The Lighthouse Secret, page 1
The Lighthouse Secret
Carmel Harrington
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2024
Copyright © Carmel Harrington 2024
Cover design by Emily Langford © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2024
Cover photographs © Carmen Spitznagel/Trevillion Images (main image) and Shutterstock.com (geese and sky)
Carmel Harrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008528638
eBook Edition © February 2023 ISBN: 9780008528614
Version: [2023-12-29]
For Evelyn Harrington
My mother-in-law and dear friend
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
PART ONE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
PART TWO
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
PART THREE
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Reading Group Questions
About the Author
Also by Carmel Harrington
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
Friday, 25 May 1951
Ballycotton, Cork
Four women stood shoulder to shoulder at the harbour. They looked out to the statuesque black lighthouse which rose proudly on Ballycotton Island, a few miles across the bay. The skies overhead darkened once more, and a rush of wind whipped across their faces. It moved the youngest one’s long brown hair, revealing a bloodied gash above her cheek. Next to her stood her mother, the oldest of the group, but with the same oval face and denim-blue eyes as her daughter. With a shaking maternal hand, the elder woman pressed a handkerchief against the younger’s wound, red blood staining the white cotton.
Third in line, a woman with a headscarf tied tight under her chin winced as she held her bruised abdomen. ‘Whist,’ she called out to three children who played a few feet behind them. ‘The handover is happening.’
The only sound to fill the air was their laboured breathing and the lap of the waves breaking against the sands of the bay below.
‘There it is,’ the last woman said, with lips stained with ruby-red lipstick, pursed tight. The dark clouds parted to reveal the lighthouse beacon as it flickered across the Irish Sea towards them.
The young woman with brown hair began counting to ten softly, marking the beats between each flash of light, as she’d done hundreds of times throughout her childhood. Her blue eyes glistened with threatened tears, a long sigh lost among the cries of the gulls.
Stuffing her handkerchief into her coat pocket, her eyes never leaving the distant lighthouse, her mother finally spoke: ‘If anyone finds out, we’ll hang for what we’ve done. Make a solemn vow, here and now, that we will never speak of what happened yesterday. Not to each other, nor to another living soul.’
Silence hung between them as the women watched the horizon until the relief boat appeared. The sound of a seagull’s caw echoed around them.
‘I never thought I’d have a marriage with so many secrets and lies,’ the woman with the ruby-red lips said, her voice quivering.
‘We had no choice,’ the elder woman replied, as she placed her hand in front of her. ‘What’s done is done. Now, let’s swear our silence and put a smile on our faces. The principal keeper is coming home.’
PART ONE
Don’t forget that maybe you are the lighthouse in someone’s storm
Unknown
ONE
Mollie
Saturday, 8 July 2023
Camden, Maine
Mollie paused at Hogg Cove, doubling over to catch her breath. She looked through the green-leaved trees which bent so low they almost kissed the water’s edge. An early-morning jog on the Beauchamp Point trail shouldn’t be this taxing. But her body wasn’t her own anymore, was it?
Her phone buzzed in her pocket with a text message from her husband, Nolan.
Nolan: I’m guessing you are with Albie. I hope you are okay. I’m sorry about . . . well, I’m sorry about everything.
Mollie pushed her phone back into her Lycra running shorts pocket, her stomach constricting in guilt. She loved her husband. That was never in question. But it was too painful to think about him right now. He knew her well though, guessing that she’d come here. She was nothing but predictable. She always ran back to her childhood home, to her dad, when she was in trouble.
She carried on, moving from a slow jog to a run. Mollie wanted to push herself, feel the burn in every muscle until her mind stopped turning, only focusing on the mud track she was on. She hadn’t run for months on the advice of her doctor, but there was nothing to stop her now and she was desperate to embrace it.
A red-tailed hawk cried out as it patrolled the skies overhead, but Mollie didn’t stop to look up; she continued pounding the path, her head low. Early morning sunlight peeped through the green canopy of tall trees. Juniper and wildflowers lined the trail, and a rich jewelled green moss plaited itself amongst the tangle of tree roots. Once Mollie reached Vesper Hill Chapel, she turned and began the descent.
Mollie walked the last hundred yards, allowing her body to cool down. She breathed in and out deeply and, for a moment, thought she might spit up the glass of lemon water she’d had when she awoke. And then she was back on Calderwood Lane, making her way home. She knew it was strange that at thirty-five years old, she still called it that. Because home should be with her husband in Portland, not here in Camden where she had grown up. Immediately, her mind began throwing questions she refused to acknowledge. Damn it. Mollie began jogging again, pushing herself forward once more and burying the questions deep inside of her.
‘Mollie!’
She looked up, startled when she heard her name called out. Her father, Albie, was staring at her, his brow furrowed in worry. ‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ she responded.
‘The speed you came up the driveway, I thought you would take the front gate off its hinges,’ her dad said, leading the way into the house and kitchen. ‘Sit down, catch your breath, and I’ll get you a cold drink.’
Mollie looked around the cosy kitchen, a throwback to another era. It had changed very little over the decades since her grandparents had first moved in and decorated it in the late 1950s. Or since her father and Mollie had moved back in, once her parents divorced. It had always felt like home, in a way that the townhouse she shared with Nolan never had.
She watched her dad take a glass from the open shelf, rinse it quickly, and then fill it with iced water from the large double-sided fridge.
‘Drink it slowly. Anyone would think you have the devil on your tail.’ Her dad narrowed his eyes as he watched his daughter.
‘Nah. Just your neighbours. I didn’t stop to say hello when I ran past them earlier. Fair warning.’
‘Hah! They’ll be over within the hour, I’ve no doubt. To see the celeb.’ Her dad winked.
‘Don’t tease. You know I hate all that nonsense.’
‘Goes with the t erritory, Mollie. You’re a household name, whether you intended to be one or not. You are one of the voices that wakes up Maine every morning. That’s a big deal for most around here.’
Mollie held back a sigh. ‘I’m only the sidekick. The real celeb is Donnie. The clue is in the show name, Breakfast with Donnie.’
And Mollie wasn’t being coy. Her co-host was a national treasure, had been the lead anchor for over forty years. Mollie just felt lucky to have a seat beside him every day.
‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re the shining star. And last time I checked, the show garnered at least a hundred thousand views every day. That’s a lot of people watching not just Donnie, but you too,’ her dad said firmly, signalling the debate was over.
Mollie and her dad swapped smiles. He was her biggest supporter and she loved him for it.
‘Pancakes?’
‘No thanks. But a green tea would be nice.’ Mollie was carrying an extra ten pounds that the TV screens did not forgive. She knew she shouldn’t care, that she should say to hell with it and flaunt her curves. But the truth was, she did. And she planned on getting rid of her flabby tummy and double chin over the next two weeks while she was on vacation. Her dad shrugged in defeat. Mollie was thankful that he simply put the kettle on to do as she asked.
Once the tea was made, he beckoned her to join him at the window seat in the dining room. It had always been her favourite spot in the house. They could see the ocean from all the rooms at the front of the cottage, but here, it was extra special. With the large glass window framing the view, Mollie always felt she was looking at a painting that shifted beautifully alongside the changing tides and seasons.
‘You enjoying summer break?’ Mollie asked. Her father was a professor at the University of New England. Mollie had arrived at her dad’s house late the evening before and gone straight to bed. They had a lot to catch up on, as she’d not seen him for several weeks.
‘I’m enjoying myself. Been shore-fishing most days out of Penobscot Bay. Gets me out of the house, what with Mom away.’
Her nana was in Ireland on vacation, and even though Mollie had only been at home for less than twenty-four hours, the house felt quiet without her here.
The sun bounced off her dad’s dark wavy hair. He was unshaven, but that wasn’t unusual while he was off campus. His skin was tanned, making his light blue eyes pop, and he looked relaxed, younger than his sixty years. Most people couldn’t believe that he was old enough to be her father. Thankfully, he was proud to admit he was. Unlike Lindsay, Mollie’s mother, who decided to freeze time on her fiftieth birthday almost ten years ago and had long since instructed Mollie to stop calling her mom.
‘You look good, Dad,’ Mollie said.
‘Must be in the genes! I get that from your nana,’ he replied. ‘By the way, have you seen your mother recently?’
Her parents had been divorced since she was a teenager, but in the main got on quite well. ‘We had a very nice afternoon at the spa in Portland last month, where she of course pretended we were sisters.’
‘I can’t wait till she’s a grandmother. I plan to train your children to call her grannie loudly at every possible moment.’ Her dad cackled with laughter at his own joke, then stopped when he noticed his daughter wasn’t joining in. ‘Sorry. I’m an oaf. I should know better.’
Heat flamed Mollie’s face and her stomach twisted in a new knot. It wasn’t her father’s fault. Her family knew nothing of the battle she’d been through for the past year as she’d tried to conceive. Mollie had never found the right time to share that IVF was her and Nolan’s only hope of becoming pregnant.
The glossy brochures never told you that infertility was such an isolating condition.
‘Gonna be a hot one today,’ Mollie said through gritted teeth, changing the subject. ‘Might go for a swim later.’
‘Good idea. I’ll join you.’ Her dad reached over to squeeze her hand, a further gesture of apology. He knew the subject of children was a no-go area for Mollie. She managed a weak smile of reassurance. It seemed to do the trick, because he continued, ‘I need to talk to you about something. I’m going to Ireland!’ he said, taking her by surprise. ‘Tomorrow. I know it’s last minute, but I only decided yesterday when your nana called. She had a nasty cough that I didn’t like the sound of. I never wanted her to go to Ireland on her own, but you know what she’s like.’
‘Stubborn as a mule,’ Mollie said, smiling as she thought of Nana Beth, whom she adored. ‘She can take care of herself though. As she tells us constantly, she’s fit as a fiddle.’
‘A fiddle that forgets she’s almost ninety years old!’ her dad said, throwing his eyes upwards.
Mollie saw an array of conflicting emotions run across her father’s face. While she had a loving relationship with her nana, mother and son often clashed. Her nana could be distant and difficult one moment, and then as if a cloud lifted, she’d bring sunshine to all their lives.
‘Where is she now?’
‘Still in Wexford. She’s been visiting friends there, and is staying in a small hotel in Dunbrody. Close enough to Hook Lighthouse, where she was stationed for a number of years as a child. I think this trip is a bit of a pilgrimage for her. She’s revisiting all her old haunts. Ballycotton is next on the agenda. She’s booked herself into a cottage close by to Aunt Jane’s.’
‘Have you told her you’re going?’ Mollie asked, feeling a stab of jealousy at the thought of her father heading off across the Atlantic.
‘Yes. And I expected a list of reasons why I shouldn’t join her, but she seemed pleased to hear it. I’m looking forward to the trip. I’ve not been to Ireland for nearly five years now. Too long. I know you’ve just arrived, but you can stay here as long as you like while I’m gone. You have your own key.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Mollie said gratefully. The truth was, she wasn’t ready to go back to Portland yet. Even a good sleep had not stopped her mind from reeling with a confused jumble of thoughts about Nolan and their relationship.
‘Is Nolan joining you here later?’ her dad asked gently, as if reading her mind.
Mollie knew the question was coming. It was a fair one. She made a concerted effort to keep her voice even. ‘Not today.’
When she’d turned on her phone this morning, there had been several voice messages and a string of texts from him. It had never been Mollie’s intention to hurt him. Goodness, she knew he was in enough pain as it was, without her adding to it. But she couldn’t cope with Nolan’s feelings on top of her own. She was drowning right before him, but he couldn’t see that. Or perhaps wouldn’t.
‘Dad, how would you feel about having company on your trip to Ireland?’ Mollie asked impulsively. ‘I’m on vacation for two weeks. And I need to think . . . about stuff. I can’t do that here.’ Mollie’s voice wobbled as she continued, ‘Is that okay?’
Her dad’s answer was to whoop out loud, a broad grin on his face. ‘Well, the best place to think about stuff, whatever that may be, is in Ireland. Wait till your nana hears. She’ll be so excited! I bet it will be just the medicine she needs to beat that cough she has.’
Mollie felt like whooping herself too. Her dad had unknowingly given her a chance to escape her life for a few weeks. With a quick kiss of thanks to her dad, she excused herself to call Nolan from the hall. He answered on the second ring.
‘Are you okay?’ Nolan asked in a rush, the sound of a drill droning in the background. She heard a door close, and then the background noise quietened.
Mollie could picture him, probably in his hard hat, on-site somewhere. Nolan was a General Contractor with a successful company that bought and resold homes once he’d given them a makeover. And this familiar image of her husband made her throat constrict, as a rush of emotion overcame her.
‘I’m fine. I’m more worried about you,’ Mollie said. Her voice trembled, and she felt guilt stab her, knowing that he’d been going through his own hell too.
The phone went silent and Mollie imagined that, like her, Nolan was thinking about their meeting at the doctor’s surgery for their embryo transfer appointment two days ago. Where they were informed that there were no viable embryos.
Finally Nolan broke the silence, his voice bringing her back to him. ‘I’ve had better days. Was I right? Are you in Camden?’
‘Yes. And I’m so sorry to have run away. But I can’t talk. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. I love you. But I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of an abyss.’
