Secrets of the Lighthouse (28 page)

‘Even then?’ Ellen chuckled.

‘Even then. Her mother spoiled her.’

‘I didn’t think she had money.’

‘She didn’t, but what little she had usually went on Maddie. Poor old Peg had to accept second-hand clothes, but those weren’t good enough for Maddie. She proves the saying:
The baby who cries the loudest gets fed
. Maddie was the sort of girl everyone bent over backwards to please.’

‘You too?’

‘Dead right. I’d have done anything for her.’

‘But she was rebellious, too?’

‘She wasn’t one for playing it by the rules. For Maddie, rules were there to be broken, whether it was playing truant, passing notes in church, running off and not helping her mother
– Maddie was unconventional.’ He looked at her with big, sad eyes. ‘That’s why I called her Ellen Olenska.’

Ellen stared back at him, aghast. ‘You called her Ellen Olenska?’

‘Aye, I did. I’d read the book and gave it to her to read. We both loved it.’

‘And she called
me
Ellen, after the book, because that had been your special name for her?’ He nodded. Ellen felt the blood drain from her face. She took a swig of Coke.
‘My God, she still loved you, Dylan.’

‘I guess she did.’

‘You didn’t know?’

He was quick to answer. ‘How could I have known? She disappeared with your father and that was the last I ever heard of her.’

Ellen felt a wave of emotion unbalance her. ‘She called me Ellen because of you. God, that’s incredible.’ She couldn’t imagine her mother being romantic.

Dylan put his rough hand on hers. It was brown against her white skin. ‘She got into trouble, Ellen. Your father got her out of it. I forgive her, but I’ve never got over her.’
His eyes were big and glassy, and the pain in them almost too naked for Ellen to bear, but she was drawn into them as a person on the top of a cliff is drawn into the danger of looking down. Dylan
lowered his voice. ‘She ruined love for me because after her I could never love anyone else.’

They remained staring at each other for what felt like a long moment. Dylan didn’t remove his hand and after a while Ellen put her other hand on top of it and squeezed it compassionately.
‘You can’t let a love affair that happened long ago ruin your life, Dylan. Surely, you have to find a way to move through it. For your sanity?’

He seemed to return from some faraway place and blinked. ‘I channel it into my poetry and music.’

‘But you have a girlfriend, don’t you?’

‘That makes me sound like a teenager. I have a lover, Ellen. She’s a widow. Lost her husband a while back. She’s a good woman, but she’s not Maddie.’ He withdrew
his hand and began to eat the remains of his lunch.

‘Maddie is not Maddie. You have your memories, but they are not real
now
, and you can’t ever get them back.’

His grin was surprising; it had a knowing air. ‘No? I’m not so sure. I might get them back, but not in the way I expected.’ Ellen frowned, but Dylan didn’t elaborate.
‘Fancy another drink?’

‘No, thank you. I’m fine,’ she replied, wondering whether Dylan did, in fact, have a small touch of madness after all.

‘I don’t suppose Dad had a clue why she chose the name Ellen. The names Leonora and Lavinia couldn’t be more different, could they? I mean, Ellen isn’t very English, is
it?’ Dylan didn’t reply. ‘How ironic that I’m the child who most resembles her. Leonora and Lavinia look just like Dad.’ She grinned. ‘They have his weak chin,
so I should be grateful!’

‘You have a bold face, Ellen . . . and . . .’ He smiled to himself, as if he had suddenly decided, against his natural inclination, not to reveal any more. ‘And your smile
reminds me of her, too. But you’re yourself. You’re not a carbon copy. You’re grand just the way you are.’

That evening, Ellen brought her iPod to the pub and gave it to Dylan. He remained at the bar with Ronan, who greeted her without smiling, his eyes dark and resentful. He was
evidently unhappy about her escalating friendship with Conor, so she went and sat with Alanna, Desmond, Joe and Johnny at a table against the wall, and watched the comings and goings of locals.
People were still curious about her, she could tell by the furtive way they looked away when she caught their eyes and the way their lowered their chins and voices when they spoke. But she felt
safe in the bosom of her new family. No one would mess with Johnny and Desmond. She imagined they could be as fierce as bears if provoked. It wasn’t long before Ryan arrived with more Byrnes
and her family took over the pub with their noisy, cheerful banter.

‘So, what did you make of Mr Macausland shaving off his beard?’ Alanna asked Ellen. ‘I’d forgotten how handsome he is. Like a movie star, don’t you
think?’

Ellen blushed. ‘I didn’t recognize him at first.’

‘I don’t think anyone did. He sat through half the service before anyone cottoned on.’

‘He looks better like that.’

‘You’re not wrong. I like a beard, but if a man has a face like his it’s a crime to hide it.’

‘What does Desmond look like without his beard?’

Alanna laughed and gazed tenderly at her husband who was talking to Johnny at the other end of the table. ‘He’s not a looker like Mr Macausland, but he’s handsome in his own
way. I think he’d look younger without it, but I’m so used to it I think I’d miss it. It’s part of who he is now.’

‘The men here have a real beard thing going on, don’t they?’

Alanna swept her eyes over the faces, now flushed with alcohol and heat. ‘I suppose you’re right. I’ve never really thought about it. Don’t men have beards in
London?’

‘Not so many. Or perhaps it appears that more men have beards here because all the bearded ones are collected together in this pub. Do Irishwomen like beards so much?’

Alanna giggled. ‘They’re ticklish,’ she said, then knocked back her vodka.

Ellen laughed, recalling with a frisson of excitement the sensation of Conor’s beard against her face and neck. ‘Quite nice, I imagine,’ she said.

‘
Very
nice,’ Alanna agreed. ‘I think I’d be very disappointed if Desmond shaved it all off!’

Suddenly Ellen heard the sound of an accordion breaking through the rumble of voices. One by one the locals hushed and listened. Alanna gave Ellen a sharp nudge. ‘Jaysus, it’s
Dylan!’ she hissed. ‘I think he’s going to sing!’ Ellen craned her neck to see Dylan perched on a stool with the accordion resting on his knee. A raffish smile spread across
his face and his wild eyes sprang from face to face in a silent challenge. He looked as if he was relishing their surprise. He looked a little mad, too, Ellen thought. For a moment they all stood
in silence like a herd of stunned cattle. Then the chords changed from minor to major and burst into a song they all knew. Dylan started singing but before he finished the first line the pub
erupted into song as if slotting into an old and familiar pattern of behaviour.

Ellen was smiling so broadly her face began to ache. She felt so proud of Dylan and began to clap her hands with happiness. She clapped them until her palms stung. When the song changed, Ellen
could no longer remain seated. She leapt to her feet, followed by Alanna, and although she didn’t know the words, she sang anyway. Looking around, she could see that only the very old
remained in their chairs. All the rest were standing, stamping their feet, raising their glasses of stout and singing at the top of their lungs.

It was late when they all left the Pot of Gold, patting Dylan on the back as if he had returned from a long journey. ‘How are you getting home?’ he asked Ellen when
she came up to say goodbye.

‘Johnny’s dropping me off,’ she replied, her eyes twinkling at him with affection. ‘You were amazing tonight. You got everyone singing.’

‘Just like I used to do,’ he replied with ill-concealed pride.

‘It was tremendous. I didn’t know you played the accordion.’

‘I can play anything. When you know one you know them all.’

She touched his arm. ‘I really loved hanging out with you today, Dylan. Thank you for lunch.’

He looked pleased, like a little boy who had at last found a friend to play with. ‘We had fun, didn’t we, Ellen Olenska?’

‘You know, I’ve borrowed that book from Peg:
The Age of Innocence
. I’m going to start reading it.’

‘You’ll love it. Your mother did.’

‘I think she should read it again,’ she said, giving him a meaningful look. It was time her mother remembered her roots.

The following morning the mobile telephone arrived from Conor with a note to call him as soon as she received it. ‘What have you got there, pet?’ Peg asked,
surprised that a parcel had arrived at her house for Ellen.

‘It’s a telephone from Conor.’

‘Can no one survive nowadays without one of those nasty things stuck to their ears? I wonder how we all got along in the old days.’

‘I won’t give anyone else the number. I didn’t chuck mine into the sea for nothing.’

Peg bent down to run her fingers over Bertie’s spine. ‘So when is he coming back?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘I see.’ If Peg had reservations she was wise enough not to voice them.

Ellen retreated into the little sitting room. She lit the fire and settled into the armchair with Edith Wharton’s
The Age of Innocence
resting seductively on her knee. But first,
she would call Conor. She smiled as she rang the number because he had already programmed it into the phone. ‘So you got it,’ he said when he came on the line. His voice was soft and
languid and she sensed him settling into his chair, too.

‘I didn’t even need to dial,’ she replied.

‘I like to provide a good service,’ he said provocatively, and Ellen felt her body stir with arousal. ‘So, are you still missing me?’

She laughed. ‘Maybe.’

‘I think you are.’

‘A little bit, perhaps.’

‘Your reserve is very British. I’ll have to do something about that.’

‘You think you can crack it?’

‘With a good dose of Irish charm.’

‘From what I’ve seen of your Irish charm, I think you’ve got a pretty good chance.’

‘And that was
with
the beard,’ he replied. The thought of kissing him
without
his beard made the hairs stand up on her skin. ‘What are you thinking?’ he
asked and she could hear that his mouth was very close to the receiver.

‘Of kissing you.’

‘
Only
kissing?’

‘If I think of anything else this phone will become too hot to handle.’

‘I want to kiss you all over.’

She looked to the door, hoping that Peg wasn’t listening. ‘Mmmm, that sounds nice. Shame we have to wait until tomorrow.’

‘I’ve got meetings today. I’ve been a bit distracted recently, so I’ve got a lot of ground to make up.’

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ she said positively.

‘And makes a man grow hornier. Jaysus, woman, I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but it’s a hell of a ride.’ Ellen laughed, thrilled. ‘I want to be beside
you,’ he whispered.

‘Me too,’ she replied with a longing that belied her British reserve.

He chuckled. ‘I’ll make an Irishwoman of you yet.’

They talked for almost an hour, during which time Ellen grew restless and began to pace the room. One moment she was sitting, the next standing gazing out of the window, the next sitting again.
She was unable to remain still because Conor whipped up feelings in her that she didn’t know quite how to manage. Finally, they said goodbye, although they both knew that they would speak
again that evening, before going to sleep. She rang off and sat gazing at the telephone for a long while, a smile hovering on her lips, the resonance of his voice still clear in her memory.

At last, she opened her book and turned the first page. There, written in ink, was an inscription. Ellen felt the tears sting the backs of her eyes as she read it.
To my own Ellen Olenska,
May you always be wild and curious, your spirit free. May your heart for ever belong to me. Dylan. July 1977.

She was astonished that the book in her hand was the very one Dylan had given her mother all those years ago. Now it held more than her curiosity, it held her reverence. She wondered whether Peg
was aware of its significance. Dylan obviously didn’t know it was there. He hadn’t imagined, when she said she was going to start reading it, that the book in Peg’s library was
the very one he had given to her mother. She resolved to give it back to him once she had finished reading it.

She turned the pages and was immediately swallowed up in Old New York of the late nineteenth century, and what a pleasure it was, so beautifully and lyrically written with a wry, intelligent
sense of humour. She only remembered her mother and Dylan when the mysterious Countess Olenska appeared in the box at the opera at the end of the first chapter. She smiled to think of her mother
reading it. Then her smile was replaced by a frown as she wondered what her mother would think if she knew that her daughter was sitting in her sister’s house reading the book Dylan had lent
her, the year before she ran away.

She spent all morning in the armchair, reading
The Age of Innocence
. She paused for lunch, which she ate in the kitchen with Peg and Oswald, who invited himself to join them because he
was ‘bored to death’ of his own company. In the afternoon, Peg insisted she help her nurse the donkey, who had somehow got a nasty scratch just beneath his left eye. Ellen suspected her
aunt just wanted to get her out of the house and into the fresh air. She was of the generation of earthy women who thought it was unnatural to stay inside all day. So Ellen helped her tether the
donkey to the fence and bathe his eye with cotton wool soaked in disinfectant. She stroked his neck while her aunt soothed him in dulcet tones: ‘You’re a good boy, aren’t you?
There, you see, it’s not so bad, is it? You’re going to get better. Peg’s going to put you right. See if I don’t.’ It amused Ellen to hear her talk to the animals as
if they were humans. She spoke in the same way to Mr Badger and Bertie, and even Jack.