Aisling Gayle (5 page)

The sun was at still at its height and its strongest, so Aisling decided to eat indoors – some of the tasty, unusual cheeses from Jean’s fridge, and more of the fresh fruit washed down with orange juice. She sat reading for a while, and then, having reached the last page of her novel she went in search of one of the many books Jean had suggested she might like to read.

She picked a few titles along with a couple of magazines and, armed with another cool drink, headed for the lake again.

Stopping by the little bridge, she stared around her. The view was almost like something from another planet. She smiled at the thought. That’s precisely where she felt she was. All alone on another planet.

When she reached her little hideaway by the side of the lake, she moved one of the deckchairs and a small table out of the glare of the sun yet again. It was a constant game of hide-and-seek in order to avoid the sun’s strongest rays. Still, it was a good complaint after the cool, green climate at home.

She got herself comfortable, and had just removed her shirt again when she realised that she was not alone.

“Hi,” a kind of flat American voice said from behind one of the bushes.

“Jesus!” Aisling said, completely startled. She grabbed h
er shirt and whirled around – but she couldn’t see anyone.
Her heart suddenly lurched as she realised that apart from the owner of the voice, she was completely alone. Alone in a strange garden in a strange country.

“Hello?” she said, in a voice she hoped didn’t betray her fears. She started towards the large flowering bush from where the voice had come.

“Hi . . .” the flat voice said again, and Aisling recognised it this time as definitely a male voice. “Is – Jean in?”

Aisling felt a wave of relief wash over her. It was somebody who knew the Harpers, so that must be okay. She hesitated before replying, and then suddenly the owner of the voice appeared before her. As she looked at the stocky teenage figure in shorts and a T-shirt standing in front of her, Aisling immediately knew that she had nothing to fear.

She smiled now, and held out her hand. “I’m Aisling – Jean’s niece, from Ireland.”

The red-headed boy grabbed her hand, and worked it up and down in an
enthusiastic greeting.

“And what’s
your
name?” she asked him gently.

He gave a broad smile. “My name – is Thomas,” he announced. “Thomas – Carroll.”

“Thomas,” Aisling considered. “That’s a nice name. And where do you live, Thomas?”

“Over there.” He pointed in the direction of the furthes
t house at the other side of the lake. “Me and Jean,” he said brightly, “we’re good buddies.”

“Ah, I see,” Aisling now vaguely remembered a conversation with Jean when they had just arrived. Something about some neighbours with a slow child, but Aisling was exhausted and fairly disorientated at the time, and a lot of the talk had gone over her head.

“You on vacation?” he said now, giving another big smile. “You staying at Jean and Bruce’s place?”

Aisling nodded. “Yes – that’s right. I’m staying here for a few weeks. I’ve come over for Sandra’s wedding.”

Thomas clapped his hands together. “
I’m
going – ” he started, but in his excitement, couldn’t quite find the words.

Aisling smiled and waited.

Thomas pointed a stubby thumb into his chest. “I –” he started again, more slowly this time, “I’m going to the wedding. Dad . . .” he paused to think, “Dad bought me – a swell new shirt!”

“That’s great,” Aisling told him. “I’ve got a new dress to wear to the wedding, too.”

Thomas beamed, then pointed in her direction. “You and me – we both look swell!”

Aisling laughed out loud. “Yes, Thomas,” she told him, “we’ll both look really swell!”

Thomas then went on to regale Aisling all about the wedding and fishing in the lake, his favourite milkshakes,
and finally about all the medals he had won for swimming.

“Really? Medals for swimming?” Aisling said, very impressed.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Thomas said, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll show you – at my house.” He tugged firmly at Aisling’s hand now. “Dad put them on the wall – so everyone can see them and say Thomas is a very good swimmer.
Thomas is an – excellent swimmer.” He was leaving no doubts in Aisling’s mind as to his capabilities. “Come on!” he pointed to the path that wound around the lake. “We can walk around . . . around to my house to see my medals.”

“No, no, Thomas,” Aisling told him gently. “I’ve got to stay here to look after the house for Jean and Bruce. They’ll be home soon.” When she saw the smile slide from his face, she quickly added, “Maybe another time . . . maybe you could bring your medals back here to show me.”

Thomas shook his head vigorously. “No – no! They’re stuck on the wall. Dad says only he is allowed . . .” he gestured with his hands as though lifting a plaque from a wall, “to lift down.”

Aisling nodded. “Okay,” she told him. “I’ll talk to Jean, and maybe we can walk over to your house some time. Before I go home.”

“OK,” Thomas replied, smiling again. “But where is your house?”

“Oh, it’s a long way away,” she said, “in a place called Ireland.”

“Ire-land,” he repeated thoughtfully, mulling it over.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a distant voice calling the boy’s name.

Thomas’s whole face lit up. “
That
,” he said, thumbing in the direction of his house, “that’s my dad!”

“I think he’s looking for you,” Aisling said. “You’d better head back home.”

“My hamburger,” Thomas told her, rubbing his hands together gleefully, “and my milkshake – probably on the table now!”

Aisling looked across the lake to the boy’s house. She could just make out a figure in the distance. “I think you’d better go across, Thomas,” she advised him. “Your dad might be getting worried.

“No problem,” he told her, shaking his head. “Me and Dad – we good buddies!” Then, he put four fingers in his mouth, and after a few attempts gave a piercing whistle.

A few seconds later another loud whistle came back.

“I gotta go,” he told Aisling with a shrug. “I’ll see you again . . . tomorrow.”

“OK, Thomas,” Aisling said, thinking it best not to argue with him. Maybe by tomorrow he would have forgotten all about her going to see his medals.

Thomas set off down the lake path in a purposeful manner. After a few yards he stopped dead. He turned to look back at Aisling. “So long!” he called, holding up his thumb.

“So long!” Aisling echoed, and held her thumb up too.

* * *

Maggie and Declan were full of all the wonderful places they had seen on the journey over to Jean’s friends, all the lovely things they had eaten, and all the lovely people they had met.

“They ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” Bruce joked. “Wait until the wedding on Saturday – there’ll be more invites to ‘come over for drinks and barbecue’ than they can handle.”

“I think I’ll be going back to Ireland an expert on burgers and steaks!” Maggie said.

“And we’ll have to be building one of them barbecue-things too,” Declan chipped in. “And we’ll have all the neighbours peepin’ around the place, trying to figure out what the hell it is.”

They all roared with laughter, and once again Aisling wished that her parents could be this open and carefree all the time, especially her uptight mother. She wished they could talk about religion so intelligently at home, the way they had talked late into the night here. She wished she had the guts to say that she had a lot of doubts about the Catholic religion, that she didn’t believe in half of it, and felt you didn’t have to attend church to be a good person. She could just imagine her mother’s face if she dared even suggest it – especially with her being a teacher in a Catholic school.

Bruce was not a Catholic – and didn’t subscribe to any particular religion – but it hadn’t seemed to rattle Maggie too much at all. And Jean’s divorced son was bringing a woman friend to his sister’s wedding, and again Maggie had only commented on it in private to Declan and Aisling.

But this was America where all cultures and creeds went, and Ireland was Ireland. Where Aisling’s sister was viewed as a fallen woman, and where Aisling was tied for life to a man who did not give her the love and respect that a husband should.

Chapter 6

Feeling revived by her solitary day, Aisling got up early and after a long, refreshing swim in the lake prepared to join the others for a day out shopping.

“Isn’t Jean marvellous to take us around when she has the wedding coming up so soon?” she said to her mother over an American-style breakfast of crispy bacon strips, scrambled eggs and pancakes and maple syrup. Bruce was the cook this morning, and he was giving Declan a demonstration of how to make pancakes and scrambled eggs American-style, while Jean ferried plates of food back and forth from the kitchen. Maggie picked up the maple-syrup bottle and frowned suspiciously at it. “She’s that type,” she said, after a few seconds. “Always was – very confident in herself. She wouldn’t be too worried what others would think – they can take her as they find her.”

“But she’s very good,” Aisling said, helping herself to more of the delicious bacon. “Nothing’s too much trouble.”

Maggie pursed her lips. “Oh, it’s easy for Jean,” she said in a low voice.

“What do you mean?” Aisling asked.

“Well,” Maggie said, “she has plenty of help . . . and they’re certainly not short of money.” She pointed her knife in the direction of the kitchen. “You just watch and you’ll learn a lot. Jean won’t be spoiling her fancy nail-varnish washing up the pots and pans. Oh, no – it’ll be that poor Mrs Waters who’ll cycle miles to come here, and do all the cleaning for a few oul’ dollars.”

“Mammy, that’s terrible!” Aisling hissed. “Jean is really nice to Mrs Waters, and she gives her food and things to take home.”

“And Bruce,” Maggie went on as if Aisling had never spoken. “If she asked him to jump, he’d only ask how
high. You wouldn’t get an Irishman standing in the kitchen
with a flowery pinny on.”

Aisling put her fork down. “Mammy, that’s not fair – Bruce has taken a fortnight’s holiday to take us around, and he’s only making an issue of the cooking to keep us entertained. ”

Maggie stood half-out of her chair to check that Jean was out of earshot. She leaned over and prodded the table in front of Aisling. “Never mind
‘Mammy that’s not fair’
– just you listen and you might learn something!”

Aisling’s stomach tightened, and she suddenly felt she was fifteen years old again. How could she have been so silly as to think her mother could really change her deeply ingrained, narrow view of life? How could she have been so silly to think that a trip to America could make a leopard change its spots so quickly?

“Don’t you be getting carried away with all the Yank-style talk over here,” her mother warned now. “Jean’s good-hearted and all that . . . but as far as hard work and religion go, she’s lacking. She’s made no excuses about the son bringing another woman to the wedding, and him still a married man.”

“He’s divorced, Mammy,” Aisling whispered. “He’s not
married any more.”

“As far as I’m concerned he is,” Maggie stated, “and in the eyes of the Church and God, he’s still married.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised at you standing up for divorce, Aisling – and you a Catholic teacher. I hope all this heathen nonsense isn’t giving you any notions . . . I would never have encouraged you to come with us if I thought for a minute you would be so easily impressed.”

Before Aisling had a chance to reply, Declan and Jean came back out from the kitchen, laughing and chatting.

“Maggie,” Jean said, “I think your husband will be adding an
other string to his bow. He’s now an expert on pancakes!”

“Well, that’ll make a change,” Maggie said, a smile now pinned on her face. “I’ve never known him to be an expert at anything before.”

* * *

Entering the big, airy American shops with the soothing background music was like entering another world. The shops were like nothing Aisling and her parents had ever seen before – not even in England. Thankfully, Maggie seemed to have forgotten her crusade against divorce and godless Americans, as they moved from one giant department store to another. She hadn’t even passed comment on the fact that Jean was wearing bright red Capri pants with a matching scarf tied at the front of her blonde hair. Her favourite ‘
mutton dressed as lamb
’ saying hadn’t been whispered this morning so far.

Declan found more interest in the huge American supermarkets, and couldn’t get over the ones that sold food, clothing and household items under the one roof. “I couldn’t see them catching on in Ireland,” he told Bruce, lifting up a fishing-rod. “You see, there just isn’t the
population or the money there. You’ve got to remember that we were only getting back on our feet from the Famine when the Civil War knocked us back to square one.”

Bruce nodded vaguely, knowing little about Irish history, and having heard nothing but comparisons between America and Ireland since his wife’s relations had arrived.