The Lighthouse Secret

by Carmel Harrington

Genres: Family Life; Sagas

Synopsis

'Carmel truly reigns as the queen of emotional Irish fiction!' AMANDA GEARD

FOUR WOMEN. ONE SECRET. WHO WILL REVEAL THE TRUTH?

On the windswept Cork coast, the wives of the lighthouse keepers wait for the return of their husbands.

When faced with a dangerous threat, the four women band together to protect everything they hold dear. And they vow never to tell what they have done.

Seventy years later, Mollie Kenefick is sent an anonymous note: Family secrets never stay buried. Someone knows what happened in the summer of 1951. Will they tell?

Praise for The Lighthouse Secret:

'Sweeping, intriguing, warm. Trademark Carmel Harrington' ROISIN MEANEY

'Carmel Harrington has once more swept me away on an adventure like no other. The Lighthouse Secret is deliciously uplifting and wonderful! A perfect summer read' FAITH HOGAN

'Evocative and captivating - this really swept me away' ISABELLE BROOM

'Carmel Harrington is such a wonderfully gifted storyteller, and The Lighthouse Secret cleverly weaves together heart-wrenching family drama with page-turning mystery . . . I highly recommend this captivating, warm hug of a book' SAMANTHA KING

'A beautiful, poignant read' RACHAEL ENGLISH

Readers can't put this novel down:

'This book made me cry and pulled at my emotions more than any book I've read'

'The characters are all amazing and the story of their lives has you captivated from the very first page'

'I can not tell you how wonderful this book was. From start to finish, I treasured every single word.
Carmel is such an amazing storyteller'

'A brilliant book, which kept me guessing right until the last few pages'

'It's intriguing, big hearted and completely unputdownable'

Release date: January 13, 2026

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 432

Sample

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 territory, 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.’

‘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.

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 watchkeeping 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 foxtrotted 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 predic. . .