endless number of tubes and drips attached to his arms, face and chest.

His chest was also heavily bandaged and swollen to twice its normal size.

All in all – he looked barely alive.

“Thomas?” Aisling said softly.

But there was no reaction. Nothing to tell that he was there, apart from a slight rise and fall in his bandaged chest.

Aisling kept watching – frightened to take her eyes off him in case she missed something. And frightened that if she did move her gaze – she might have to look into Jameson’s eyes.

She couldn’t bear that. Not just yet.

They stood in silence, close together, without saying a word. Just watching and waiting. Then, the nurse came back in, and indicated that the doctor was now available to speak to them. Aisling looked up at Jameson – and his dark eyes were every bit as hollow and empty as she had feared.

The doctor was in the ward office waiting to see him.
“Technically speaking,” he said, “the operation to remove your son’s spleen has been a success. “ He halted for a
moment. “But – there are unfortunately some complications.”

Jameson’s eyes glazed over.

“He has a number of fractured ribs – and his arm is badly broken.”

“They’ll heal,” Jameson said, “won’t they?”

The doctor hesitated. “Normally they do . . . but at the moment we’re more concerned about any recurrence of internal bleeding. When Thomas comes round from the anaesthetic fully – we’ll have to keep him very still for a while to give him every possible chance of recovery.”

Aisling glanced at Jameson. He had a finger poised on his lips, preventing any questions from slipping out. Questions that just might provoke answers he didn’t want to hear.

He gave a jerky kind of nod, indicating that he’d taken in the information.

They walked along the corridor, and went back down in the lift to the ground floor where the restaurant and restrooms were.

“If you want to freshen up,” Jameson said, “I’ll order us some breakfast and coffee.”

Aisling stretched up and gave him a kiss in answer, and headed off in the direction of the ladies’.

She looked in the mirror and sighed at her washed-out appearance and flattened, lifeless hair. She rummaged in her handbag and found a hair-elastic to tie her hair back in a pony-tail, and then she washed her face thoroughly. She patted it dry and looked in the mirror again – wishing that her make-up bag was not in the car along with her fresh clothes and perfume.

Then, she felt an enormous surge of guilt for thinking of such trivial things when poor Thomas was so ill – and possibly even dying.

As tears started welling up in her eyes, Aisling took a tissue from her bag, and pressed it tightly to her eyelids. Things were bad enough without Jameson having to comfort her as well as worry about his stricken son.

Looking as reasonable as she could, she headed for the door in the restroom. As her hand reached for the handle, it was suddenly pushed inwards – almost knocking her off her balance. Then a very polished-looking, dark-haired woman in a red suit wafted past her, without a glance or word of apology. She headed straight for the mirror, checking her perfectly styled shiny black bob, and reaching for her blood-red lipstick.

The hospital restaurant was almost empty, with only a few people dotted here and there. Jameson was sitting at a corner table waiting for Aisling. “I called my parents,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. “They’re both in a bad way
. . . blaming themselves for what happened to Thomas.
They sounded completely exhausted.”

Aisling stretched out a comforting hand. “These awful things happen . . . but it’s not anybody’s fault.”

“I guess these things do happen . . .”

Aisling lifted her bag. “Shall I get us some breakfast?” she asked, trying to sound brighter. “You might feel better after eating.”

Jameson stood up. “I’ll get it,” he said quickly.

“No,” Aisling said firmly. “You buy everything for us – and this is only breakfast. Let me do it for you this time.”

At the counter, Aisling looked at the display of rolls and pastries, searching for something that just might coax his appetite a little. She eventually settled for some croissants and coffee, plus a couple of portions of fruit salad. She paid for them and then turned to lift the tray, when she noticed a figure in red standing by their table.