Secrets of the Lighthouse (31 page)

As the tail lights disappeared into the darkness, she lifted her eyes to the sea beyond, where the ghostly silhouette of the lighthouse stood out against the night sky. The water glittered like
fallen stars, tossed about by the waves, and a crescent moon shone brightly through a misty aura. She wondered whether the questions surrounding Caitlin’s death would ever be answered, or
whether Conor would simply erase the whole episode from his life and never speak of it. In his opinion, there was probably no mystery, just a tragic accident that the locals had whipped up into
something more sinister for lack of anything else to gossip about. She knew for certain that she’d never be able to ask him about it. The darkness in his eyes assured her of that. She could
imagine his temper when crossed. That face that so easily creased with mirth could just as quickly harden with fury, she had no doubt about that. However, her curiosity was as keen as ever. She
hoped that in time he might confide in her.

She walked into the house to find Peg pacing the kitchen floor while Ronan and Oswald reasoned with her from the table. When she appeared in the doorway they all stared at her.
She registered Peg’s anguish immediately. Her face was pink and her eyes glistened with tears. ‘What’s happened?’ Ellen asked, ignoring Mr Badger who padded over to sniff
Magnum on her legs.

‘Jack’s gone,’ said Oswald dolefully.

Ellen’s looked at the jackdaw’s chair in horror. ‘Did he fly away?’

‘We don’t know what happened,’ Ronan answered. ‘He often flies off . . .’

‘But he always comes back,’ interjected Peg miserably. ‘I can’t understand it.’

‘Might he have run into trouble with a bird of prey?’ Ellen suggested, then wished she hadn’t.

Peg paled. She dabbed her eyes. ‘Jaysus, that’s a brutal thought, Ellen.’

‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘I know, pet. We have to hope and pray that he comes back in the morning.’

‘Has he ever spent the night away?’

‘Not ever. I’m sick with worry. I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink tonight.’

Ellen noticed they were all drinking. She suspected Peg was gasping for a cigarette. Surely, in these circumstances, Oswald wouldn’t mind if she lit up. Since meeting Conor, Ellen
hadn’t craved nicotine at all. She presumed that the constant rush of adrenalin masked her body’s need for the drug.

‘I suggest you go to bed, Mam,’ said Ronan kindly. ‘Do you want me to stay the night?’

‘I have Ellen. I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.’

‘And I’m next door should you need company,’ Oswald added. ‘As you know, I’m a terrible sleeper, so don’t hesitate to come knocking. I’m always on for a
midnight feast or a game of chess.’

‘I don’t suppose there’s any point staying up. He’s not coming home tonight. I hope he’s found somewhere warm to roost.’ Tears began to spill over onto her
grey cheeks. She blotted her skin with the tissue. ‘So silly to be sentimental about a bird.’

Oswald’s face softened with compassion. ‘No, Peg, it’s not silly at all,’ he said and his voice was so kind and gentle it sent a ripple across Ellen’s skin. She
thought he was going to add that her animals were like her children. The words hung in the air unspoken. But he did not. He didn’t need to. They all felt it and Peg knew, for that was why she
was crying.

‘I lost my little girl, Ellen,’ Peg said suddenly, and she stared at them all in surprise, as if the sentence had been spoken by someone else. Oswald and Ronan gazed at her, their
jaws loose, not knowing how to respond. It was as if a great wall had at once collapsed after years of defending her against the onslaught of pain. She took a deep breath that sounded more like the
howl of a wounded animal. ‘Oh!’ she wailed, her chin wobbling uncontrollably. ‘Did I . . . did I . . . I don’t know . . . my little girl . . . my little Ciara.’
Ellen’s hand shot to her mouth and her eyes welled with tears as she watched her aunt turn mad with grief.

In a moment, Oswald was wrapping his arms around her diminished frame, hugging her tightly to stop her shaking, reassuring her in his soothing voice. ‘It’s all right, old girl.
You’re going to be fine. This is good. All good. It’s so much better out than in.’

Ronan got to his feet and hovered uncertainly. Ellen knew he wanted to comfort his mother but didn’t know how. She felt just as powerless. For a moment they caught eyes. In that instant,
Ellen found a bond with the one member of the family with whom she had previously felt no connection. She gave a small, sympathetic smile. His shoulders dropped and he sighed helplessly.
‘There you go, Peg my dear, cry me a river and let your unhappiness be washed away,’ said Oswald, as Peg’s trembling subsided and her sobs grew quieter. Oswald was right, her
grief was so much better out than in. Ronan smiled feebly at Ellen.

At last, Oswald helped her into a chair. She took a long swig of Jameson, neat, and wiped her eyes with shaky fingers. They all sat down and waited for her to speak. She didn’t utter a
word for what seemed like a long time, but when she did she let it all out, in a long, heartbreaking soliloquy.

They let her talk without interruption. Only Bertie’s loud snoring from the stove disturbed the silence in the room. She spoke of the moment she realized Ciara had gone missing to the
moment she was found, face down in the water. To speak about it was cathartic but desperately emotional. Peg tore the tissue to shreds, unaware of the nervous actions of her fingers, until Oswald
put his hand on hers and she stopped, dropping her shoulders at once and taking a deep, cleansing breath.

‘I pray for her every night,’ she continued, calmer now. ‘I light a candle and kneel by my bed and pray that the angels are looking after her. I pray that she’s at peace.
I pray too that she never leaves me, because I can’t bear to be without her.’ Her feverish eyes spilled over again. ‘You’re not mad, Oswald, but it’s not leprechauns
and fairies who blow out candles and move things.’

Oswald smiled tenderly. ‘I know.’

‘You know?’

‘Of course I know, my dear Peg.’

She took a ragged breath. ‘I want it to be her so badly my body aches with longing. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy and hearing things that aren’t there.’

‘She’s still with you, Peg,’ said Oswald, and the certainty in his voice was like a blanket to a woman stiff with cold.

‘Do you think so, Oswald? Do you really?’

‘I’m sure of it,’ he replied, and the honesty in his face reassured her that he was.

Ellen decided now would be a good moment to confess about the candle. Peg was astonished. ‘So, it’s not just me, then?’ She smiled weakly. ‘I thought I was going
crazy.’

‘Do you think she’s trying to tell you that she’s still close?’ Ellen asked.

‘I don’t know.’ Peg looked to Oswald for an answer.

‘Of course she is,’ Oswald replied. ‘And she won’t leave you until you’re ready to let her go.’

‘How do you
know
?’ Peg asked keenly.

‘I’ve always known.’

‘Always?’

‘I’ve always had an overdeveloped sixth sense,’ he said casually.

‘Can you
see
things?’

‘Oh, I’m sure I did as a child but I see nothing now. I sense things, though.’ He smiled at her. ‘Leprechauns and fairies.’

Peg smiled back. ‘But they’re not leprechauns and fairies, are they?’

He beamed at her affectionately, as if she were a child who had just unravelled a great mystery. ‘No, old girl, they’re not.’

She sighed and looked at Ronan, who was very quietly listening to his mother’s every word. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Ronan. I should have talked to you boys about your
sister. I should have shared her with you. After all, she belonged to you as well.’

He nodded, the muscles in his face taut with the effort of controlling his emotions. ‘I think of her from time to time,’ he said quietly. ‘She was a happy little thing,
wasn’t she?’

‘Aye, she was,’ Peg agreed. ‘She had the light and happy soul of an angel.’

They remained talking until the early hours of the morning, until Peg’s eyelids began to droop with tiredness. Oswald and Ronan bade her good night, reassuring her that
they’d both pray for Jack’s safe return in the morning.

Ellen was about to take her aunt upstairs when Peg stopped in the doorway. She turned to her niece and grabbed her arm. ‘Let’s have a smoke before we turn in, shall we? Now the boys
have gone.’

‘You sure you’re not too tired?’

‘No, pet, I’m not too tired. I’ve been desperate for one all evening.’

‘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.

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.