Secrets of the Lighthouse (32 page)

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 different: 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 vibrate 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.

Ellen dressed hastily in a pair of jeans and sweater and ran down to the kitchen to find Jack returned to his perch and Peg filling the kettle at the tap. ‘It’s a
miracle,’ she said to her aunt, staring in amazement at the bird, who looked none the worse for a night in the cold.

Peg smiled, her eyes brimming with joy, and glanced out of the window. ‘And would you look at that!’ she said with a chuckle. ‘We’ve got company!’ With a rush of
excitement Ellen joined her at the window, expecting to see Conor climbing out of his car. But instead of Conor’s shiny Range Rover, she saw Johnny’s rusty truck and Desmond’s
black Peugeot pulling up in front of the house, full of her uncles and cousins. Her heart froze in panic.

Conor was due to pick her up that morning. What if he arrived to find a kitchen full of Byrnes? What then? Would there be a terrible fight? Would Desmond shout at her? She had to call him at
once and change the plan, but before she could reach the door, five burly men filled the hallway: Johnny, Joe, Ronan, Desmond and Craic. ‘He’s come back,’ said Ellen, disguising
her apprehension behind a triumphant smile.

‘He has?’ said Johnny, striding past her. ‘Peg, is that right?’

‘It’s a miracle,’ Peg replied. ‘Come and have something to eat, all of you. Today, I’ll make you the best breakfast you’ve ever had.’

‘Jaysus, there he is!’ said Desmond in astonishment. ‘I thought he’d have come a cropper.’

‘Me too,’ Joe agreed, rubbing his hands together at the thought of breakfast. ‘So, we’ve come to celebrate, then, Peggine. What’ll you give us?’