‘Well, I’d say that you do,’ the priest continued in his melodious Irish drawl. ‘She had the same-shaped face as you, the same chin and the same smile. She had a very sweet smile, you know. And your eyes, I wouldn’t say they’re the same colour or shape; no, yours are bigger and hers were blue, but there’s something of her in the expression. One can’t be sure what you’re going to do next.’ He chuckled tipsily, pleased with his analysis. Ellen wondered whether, by the way he was speaking about her mother in the past tense, he thought she was dead.
‘I think you’d find her very different now,’ Ellen said to remind him that she was alive.
‘Well, people grow up, don’t they, and your mother was very young when she lived here.’ He toyed with his empty gin and tonic glass, rolling it onto its edges like a boat in danger of capsizing.
Ellen lowered her voice too, hoping to lure Father Michael into revealing things by pretending to confide in him. ‘You know, I didn’t even know Mother had a family over here. It came as a complete shock when I discovered she had brothers. I knew about Peg, but I knew nothing of the others.’
His eyebrows crawled together like fluffy white caterpillars. ‘So I heard. What a brutal thing not to have known your grandmother.’
‘I wish I had known her,’ said Ellen, sadly.
‘Aye, she was a fine woman, Ellen. A fine woman indeed.’
‘I’m sure she was. A strong woman, to have brought up six children and run a farm on her own?’
‘Oh, she was never on her own, Ellen. She was a community-spirited woman and everyone rallied around her, although it would have hurt her pride to have acknowledged that she was helped. She was a very proud woman, altogether.’
‘It must have hurt her when my mother ran off.’
Father Michael dug his chin into his neck as he contemplated how best to answer. The round balls of his cheeks shone with the whiskey he had had before Mass and the two gin and tonics since. He inhaled through hairy nostrils. ‘It rocked the whole community,’ he said softly. ‘Your grandmother was a strong woman but Maddie floored her.’ He shook his head at the memory.
Ellen decided to take a gamble. ‘Was that because . . . because of me?’
She almost held her breath as he turned his rheumy eyes to her in astonishment. After a hasty glance into the sitting room, he leaned closer and spoke so softly Ellen could only just hear. ‘So, you know?’
‘I know,’ she replied with equal emphasis.
‘Did Maddie tell you?’
‘No, I worked it out.’
He nodded gravely. ‘Of course you did. You’re a clever girl.’ He patted her hand unsteadily.
‘I assume no one else knows, though?’
‘Only your grandmother knew, because Peg told her.’ Ellen clamped her teeth together to stop her jaw swinging open. Her mind was racing, trying work out how her mother might have discovered her sister’s betrayal. But as she had told Father Michael she knew, she had to mask her shock and curtail her questions. He was too tipsy to notice and pursed his lips with the residue of bitterness. ‘And Maddie knew the consequences of bearing a child out of wedlock. But she was a bold girl, was Maddie Byrne. She was always a bold girl.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘She saw an opportunity and she took it.’
‘I suppose it was the only option.’
‘It was the only option for her. A terrible choice to make for any young woman, but brutal for Maddie because she had to leave so much behind. Poor Dylan Murphy is still living with the consequences to this day. I don’t know whether he’s forgiven her. I have tried to gently lead him in that direction, but it’s a mighty thing to ask of a man. As for your grandmother, she wrestled with her faith but I’m afraid she died without making peace with Maddie. One day, they will meet again and I hope then they will be able to forgive each other.’
Ellen frowned at Father Michael. ‘What did my mother have to forgive?’
Father Michael frowned at Ellen, as if surprised that she didn’t know. ‘Well, a great deal, Ellen. A very great deal.’
Chapter 17
Conor has shaved off his beard and his mother has cut his hair. Something dramatic is going on and I don’t like it at all. I watched the hair fall in feathers onto the bathroom floor and felt that I was being cut with those scissors and swept away with the dustpan and brush. He emerged looking young again and happy, as if he had shed his grief along with his hair. I can feel he is now fired up with inspiration and energy and I know it has nothing to do with me. I follow him around the house and listen to him humming contentedly, knowing that it is another woman and not I who has infected him with joy.
What does he see in Ellen? She is nothing compared to me. I was passionate and hot-blooded as well as beautiful. I was a firefly, bright, compelling and unpredictable. Conor loved my eccentricities. He loved my romantic nature. There is nothing eccentric about Ellen. She is not beautiful and she is not exciting. She is ordinary.
I followed him to Mass. He wore a suit and tie beneath his smart black coat and fedora hat. He looked so handsome and dignified, like an old-fashioned gentleman, but I could tell that he was nervous, for his fingers fidgeted at his sides. Ida and Finbar found the transformation astonishing because neither can remember a time when their father didn’t have hair on his face. They couldn’t take their eyes off him and grew suddenly shy as if he had become someone else entirely. Daphne lifted her chin with pride as she walked up the aisle, because the last time she accompanied her son to church was at my funeral in the little chapel, when Conor had looked like Edmond Dantès after a few years in the Château d’If. I know she feels that she has got her son back. I am no longer around to keep him away from her, so perhaps she is right.
It was only when Ellen and Conor caught eyes across the aisle that I realized how strongly they feel for one other. They held that stare for a long while and somehow their eyes communicated more than words ever could. Conor’s eyes were full of tenderness. His whole face was aglow with a brighter light than lust alone and I was consumed with jealousy. I raged about the church, like I did at my funeral, but affected nothing. Not even a flicker of candle flame or a rustle of prayer book. Nothing. I am lighter than air but I feel heavy with earthly emotions. Why is it that Peg’s little girl can blow out flames and stroke dogs when all I can do is frighten the birds?
Outside in the churchyard he smiled at her like he had once smiled at me. Conor has a smile that is so irresistible it can melt the stoniest of hearts. He doesn’t realize how powerful it is. If only he smiled on the locals of Ballymaldoon like that, he would win their love and their trust. But he won’t. Conor is a man who doesn’t care what other people think of him. He is his own man and won’t be held to ransom by anyone. I even think he took pleasure in their curiosity.
Ellen has inflated his confidence and lifted him out of the quagmire that was his grief. But while he was in that quagmire he was mine. Unhappy though he was, he belonged only to me. I was his present as he is mine. But now I am his past. I have died all over again. But I will not have it. I will find a way to stop it before it flowers. I will nip it in the bud and Conor will belong to me once again. I thought Ellen would be my saviour, but she is my curse.
And so Conor returns to Dublin a different man. He walks with a bounce in his step and smiles at everyone he encounters. The heavy atmosphere in his office evaporates like summer fog burnt away by the sun. It is as if his happiness is sunshine that infuses the place with joy. He takes trouble with his appearance and even opens the bottle of cologne that has been sitting in his bathroom unopened for years. Everyone in his office is astonished by the extraordinary transformation and the scent of verbena that he leaves in his wake. His secretary loses the years that stress has engraved on her skin, although she cannot quite trust that it will last, so traumatized is she by his constant anger that has smouldered and sparked during the last five years like a fire which feeds on itself. He has not treated her well and is determined to make it up to her. He wants to make it up to ev
eryone. To his partner, Robert, and their team of twenty capable and creative men and women who have suffered from his long inferno. He wants them to know that it is over and he is now back.
He sends his secretary out to buy a new phone for Ellen. He wants to call her but is reluctant to dial Peg’s number. I understand his reluctance; after all, he is only human and there is only so much a man can forgive. But his desire is stronger than his reservation and he eventually calls her. He sits in his office, overlooking the river that runs through the city, and dials Peg’s number. It is on his system because her son Ronan used to work for us when I was alive, transforming my ideas into reality with pine and oak. He used to live with his mother in those days. I liked having him around because he worshipped me with the unquestioning love of a puppy. He’d do anything for me. Anything at all.
‘Hello, Peg, it’s Conor,’ he says when Peg answers the phone.
‘Oh, hello, Conor,’ she replies, surprised. ‘You’ll be wanting Ellen, I expect.’
‘Please.’
‘Hang on a minute, I’ll go and get her.’
He sits back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. It is still thick and glossy, like the hair of a young man, although it is now greying at the temples, close to the crow’s feet which fan out in deep lines across his skin. But his ageing only serves to make him more handsome.
Ellen comes to the phone breathless with excitement. ‘Hello,’ she says.
‘Are you missing me?’ he asks. He has an appealing voice, deep and grainy like sand. If she could see him down the line she would know that his smile is wide and his eyes are full of laughter.
‘A little,’ she teases.
‘So, you haven’t forgotten me, then?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then I better not leave it too long.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t if I were you. With all the other handsome young men here in Ballymaldoon . . .’ She laughs. They both know that none of them can hold a candle to Conor.
‘I have a few things to sort out up here. Then I’m coming down on Thursday. Wild horses wouldn’t keep me from you. I’m leaving the children here with my mother.’
‘That’s good,’ she replies, which is an understatement, but I suppose she is trying to play it cool.
‘I’m going to have you all to myself,’ he says, lowering his voice. He picks up a pen and flicks it between his fingers. ‘I’ve thought of little else since I got back to Dublin.’
She inhales deeply. ‘I hope you’re managing to get some work done, too.’
‘I’m good at multitasking. Julia, my secretary, has gone out to buy you a phone.’
‘What’s wrong with the landline?’
‘I want to be able to call you whenever I like without having to go through your chaperone.’
‘Ah, yes, well . . .’
‘Will I have to ride beneath your bedroom window in the middle of the night to steal you away?’
‘Not if you want me looking my best when you get me home.’
‘Oh, yes, your allergy. I forgot. I’ll have to use the car instead. Not as romantic, though, nor as quiet.’
‘You don’t have to tiptoe around Peg. She knows. I’ve been very honest with her. It’s the others I have to watch out for. Desmond in particular.’
He chuckles, for he couldn’t care less about Desmond Byrne. ‘I don’t think you have to watch out for anyone, Ellen. You owe them nothing.’
‘I know, but I have to be sensitive.’
‘How was Father Michael?’ he asks, changing the subject.
She lowers her voice. ‘You were right. Mum left Ireland because she was pregnant with me.’
‘So, you got him into the corner, then?’
‘Metaphorically speaking, yes. He was longing to talk about it.’
‘He’s only human and it’s a gripping story.’
‘You know, Mum must have confided in Peg, because Father Michael told me that it was Peg who told their mother. Can you imagine? I don’t know how Mother found out, but that could be the reason they haven’t spoken in over thirty years.’
‘Now, why would Peg sneak to her mother?’
‘She must have had good reason. She’s not a malicious person. But it’s a terrible thing to do, considering her mother’s strong religious beliefs. She must have known how she’d react.’
‘She would have been appalled that her daughter got pregnant out of wedlock. That’s an unforgivable sin.’
‘It seems so small-minded now, doesn’t it?’
‘There are still lots of small-minded people around, believe me. You come from London where things are very different. People are more tolerant. You can be anything you want to be in London, but not in Ireland. Certainly not in a small town like Ballymaldoon. They’re very old-fashioned and set in their ways. It’s no surprise that your mother hasn’t come back. Perhaps she never will.’
‘Time is a great healer,’ Ellen says wisely.
Conor sighs and smiles philosophically. ‘Yes, it is,’ he replies and I know that he’s thinking of me.
They chat on in the senseless way lovers do. They flirt and tease and neither wants the conversation to end. They both wish it was Thursday. But the conversation must end eventually. ‘So, I’ll come and pick you up on Thursday afternoon?’ he says.
‘I can’t wait,’ she replies, no longer playing it cool.
‘I don’t think I can stand the anticipation.’
She laughs. ‘Oh, I think you can, Conor Macausland. You’re a patient man.’
‘That’s what I thought. You behave yourself now.’
‘I’m trying to write.’
‘Give me a story I can make into a film.’
‘No pressure, then!’
‘You said you were inspired down there.’
‘I am.’
‘Write about the ruined castle we went to see.’
‘You just want me to write about you.’
‘Surely it goes without saying that I’m your hero!’
‘Of course.’
‘Until Thursday, then.’
‘Until Thursday, Conor.’
‘I kiss you all over,’ he murmurs. She does not reply, but he can hear her gentle laughter like a whisper down the line.
He smiles and cuts off. He stares out of the window for a while, at the river that flows directly below his building, and contemplates the woman who stumbled so unexpectedly into his life that day on the hill and transformed it. He is marvelling at the extent of the transformation in so little time. I could tell him that time is irrelevant. On the earth plane, time is measured in minutes, hours, days and weeks – from where I stand I can see that there is only one eternal present. It matters not that they have known each other little more than a few days, for love is not of the earth, but of the eternal present that cannot be measured. It is timeless. If their love is true, they might as well have known each other forever.
I should be pleased that Conor has at last found someone who makes him happy, but I am not. Jealousy eats away at my soul like a parasite. It feeds off me and grows strong. I feel powerless where I am, unable to influence events or make people notice my presence. Only the birds respond, but I am determined to learn how to extend my power. After all, it seems that all creatures can see Peg’s little girl as if she were alive. If she can do it, surely I can too. So I go to Connemara with that intention in mind, and look for her.
I find the little girl without any trouble, for she seems to hang around her mother most of the time. So far, I haven’t spoken to her. I am so used to existing alone in this strange limbo that is neither heaven nor earth, that I am afraid to approach her. She looks like an angel, and as I near her, the brightness that surrounds her causes me pain. I don’t have eyes as I once did, so it is not the usual pain that comes from looking at sunlight after hours of sitting in darkness. It is hard to describe the discomfort to those who have never been out of their bodies. All I can say is that the light she is made of is too intense for
me to bear.
But she smiles and as she does so her glow expands towards me. I want to bathe in it, but I can’t. I am too dark and fragile. I feel it would consume me like a moth in flame.
‘Caitlin,’ she says.
‘You know my name?’ I reply, astonished.
‘My name is Ciara.’
‘You’re an angel.’
She laughs. ‘No, I’m not. A human soul can never become an angel.’
‘Then what are you?’
‘A soul like you.’
How can she be a soul like me, when she shines so intensely? Why don’t I shine like that? ‘But why are you so bright?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I just am.’
Perhaps she really is an angel and doesn’t know it. ‘Why do you stay here?’ I probe.
‘Because my mother is not ready for me to leave her yet.’
‘Does she know you’re always with her?’ I ask, hoping that if Peg knows, then perhaps Ciara can tell me how to pass a message on to my own children.
‘No,’ she replies without sadness. ‘But I can help her from where I am in other ways besides her knowing.’
‘How?’
‘With love.’ As she says the word love her light expands again. ‘ We are all made of love, it’s only a shame that when we’re down here we forget. We forget who we really are.’
‘Are you lonely?’ I ask, although I know it’s a silly question, because she is clearly not.
She frowns. ‘Lonely?’
‘Yes, I’m lonely. I’m very lonely.’ The words tumble out in a desperate rush.
She gazes at me with compassion. ‘But you’re not alone,’ she replies, and she looks surprised that I could think myself alone. Her gaze sweeps around me as if she is contemplating other beings that I can’t see.
‘Oh, but I am,’ I groan, and saying it out loud makes me feel more isolated than ever. ‘I saw you stroke the dog,’ I venture. ‘How did you do that? Only the birds seem aware of me. ’
‘All creatures are aware of you. It is only human beings who have lost the sensitivity to intuit what they can’t see with their eyes.’
Secrets of the Lighthouse Page 20
