Aisling Gayle (40 page)

“Well,” Verity said, turning on her heel, “I shall see you later then, Jameson.”

He sighed as the door closed behind her. “I thought she would never go. This situation is difficult enough without having her around constantly.”

Whether Jameson had said anything to the nurses or not, Aisling was surprised that they were given one room with two beds – albeit single, high, iron hospital beds. She couldn’t imagine that happening anywhere in Ireland. Even in a hotel you could be asked to prove that you were married.

While Aisling showered and shampooed her hair, Jameson went off to collect their stuff from the car. By the time he had showered too, she was already in one of the white-painted iron beds and dozing lightly, her hair still damp. She was vaguely aware of Jameson sitting on the side of her bed, stroking her hair and saying how sorry he was about everything. She smiled sleepily and kissed the back of his hand.

Several hours later, Aisling woke with a start. It was the nurse knocking on the door, to inform them that Jameson’s parents had arrived, and had gone upstairs to see Thomas.

As she watched Jameson rushing around getting ready, she suddenly said: “Maybe it would be best if you go on up to see Thomas on your own this time.”

He shook his head. “No . . . we’ll go together. I haven’t brought you all the way down here just to abandon you.”

Aisling hesitated. “I’d rather you went on your own.” She gestured to her clothes, some on the back of a chair and some in her bag. “I’m not ready yet . . . and it’ll give you time to talk to your parents on your own.” She could see the disappointment in his eyes. “I’ll come up soon, I promise.”

“Okay,” he said, “if that’s what you want.” He finished dressing, kissed her and left.

Aisling stayed sitting on the bed for a long time, thinking. She thought about Thomas lying upstairs, and her stomach and throat tightened in fear. Then she thought about Jameson’s parents and wondered what they would think when they met her.

And how they would feel if they knew she was a married woman.

So much had happened recently that she was struggling to keep up with everything. Then her thoughts moved to the most trivial – but irritating – issue of all.
Verity
.

The cool, perfect Verity.

And she didn’t need to wonder what Verity thought about her. First impressions were hard to forget – and Aisling knew her creased travelling clothes and scruffy hair had not done her any favours.

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, an
d . . .” 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 thinking 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.”