Aisling Gayle (3 page)

Aisling’s face started to burn with embarrassment. She lowered her head so that her blonde hair draped in front of her face, and concentrated on taking the brown-paper wrapping off her sandwiches.

Then, thankfully, one of the other teachers chipped in. “Sure, Oliver Gayle has no worries. Aisling will be well chaperoned. Isn’t she being accompanied by her parents? You can’t get safer than that.”

Everyone laughed, and Aisling was relieved and grateful when the conversation drifted away from Oliver to the travel details of her trip.

It made her angry and resentful, the way that her marriage had tainted other parts of her life. Her social life was often filled with awkward moments, with people suddenly announcing that they had seen him here and there. Places she never knew he had been. It was worse when she was out with Pauline, or one of her close friends who knew all about his other women, for the evening would be completely spoiled. Harmless evenings at concerts in church halls and more exciting evenings at dances – all spoiled – just waiting on someone dropping a little nugget of information that they knew about her husband. Information she would never know about her husband if it weren’t for strangers and friends telling her.

This was what she had become used to. This was married life with Oliver Gayle.

Aisling had been through all the ups and downs of marriage to Oliver with her sister Pauline and her closest friend Carmel. She knew that at times they thought she was an awful fool for putting up with him, but after all their advice on the ultimatums she should give Oliver and the threats she should make, they always arrived back at where they started. Of course she should leave Oliver – but that was only in theory. Where would she go? And what about her family and the Church? And maybe the rumours were only rumours, and that it was just a kind of flirtation he had with women rather then anything
that
serious. And then it was back to the beginning again.

Because women like Aisling Gayle never left their husbands.

Women like Aisling Gayle didn’t do lots of things. Admittedly, things were not as bad as a few years ago, when married women weren’t even allowed to work in certain jobs. Aisling watched her sister struggle in a country that was a long way off approving of single
mothers. She watched the curvaceous, pretty Pauline having to explain to boyfriends and prospective
boyfriends about little Bernadette. None of them lingered around long, for if they didn’t mind the situation themselves, then their mothers certainly did. None of the older women were prepared to become mothers-in-law to a fallen girl. And her pretty face cut no sway with them either.

Aisling’s best friend Carmel was a teacher in the local secondary school. She was thirty next year and still single. She was a slim, vivacious, dark-haired girl who had missed her chance ten years ago. A local hotel-owner had set his cap at her, and Carmel had not been ready. After ‘doing a line’ with the steady, but predictable Seamus Donnelly for three years, she took fright at the thoughts of never having another boyfriend. Of never knowing any other man hold her, or kiss her – or do more exciting things to her.

She took to her heels to her uncle’s in London, and stayed there for two breathtaking, exciting years. During which time she met several men – very attractive and very
interesting – but none of whom were suitable, marriageable
material. Well, not marriageable material for Carmel. In fact, she discovered almost too late, that one of them was already married. When she came back, Seamus Donnelly was engaged, and they were hanging up the bunting outside the hotel for his wedding to a more sensible, local girl.

A girl who knew a good thing when she saw it.

“The thing is,” Carmel often told Aisling, “I thought I would get better. I thought there was someone out there more suitable for me. Somebody exciting and really interesting . . . but I was wrong. Now all the half-decent local fellows are married.” There was usually an ominous pause. “Be careful yourself, Aisling . . . you could be left on your own, like me. The odds are stacked higher when you reach your thirties . . . and it’s not as if you could get married again.”

Weighing it up, Aisling wondered at times if she was any better off than Pauline or Carmel.

She knew there were plenty of women who would envy her. They would say that at least she had him most of the time, and there was always the hope that he would settle down. That there weren’t too many handsome, financially sound men around Tullamore town.

When they’d first got married, Oliver had started married life off in a promising fashion. He was new in town, and for the first year or two he had put all his energies into setting up the shop and organising the work that needed doing in the old farmhouse Aisling had inherited from an old bachelor uncle.

Oliver had loved being the foreman on the job, advising the builders where he wanted walls knocking down, and walls putting up. Then he had taken a great interest in the furniture they chose – the most modern available from Dublin. From a fellow who knew a friend of Oliver’s, and who could get him the latest styles at discount prices.

All the to-ings and fro-ings up to Dublin had kept him busy for months. All the visits to his family and friends while he was up there, and the overnight stays because it wasn’t worth the trip back late at night. But eventually, the reasons for the trips had run out, and so had Oliver’s interest.

The house was completed, and the builders gone, taking with them all the energy and buzz that Oliver needed constantly around him – the buzz that Oliver had since found in his amateur dramatic groups.

As Aisling ate her cheese and tomato sandwiches, she looked around the group of six teachers – two nuns, two female teachers, the headmaster and another male teacher
– and wondered if they knew about Oliver’s philanderings
. In all probability they would have heard rumours. Especially now that he had such a close relationship with the nuns on the staff. He was now producer of the drama group and they donated the bulk of their funds to local charities. The nuns were grateful for any help for their order’s orphanages and the likes. They were so grateful that they worked hard at encouraging people in the town to support the group’s plays.

Aisling was sure that everyone – apart from her parents – knew of Oliver’s weakness for the female members of his cast. The one he had been speaking to on the phone this morning was probably his latest leading lady.

“So when do you set off for New York, Aisling?” Martin the youngest teacher asked. He was a shy young fellow, and Aisling was sure that the headmaster had told him to make more of an effort chatting to his colleagues. Normally, she was happy to chat to him about difficult pupils and books and the like, but now she could have killed him for bringing attention to her business again.

She swallowed the last of her lukewarm tea. “Saturday morning . . .
the day after we finish school.” She managed a smile. “And it can’t come quick enough!”

“You’re going out for a wedding, aren’t you?”

Aisling nodded. “A cousin.” She stood up now and walked over to the wastepaper bin. She threw the greaseproof paper in the bin, and then held the brown paper over it and shook off the crumbs. Then, she came back to her chair, and started to fold the paper into small squares to use again the following day.

“Parts of Upstate New York are very green,” Sister Concepta chipped in now. “Sister Monica has travelled all over the area, and I was looking at some of her letters the other evening, describing the places she’d been.” The nun finished the last of her tea now, too. “I thought everywhere was like New York City, all tall buildings and shops. Still – you live and learn.”

“My mother has photos of the place we’ll be staying in,” Aisling said, much more comfortable with the general turn that the conversation had now taken. “It looks like a beautiful place, with trees of every colour and unusual wooden houses. It’s by a lake too, so I hope to get some swimming practice in while I’m there.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I could do with getting some exercise and toning up a bit.”

Sister Concepta laughed. “Would you just listen to that! And not a pick on her! You’re the last person who needs to worry about her figure, Aisling.” She grabbed a handful of the material in her black, voluminous habit. “Thank God for these garments we nuns have to wear – they hide a multitude of sins. ‘Tis their only saving grace. I wouldn’t want to be displaying what is hidden underneath in a bathing-suit!” She leaned towards the other, older nun. “What do you say, Sister Mary?”

“Indeed,” said Sister Mary rather stiffly, not finding the c
onversation about matters of the flesh quite so entertaining as her colleague. “But Aisling will have a wonderful time.
It will be a lovely change altogether for you. Sitting by a lake, sunbathing and reading.”

“It’s sitting by a lake that we’d all like to be,” said Mr Duffy, lifting the heavy copper bell from the window-ledge, “but it’s back to class I’m afraid, until the summer is upon us.”

Aisling gathered her bag and copybooks and stood up, grateful for the routine of her schooldays that would get her through the next few weeks. Grateful for the nice people she worked with, and the innocent children she taught, who allowed her to escape from the reality of life with Oliver at home.

Chapter 4

Saturday morning came bright and cheerful, reflecting Oliver’s humour as he drove Aisling and her parents up to Dublin airport. He had been up at the crack of dawn, making Aisling tea and toast and generally making sure that everything went like clockwork. There had been no early-morning phone calls recently, but Aisling was in no way comforted by this. She knew that he would make good use of the time she was away.

In fairness to Oliver, he had been more than helpful with regards to the trip. He had insisted on her going shopping for several new outfits, and had even accompanied her to make sure that she bought all that she needed.

Then two days before her holiday, he turned up after work with a brand new suitcase for the journey. “A commercial traveller owed me a favour,” Oliver said, lifting the leather case out of the boot of his car. “You won’t see many like them around.” He brought it in and set it down on the kitchen table. “Reinforced corners,” he pointed out, “so it won’t get banged around in the luggage departments, and pockets inside for all your bits and pieces.” He laid the case wide open now, awaiting Aisling’s admiration and gratitude.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, giving him the warmest smile she could muster up. “It’ll hold everything I need, with room to spare. It was very good of you.”

Oliver waved away her thanks. “I thought you’d need room for any extras you buy in America,” he said. “I believe they have shops over there that we could only dream of. And dreaming about America is the closest most people will get to it. You’re very lucky getting the chance to go there.” He gathered her into his arms now, rocking very slightly from side to side. Holding her the way that used to make her feel secure and loved and happy. “I’m proud of the fact you’re going to America, Aisling, and I hope with all my heart that you have a wonderful, wonderful time.”

Aisling had leaned her head against Oliver’s chest, wishing with all her heart that he could change into the husband she had hoped she’d married.

* * *

“Give me a ring and let me know you’ve arrived safely!” Oliver called, as the three travellers passed through the departure gates. Maggie and Declan waving profusely. Aisling nodded, and gave him a last wave and a smile. The thought struck her that she now humoured her husband – almost as she would one of the younger pupils in her school when they were upset. She smiled when he needed her to smile, and kept quiet when anything she might say would rock the boat.

Then, as the door on Oliver closed – Aisling moved on. Looking out for her parents, and checking they had the right documents, and went to the right place at the right time – concentrating on all the details of the journey which would take her a long way from Ireland – and a long way from life with Oliver Gayle.

“Oh, Aisling, isn’t that lovely?” Her mother held up yet another shamrock-embossed souvenir in the duty-free shop. “D’you think Jean and Bruce might like it for the house?”

Aisling eyed the green-painted wooden shillelagh, complete with a picture of a leprechaun on the handle. She shook her head. “I’m not sure, Mammy,” she said, trying not to smile. “You’ve brought loads of things with you already.” Then, as Maggie turned back to scan the shelves again, she said, “What about a bottle of Irish whiskey . . . or maybe a bottle of champagne or something like that?”

“Drink?”
Maggie said, her brow furrowing. She turned to her husband. “What do you think, Declan? Do you see anything in the way of a suitable gift?”

“I would agree with Aisling,” he said, lifting up a bottle of malt whiskey. “Bruce never turned down a drink when he was over in Ireland.”

“Oh, well . . . drink it is,” she conceded, as graciously as possible. Drink was not something she held with as a rule. But – in the interests of a good start to the holiday – she supposed the rules could be dispensed with on this occasion. A trip to America was not an everyday occurrence.

The flight was as pleasant as a long flight from Dublin to New York could be – and given Maggie’s apprehension about flying, she coped fairly well. Their cabin was packed and there wasn’t a lot of legroom. Maggie and Aisling weren’t too bad, since their lack of inches was an advantage in this case. Aisling sat at the window with her mother in the middle. Declan, with his easy-going manner and longer legs, took the aisle seat where he could stretch out fully when it was quiet.