Secrets of the Lighthouse (44 page)

‘No,’ Madeline replies quickly. ‘I’m not ready for that.’

‘But Jesus taught forgiveness.’

‘I’m not ready to forgive. There’s no point going through the motions if I don’t feel it in my heart. I feel nothing but resentment, Peg. I can’t help it.’ I
notice that every so often she gives a word an Irish lilt. The girl she once was is trying to break out of the woman she has become. But it is impossible; the outer casing has grown too hard.
‘You, Peg, have to forgive
yourself
.’

‘Oh, Maddie.’ Peg gasps, and I see a wave of horror ripple over her. She recoils. ‘I can never forgive myself,’ she hisses, as if her self-loathing is a snake that has
taken possession of her. It rears up its repulsive head and the sweet, loving Peg shrinks back in fear.

‘Peg, it wasn’t your fault. It was no one’s fault. God wanted Ciara back. You cannot question His motives. You have to accept what He gives us.’

‘But I can’t!’ she wails. ‘If I had been more vigilant . . .’

‘There are no ifs, only facts. It’s over and you have to move on.’

At that moment I am blinded by a bright light. I know that the light is Ciara, even though I am not strong enough to look at it. The fog around me is immediately dissolved by this loving
radiance and I watch Madeline wrap her arms around her sister and hug her fiercely. The light seems to penetrate Peg and she lets out a wail. It is as if all her grief is expelled in that dreadful
howl. Then she falls silent. They remain locked together as the wind blows about them and the sea crashes onto the sand, like shipwrecked sailors who have survived a storm.

At last they unlock and Madeline takes Peg’s hands. She gazes into her sister’s red-rimmed eyes and smiles at her encouragingly. ‘If you try to forgive yourself, Peg, I shall
try to forgive Mam.’

Peg nods enthusiastically. ‘That’s a good deal,’ she replies.

I know then that the light is love and that it is strong enough to slay the snake. I also know that I have little love in my heart which is not tarnished by jealousy. I realize then that I
do
have the power to raise my vibration, after all, for the only thing capable of transmuting negativity is love.

‘So, you’ll come back then?’ Peg asks.

‘I will,’ Madeline answers. ‘I’ll come back and perhaps feel strong enough to visit Mam’s grave then.’

‘I hope Ellen comes back, too,’ says Peg.

They begin to walk up the beach, towards Peg’s home.

‘Ellen can do what she likes,’ Madeline says evenly. ‘Ironic to think that I spent all these years trying to hide Ireland from her, when she only went and found it all on her
own.’

‘All rivers run into the sea one way or another,’ says Peg wisely.

‘You’re right about that. Perhaps it’s destiny for her to wind up here. She will have what I was denied and I will try not to resent her for it.’

‘And Dylan will be close to the daughter he wasn’t able to watch grow up.’

‘That too.’

‘I’m sorry she came here and had her heart broken.’

‘It will mend,’ Madeline replies simply. ‘Or at least she will learn to live with her loss and move on as I did.’

‘Is she really so determined to talk to her father?’

Madeline looks pained. ‘She is. I can’t stop her.’

‘That’s not going to be an easy talk.’

‘I’ve begged her not to. Now the past is going to rear its ugly head and bite me. I suppose I should have known. Everything comes out in the wash eventually.’

‘I shall pray for you,’ says Peg firmly.

‘Thank you. Though I fear prayers will not be enough.’

They reach the house to find Ellen standing in the field with the donkey, gazing at the lighthouse. She joins them at the gate.

‘What are you doing out here?’ Madeline asks.

‘I’m saying goodbye to the donkey,’ says Ellen, and her breath rises into the soggy air. Her cheeks are gaunt and pale.

‘Come in and have some breakfast,’ Peg suggests.

‘I will in a minute.’

‘I’ll make you porridge,’ says Peg. ‘I don’t want you to fade away.’

‘I don’t care if I do,’ Ellen replies sullenly, giving a little shrug. ‘He’s gone. He’s not coming back to get me. It’s over.’

‘Oh, Ellen,’ says Madeline and there is a warmth in her voice which takes her daughter by surprise. ‘Come inside, you look freezing.’

‘I’ll join you in a minute,’ Ellen repeats, averting her eyes because they are filling with tears. The two women head for the kitchen door, leaving Ellen in the field with the
sheep, the llama and the donkey. It is a long while before she turns around and follows them into the house.

It is not long before Dylan, Johnny, Joe, Ryan, Desmond and Craic drive up to say goodbye. Oswald wanders over from his cottage and they all share one final pot of tea in Peg’s warm
kitchen. They all look gloomy and sad, but none more so than Dylan. The conversation is awkward. Joe makes a few bad jokes but they laugh just the same. They are all trying to be jolly when inside
they feel as heavy as lead.

At last it is time. Madeline’s taxi is waiting outside to take them to the airport. She embraces her brothers and Peg, hastily, so as not to crumble with emotion. She is English, after
all, and the Irish passion is locked away with the Irish girl beneath the very effective steely veneer she has built around herself like a suit of armour. Then she hugs Dylan. He holds her close
but even I can see that he finds the veneer impenetrable. He has seen glimpses of Maddie but he is resigned to the Englishwoman who has taken her place.

When he says goodbye to Ellen it is a different matter. I feel a strange pain in my chest as he takes her young hands in his old ones. I notice that his are trembling. He doesn’t find the
words, but gives her a CD, pressing it into her palm. She wraps her arms around him and lets out a muffled sob. They remain together and the pain in my chest grows stronger. And then I recognize
it, this pain that weakens my jealousy and fills me with guilt. It is compassion.

Ellen returned to London and to her old life with the weary acquiescence of a buccaneer whose adventure has ended in failure. She had only been away from London for a few weeks
and it was still as she had left it; only
she
had changed. She no longer belonged. She felt like an outsider in a city she had previously felt she owned. In spite of breaking off her
engagement with William, who didn’t seem nearly as unhappy about it as she had feared, Ellen found her mother expected things to return to the way they were. But she hadn’t liked the
person she was then and she had no intention of slipping back into that skin ever again. Ireland had shifted something in her consciousness and it was irreversible.

After an awkward lunch with William, which had been more like ending a business contract than an engagement, she returned home. But it no longer felt like home. It was as if she had grown out of
the room; even the bed felt too small. She lay down and listened to Dylan’s CD, while the ache in her soul wracked her with homesickness for her new adopted land. When she heard the lyric to
‘Ellen Across the Sea
’
, she was no longer able to control her tears.

She had resolved that she wasn’t going to lie any more. As much as her mother had tried to dissuade her, she knew that in order to live honestly she had to tell her father the truth about
her birth. At first, her mother didn’t believe she’d do it. She truly felt that once Ellen was back at home, life would return to normal and she would forget about Ireland. She called
Emily and asked her to rally her friends and take her out, but Ireland was in Ellen’s heart and in her tears, which spilled readily at the smallest provocation.

In spite of her efforts, Madeline could do nothing to stop her daughter from finding an opportune moment to be alone with her father in his study.

‘Darling one,’ he said, lowering
The Times
and smiling at her. ‘What can I do for
you
?’

‘I need to talk to you, Dad,’ she said, closing the door behind her.

‘Of course,’ he replied, folding the newspaper and placing it on the corner of the club fender.

She sat down in the armchair opposite and laid her hands in her lap. He hadn’t asked her how she was since she had split up with William and he hadn’t asked her about Ireland,
either. He had simply continued as if nothing had happened. As if she had been away with friends for a long weekend. She didn’t know how to break it to him that she had dug up her
mother’s past and discovered that she was another man’s child.

‘So?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘I want to tell you about Ireland,’ she began.

‘Yes,’ he replied, and she thought she detected a shadow of uneasiness pass across his face. ‘How did it go?’

‘I love it.’

‘It is a very beautiful part of the world.’

‘Mum never talked about it, so you can imagine how surprised I was to discover I had an aunt and four uncles.’

‘I bet they were just as surprised to see you,’ he said with a chuckle.

Ellen began to feel sick. ‘I really felt at home there, Dad. I really felt I belonged.’

‘It’s in your genes.’

‘Yes, the Irish in my genes is very strong.’ She watched him, hoping for some reaction, but he looked at her with the same honest blue eyes and innocent face.

‘I met your mother when I was staying at this rather magnificent old castle owned by a chap called Peter Martin.’

‘I visited the castle,’ Ellen told him. ‘It’s very romantic.’

‘Is it still owned by the Martins?’

‘No, they sold it and moved to Australia.’

‘Good Lord, that’s a long way to go. I often wondered what happened to them. I never saw them again after that summer.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Peter’s
son, Lorcan, and I were friends at Eton and Oxford. He was a top man with a formidable forehand. I’ll always remember that.’

‘Did you ever meet a man called Dylan Murphy?’ Ellen asked. She watched him closely for his reaction, but he shook his head and replied that he didn’t think so. Ellen knew then
that he couldn’t possibly know about her mother’s old lover, because her father simply wasn’t capable of dissembling.

She stood up, suddenly agitated. ‘Dad, I have something terrible to tell you, but I have to get it off my chest and I have to be truthful with you.’ She felt a horrid sinking
sensation in her stomach. She had now gone too far to turn back.

‘Is it something about Ireland?’ he asked, and when she looked at him, his blue eyes were strangely darker and deeper than before.

‘Yes, it’s something about Dylan.’

He nodded slowly, breathing in through dilated nostrils. Then he rubbed his chin again, staring into space. ‘Does this Dylan person have brown eyes?’

Ellen frowned. ‘Yes, why do you ask?’

He looked at her steadily. ‘What did Dylan tell you?’ He was serious now.

Ellen’s heart began to race. ‘He didn’t tell me anything,’ she answered quickly. ‘I found out on my own.’ She was aware that her eyes were welling again with
tears. ‘Then things began to make more sense.’

‘Sit down, Ellen,’ he said calmly. She did as she was told and perched on the edge of the armchair.

‘Mum begged me not to tell you, but I lost the man I love because I lied about my engagement. I don’t want any more lies. I don’t want any more secrets. And I can’t live
without you knowing what I know. Knowing that you
don’t
know. And that you might find out, someone might tell you and then I’ll have lied again, or withheld . . .’ She
was rambling now, her nervous fingers fidgeting in sweaty palms.

‘Ellen, I
know
,’ he said gently.

Ellen stared at him in astonishment. ‘You know? You know what?’

‘I’m not your biological father. That
is
what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?’

The relief was overwhelming. ‘How do you know?’

‘My darling, do you really think I wouldn’t notice that my daughter had brown eyes? Even with my limited knowledge of biology I know that it is impossible for two blue-eyed parents
to have a brown-eyed child.’

‘Is it? I didn’t know.’

‘And I spent all that money on your private education!’ He smiled kindly. ‘I imagine it must have been a terrible shock to find that out.’

‘It was.’

‘But it doesn’t change anything, unless you want it to.’

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘Why should it? The past is done and can’t be
un
done. It is what it is. Finding out which sperm fertilized your egg doesn’t change the fact that I have been your
father for the last thirty-three years. It doesn’t change the fact that I love you, Ellen. It doesn’t change that at all.’

Ellen had never heard her father talk about love before. It moved her unexpectedly, to the point of making her chest and throat grow tight. He had always been uncomfortable discussing his
feelings and Ellen had never probed. Now he was flinging open the emotional door and inviting her to step inside. It was unfamiliar territory for both of them. ‘What did you think when I was
born?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘That you were the loveliest little girl and I was very lucky to have you.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. I loved your mother. It didn’t matter that she was pregnant with another man’s child because I wanted her at any cost. She was fleeing Ireland and I was happy to be
her knight in shining armour and lower the drawbridge.’

‘Didn’t you think it odd when she called me Ellen?’

He chuckled at the memory. ‘Well, it wasn’t my choice, but she was determined. I thought it must be the name of her grandmother or some other relative.’

‘It was Dylan’s nickname for her. Ellen Olenska.’

‘Ah,
The Age of Innocence
.’ He acknowledged the information with a nod. ‘Well, I suppose you were conceived in an age of innocence of sorts. Things got pretty
complicated for her after that.’

‘And she never told you?’

‘No, she probably thought I wouldn’t marry her if she told me the truth. I never discussed it with her because I didn’t want to rock the boat. As far as I was aware, it was
irrelevant.’