‘Then I’ll keep you company,’ Ellen replied, going back into the kitchen to find Peg’s handbag. In the drama of Jack’s disappearance and Peg’s unexpected unburdening of her loss, they’d all forgotten to ask her where she had been. She was grateful for that.
‘You know, I haven’t smoked since meeting Conor,’ said Ellen, sitting down and opening the packet.
‘Then you shouldn’t be smoking now, should you?’ said Peg.
‘One won’t hurt.’
Peg took the packet away. ‘No, Ellen, I’m not going to let you. You’ve been strong. I don’t want to be the reason you break your resolve.’
‘OK, you’re right. I’ll be good.’
‘As for me . . .’
‘Tonight, you deserve as many cigarettes as you like,’ Ellen reassured her.
Peg put the cigarette between her lips and lit it. She inhaled deeply then blew the smoke out in a long, languorous breath, letting her shoulders drop with relief. ‘I’m sorry I never told you about Ciara,’ she said softly.
‘That’s OK. Alanna told me.’
‘So, you see, that’s why I don’t go to the pub.’
‘But surely people don’t gossip about that any more?’
‘I’ve been away for too long, you see. If I were to appear now they’d all start up again. I can’t be doing with it. I had a fight with Father Michael after Ciara died. I saw her, my little girl, the night after she drowned. As clear as day, standing in my bedroom, smiling at me with this wise, knowing smile. I was a fool, I’m afraid. I told Father Michael and he said that it was my imagination. That in my grief I had imagined her. The silly man doesn’t believe in that sort of thing. Pompous eejit! He made me doubt my own eyes. So, I stopped going to Mass. I stopped going to the pub. I withdrew. If I show up now, they’ll all wonder why.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I can’t be doing with all of that.’
Ellen watched her sudden defensiveness and wondered whether it wasn’t gossip she was afraid of, but compassion.
Peg stubbed out her cigarette butt and smiled at her niece. ‘It’s nice to have a girl about the house again,’ she said quietly. ‘Even though you’re a big girl, you’re family. It’s nice to have you here.’
Ellen put her hand on her arm. ‘I’m glad, Aunt Peg. I like being here, too.’
‘Shall we go to bed now?’
‘I think we should.’
The older woman grinned. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed the rosy glow in your cheeks.’
Ellen touched her face, startled. ‘What glow?’
Her aunt shook her head. ‘Really, child, you can’t kid a kidder!’
Ellen laughed. ‘Obviously not.’
‘You had a nice afternoon, then, did you?’
She nodded. ‘I did.’
‘Good.’ Peg got up stiffly. ‘Off to bed now. Will you pray for Jack as well? The more prayers the better.’
‘Of course I will.’
‘Thank you, dear.’
Ellen followed her aunt upstairs. They parted on the landing. ‘He’ll come back, Aunt Peg,’ Ellen said, but she didn’t believe he would. Peg nodded and smiled sadly before closing her bedroom door behind her. Ellen imagined her kneeling in prayer beside the little votive candle, and wondered whether Ciara really was there, blowing the flame out in an effort to let her mother know that she was still close.
Chapter 22
Conor is in love and I cannot stand it. I watch him grow lighter and lighter and further and further away from me and there is nothing I can do about it. He is whistling as if he hasn’t a care in the world, as if he didn’t lose his beloved wife in a terrible fire five years ago. He has a bounce in his step and his lips are permanently curled at the corners as if he can barely contain his happiness. I feel my fury mount and build around me in a thick grey mist. There has got to be something I can do to focus his mind once again on his grief. It was better when he grew a beard and tore up and down the beach on his horse, cursing fate for having taken me from him, for leaving him alone and lost. It was better when he was miserable.
I resent Ellen for stepping into my place and letting him wrap his arms around her and make love to her as he once made love to me. The sweet nothings I mistook for lust I realize now are fuelled by love. I see it in the way he looks at her. It’s all in his eyes and I cannot deny it any longer. He is growing to love her. If I had a throat I would choke on those words. So, I go to Peg’s with the desire only to do Ellen harm. I don’t know how, but if I can whisper into my son’s ear in the middle of the night, perhaps I can whisper into hers.
It is dawn and a translucent veil of light hangs over the sea. The lighthouse looks as forlorn as an old shipwreck, abused and battered by the waves. I turn away from my memories, which are still painful, and find Peg standing in her overcoat, looking anxiously this way and that. I wonder what she is looking for. Her dog is at her heel, his ears pricked, ready to obey her order, but it never comes. She just stands, searching the skies for something. Then I realize she is looking for her bird. The bird I shooed away.
It is only when I see Ciara’s familiar golden glow that I feel my spirit flood with shame. For beside her, bathed in her loving light, is the bird. Peg lets out a wail of joy as the bird flies towards her. She opens her arms and her face disappears into a big smile and tears of happiness spill onto her cheeks. ‘Jack!’ she cries, and above her the window opens wide and Ellen leans out sleepily. ‘Oh, Ellen. He’s come back. Our prayers have been answered. He’s come back!’
Ciara watches with pleasure as the bird perches on her mother’s shoulder. Peg hurries inside with her dog and closes the front door. Ellen withdraws and shuts the window. I imagine there will be much celebration in the kitchen this morning. I look at Ciara and I know that she can see my shame. But she smiles on me, too, with the same love with which she smiled on her mother. I don’t understand. Perhaps she can even see the malice I harbour in my heart for Conor and Ellen. If she does, she doesn’t show it. She just gazes at me with an all-knowing, all-understanding love, which makes my shame all the more intense.
And then I have an idea. If I can travel by thought, I wonder what would happen if I think myself in London, at Ellen’s home, with Ellen’s family? Can it really be that simple? I can’t imagine why I haven’t thought of it before. There’s little I can do down here. But instinctively I feel there is a great deal I can do in London.
I have never been to that great city, but I will myself there, to Ellen’s house, with the same focus of mind with which I think myself to Dublin. It is very easy and strangely natural, as if I have been travelling like this for all eternity. And here I am, in the hallway of an ostentatiously decorated town house, with a little rat-like dog yapping at me. He is small but ferocious and I see through his curled lip that his teeth are like needles. I fly at him with my arms, like I did with the bird, and he spins round and scurries away in fright, his claws making tapping noises on the marble floor.
‘Waffle, stop that silly barking,’ comes a very English voice from another room. ‘Is there someone at the door?’
A young blonde hurries into the hall and looks through the peephole in the front door. ‘Oh, really,’ she says irritably, turning around. ‘You’re going mad, Waffle. There’s no one there.’ I follow the elegantly suited young woman through large double doors into an airy dining room, decorated with pretty wallpaper of birds and branches, and on into a lime-green study beyond. It is heavily upholstered with a green velvet sofa, high-backed armchair and a coffee table piled high with glossy Christie’s catalogues.
‘So, what was that all about, then?’ the other woman asks. She is sitting at her desk, her shoulder-length dark hair neatly coiffed, in a navy-blue skirt and jacket, a silk scarf tied round her neck. I can see her blood-red nails and the gold and diamond bracelet dangling on her wrist. Then she turns and I realize that she is Madeline Byrne, Ellen’s mother. The resemblance is undeniable, but only in her colouring and the shape of her jaw and mouth. Her eyes are dif
ferent: they are blue like Peg’s, whereas Ellen’s are brown. On closer inspection, I see that hers are red and anxious.
‘I don’t know,’ says the girl, taking the seat next to her boss.
‘He sounded jolly angry. Where’s he gone now?’
‘Shall I call him, Lady Trawton?’
‘Yes, go and find him, Janey.’ She sighs and shakes her head wearily. ‘Ellen’s disappearance is driving us all mad.’
Janey disappears into the hall, whistling for the dog. Madeline returns to her list. I look over her shoulder and see that she is planning a dinner party. But her pen doesn’t touch the page. She is thinking and I imagine she is thinking about Ellen. Shortly, the girl comes back with the dog tucked under her arm. ‘He was hiding in the conservatory,’ she reports.
‘Waffle, what were you doing in there?’ Madeline asks, brightening. But the dog stares at me and growls. His mistress looks puzzled. ‘Goodness, you silly dog. What’s got into you today? Hmm?’ I am bored of frightening animals, so I ignore him and after a while he calms down and allows Madeline to place him on her knee, like a furry napkin. ‘Right, where were we?’ she says, looking at her list again.
They are about to continue when the telephone rings. Madeline stares at it as if she is afraid it might jump up and bite her. Janey fidgets nervously, probably wishing she was anywhere but here. At last, Madeline lifts the receiver and puts it to her ear. ‘Yes?’ she says. ‘Oh, hello, William.’ Her shoulders drop with disappointment. She waves her manicured fingers at Janey, who leaves the room.
‘Any news?’
‘No, I haven’t heard a word,’ she tells him. ‘Nothing.’
‘It’s ridiculous.’ William sighs. ‘How long do you think she’s going to stay away?’
‘I don’t know. God knows what’s got into her. One moment she was at the Herringtons’ cocktail party, having a perfectly nice time with her silly friend Emily, and the next I was reading the note she left in the hall. Your guess is as good as mine.’ I am surprised to hear no trace of Ireland in her voice, just a sharp edge like a northerly wind.
‘I think Emily knows and isn’t telling us,’ says William.
‘Most likely. But I’ve tried to talk to her, lots of times, and she’s not giving anything away. If Ellen had come to me and said she had pre-wedding nerves and needed to get away I would have been wholly supportive. I would have bought her a ticket to anywhere in the world. This running away business is absurd. Who does she think she is, worrying us all like this? It’s terribly thoughtless.’
‘I’ve sent her endless texts and emails. To be honest, Madeline, I’m now worried.’
‘Of course you are, William. But she’ll come back. I do think it’s a case of pre-wedding nerves. You know, when she was a child she was frightfully rebellious. I did my best to knock it out of her and I thought I’d succeeded. I’m afraid it’s coming out now. But she’ll settle down once she’s married.’
‘If we ever get married,’ he retorts petulantly.
‘Of course you will, William. Don’t worry, really. She’ll be back soon, ashamed and repentant, and we shall all forgive her and forget about it.’
‘She quit her job, that’s not the action of someone planning to come back.’
‘She wants to be a writer, or something like that. She’s unfulfilled. Once she has a husband to look after and, god willing, children, she’ll forget all about that nonsense. I promise you we’ll soon be sitting around the dining-room table having a jolly good laugh about it.’
‘I’m not sure I’m going to be laughing about it, Madeline. It’s the most selfish thing she’s ever done, and totally out of character. We’re talking about a girl who called me at least twice a day, every day. A girl who to all intents and purposes had moved into my apartment. To pack up and leave without a word is abhorrent.’
Madeline inhales impatiently. ‘Well, what do you think inspired it, then?’
‘I have no idea. I’ve been over the days before she ran off in great detail and I can find nothing to suggest that she wasn’t entirely happy and excited about our engagement.’
‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’
‘Might she have run off with another man?’ William’s voice hardens. ‘I could never forgive her that.’
‘No, absolutely not,’ Madeline replies quickly, horrified at the implication. ‘She wouldn’t do that to you, and besides, she loves you.’
‘Then why isn’t she returning my calls and reassuring me that she’s OK? I’m losing patience.’
At this, Madeline stiffens, yet her voice assumes a wheedling tone. ‘Oh, do try to be patient, William. We’re all so looking forward to being one happy family. Ellen is, too. She’s just a little scared. I do recall her being a bit on edge before she ran off. I imagine she’s sorting her head out. Getting married is a very big step and she’s always been wary of commitment. In fact, before meeting you she had never committed to anyone. You have tamed her and that’s quite an achievement.’
‘Well, it doesn’t appear that I’ve done a very good job, does it?’
‘I’ll call Emily again and demand to know where she is. She’s my daughter, after all, and I have a right to know. I will personally go and bring her back.’
‘If you do, I’m coming with you,’ says William, his voice urgent now. ‘We’ll find her and talk sense into her. She’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.’
‘And I’m sure she’ll have a perfectly sane explanation. You love her, don’t you, William?’
‘Of course I do, and I intend to marry her.’
‘Good. This is nothing but a minor obstacle over which we shall all courageously jump. Leave it to me. I shall call Emily now.’
‘I hope you have better luck with her than I did.’
‘Of course I will. I won’t take no for an answer.’ And I’m sure that she won’t.
‘Thank you, Madeline,’ he says.
‘No, thank you for being so patient. You’ll make a wonderful husband. She’s very lucky to have you.’
When Madeline puts down the telephone she remains a moment lost in thought, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, while Waffle remains inert on her knee in spite of my lingering presence. A moment later, Janey returns. ‘Now, let’s wrap this up. I want invitations sent out this afternoon. I’ll discuss theme another time. I’m afraid I have to make another call before rushing off to my meeting. Let me know when the car’s outside. Did you print out the minutes?’
‘Yes, Lady Trawton, they’re in your bag.’
‘Good. When I’m gone will you take Waffle out for a walk?’
‘Of course.’ Janey calls the dog and walks briskly out of the room. Waffle takes one look at me and shoots after her as if his tail is on fire. Madeline dials the number – Emily’s, I presume – but it goes straight onto the answer machine. With a frustrated huff, she hangs up. Again she remains at her desk, twiddling her pen in her fingers, deliberating what to do next. She looks at her watch, puts her pen down and gets up. I follow her up to her bedroom.
It is a light and airy room with big sash windows overlooking a leafy street of white stucco town houses. She stalks into the marble bathroom and begins to apply make-up. Then she stares at her reflection as if she is gazing upon a stranger. She remains there for a long time, just staring. I wonder what she is thinking. I would love to know. But I am unable to read people’s minds. She has pretty blue eyes, pale as turquoise, and as I watch I see them darken and grow sad.
Suddenly, inspired by an idea, she hurries back into the bedroom and rummages in her bag for her telephone. She stands by the window and dials. When it goes onto answer machine she leaves a curt message: ‘Emily, this is Madeline. It’s been nearly two weeks now since Ellen ran off and I demand to know where she is. I am her mother and I will not take no for an answer. If you don’t return my call I will simply have to come over personally and see you. I will be in a meeting until noon, but I will leave my telephone on v
ibrate so you can call me any time.’
She hangs up and throws the telephone into her handbag. Janey knocks on the bedroom door. ‘Your car is here, Lady Trawton.’
‘I’ll be down in a minute.’ She sits on the bed and heaves a sigh. She is clearly worried. There is a brittleness to her and yet, when she sits hunched, alone in her room, she is softer. It is as if here, in the privacy of her private quarters, she can be herself.
I notice framed photographs of her family. Her two blonde daughters on their wedding days, grandchildren, and Ellen with her fiancé, I presume, smiling as if she has found in him everything she ever wanted. I take a closer look. He is fair-haired and boyish, clear-eyed and pale-skinned, like a smooth young vegetable out of the very best nursery. It is no wonder that Ellen has fallen in love with Conor. She has exchanged a boy for a man; a man with a wealth of experience in his eyes. He is rugged and weathered, his face lined and his eyes dark and troubled. Not like this privileged youth whose shallow beauty betrays a lack of character and a lack of hunger. I can tell this William has no hunger for life.
Madeline looks right at me. For a moment, I am gripped with excitement, but it is short-lived, for she is looking through me, at the photograph of Ellen. She stands up and lifts the frame to stare into the face of the daughter she has lost. Her gaze softens and she frowns, questioning why with a barely discernible shaking of her head.
Aware that she has to leave for her meeting, she picks up her handbag from the bed and heads out of the door. I watch her go. I have no desire to follow her. I will whisper to her when she is sleeping. When her consciousness is open and her thoughts empty. When there is no resistance. I know the chances of her hearing me are slim, but I will not give up. It is the only way. Conor and Ellen have to be stopped and Madeline and William are the only two people who can make that happen.
So, I linger in the house, waiting for night. I have no wish to watch Conor and Ellen and their blossoming love, and I am ashamed to be seen by Ciara, for she is made of light and my world is growing increasingly dark. I am embarrassed to be dark. I know that it is not good – any fool knows the difference between a light spirit and a dark one. I have noticed recently that I am becoming a heavy spirit, as if I am made of dense fog that is weighing me down. I feel very earthbound. Heaven feels so far away that I wonder whether I will ever find it, or whether I am to dwell here in this limbo for eternity, groping in the shadows. The answer is so simple and yet, distracted by my malevolent purpose, I am unable to see it.
Secrets of the Lighthouse Page 25
