Secrets of the Lighthouse (39 page)

‘You’re still in shock,’ he said. ‘Don’t be surprised if it hits you like a truck in the morning.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You call me if you’re worried, won’t you? I don’t care what time of the night it is.’

She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him. ‘Thank you.’

‘And I’ll come and pick you up tomorrow.’ He nuzzled his face into her neck. ‘I wish I could take you home with me now. I don’t want to leave you to spend the night
alone.’

‘I’ll be OK, I promise.’

‘Come to Dublin,’ he suggested suddenly.

‘When?’

‘Next week. I’ll put you up in a grand hotel . . .’

‘But I’ve committed to Alanna.’

‘
Un
-commit.’

‘I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair. I’ll come to Dublin when the girl who works for her gets back.’

‘Where has she gone?’

‘I don’t know. But she’ll come back.’

‘She’d better! Then I’ll show you around my city.’

‘I’m meant to be writing a book,’ she protested, wanting to be persuaded.

He laughed at her fondly. ‘You’re my girl, which means you have to be where I am.’

‘OK, I’ll come to Dublin.’ She smiled.

‘That’s a promise, all right?’

‘It’s a promise.’

He kissed her. ‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Usual time?’

‘Usual time. You’re becoming a habit.’

She grinned at him broadly. ‘Good. I hope you have an awfully addictive personality.’

He kissed her again. ‘Oh, I do, and you have all the qualities to ensure I’m utterly dependent!’

She waved as Conor drove off, then hurried through the drizzle into the house. The light was on in the kitchen. She went to switch it off when a voice greeted her from the table. There, sitting
on Jack’s chair with a mug of tea, was Peg.

‘Aunt Peg, I haven’t kept you up, have I?’ she asked, registering Peg’s anxious face.

‘Come and sit down, pet,’ she said softly. Ellen wished she could go to bed. She knew she should discuss with Peg what she had learned, but she suddenly felt exhausted, as if the
emotional wave had finally hit her. She did as her aunt requested, however. Peg sighed deeply and Ellen knew there was a serious purpose to her midnight vigil. ‘Do you want a cup of
tea?’ Peg asked.

‘No, thank you. It’s a bit late for that,’ Ellen replied, searching her aunt’s weary eyes for a clue to her intention.

‘I had Johnny over this evening. He said he’d seen you in the pub with Conor.’

‘Yes, he came to find Dylan with me.’ Ellen narrowed her eyes. ‘If this is about Conor, I’m not going to skulk around like a teenager. I don’t care what Desmond
thinks . . .’

‘No, it’s not about Conor, Ellen, it’s about Dylan.’

‘Oh.’ Ellen felt her pulse race.

Peg hesitated and looked pained. ‘I wanted to check that you were all right.’

‘I’m fine,’ Ellen replied, but she knew her aunt was too perceptive to be fooled by that casual statement.

‘It’s just that Johnny said you were . . . a bit
strange
.’

‘We went back to Dylan’s for some tea.’

‘I see.’

‘Spuds. I don’t think Dylan can cook anything else.’

‘I think you’re probably right. Martha’s a fine cook, altogether. He should make an honest woman of her.’ Peg looked at Ellen and frowned. ‘I’ve been thinking
about what you said, Ellen. That Maddie named you after Dylan’s nickname for her.’

‘Yes?’ Ellen’s tone was enquiring, but she knew what was coming.

‘I think you know what I’m trying to say.’

‘Dylan’s my father,’ Ellen stated simply and sat down.

Although Peg had already worked it out, Ellen’s words hit her like a blow. She gasped and took a gulp of tea to play for time. Finally, she put down her mug. ‘So, it’s true. It
had never occurred to me, not once. In all these years, I never considered it. Not until tonight. Johnny got me thinking.’

‘Has it occurred to him, too?’

‘Yes, we came to it at the same time. Or rather, he and Desmond already suspected, but it wasn’t until tonight that their suspicions were confirmed. You see, you do have a look of
him.’

‘It makes sense, doesn’t it?’ Ellen said with a sigh. She felt wearier than ever.

‘I don’t suppose your father knows.’

‘I’m not going to tell him. I just couldn’t.’ She bit her lip. The thought of hurting him gave her heart a painful tug. ‘I love my Daddy.’

‘I think that’s probably wise. I imagine that is why Maddie never came back to Ireland. I’ve always wondered.’

‘Why? Because she would have run off with Dylan?’

‘Anything’s possible. Our mother would turn in her grave if she knew. It was bad enough that Maddie got pregnant, but there was a little consolation in the fact that she married the
child’s father. It would have devastated Mam to know that Dylan was the father.’

‘Aunt Peg, if Mum had told your mother she was pregnant, would she have sent her to a convent and given me away?’

Peg’s face twisted with anguish. ‘I’m afraid she might have, Ellen, dear. I’d like to say otherwise, but when it came to the moral path, any deviation was unacceptable to
your grandmother. A child out of wedlock was a sin and a shame.

Maddie was right to run away.’ Peg put her hand on Ellen’s. ‘She did it to keep you – I would have done the same. But I told Mam in the end because she couldn’t
understand why her favourite child had run away.’

‘I’m sure she wasn’t her
favourite
child,’ said Ellen kindly.

‘Oh, she was, and everyone knew it. She fell apart when Maddie left. I had to put her out of her misery. Of course, I only exchanged one type of misery for another. But once she knew, her
heart hardened towards Maddie and we never mentioned her name in the house again. Mam went to the grave with a calcified heart, Ellen. She never forgave her.’

‘It’s very sad.’

‘Aye, it’s sad. I lost my little girl to the sea. That puts things into perspective. I could never get her back. But Maddie and Mam could have reconciled and they should have. You
see, that is something I can’t understand. It was as if Maddie had died. But Mam could have got her back if she had really wanted to. I can never get Ciara back, not with all the will in the
world. Why wouldn’t Mam have tried? Why did she bury her when she didn’t have to?’ Peg shook her head, disturbed by the resurgence of suppressed memories. ‘God’s way
is love and Jesus taught us to forgive. But it’s amazing how many Christians reject those two fundamental teachings . . . So, how did you discover that Dylan is your biological father?’
she asked.

‘I nicked one of his CDs and listened to his old songs. It was pretty obvious.’

‘I’m so sorry. What a terrible shock.’

‘I think I sensed it earlier, though. The moment I realized that Mum had given me the name Dylan used to call her. I was just too afraid to face the truth.’ She laughed sadly.
‘I tried to convince myself that she did it because she was still in love with him. And I did convince myself for a while, until the CD. Then I was forced to accept it.’ She yawned and
her eyes watered.

‘You look as white as a sheet. I should let you go to bed. I just wanted to make sure that you’re OK.’

‘Thank you, Aunt Peg. But I don’t know how I am, really,’ Ellen said. ‘I just feel numb.’

‘Of course you do, pet. Come, let’s tuck you up. You’ll feel stronger in the morning.’ Peg switched off the light and closed the kitchen door behind them.
‘It’s touching to think that Dylan sobered up for you, Ellen. He wants you to be proud of him.’

‘He’s a good man. I’m very fond of him.’ She began to climb the stairs. ‘It’s strange how the knowledge that he’s my father has bonded us suddenly. I
mean, it’s nothing but a thought. But that thought has changed the way I feel about him. It’s changed the way I feel about Ballymaldoon.’

‘In what way, pet?’

Ellen stood in her bedroom doorway. ‘I want to stay,’ she replied firmly.

‘There’s nothing to prevent you staying, if you want to.’ Peg smiled. ‘I’d like you to stay.’

‘I have one or two things I need to sort out back in London.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘But I’d come back.’

‘Yes.’

‘That means I’ll have to tell Mum where I am. I’m scared to tell her. Now I know the truth . . .’

‘Don’t think about that now, pet. It’s late. Get some sleep. It’ll all be so much clearer in the morning.’

So Ellen went to bed and laid her head on the pillow with a weary sigh. Dylan, her parents and Conor fought a moment for her attention, but finding no response they retreated, for Ellen was too
tired even to dream.

When Ellen awoke the following morning, it was still dark and the cockerel had yet to crow. She lay in the silence, bewildered by the strange chill in her heart and the
loneliness that now engulfed her. Little by little the revelations of the evening before came back to her. She wasn’t her father’s daughter; she was Dylan’s.

She sat up in panic and groped about in the darkness for the lamp. As soon as she found it, she switched it on and the room was flooded with light. She rubbed her eyes. Yesterday she had felt
little emotion, but today she felt desolate. She stared into space and tried to find the root of her desolation. She considered it for a long time and at last came to the conclusion that, after
having felt alienated from her family for most of her life, the fact that she
really
didn’t belong now made her realize just how much she wanted to. It was ironic that all the while
she had cursed her mother for trying to make her fit in, deep down inside she had actually longed to.

Her eyes filled with tears when she thought of her father and whether or not he knew the truth. He had never treated her any differently from Leonora and Lavinia. He hadn’t given her more
attention to compensate for the fact that she wasn’t his – or less because his natural instinct was to favour his own. He had been consistently fair, loving and sincere. The fact that
she didn’t look anything like him had never been an issue. Lots of children don’t look like their parents. She had never questioned it, as children never do. It’s grown-ups who
comment on the mystifying distribution of genes, and they had always been very certain that she had inherited hers from her mother.

So, had her mother kept the secret from her husband as well as her daughter? If she had, how had she managed it? Ellen wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to ask. Her mother’s
past had always been taboo. Well, now she understood why Ireland had been erased from the family history. Dylan was always here in Connemara as living proof of her lie. But now that Ellen knew, was
it possible for
her
to conceal the truth?

She looked at her watch. It was 6 a.m. She didn’t feel remotely sleepy. In fact, she felt agitated, as she used to feel at school the morning prior to an exam. It was dark outside, but she
felt a yearning to be down on the beach. She knew she’d feel better there. So she dressed in jeans and a jersey and crept downstairs, careful not to go into the kitchen and wake Bertie. She
didn’t want to take him by surprise. She threw on a coat of Peg’s, a woolly hat and rubber boots and set off down the hill at a brisk pace.

It was dreadfully cold. The air was damp with drizzle and an icy wind blew in off the sea. She thrust her hands deep into the pockets of Peg’s coat and hunched her shoulders against the
gale. She wondered what it must be like to be a sheep out here in the elements, night after night. She now knew why Peg counted them every morning – to see if any had blown away.

The sky was pale in the east where dawn was breaking weakly onto the wintry landscape. It gave her just enough light to see her way down the track and across the lane to the beach. She took
pleasure in the roaring sound of the ocean and the blustering gusts of wind that thrashed the hills erratically. Somehow they soothed her soul and calmed her nerves, almost as if the tempest
outside
reduced the tempest
inside
on account of it being so much greater.

She walked along the sand to where the waves rushed up to flood her boots, and stood gazing into the blackness, as if at the threshold of a new existence. The view wasn’t clear; she was
uncertain about where she was going, but she knew that the change in the present would undoubtedly change her future, too: she just wasn’t quite sure how.

She remained on the beach until the sun began to rise behind the hills and the lighthouse emerged out of the cloud, bringing thoughts of Conor in its silver lining. She watched it grow brighter,
as if her future was being slowly revealed to her in symbols. In which case, Caitlin’s tragic loss was her lucky gain. Her future was here with Conor.

The wind died down a little and day broke at last. She made her way up the beach, feeling a lot better. Her head was clearer and her heart less heavy. She decided to be positive; after all, not
many girls could claim to have
two
fathers.

When she reached the house, Peg was in the field putting out extra feed for the ewes in preparation for the coming lambing season. ‘You’re up early, Ellen,’ she said in
surprise.

‘I needed a walk.’

‘You must be hungry, then. I don’t suppose you dared go into the kitchen and wake Bertie.’

‘Not after you told me how he mauled Oswald.’

‘Come on, then. Let’s have some breakfast.’ She accompanied her niece inside. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

Ellen sighed. ‘A bit uneasy about the whole thing, to be honest. It’s quite a lot to get my head around. But I’m feeling better having been down on the beach.’

‘I bet you got blown away down there.’

‘Very nearly.’

They took off their coats and hats and Peg put the kettle on the stove. Ellen was cold to the bone. She lay on Mr Badger’s beanbag and put her hands in his fur to warm them.

‘Don’t be surprised if Johnny turns up this morning on his way to work,’ said Peg, taking mugs down from the cupboard.

‘I imagine most of Ballymaldoon knows that Dylan’s my father now.’

Peg was quick to dispel her fears. ‘Oh, Johnny won’t have told a soul. Not about this.’

‘I would have thought it irresistible.’