Secrets of the Lighthouse (47 page)

‘So, you’ve moved here for good?’

‘Yes, I’m happier here than in London.’ She averted her gaze. The mention of London brought to mind her broken engagement and her lie. ‘I feel at home with Aunt
Peg.’

‘What do you do with yourself ?’ he asked.

‘I work in Alanna’s shop. We have a laugh, the two of us. And I’ve started playing music with Dylan.’

‘What happened to the novel?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m a better songwriter, I guess.’

‘I bet you and Dylan sing well together.’ He shuffled from one foot to the other and Ellen thought how strange it was that once they were as close and comfortable as two dogs on a
sofa. Now a cold wind whistled through the gulf that separated them. It was as wide as a canyon.

‘How are the children?’

‘They’re just grand. Growing up fast, you know how it is. Ida asks after you.’

Ellen smiled. ‘I’ll paint her nails any time she wants.’

‘Thank you. She’d love that.’

Again a heavy silence as they both struggled to navigate their way through the new formality of their relationship. ‘Well, I said I have something to show you. I do. It’s
inside.’

‘Great,’ she replied, following him to the door.

She watched him open it and step inside. She remembered the time they had hurried in together and climbed the stairs to his secret haven in the tower. It was different now. They were strangers.
Their brief romance was erased as if it had been embarrassing and wrong. Ellen swallowed hard as the realization that it was well and truly over struck her like a slap.

‘I need your help to take down this picture,’ he said.

‘You’re taking it down?’

‘I want to show you something behind it.’

‘Oh.’

‘And I
need
to take it down,’ he said meaningfully.

‘OK.’

He stared at her a little longer than was natural and in that small moment she was sure she saw a glimmer of longing. He turned back to the picture and she was left wondering whether she had in
fact seen it, or whether she had simply seen her own longing reflected back at her.

‘Right, you take the left and I’ll take the right and when I say lift, push it up, all right? Got it?’

Ellen put her hands on the frame and waited for his command. ‘Got it,’ she replied.

‘Careful now, I don’t want you hurting yourself.’

‘I’m fine. It looks much heavier than it is.’

‘Right, lift. That’s grand, a little more. Done. Now gently bring it down. We’ll lay it against the wall just here.’

They put the painting down and Ellen had a good look at it. Close up, it didn’t appear so spooky. She wondered whether she had imagined Caitlin as a real person within it, or whether she
really
had
possessed it. Now, leaning against the wall, it was just a painting. She glanced at the wall. There, built into the brick and plaster, was a safe. Conor was standing on a chair,
unlocking it.

‘Why did you leave the painting on the wall?’ she asked, forgetting her awkwardness.

He opened the metal door and reached inside to withdraw a pile of books. He jumped down. ‘I didn’t know where else to put these,’ he told her, showing her one of the fat,
hard-backed exercise books.

‘What is it?’

‘One for every year of our marriage.’

‘Diaries?’

‘
Caitlin’s
diaries.’

‘Gosh, did she really write so many?’

‘She wrote every single day of her life.’

‘Have you read them all?’

He shook his head, horrified at the thought. ‘Jaysus, no. Just a bit here and there. She sure rambles on.’

‘So, you kept them here with her portrait? Why didn’t you store them away somewhere else?’

‘I don’t know. I just couldn’t. I felt so guilty. I’d driven her to her death. I couldn’t pack her things away as if she meant nothing. I thought she deserved
better. She was the mother of my children and I loved her once.’ His face contorted with anguish. ‘And then I got your letter. Come.’ He went and sat down on the staircase. Ellen
followed and sat beside him, so fascinated by the final episode in Caitlin’s life that she didn’t realize that slowly the wind was warming in the canyon between them. He opened the book
to the last page.

‘Read this. October 7th 2007.’ Ellen leaned over and studied the entry. As she read the words her heart accelerated with excitement. It was written in exactly the same style as the
account of Caitlin’s death at the lighthouse. Her sentences were long and poetic, her imagery dreamy. She ended the entry with the words:
Tomorrow will decide everything. Tomorrow I shall
test Conor’s love. Tomorrow I shall know whether he cares. I hope to God that he does.

When she finished reading it, Conor pulled from the inside pocket of his jacket the account that Ellen had typed. He held it against the back cover of the diary to compare. ‘You see how it
follows on?’

‘I do. It’s extraordinary.’

‘She’s still here, Ellen,’ he said quietly.

‘Why?’

‘Because she wants me to know that she’s OK. I think she wants me to know that she forgives me. I know it may sound strange, but I’m sure I’ve felt her many times over
the last five years, especially in the children’s bedroom. I don’t know, perhaps I’m imagining things. But I promise you, there have been times I’ve woken in the night
convinced that she’s beside me, whispering in my ear.’

‘Oswald thinks she’s trying to give you a message.’

He looked at her intensely, eyes wide with honesty. ‘Ellen, she wants me to move on now. Why else would she give you the story of her death to pass to me? I already know it. I was there. I
think she did it . . .’ He hesitated, bashful a moment, as if mistrusting his analysis. Then he dropped his eyes to the page. ‘
He’ll realize he loves me when it is too late,
and he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.
’ He looked at her again. ‘I don’t want to realize that I love you when it’s too late, Ellen, and regret it for the
rest of my life. If Caitlin taught me anything, she taught me that. I think she channelled her story through you because she wants us to be together.’

They stared at each other across the gulf. ‘I missed you, Conor,’ she whispered, her brown eyes glistening with tears. He needed no further encouragement. Taking her face in his
hands, he pressed his lips to hers, bridging the canyon with a strong but tender kiss.

‘I’ve brought some great movies down from Dublin,’ Conor says, pulling away and sinking happily into her adoring gaze. ‘Fancy coming home to watch
them?’

She smiles. ‘I’d like that very much,’ she replies, taking his hand and pressing it to her damp cheek.

‘Do you want to call your aunt to let her know?’

‘Oh, I think she’s much too busy to worry about me,’ she says with a knowing grin. ‘After all, I’m not a child. I can do what I please.’

‘Does that mean I’ll wake up with you in the morning?’ His smile is wide and mischievous, just like it used to be at the height of their romance.

‘I think it does,’ she answers.

‘Then let’s not waste another minute.’ He gets up and pulls her to her feet.

‘What do you want to do with the painting?’

‘I’ll hang it somewhere else so the children always remember their mother. But in its place I’ll hang a new one. I think you’d look grand on canvas.’

She laughs off the idea as absurd. ‘No, I think you should commission someone to paint the children. That way, you’re honouring Caitlin. I couldn’t replace her and I
wouldn’t want to.’

‘All right, if you insist. But if I move back in, you’ll come with me, right?’ She inhales, trying to keep up with the sudden change of direction. ‘You can plant your
garden and watch things grow and you can play music with Dylan. You can choose your own study to write your lyrics in.’

‘Are you suggesting we move in together?’

‘I’m suggesting we spend the rest of our lives together.’ He kisses her temple and leaves his face pressed against her hair. ‘One thing I know for sure, the future is
nothing without you, Ellen. I don’t want to be without you ever again. Will you forgive me?’

‘If you forgive me.’

He looks at her affectionately, drinking in her beauty and her sweetness like a man parched of love. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’

And I am happy. I am filled with an effervescence I have never experienced before. It is light and bubbly as if made solely of joy. It lifts me up so that I am dizzy with this
new sensation. Conor is happy and I have taken pleasure in his happiness, regardless of how it will affect me. How wonderful it is to be selfless, how blissful it is to bask in the elation of
others. It has transformed me from a dark and miserable creature to a bright and buoyant soul. I wish I had known during my life what I know now. But I realize at this moment that our earthly
sojourn is a learning experience and that we are always evolving, always moving towards a greater love. My life taught me much, and wherever I go now, I will take that knowledge with me in the form
of a clearer, more loving vibration. I’m not sure how I know, I just do.

And as I rise above the lighthouse, I see that it is no more. The waves have swept in and washed it away. The ruins lie like bones on the seabed and I am free at last to move on. The light
around me grows brighter and I see a wondrous sight. I gaze in amazement at the fine angelic beings who have always been with me, guiding me as they have done from the very beginning, with
persistence and patience and love. I wasn’t alone after all, I just didn’t know it.

Out of the light, I recognize Ciara. She comes and takes my hand. ‘You’ll always be with them,’ she says with the wisdom of a very old soul. ‘But it’s time now for
you to come home.’

‘I’m ready,’ I reply, and I know for certain that I am. ‘What’s it like?’ I ask.

She laughs and leads me towards a greater light. ‘The same as when you left it.’

‘So, what do you think?’ Daphne asked, standing back to admire the Darragh Kelly portrait of the children, which Joe and Johnny had just hung above the fireplace in
the hall.

‘It’s grand,’ said Conor, putting his arm around Ellen. ‘It’s a very good likeness, isn’t it?’

‘He’s captured Ida’s dreaminess beautifully,’ Ellen replied.

‘What does Magnum think?’ Ida asked.

‘He’s wagging his tail so he must like it,’ Finbar replied. Magnum was lying in front of the fire, weary after a long walk over the hills.

‘It’s a beautiful painting,’ said Johnny, putting his hands on his hips. ‘He’s a fine painter, is Mr Kelly.’

Daphne smiled in agreement. ‘Oh, he’s very gifted. I’d love to paint like that, but I’m not good at people. I’m quite good at sketching dogs, though.’

‘I know some birds who look like dogs: you could paint one of them if you like?’ Joe quipped.

‘Why don’t you find yourself a nice bird?’ Conor retorted. ‘Preferably one who doesn’t look like a dog!’

Joe shook his head and grinned raffishly. ‘While there are flocks in the sky, why settle for one?’

‘You will in the end, Joe,’ said his father wisely. ‘Everyone does in the end.’

‘Have you hung the picture of Caitlin in the children’s sitting room?’ Ellen asked.

‘Not yet,’ Johnny replied. ‘Come on, Joe. Let’s finish up here. I’m ready for my tea. You going to come for a pint?’ he asked Conor and Ellen.

‘Not tonight. We’ve got a film to watch,’ Conor replied, and smiled at Ellen. She frowned up at him quizzically.

‘All right, fair play to you,’ said Johnny.

‘Can you give Dylan a message for me?’ Ellen asked. ‘Tell him I’ve written a happy song for a change.’

‘Will you sing it for us in the pub?’ Joe asked. ‘I’m a bit bored of the old Irish ballads.’

‘We might be persuaded,’ said Ellen. ‘As long as you don’t make fun of us.’

‘Now, why would I go and do a silly thing like that?’

‘Because you’re an eejit, Joe,’ interjected his father, playfully. ‘Come on, now. Let’s finish up and go to the pub.’ The two of them wandered off down the
corridor.

‘So, what’s our movie?’ Ellen asked when Daphne and the children had gone upstairs.

‘
The Age of Innocence
. I promised you we’d watch it together but we never did.’

‘With everything that’s gone on, I totally forgot about it.’

‘Well, tonight is our night.’

She grinned and added huskily, ‘Every night is our night, Conor.’

He laughed. ‘You know how to make a man feel good.’

‘It feels good to be
here
,’ she said seriously. ‘I feel we both belong here now. Well, I feel
I
belong. Of course
you
always belonged.’

‘No, with Caitlin, it never felt like home. It feels like home now.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘You’ve made me a very happy man. I was a fool to . . .’

She placed a finger on his lips to silence him. ‘No, don’t say that. Let’s not relive the past. The present is what’s important, and the years ahead.’

He kissed her temple, then her cheekbone, tracing his nose down her cheek until his lips found hers. ‘I love you more than yesterday,’ he whispered.

‘And I love you less than tomorrow,’ she replied, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms tightly around him.

A little later, Ellen sat on Finbar’s bed and read the children a story. It was called ‘Stone Soup’, about three Chinese monks who teach hostile neighbours in
a mountain village a lesson in sharing through the simple task of making soup with a stone. She had brought it especially for the children and every time she read it, she thought of the Trawtons
and the Byrnes and how they might come together one day over good food and wine.

‘Ellen, do you think Mam is looking down on us from heaven?’ Ida asked, as Ellen tucked her up in bed.

Ellen gazed into the child’s enquiring eyes and smiled softly. ‘Darling, I
know
she is.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I don’t know, I just do.’ She put a hand on her heart. ‘Sometimes we feel things
here
which we can’t explain. We just
know
things but we
don’t know how we know them. I’m certain that she is with you all the time, Ida. With you and Finbar and Daddy, too. I think we take our love with us when we die.’