Secrets of the Lighthouse Read Free Page A

silently, from my other world. ‘I’m here. I’m always here.
Right beside you.’ The little boy sits up and stares at me in amazement. He stares right at me. Not through me but at me. I’m certain of it because his eyes take in my hair, my nose, my
lips, my body. Wide with astonishment they drink me in and I am as astonished as he.
    ‘Mam?’ he whispers.
    ‘Darling boy,’ I reply.
    ‘Is it you?’
    ‘It’s me.’
    ‘But you’re not dead.’
    I smile the smile of someone with a beautiful secret. ‘No, Finbar. I’m not dead. There is no death. I promise you that.’ And my heart lifts with the joy of seeing his face
flush with happiness.
    ‘Will you never leave me?’
    ‘I’ll never leave you, Finbar. You know I won’t. I’ll always be here. Always.’
    The excitement begins to wake him and slowly he loses me. ‘Mam . . . Mam . . . are you still here?’
    ‘I’m still here,’ I say, but he no longer sees me.
    He rubs his eyes. ‘Mam!’ His cry wakes Daphne, who comes hurrying to his side in her nightdress. Finbar is still staring at me, searching me out in the darkness.
    ‘Finbar!’ I exclaim. ‘Finbar. I’m still here!’ But it is no good. He has lost me.
    ‘It’s only a dream, Finbar,’ Daphne soothes, laying him down gently.
    ‘It wasn’t a dream, grandmam. It was real. Mam was on the end of my bed.’
    ‘You go back to sleep now, darling.’
    His voice rises and his glistening eyes blink in bewilderment. ‘She was here. I know she was here.’
    Daphne sighs and strokes his forehead. ‘Perhaps she was. After all, she’s an angel now, isn’t she? I imagine she’s always close, keeping an eye on you.’ But I know
she doesn’t believe it. Her words satisfy Finbar, though.
    ‘I think so,’ he mumbles, then closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. Daphne watches him a while. I can feel her sadness, it is heavy like damp. Then she turns and leaves the room
and I am alone again. Only this time, hope has ignited in my heart. If he managed to see me once, he might see me again.

Chapter 1
    Ellen Trawton arrived at Shannon airport with a single suitcase, fake-fur jacket, skinny jeans and a pair of fine leather boots, which would soon prove highly unsuitable for
the wild and rugged countryside of Connemara. She had never been to Ireland before and had no memory of her mother’s sister, Peg, with whom she had arranged to stay, under the pretext of
seeking peace and solitude in order to write a novel. As a London girl, Ellen rather dreaded the countryside, considering it muddy and notoriously quiet, but her aunt’s was the only place she
knew where her mother would not come looking for her – and the only place she could stay without having to spend a great deal of money. Having quit her job in marketing for a small Chelsea
jeweller, she was in no position to be extravagant. She hoped Aunt Peg was rich and lived in a big house in a civilized part of the country, near a thriving town with shops and cafés. She
didn’t think she’d last if she lived in the middle of nowhere with only sheep to talk to.
    She stepped out into the Arrivals hall and scanned the eager faces of the crowd for her aunt. Her mother was tall and still beautiful at fifty-eight, with long, mahogany-coloured hair and high
cheekbones, so Ellen assumed Aunt Peg would be similar. Her eyes settled at once on an elegant lady in a long camel-hair coat, clutching a shiny designer handbag with well-manicured hands, and her
heart swelled with relief, for a woman who lived in the middle of a bog would not be wearing such a stylish pair of court shoes and immaculate tweed trousers. She pulled her case across the floor.
‘Aunt Peg!’ she exclaimed, smiling broadly.
    The woman turned and looked at her blankly. ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘Aunt Peg?’ But even as she said it, Ellen could tell that she had made a mistake. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I thought you were someone else.’ For a
second she felt lost in the