Secrets of the Lighthouse (11 page)

She took a deep breath and her shoulders dropped. Here in this beautiful place she felt peace – the peace that comes only from being in harmony with nature. The feeling of joy was so
strong she began to cry. It was so surprising that she began to laugh at the same time. She had never laughed and cried together, and with such abandon. It was the most wonderful feeling she had
ever had. The clouds grew grey and heavy and it began to rain. Her faux-fur jacket, which was so inappropriate on that beach, quickly became sodden and clung to her like the soggy hair of a dog. If
it hadn’t been so cold she would have taken it off and tossed it into the sea, to die a watery death with her iPhone.

The trouble was, she didn’t know what or who she wanted to be. She just knew that she didn’t like the person she was. One thing she was sure about, however, was that she wasn’t
going to go back to London until she had achieved a sense of who she
really
was, beneath her parents’ conditioning. Until then, she was going to stay in Connemara. She began to walk
back up the beach in the direction of Peg’s house. The rain was falling heavily now and she was wet to the bone. She quickened her pace and shivered as a drop of water rolled down her back.
If she was going to stay with Peg, she’d better pay rent, she thought. It was obvious that Peg didn’t have a lot of money and it wouldn’t be fair to sponge off her, however
convenient that might be. If she stayed more than a week it would only be right to contribute something.

When she reached the hill she almost ran. The thought of a hot bath and a cup of tea spurred her on. She stumbled up the sodden grass, past nonchalant sheep who were perfectly dry beneath their
woolly coats, and the poor old donkey, who looked rather bedraggled and miserable in the rain even though there was a shed for him at the bottom of the hill so he could shelter out of the wind. The
house came into view and she wasn’t surprised to see more than one vehicle parked outside. It was becoming clear that Peg’s large family ensured that she was never lonely.

She burst in, sending Mr Badger leaping into the hall with excitement. Bertie the pig remained in front of the Stanley, snoring loudly. Peg jumped up from her chair where she was having a cup of
tea with a young man. ‘Jaysus, child, will you look at you? Where have you been? Did Johnny leave you up at the castle? Take that jacket off at once and I’ll hang it up to
dry.’

‘I went for a walk,’ Ellen explained, peeling off her jacket like a skin.

‘In this weather? Are you off your head?’

‘Throw the jacket away. I’ve ruined it.’

‘Animals are meant to get wet,’ interjected the young man dryly.

‘Not fake ones,’ Ellen retorted.

Peg gestured to the man. ‘This is my son, Ronan.’ The young man, who appeared to be about the same age as Ellen, looked up from beneath a thick blond fringe but didn’t
smile.

‘I would shake your hand,’ said Ellen apologetically. ‘But I’ll only get it wet.’

‘I’ll shake it when you’re dry, then,’ Ronan replied.

‘I think I’d better go up and have a bath.’

‘I think you’d better, pet. Really, you Londoners know nothing about the countryside, do you?’ Peg turned to her son. ‘You should see the boots she came in . .
.’

As Ellen made her way upstairs, she reflected on the members of her family she had met that day. They were all very handsome, with intense eyes and strong characters. It was
almost as if she had walked through C. S. Lewis’s wardrobe into an enchanting new world that had always been there beyond the fur coats. For a moment she felt a wave of anger that her mother
had hidden them all away: after all, they were Ellen’s family too! And what about Lavinia and Leonora? How could their mother have simply erased them from their lives as well? What could she
have done that was so dreadful as to make her return impossible? Didn’t the memories of her childhood count for anything? Didn’t they keep her awake at night? Did she miss her
family?

Ellen bathed in hot water, steaming up the windows as the rain pelted against the glass like pebbles. When she went back downstairs in a pair of jeans and sweater, her aunt was still at the
kitchen table with Ronan. ‘Come and have a nice cup of tea, pet,’ she said, getting up to fetch the kettle from the stove where it was keeping warm. ‘You look better now. What
have you done with your wet clothes?’

‘They’re in the bathroom,’ Ellen replied, sitting down opposite Ronan.

‘Well, they’re not going to get dry in there, are they? Bring them down here later and we’ll hang them over the Stanley.’

‘Ah, cake,’ Ellen exclaimed hungrily, glancing at Jack who was perched on his usual chair. ‘I’m surprised that bird hasn’t scoffed the lot,’ she said to
Ronan.

‘He knows he’ll be shooed away,’ Ronan replied. ‘It’s good. Have a slice.’

Ellen cut herself some cake and Peg set about making a fresh pot of tea.

‘So, I suppose those boys took you to the pub for lunch?’ said Peg, sitting down again with the pot and a mug for her niece.

‘Yes, I met Dylan Murphy,’ she replied, watching her aunt carefully.

‘Oh, Dylan. He’s a character,’ Peg replied, giving nothing away.

Ellen decided to come straight to the point. ‘He loved Mum, didn’t he?’ Peg paused the flow of tea. For a moment she seemed lost for words. ‘I could tell. He was staring
at me with these big, sad eyes.’

‘Trying to find your mother in your face, no doubt,’ said Peg, pouring again.

‘So, what’s his story?’

‘Dylan? I suppose there’s nothing wrong with telling you the truth. It was a long time ago now. This will be new to you, too, Ronan.’ She poured milk into her cup and stirred
it thoughtfully. ‘Dylan grew up with all of us, but he always loved Maddie the most. She loved him for a time, too. But then she met your father and, well, the rest is history, isn’t
it?’

‘It’s a history I’d like to know,’ Ellen persisted. Peg sighed and helped herself to another slice of cake. Ellen thought she did so out of nervousness. ‘Please,
Aunt Peg. I think I have a right to know, now I’m here. If you don’t tell me, someone else will, eventually.’

‘Very well. The truth is that she was engaged to Dylan when she met your father.’

Ellen was astonished. ‘She was going to marry Dylan?’

Ronan looked as surprised as his cousin. ‘Get a load of that!’ he exclaimed, his serious face breaking into a smirk. ‘Old Dylan Murphy, the dark horse.’

‘He was very handsome when he was younger, you know.’ Peg smiled at her niece. ‘A lot of women think he’s even more handsome now. He’s never married, probably
because he still holds a candle for your mam. Poor old Martha has the patience of Jove and she’s a good woman. He’d do well to marry her, but I’m not sure he’ll ever let
your mother go.’

‘No wonder he looked at me like he did.’

‘We all assumed she’d walk up the aisle with Dylan. They were so well suited, like a pea and a pod. They were both bohemian and creative. But then she met your father.’

‘How? What was he doing over here?’

‘He was spending the summer with the Martins, who used to own the castle.’

‘He was staying up at the castle? The same castle I visited today?’

‘The very same. Conor Macausland bought it off Peter Martin. It nearly killed the poor man, having to sell it. The Martins had owned it for generations, you know. But Peter had a building
business that hit some trouble and he ran out of money. They moved to Australia, of all places. I suppose to put as much distance between them and Ballymaldoon Castle as they possibly
could.’

‘How weird! To think that my parents met here and I never knew.’

‘Where did you think they met?’ Ronan asked.

It was at that moment that Ellen realized her parents had lied to her. ‘Scotland,’ she replied quietly. ‘Mum said they met at a shooting party in Scotland.’

‘As if your mother would have been at a shooting party,’ Peg scoffed, nearly spilling her tea. ‘Really, I know she always had aspirations of grandeur, but to suggest she was
living that kind of life is ridiculous, to say the least. She’d never set a foot out of Ireland!’

‘Did you even know she was Irish?’ Ronan asked.

Ellen felt herself bristle. Ronan was looking at her with an incredulous expression on his face, as if he thought her a simpleton for having been so gullible. ‘Of course I knew she was
Irish, but she’s never really talked about Ireland. She only ever mentioned you, Peg, and never when she thought we were listening. If I asked about the past, she’d purse her lips and
change the subject. We knew not to probe and to be honest, we weren’t really very interested. Was it really considered so terrible to run off with an English Protestant, Aunt Peg?’

Peg toyed with her teacup thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think it was the fact that your father was an English Protestant that was the problem,’ she began slowly. ‘It was the
fact that she was meant to be walking down the aisle with Dylan. One day she was planning her wedding, the next she was packing her bag and leaving in haste.’

‘So she really did elope?’

‘I’m afraid she did.’ She hesitated, as if she knew something she wasn’t willing to divulge, and then added quietly: ‘She was carrying on with your father behind
Dylan’s back. It wasn’t kind, considering how devoted he was to her. That’s why she didn’t come back. Because she felt guilty,’ she said firmly.

‘But to feel guilty for over thirty years is a little dramatic.’

Peg seemed keen to close the subject. ‘She chose a different life, pet. She married a rich man, started a new life and didn’t want to have anything to do with her old one, and
that’s all there is to it.’

Ellen was mortified. ‘Was she ashamed of you?’

‘I think so,’ Peg replied softly. ‘I don’t think we were good enough for her. She had aspirations, did Maddie. She was always going to be a princess, one way or another.
She didn’t want the life Dylan offered her. She wanted something better and the minute the opportunity arose, she grabbed it, regardless of breaking poor Dylan’s heart. Don’t
forget she was very beautiful and beguiling, Ellen. She had only to click her fingers and the men would be down on one knee, offering her the world if they could get it.’ Peg bit off a piece
of cake. ‘I suppose she got the world.’

‘But to not include you all in
our
lives is so selfish.’

‘I’m afraid Maddie was always rather a selfish girl.’

‘It’s so unfair,’ said Ellen passionately. ‘I wish I had known you my whole life.’

Peg’s face softened. ‘That’s very sweet of you, pet. But don’t get emotional. Your mother did what she felt was best, and you and your sisters have done all right,
haven’t you? But now you’ve found us, you’ve really gone and put the cat among the pigeons. Lord knows what she’ll do when she finds out.’ Peg looked anxious.
‘Don’t you be letting on to her that I’ve gone and told you the whole story!’

‘Of course not. You have my word. But it makes me so cross. I don’t ever want to go back.’

Peg gave her a stern look. ‘Then you’ll be just as bad as your mother.’ Ellen realized that, in fleeing from her own wedding, she already was.

‘Poor Dylan,’ she said sadly. She took a sip of tea. She’d been talking so much it was almost cold.

‘Let me give you another cup,’ Peg suggested, getting up. ‘You know, people are the sum of their experiences. It’s easy to see why Dylan took to the booze when you
consider his past. He was a very happy boy growing up, but Maddie broke his heart. He never recovered. He was desperately hurt. He’s had a sadness about him ever since. I think his life has
been a big disappointment.’

Ronan’s face crumpled into a frown. ‘I never knew that, Mam. Poor sod! It’s a brutal thing to love and lose like that.’

‘What does he do?’ Ellen asked.

‘He’s a songwriter. He’s very talented. Such a shame he turned to the bottle because I think he could have really made something out of his life. He used to have a band, you
know. It was quite successful once, in Ireland at least.’ Peg laughed. ‘Hard to imagine now, isn’t it? He plays the guitar and sings.’ Ellen wondered whether her
mother’s decision not to give her guitar lessons had had anything to do with Dylan.

‘And now he props up the bar,’ interjected Ronan sadly. ‘Poor sod!’ he repeated. ‘I always thought he was a bit of a joke. What an eejit!’

‘Don’t be hard on yourself, Ronan. You weren’t to know.’ She turned to Ellen. ‘He wrote for himself in the beginning, but then he stopped performing, so he wrote
for other bands,’ she continued. ‘You’d be amazed if you knew some of the big stars who sing his songs. He had great success with one or two ballads. If you give me a moment,
I’m sure I could hum them.’

‘What do
you
do, Ronan?’ Ellen asked, noticing that he was very quiet and wanting to bring him into the conversation.

‘I’m a carpenter,’ he replied defensively, challenging her with a look.

‘Don’t be defensive, Ronan,’ chided his mother. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being a carpenter. You’re a very good carpenter. He can do anything with wood,
anything at all. You look at all those fancy pictures of kitchens in magazines and Ronan can copy any one of them. You’d never know the difference. He’s very talented.’

‘She would say that, wouldn’t she?’ He rolled his eyes, looking uncomfortable.

‘He did a lot of work for Caitlin Macausland up at the castle.’

At the mention of Caitlin’s name Ronan’s face grew dark and sulky. ‘Yes, well, that was a long time ago. I’ve done plenty of stuff since.’

‘Ronan doesn’t like to be tied down,’ Peg continued, to her son’s embarrassment. ‘He likes to work for himself, when it suits him.’

‘Being self-employed is a real privilege,’ said Ellen, wanting Ronan to smile again. ‘I’m trying to be a writer. I’ve just spent the last six years of my life
working in the marketing department of a jewellery company in London and I hate being chained to an office from nine to five. I try so hard to be on time but I’m late every morning. I’d
do anything to be my own boss like you.’

‘So, what have you written?’ he asked.

‘Nothing very good yet, but I’m hoping to be inspired down here.’