The Lighthouse Secret, page 2
‘I wish you’d let me make sure you don’t fall anywhere,’ Nolan begged. Was he crying? She thought she heard tears in his voice. He’d brush them aside, trying to be strong. He was a good man, and he deserved better. But she didn’t have it in her to put him first right now.
‘Dad is going to Ireland to be with Nana. I’ve decided to go with him.’
Another silence as he digested this bombshell. There was resignation in his voice as he asked, ‘How long will you be gone?’
‘I have two weeks’ vacation from work, so probably that,’ Mollie answered, grateful for Nolan’s graceful acceptance of her last-minute decision to travel overseas.
Another intake of breath. A hammer drill started, loud, and Nolan shouted to a colleague, ‘Can you stop that for a minute? I can’t hear myself think.’ Then he gave a sigh and said, softer, gentler, ‘I’m worried about you, Mol.’
‘I know. And I you.’ Last night, all Mollie could think about was the look on her husband’s face when they’d been delivered the knockout blow by Dr Laslo. Tears began to fall, and she couldn’t stop them. And there was no doubt that Nolan was crying now, too. She wished she had it in her to go to him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated.
‘You don’t need to apologize.’ Nolan’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I hope you find some peace in Ireland. I’ll be here waiting for you, when you get back.’
There was nothing else to say, so they both hung up.
Mollie made her way back to her window seat, and looked out to the Atlantic Ocean.
She felt her dad’s eyes watching her closely, ‘You two okay?’
She shook her head sadly.
‘Want to talk about it?’
Another shake.
‘When you do, I’m here. But what I can do is this.’ He put his mug down on the table, then did the same for Mollie. He pulled her towards him and wrapped his two arms around her. And he held her, strong arms resolute, as she tried to resist. Until she didn’t want to fight anymore, and she sank into him.
‘Oh, Daddy . . .’ she whispered. She’d not called him that for a long time. But in this moment, she felt like a child again in the safe harbour of her father’s arms.
‘I know you are a grown woman, but will you indulge me this morning? Let your daddy make you breakfast like I used to when you were little. Whatever diet you’re on can wait till tomorrow.’
Mollie’s stomach betrayed her by grumbling at the thought of her dad’s famous stack of golden pancakes with maple syrup dripping down their side. ‘With a scoop of vanilla ice-cream?’
‘Sacrilegious to serve with anything else!’ he declared, then he moved back to the kitchen, gathering flour and eggs from the pantry.
While he busied himself with breakfast, Mollie reached into her purse to retrieve a sizeable stack of mail that one of the TV runners had given her yesterday before she left the studio. While most of her fans corresponded through comments on social media posts, some still preferred snail mail. Mollie began opening them, one by one. Half a dozen were from fans asking her which hair salon she favoured, presumably because her hair had been having quite a few good days recently. This was balanced out by a lengthy critique from a Pamela in Idaho, who told Mollie that the length of her hair aged her. There were seven pretty notecards, all sharing stories of solidarity, condemning the recent fat-shaming photograph of Mollie published in one of the glossy tabloids. Mollie had in fact been blissfully unaware of the picture herself, until right now. Thanks to a quick Google search, it took her mere seconds to find the unflattering shot taken of her in profile now doing the rounds. The wind had flattened her dress against her rounding tummy and online debates about whether she was fat or pregnant were flamed further.
Cursing under her breath, she put her phone down. She should have known better than to look at it. Next in the pile was a cute card from a kid sharing her ambition to be like Mollie one day. Don’t wish that, kiddo, Mollie thought, tears suddenly springing to her eyes. She blinked them away, refusing to give in to weakness.
She took a sip of her green tea, then picked up the final envelope, long and white, the standard office stationery kind. The first thing she noticed in surprise, was the Irish postmark. It had the studio address typed, by what looked like an old-fashioned typewriter. She didn’t see much of that anymore. Mollie braced herself. Typed envelopes usually meant typed manifestos inside. The kind written by a sender who had a lot to say.
She was surprised to see a single folded A4 page inside. But her blood ran cold when she read the sentence typed in the centre of the page in large bold font. She blinked, then re-read it out loud, not quite believing the words in front of her.
Family secrets never stay buried.
TWO
Beth
Thursday, 5 April, 1951
Ballycotton, Cork
Beth stormed through the small cottage’s bright yellow front door, waving a poster above her head. ‘The circus is coming to Ballycotton,’ she screamed to her mother, Kathleen, who was elbow-deep in sudsy water at the kitchen sink.
‘Slow down, Beth, you’re making me dizzy!’ her mammy reprimanded, but a hint of a smile hovered on her lips. Mammy scrubbed at the collar of one of her father’s shirts one last time on a washboard, then moved it to the mangle to remove excess water.
‘I’m too excited to go any slower than this very speed! Nothing exciting ever happens in Ballycotton, but next month there’ll be elephants, tigers, clowns, and maybe a flying trapeze!’ Beth was breathless at the mere thought of anyone throwing themselves through the air.
‘Do you know, you look about ten years old again,’ her mammy said, smiling at her eldest daughter. ‘It’s nice to see you happy. You’ve had a face like a wet weekend for weeks, moping about without your Ted.’
‘Have I? Well, consider me bathed in glorious sunshine from now on,’ Beth replied, waltzing around the large oak kitchen table, pulling her mammy by the waist to take her with her. ‘Wait until I tell John and Katie when they get home from school.’ Beth adored her ten-year-old brother and eleven-year-old sister, and knew they would be as excited as she was with the news.
‘Don’t tell them until they’ve done their chores and homework.’ Her mammy dried her hands on a tea towel as she disentangled herself from Beth. ‘You were supposed to help me with the laundry this morning. Just because you’ve finished school, doesn’t mean you get to run around the village like you’ve no care in the world. You have chores around the house. And responsibilities in the community.’
Beth rolled her eyes. Her mother’s sole purpose these days was to teach her daughter how to be a good keeper’s wife, ready for the inevitable moment that she followed in the family tradition. ‘I heard on the radio that Aer Lingus have started doing night flights to London from Dublin. They are called Starflights. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? I want to apply for a position as an air hostess with them.’ Beth held her breath as her mother took in this statement. She waited for the inevitable rebuttal and Kathleen didn’t disappoint her.
‘Last month it was the Ford factory you wanted to work in. The month before that, Roches department store in the city. And you know full well what your father said to each of those notions. Your job is here, supporting me. And preparing yourself for when you need to run your own house.’
Beth opened her mouth to protest but was cut off by one of her mother’s looks, which left her under no illusion that further discussion was not allowed. Kathleen reached for the poster from her daughter’s hands and smoothed out the wrinkles so she could read the details.
Fosset’s Circus Cavalcade and Menagerie.
13-25 May 1951,
For Two Weeks Only, Every evening from 6 p.m.
‘Your father, and I daresay the other keepers, would like the chance to see the circus,’ her mammy said, then walked over to the black diary that sat on the dresser to check Patrick’s rota.
Patrick Kenefick, Beth’s father, was the principal keeper at Ballycotton Lighthouse. He had followed in the footsteps of his own father and grandfather before him. He worked alongside Peter Craig, Lee Higgins and Beth’s boyfriend Ted Braddy, who were the assistant keepers. The four men worked three-week block shifts on the island, which sat a short fifteen-minute boat ride away from the village. Her father’s week off finished the following morning, and he was due to leave at 11 a.m. for the changeover, hence Kathleen laundering his shirts.
Beth felt Lady Luck had dealt them all a happy reprieve, if she was honest. While she loved her father, he had a habit of dampening enthusiasm. Since he’d been promoted to his current position, he had become a strict authoritarian and frowned upon public displays of excitement, stating that such things were not becoming for the family of a principal lighthouse keeper.
‘We have a standing in the community. People look up to us,’ Patrick was fond of stating to his family if he felt they were stepping out of line. As well as his normal watch-keeping duties, he was now responsible for the discipline of the junior keepers at his station, and Beth sometimes thought that he treated his family like employees.
The Keneficks had lived in Ballycotton for three years now. Before that they had been stationed in lighthouses in Hook, Fastnet, Clare Island and Black Rock. And while each location offered something unique, so far, Ballycotton was their favourite. The small coastal community had welcomed them with open arms.
And thank goodness the Ballycotton keepers’ families no longer had to live on the island. Fifty years ago, she would have been stuck on the rock, getting a boat to school in the village every day. She shuddered at the thought of the isolation and monotony of what that life would have been like back then, with only goats and birds for company.
Kathleen snapped the diary shut, then said with a sigh, ‘Your father will return on the twenty-fifth. We’ll have to see how he feels on the day. He’s often only fit for bed after three weeks on the rock,’ her mammy remarked. ‘But your Ted will be off on the eleventh, so you can go together. That will be nice for you.’
At her mother’s words, her boyfriend’s face came to her mind and she felt an ache, because it had been two weeks now since she’d seen him. How Ted could bear living on a lighthouse with only two others for company, she could not understand. He had been an assistant keeper for two years, the youngest of the Ballycotton keepers, at only twenty years old. But he came with the best of pedigrees, part of a renowned dynasty – the Braddy family, with several generations of keepers on his mother and father’s side.
Beth remembered the day he arrived in Ballycotton like it was yesterday. She had clutched her best friend Joanne Craig’s hand as they watched him walk up Main Street in his keeper’s uniform. The brass buttons on his jacket glinted in the sunlight.
‘He looks like Gary Cooper,’ Joanne had gushed.
And she had a point. Ted’s blond hair was brushed back, held in place by Brylcreem, and his blue eyes sparkled as he took in the villagers who had lined the street to watch his arrival. When he passed the girls, he’d winked at them, making them giggle. It wasn’t long before he held the title of most eligible bachelor in the village. He was considered a catch, and Beth knew that he could have his pick of many of the girls in the area. But a little over a year ago, she had felt his eyes on her, seeking her out when the relief boat docked from the island. Beth knew what it meant. Ted had chosen her, just as she’d chosen him.
Last summer, shortly after Beth’s seventeenth birthday, Ted escorted her to her very first dance at the Cliff Palace dance hall.
‘Can you feel that?’ Beth had asked breathlessly, giving her long brown hair a swish from side to side, as she’d seen Rita Hayworth do in the movie Gilda.
‘Feel what?’ Ted asked, watching her closely.
‘The air. It’s filled with every person’s hopes and dreams here. All looking for adventure and excitement and—’
‘And maybe love too?’ Ted had interjected. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the dance floor, the underskirt of her navy-blue dress swishing against her legs. Ted proved himself to be more than a match for Beth’s energy, and together they jived, waltzed and fox-trotted for hours.
When the band began to play the last song of the night, ‘You’re Nobody till Somebody Loves You’, Ted had leaned down and whispered into Beth’s ear, ‘You could never be a nobody.’
His words had made her feel alive, and a shiver of excitement coursed through her body. She could feel herself standing on the brink of womanhood, and she could not wait to experience it all.
Since that night, each time Ted returned from the island, they had become regulars at the dance hall and had been to the movies in Cork city several times. Beth’s parents encouraged the match. They both wanted nothing more for their daughter than to marry a keeper, thus continuing the family tradition for another generation. While this was annoying, there were advantages to her relationship with Ted. She had freedom she’d never been allowed before.
Beth also knew that this new-found freedom was irksome for her best friend Joanne, who was a year younger than her. Joanne was still in school and would have to wait until she was eighteen before her parents, Ellen and Peter Craig, allowed her to join Beth and Ted at the dance hall.
‘Quit your daydreaming and hang the laundry out on the line,’ her mammy instructed, pulling Beth out of her reverie and handing her a wicker basket of washed shirts. ‘There’s great drying out there today.’
The sun shone, the fifth day in a row they had been treated to gloriously hot weather. A heatwave was predicted for the summer, and Beth couldn’t wait for Joanne’s school holidays to start so that they could spend lazy days together at the beach, showing off the new swimsuit her mother had bought her in Roches store.
Once her father’s shirts were dancing in the gentle breeze, Beth made her way back inside, pausing at the back door, when she heard her father’s voice mentioning her name.
‘Beth could do a lot worse than young Braddy.’
‘Agreed. I like him. And he’s from a good family . . .’ Kathleen answered, but her voice sounded less sure than Patrick’s.
‘A good keeper’s family, you should say,’ her dad corrected. What would he have said if a man came calling for Beth, who wasn’t a keeper, Beth wondered. But before she could ponder this any further, her father continued in a lower voice, ‘Ted has asked for my permission to propose on Beth’s eighteenth birthday at the end of May. I’ve said yes.’
Her mother gasped at the exact moment Beth clasped her hand over her mouth to contain her reaction.
‘And you did not think to ask me my opinion before you gave your blessing?’ her mammy’s voice was clipped with irritation.
Nor mine! Beth thought, as a flash of anger rushed over her too.
‘And why would I do that?’ Her dad’s voice had an edge to it now. He did not like to be questioned. Kathleen had once said he was too used to being the boss at the lighthouse, and that certainly had a ring of truth about it.
‘It’s just . . . she’s too young.’ Contrition now laced her mammy’s words, making Beth want to scream. Why must her mother always bow to her father’s will? Surely her father couldn’t dispute the fact that Beth was young and had so much she wanted to do before she was married.
‘You were eighteen when we wed,’ her dad replied, but his voice was now tender. ‘And I’ve given you a good life, I hope? I only wish for the same happiness we’ve had in our life together, for Beth.’
‘You’ve given me a wonderful life,’ Kathleen replied. ‘I’ve always been proud to be a keeper’s wife.’
And Beth felt a rush of affection for her father, as memories of her life as a keeper’s daughter came to mind. His face set in concentration, as he dismantled and reassembled the paraffin-vapour burner. And his patience over the years, as he taught various supernumerary assistant keepers how to operate the fog signal, how to use ropes for rigging and tie knots, how to communicate with other lighthouses and ships. He commanded respect from his peers because he was a fair man, and always kept a good watch. She knew that while she at times disagreed with him, he always had her best interests at heart.
The sound of her father’s chair scraping back along the flagstone floor sent Beth scurrying along the side of the house, in case he came out and caught her red-handed listening in.
With a racing heart, Beth leaned against the gable wall for support. Why must Ted go and change things? She was happy with the way things were.
There was no doubt that she cared for Ted. She loved him. And when he took her in his arms and held her, when he kissed her gently, she forgot everything but how he made her feel. But outside that loving hold, she also knew that she did not want the same life her mother had endured. Moving every four years to a new lighthouse, spending half of her time on her own, raising children, and keeping a home while her husband kept watch.
Did she even want to have a baby? Helping to care for her younger siblings was a lot of work, and theirs wasn’t even a large family. If she married Ted, children would be expected to follow immediately. Would she ever see what the world looked like outside of Ireland’s shores? Not if she married a keeper. Her life would be watching the waves and the ships that sailed upon them, as they moved to other worlds without her.
Beth held a hand over her mouth to hold back the scream that she desperately wanted to release to the sea air.
She had no more than seven weeks to work out what her heart truly desired. As soon as she turned eighteen, Ted would propose.
And she had no clue what her answer should be.
THREE
Kathleen
Sunday, 8 April, 1951
Ballycotton, Cork
Patrick had returned to the island two days ago. Now, Kathleen stood beside Ellen and Beth at the end of the pier, ready to talk to Patrick, Peter and Ted. Every Sunday afternoon the keepers’ families would congregate together to communicate with their men on the island, who watched them through a telescope. Their only means to communicate was via semaphore flags – a second language for keepers and their families, used for generations. The alphabet signalling system was based on the waving of the handheld flags in a particular pattern to compose messages. There was a relief boat too, which travelled to the island once a fortnight with mail and provisions, and to transport the keepers on and off the island. But other than that, the keepers might as well have been on the other side of the world, as opposed to the other side of the bay.
