Ellen knew that things had gone too far now to tell Conor about William. He’d wonder why she hadn’t told him before, when he had told her all about Caitlin. She’d just have to break off her engagement as soon as possible and hope that Conor never found out. She didn’t feel it was fair, however, to tell her fiancé over the telephone. She’d have to return to London and do it properly, although she had no intention of leaving Ireland any time soon. She’d put it off as long as she dared. If she could put it off forever, she would. But postpone it as she might, she knew that at some point in the near future she’d have to go home and face not only William, but her mother, too, which was considerably more daunting. While she was with Conor in Connemara, she could forget they existed. After all, while she was in hiding, she was safely inaccessible. Conor would never know, and besides, what did it matter, because she didn’t love William. He was irrelevant to the present moment, which she was giving to Conor with all her heart.
Peg was so pleased to have Jack back that she welcomed her niece’s budding relationship with enthusiasm and delight. She had enough experience of life and death to know that nothing else mattered but love. In her opinion, Conor deserved to be happy, and she couldn’t understand her brother’s reservations. Desmond might be head of the family, but Ellen wasn’t his daughter. He barely knew her. He had no right to tell her who she could date. But he was tribal and Ellen was blood and it didn’t seem that anything could change his mind about the man many accused of having murdered his wife.
On Sunday morning, Conor and Ellen didn’t go to Mass, but spent the morning in bed instead. The fact that their time together was running out only enhanced the sweetness of their lovemaking and made their feelings for each other all the more intense. On Sunday afternoon, Conor finally left for Dublin. He had work to do and was eager to throw himself into a new project. After five long, barren years, he felt himself again, fertile with ideas and brimming with the energy to bring them to fruition. He drove Ellen home in the early afternoon, cupping her face with his big hands and kissing her ardently. She savoured the smell of his skin and the taste of his lips and felt a sudden sense of loss when he drove off down the track. It was as if her whole world was contained in that car, and she wanted to cry with misery.
That night she finished The Age of Innocence, and allowed herself to cry. It was the most beautiful ending but so desperately sad. The parallel wasn’t lost on her. Countess Olenska and Archer Newland were unable to be together because May, Archer’s wife, was expecting a baby. Dylan and Madeline were also doomed because of a baby. That baby was Ellen. She considered it further. The dates suggested that Madeline got pregnant out of wedlock and had run off to England with Ellen’s father, Anthony. But what if she had still loved Dylan? Hence, she christened her child Ellen, the secret name that meant something only to her and Dylan. Ellen tried to recall whether Dylan had looked surprised when she had introduced herself. She couldn’t remember. Dylan had looked pretty strange altogether that first meeting. What if he had always known and it was that secret sign of enduring love that had fuelled his constant pining?
The question that bothered her more than any other, however, was whether her mother had ever loved her father. She thought of her father’s kind face and constant patience and her heart reached out to him. Unlike her mother, he had never judged her and never made her feel inadequate when she hadn’t met their high expectations. He had always smiled indulgently, as if he had found her antics amusing. She closed the book and hoped that perhaps her mother had loved both.
Ellen shared her thoughts with Conor when he called at midnight and he suggested she ask Dylan. After all, it seemed that Dylan had no reservations about talking to her about her mother. So, the following day, when she nipped out of Alanna’s shop on her lunch break, she went straight to the Pot of Gold to find him. As she expected, he was at the bar in a black pea coat and woolly black beanie, chatting to Craic, a lime and soda in his hand. When he saw her, his face broadened into a wide smile and his big brown eyes lit up with pleasure.
‘Ellen,’ he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘I hear you’re now a bona fide working member of the community.’
‘I am,’ she replied proudly.
‘That’ll mean you’re staying, right?’
‘I’m working on it,’ she answered, wishing she could wave a wand and make her problem disappear so that she could stay in Ballymaldoon for ever.
‘Good girl,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Fancy a drink?’
‘I’d love one, thank you.’
‘Are you on your lunch break?’ Craic asked, taking down a glass.
‘I made a sandwich at home. Do you mind if I eat it in here?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I’ll join you,’ said Dylan. ‘I’ll have a steak and kidney pie.’ He grinned at her and rubbed his stomach. ‘I’m a growing man.’
They sat at the table in the corner and Dylan took off his coat, hanging it over the back of the chair. When he pulled off his beanie, his black hair stood up in tufts. He didn’t even bother to smooth it down. ‘So, good first morning?’ he asked.
‘Slow,’ she replied. ‘I don’t imagine Alanna sells much out of season.’
‘It’s full-on busy in the summer,’ he assured her. ‘Then the tourists fill the streets like ants and you can barely move.’
‘Good for business, though.’
‘Aye, it is, all right.’
She looked at his happy face and realized it would be unfair to ask him about her mother now. He might think she only sought him out to uncover the mystery of her mother’s past, which wasn’t true. She enjoyed his company. In fact, she enjoyed it so much she was loath to give him the impression that she wanted anything from him besides his friendship. ‘Dylan, you know you said you’d teach me the guitar?’
‘I did and I meant it. When do you want to start?’
‘This evening?’
He grinned. ‘Why don’t you come to my house, then, and I’ll put a spud in the oven.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to go to any trouble.’
He laughed. ‘It’s no trouble putting a spud in the oven! It’s what I do when Martha’s not there to cook for me.’
‘Is she a good cook?’ Ellen asked.
‘A fine cook and more besides. She deserves better than me.’
‘I think she’s lucky to have you.’
‘I don’t think there are many who would agree with you, Ellen.’
‘I’d like to meet her.’
‘Well, you will if you stay in Ballymaldoon.’
‘Doesn’t she live with you?’
Dylan shook his head as if the idea was absurd. ‘She’s a good Catholic girl.’
‘Gosh, it’s full on, isn’t it. This Catholic thing.’
‘Religion is important. Nietzsche said, ‘give me a why and I can survive any how’. Or something like that.’
‘I don’t suppose Nietzsche was Catholic.’
‘No, he wasn’t Catholic. In fact, he wasn’t anything. He was a philosopher. But if he said that, he was very wise. Human beings need to know that their suffering has a purpose, otherwise it is rendered intolerable.’
‘Are you a devout Catholic?’
‘I like to go to Mass. I like the ceremony, probably because it’s so familiar. My mam was very religious. When times are tough I find it comforting. I believe we’re here to learn and evolve and one day, when we die, we go back to where we came from.’
Ellen remembered the deep feelings she had experienced that first morning on the beach. ‘I never really thought about it before I came here,’ she told him. ‘There’s something in the stillness of the countryside that makes me question the point of it all.’
Dylan smiled knowingly. ‘That’s because you recognize in nature the still, eternal part of you.’
‘Is that what it is? My soul?’
‘Aye, that’s what it is.’
‘Doesn’t sound very Catholic!’
‘Religions
are like clubs, Ellen. In order to be a member, you have to obey certain rules which have nothing to do with God and everything to do with human beings. It’s the club mentality which sets religion against religion. Your club is right, which means everyone else is wrong. And who makes up the rules? Human beings. I don’t agree with many of the rules. I’m not a rule-abiding man. But God is with me every day. I don’t think Jesus meant to set people against each other, but to unite everyone in love. As usual the message got twisted to suit political ends. If he came down now, he’d feel more at home in a synagogue than a church; shoot me for saying it, but it’s true.’
‘Mum is religious. She goes to Mass every day,’ said Ellen.
‘As did her mother. Old Megan was a law-abiding woman.’ Ellen could tell that Dylan didn’t think much of her grandmother.
‘What was Megan like?’
‘Tough as nails and as inflexible as iron.’
‘Oh, she sounds delightful,’ she chuckled.
‘She was dogmatic in the worst kind of way. One of those religious people who puts dogma above common sense.’
‘You’re talking about you and my mother?’
He nodded. ‘Aye, if it wasn’t for old Megan things would have been very different. At least, that’s what I believe, although I’ll never know for sure.’
‘You’re saying that if my grandmother hadn’t been so religious, you and my mother might have had a future together?’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
He gazed at her with eyes like wells, so deep she was unable to see the bottom. He put his rough hand on hers and sighed. ‘If you don’t tuck into your sandwich, you’ll get hungry.’ He leaned back as the waitress arrived with his lunch. ‘That looks good.’
‘I’ll go and fetch you some mustard,’ she said, walking away.
‘What have you got in your sandwich?’ He peered at it as she pulled it out of a brown paper bag.
‘Chicken salad. Dylan, did you know I was called Ellen before you met me?’
He gave her a long, thoughtful stare, then he put down his knife and fork. ‘I did, yes.’
‘When did you know?’
She could tell from his expression that he wasn’t comfortable divulging more information than he had perhaps intended. ‘Your mother wrote me a letter after you were born.’
‘Really? What did it say?’
‘That she had called you Ellen.’ He forked a pile of food into his mouth.
‘That’s all?’ He nodded. ‘There must have been something else.’
He thought for a while as he swallowed his mouthful. Then he took a swig of cordial. For a moment, he looked like a cornered rat with nowhere to run.
‘I promise this will remain between us, Dylan. You can trust me.’
He gave her a wary look then lowered his voice. ‘Your mother ran off with her English lord, pregnant with you. She wanted a different life. A life that I couldn’t offer her. So she seized her opportunity and married a man she believed could give her what she wanted. But after you were born she realized there was more to life than material comforts. She asked me to come and get her.’
Ellen’s heart stalled a moment before beating very fast. ‘But you didn’t.’
He shook his head. ‘I did.’
‘What happened?’
‘I went to London. I stood outside her house. I watched her come out with her husband. It wasn’t just her laugh that I didn’t recognize, it was everything. She was like a different person.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I came home.’
‘Did she know . . .?’
‘She never knew.’
‘So, she thought you’d ignored her letter.’
‘Probably.’
‘Oh, Dylan, that’s awful.’
He patted her hand. ‘It’s all in the past.’
Suddenly Ellen’s heart began to pound very fast. ‘Dylan. Was I a mistake?’ She noticed two weak splashes of red colour his cheeks. ‘I mean, I know I was a mistake. Obviously. What I want to know is . . . I mean, I know I wasn’t planned, and having a child out of wedlock is a terrible sin if you’re a devout Catholic, but was I the reason you and Mum couldn’t be together? If she hadn’t got pregnant she might not have married my father. It might just have been a summer romance and nothing more. She might have married you.’ At that, Dylan hunched in discomfort, as if the missed opportunity still caused him pain. Ellen felt bad and was quick to put him at ease. ‘She must have loved you very much to call me Ellen,’ she added softly.
Then, quite unexpectedly, something prickly and uncomfortable sank into the pit of her stomach. She stared at Dylan as the two splashes of pink on his cheeks now deepened. She felt her own cheeks smart, too, and tried to ignore the sensation in her belly, or at least push aside the thought that had ignited the unwelcome emotion.
‘Who knows, Ellen? Like I said, it’s all in the past.’ He obviously didn’t want to talk about it any more.
‘If I didn’t know you personally, I’d turn your story into a novel,’ she said gamely, longing to change the subject. Why, when only moments before it had inspired her deepest curiosity, did it now repel her?
Dylan recovered his composure a little and began to cut up his food. ‘You can if you like. I’ve turned it into songs.’
‘I’d like to hear them.’
‘I’ll play you one or two tonight if you’re good.’
‘We can sing in harmony,’ she enthused.
‘I think we’re good at that,’ he replied, grinning at her fondly, and Ellen felt the prickly feeling dislodge and eventually disappear.
Ellen returned to the shop after lunch. Alanna laughed when she told her that she’d had lunch with Dylan. ‘It’s a right romance,’ she teased.
‘Oh, really, Alanna, there’s definitely no romance with Dylan!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m only messing with you. I know where your heart really lies.’
‘I’m sure Desmond had a great deal to say about that.’
Alanna shrugged. ‘Desmond has a lot to say about most things. Ignore him. It’s none of his business anyway.’
‘Conor’s a good man,’ said Ellen firmly. ‘He’s certainly not a murderer.’
‘I’m sure you know what you’re doing.’
‘I do.’
‘Good. Now, would you price up some stock for me? I had a delivery while you were out.’
‘I’m happy to put my hand to anything.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Alanna pushed a box into the centre of the shop. ‘You’re doing me a big favour, Ellen. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘And you’re doing me a favour. I can’t sponge off Aunt Peg for ever. I’d like to contribute.’
‘Oh, she’s not minding about that.’
‘I know, which makes me all the keener to pay her something.’ She watched Alanna run a knife along the top of the box to open it. ‘Oswald pays her in pictures when he can’t pay the rent. I’d like to give her something, too.’
‘You can share your royalties when you get your book published.’
Ellen thought of the blank page on her laptop. ‘I’m not sure she’ll live that long.’ She laughed. ‘I’m not sure I’ll live that long.’
‘Have you written anything yet?’
She smiled guiltily. ‘Not a word.’
‘Oh, well, I’m sure you’ll get going soon.’
‘I hope so.’
‘If you wait for inspiration it might never come. Why don’t you just start?’ It sounded so simple. Alanna didn’t realize how hard it was to ‘just start’.
‘You’re right, Alanna. I’ll do that. Now, what’s in the box?’
That evening, Ellen left Oswald, Peg, Ronan and Joe playing a rubber of bridge in the sitting room and drove Peg’s car to Dylan’s. She had clear instructions to drive down to the quay where she’d see Dylan’s pale-blue house sandwiched between a primrose-yellow house and an almond-pink one, a stone’s throw from the Pot of G
old. Joe had quipped about Dylan being drunk so often that it was a miracle he hadn’t wandered off the quay and drowned in the sea. But Ellen hadn’t yet seen him drunk and rolled her eyes at Joe’s teasing. She had grown fond of Dylan and no longer found her cousin’s jokes about him amusing.
She drove into Ballymaldoon and parked the car on the quay in front of Dylan’s pretty blue house. Little boats bobbed about on the sea, which glittered in the light of a crescent moon, and a black cat slunk along the side of the wall, his eyes shining through the darkness like yellow flames. She inhaled the refreshing scent of ozone and sighed with pleasure at the lapping sound of the sea and the sight of the navy sky, twinkling with the occasional star. She could just make out the lighthouse. It looked melancholy, like a night-watchman contemplating the long hours until dawn, or gazing out to sea, mulling over regrets. She couldn’t imagine Caitlin jumping to her death and Conor watching her body breaking on the rocks beneath, for the beauty rendered it benign. Beauty rendered everything benign, even her own fears.
She didn’t miss London. She didn’t miss the noise of traffic and the orange glow of a city that was never dark. The quietness of Ballymaldoon appealed to her. She had never seen stars so bright or an ocean so vast. The fact that Conor was part of this romantic place made her love it all the more. She smiled as she thought of him. They had spoken at various times throughout the day. At one point, he’d called just to hear her voice, hanging up after less than a minute because he had to go into a meeting. Afterwards, she had held the telephone to her chest, as if his essence was somehow contained within it. When they weren’t speaking, they were texting. Conor’s texts were both erotic and affectionate and she couldn’t wait for the weekend when they’d be together again.
With those happy thoughts she rang Dylan’s bell. He opened the door almost immediately. A light-brown mongrel slipped through his legs and began to sniff her ankles excitedly. ‘He can smell Mr Badger, I suspect,’ said Dylan.
‘I didn’t know you had a dog.’
‘Finch. He’s a good boy. Martha and I fight over him and she usually wins.’
Secrets of the Lighthouse Page 27
