Aisling Gayle (42 page)

He came back as Aisling was brushing her hair out in front of the mirror. The broad grin on his face told her all was well.

“Another good night!” he announced, pulling off his shirt, “and we can go up in an hour or so to see him.”

He disappeared into the shower while Aisling finished her hair and sorted out her clothes from the night before. She was just hooking her white lacey bra when the bathroom door opened, and Jameson came out with a towel around his waist, and his hair damp and tousled.

“I don’t think you have time to put that on,” he said, in a low voice.

“Why?” Aisling said. “What’s the rush?”

Then before she had a chance to say anything more, he eased her arms out of the bra, and bent down and pressed his mouth hard on hers. Then his lips moved downwards to cover the bud of one breast first, then slowly move across to the other. Aisling caught her breath, and closed her eyes, savouring the lovely warm feeling that was now coursing through her body.

His lips came back up to hers again – this time harder and more urgent – and she could feel his hardness through the thick, white hospital towel. She took his hand and led him over to the bed. And this time – she unwrapped his towel.

The sight of his smooth, powerful body lifted something inside her, and as he kissed and caressed her, Aisling felt a sweet sensation invade every part of her body, and she knew that no other man would make her feel the way he did now.

The hour disappeared in a haze of warmth and pleasure – and all too soon they were up and moving to dress and rush back up to Thomas’s bedside.

* * *

Aisling’s mood lightened further when they entered the room to see the teenager propped up in a sitting position. The bruises he had received in the accident were now at their colourful worst – dark blue and yellowy-red. But despite them, his eyes shone brightly and his whole manner was definitely returning back to normal

“Do you think,” Aisling asked Thomas, “that you could manage to hold a book or a comic? And maybe, with a bit of help, do a jigsaw?”

Thomas’s eyes lit up. He stretched out his arms, miming the actions of reading, then held a thumb out to signal OK. Next, he reached forward as though putting pieces of a puzzle together. He winced slightly, not entirely comfortable.

“Okay, buddy,” Jameson said, stroking his hair. “The books are good – but you will definitely need help with the jigsaw.”

Shortly afterwards, Jameson’s parents’ arrived – the relief all too obvious at Thomas’s improved condition. The atmosphere in the room was much more relaxed and easy, everyone chatting and taking their turn reading to Thomas from a
Superman
comic that him grandparents had brought.

Towards lunch-time, Aisling looked across at Jameson when she heard the unmistakable sound of Verity’s heels tapping along the corridor. Jameson rolled his eyes, but said nothing as his ex-wife swept into the room.

Verity’s gaze circled around the room, a fashionably pearly-pink lipstick on her curved, smiling lips. “Hi, everyone,” she said in a slightly breathless voice. She widened the smile for Thomas. “And how’s my boy today?” she gushed, pushing past Aisling to reach the top of the bed.

Jameson reached to the bottom of the bed and gently touched Thomas’s foot. “While you have such a crowd here, Aisling and I are going to head off into town to get those things for you – okay?”

Thomas held up a thumb and grinned, enjoying all the attention.

“That was perfect timing,” Jameson said, squeezing Aisling’s hand as they stepped into the lift. “I couldn’t bear another session of Verity this morning.” He chuckled. “She’s p
robably prattling on about Disneyland again as I speak.”

“It must be difficult for her,” Aisling said diplomatically.

“Well,” Jameson smiled, “it sure is difficult having to listen to her.”

* * *

They headed for a children’s toyshop. “I’d love to let the kids at school loose in here,” Aisling laughed. She wound up a brightly coloured butterfly mobile that played a tune, then she stroked the teddy bears sitting in toddler-size chairs, holding picture books in their laps. “It’s like a wonderland for kids. I wish I’d brought my camera with me, to show them all back home.”

She looked up, smiling, at Jameson, and was surprised to see a distracted, serious look on his face.

“Okay?” she asked, slipping her hand into his.

“Sure . . .” he said, but Aisling felt he didn’t look too sure at all.

They wandered around the shop, picking up bits and pieces for Thomas.

“I can’t believe that we’re actually buying books for a boy who I was convinced was going to die a couple of days ago,” Jameson said, holding up a Batman book.

Aisling touched his hand. “It’s amazing the difference that two days can make to someone’s life . . .”

Jameson put the book back down on a shelf. “Yes, they can,” he said, taking her hand. “Meeting you has made an amazing difference to my life.”

“Jameson . . .” she said quietly.

He touched his finger to her lips. “Don’t say anything right now, Aisling . . . please just listen. “I don’t want you to leave me and go back to Ireland. I don’t want you to leave me and Thomas.” His voice dropped to little
above a whisper. “I want you to stay here . . . and when Thomas is better, we can all go back to Lake Savannah together.”

“There is nothing,” she said, “that I would like more . . .
but I
can’t
.”

“Don’t say that,” he told her, a desperate edge to his voice. “Don’t say
that
.”

“Jameson,” Aisling said, “you’re not being fair. I need time. I need to go back home to sort things out. I need time to see how things are . . .” She stroked his arm. “I just need time.”

“I nearly lost Thomas,” he said, turning away from her, “and now I’m afraid I’m losing you, too . . .”

“It’s not the same, Jameson.” She didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. “And when we sort things out . . . when we’ve had time to think – there’s every chance that I will come back.”

“Every chance . . .” he repeated in a flat tone. He shook his head. “You don’t really believe that, Aisling, do you?”

“Yes, Jameson,” she said firmly, “I really do believe it.”

His eyes darkened. “Well, I think you’re gonna just walk away from this and forget it all happened. Forget all the times we’ve spent together . . . all the times we’ve spent with Thomas.” His voice lowered, and there was a tone in it Aisling didn’t recognise. Or at least hadn’t heard since she’d got to know him properly. “I reckon you’re just gonna go back to little old Ireland,” he said, “and think that what we had was some kind of holiday fling. Something you can look back on and think was a dangerous and exciting episode in your boring life – something that
might
have been. Something you can think about during the long winter nights, when you’re in a cold bed wondering where your bastard of a husband is!”

Aisling moved back, flinching at his words. “I can’t believe you’re saying all this!”

“And I can’t believe you won’t stay!” he said, oblivious to what was going on in the shop around him.

“I’ve told you,” she argued, her own voice rising now, “that I’ve got to go back home to things to sort out! My family, my job –”

“Your goddamn family and job are all you think about!” he said. “What about
yourself
? What about
Aisling Gayle?
Why does everyone and everything else have to come first?”

“That’s not true,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here with you if it was true!”

“Waken up, Aisling! This is
real
life – my life and yours. It’s not the kind of stuff you read about in your romance books. You’re letting other people and an outmoded Church lead your life for you.”

She looked at him, and there was a long, painful silence between them, during which Aisling’s eyes filled up with tears.

“Aw, hell . . .” Jameson said, his anger deflating. “I didn’t mean it to happen like this . . .” He put both his arms around her neck, suddenly back to his old caring self.

Just then, a shop assistant came towards them pushing a trolley full of books and nursery toys. She cast a wary glance in their direction, then started unloading the trolley onto a display table just a few feet away.

Aisling quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Come on,” she said in a croaky voice, taking his hand, “we’ll pay for these . . . and then we can talk about things over lunch.” But as they walked to the pay-desk, Aisling knew in her sinking heart that all the talking in the world was not going to change anything right now. Only time could do that.

* * *

Later, as they sat at the back of a small, Italian restaurant, Jameson tried to reason with her again. “What if I phoned your parents
and
your husband, and told them the situation? It’s not fair that you should carry all this. I could lay it on the table for them, and in a while – when they’ve all got used to the idea – you could go back to Ireland for a holiday and sort things out face-to-face properly.”

Aisling looked down at the Roman-style lettering on the tablecloth, and said nothing. What was there to say?

“Aisling?” he said, waiting.

She looked up at him. “I know we come from very different backgrounds, Jameson – and it must be hard for you to understand how things work back in Ireland. But from the things I’ve told you about my family, surely you mus
t know that I couldn’t handle stuff like that?” Aisling’s voice sounded tired, on the verge of exasperation. “Even Verity pointed out the differences between us, and pred
icted this sort of thing happening.”

Jameson’s eyes blazed. “Verity is hardly an expert on other people’s relationships. Christ! She didn’t even look after her only child!” He shook his head. “The only good thing that happened between us was Thomas, and she couldn’t even see that. Thank God we didn’t have any more children.”

“Would it have made any difference if you’d had?”

“Hell – no,” he said, his brow furrowing. “At one time I thought it could have changed things . . . but I’m everlastingly grateful that we didn’t. Thomas and I get along just fine on our own, and after this terrible accident, I know that he’s going to need every bit of my attention for some time to come.”

“You give him that already,” Aisling said, touching his hand.

“Having only one child allows me to do that – but I’d
hoped at some point he would become more independent.”
He shrugged. “I guess he will become independent to a limited extent. But – I have to face the fact that he’s reached his potential in most areas, and not expect more from him than he is capable of giving.”

Aisling reached over the table and took his hand. “And I’m so sorry for saying this, Jameson – but you must not expect more than I am capable of giving, either.”

Chapter 33

“So we’ll see you both back at the house later?” Jameson’s mother smiled and wagged a finger at Aisling. “And don’t you
dare
forget – we don’t want any more of those Irish formalities. No more
Mr and Mrs Carroll
. From now on it’s Sam and Frances – OK?”

“OK,” Aisling said, giving an embarrassed smile. “We’ll follow you up in a bit . . .
Frances
.”

Everyone laughed, Thomas laughing the loudest of all.

“Careful with those damned ribs!” Jameson warned. “We don’t want you in this place any longer than you have to be.”

Thomas grinned and held his hands palm up. “But I like it – here! I like the nurses.”

“I think it’s swell that you like it here,” his father told him, trying not to laugh, “but don’t get too used to it. We want you fit and well, and running around back at Lake Savannah.”

“And fit enough,” came a familiar voice from the doorway, “to go to
Disneyland
, just as we promised.”

Aisling’s throat tightened.

Everyone turned in surprise to see Verity, casually dressed in a light red sweater and jeans. Aisling’s gaze dropped to the ex-model’s feet – flat, red leather loafers explained the lack of warning that Verity was approaching.

There was silence for a few seconds, then Frances Carroll stood up. “Hi, Verity,” she said, “sorry about your timing – but I’m afraid Sam and I are just leaving.” She tugged at her husband’s sleeve. “C’mon, Sam, we’ll head back home and get things organised for the others.” She blew a kiss towards the bed. “See you tomorrow, Thomas.” Then she and her husband headed for the door.

“Darling!” Verity said, moving up to take Sam’s place at the side of the bed. She planted a scarlet kiss-mark on Thomas’s cheek, then laughed and made a huge gesture of rubbing it off with a hanky. “You look so much better than yesterday.” Then, she fussed around him, sorting pillows and asking questions about the hospital food and the treatment he was getting – and moving on to the next question before he had time to reply.

“How would you like,” Jameson intervened, moving Thomas’s tray-trolley towards him, “if we all help you with the jigsaw puzzle?”