The Doll's House

As I round the corner onto our road, I see Martin’s car pulling into his side of the double garage, my own car permanently parked in the other. The thought of facing him concentrates my mind. Martin is so bloody moody these days. He is another part of my life that I need to work out.

I turn the key in the front door, knowing I don’t want to face him. Suddenly I feel drained again. Perhaps he won’t stay long. Grab a bite of lunch and go. The house seems so quiet since Ruby left for college. At first I worried about her, she being only seventeen. She seemed far too young to be away from home. Yet at that age I’d thought I could change the world. I worry about her more than Martin does. I know the trouble she can get herself into.



We have lunch together, Martin and I. Not that ‘together’ exactly covers it. He doesn’t mention my trip to Mum’s house last night, or this morning, and neither do I. We’re like mechanical clones that happen to live together. As I clear away lunch dishes, he says, ‘I never checked the postbox last night.’

‘Really,’ I say. I couldn’t care less.

He is still cool with me when he returns to the kitchen, putting the letters into his briefcase. Then, for no good reason, his mood changes, as if he’s a different person. He kisses my cheek and says, ‘All I want for you, Clodagh, is the best, and that you’re safe.’ He has been keeping the mail from me lately. I can’t even be trusted with that. Right now I’m not bothered what game he’s playing. I ignore his words and the kiss.

As Martin closes the front door behind him, I wonder if seeing Gerard Hayden will give me the answers I need. I’m not sure I can trust anyone now. At times, I don’t even trust myself. Last night, walking back along the strand, I hadn’t felt safe. Listening to the tide coming in, I had a sense of foreboding, convinced someone was following me. I looked behind me briefly. He reminded me of a guy I used to know. I kept walking but faster until, thankfully, I couldn’t hear him any more.

I pull the piece of paper with Gerard Hayden’s address out of my purse, checking it again. As if looking at it will make some kind of difference. There is no denying I feel apprehensive. But I’m not running away. As I told Val, I’m done with that.





Incident Room, Harcourt Street


O’Connor mulled over his meeting with Kate as he approached Harcourt Street station. He hadn’t liked her reference to his late nights. The last thing he needed was Kate putting him under some kind of emotional microscope. Nor did he want to allow any personal feelings towards her to get in the way. Professional and personal lives shouldn’t cross. He had made that mistake a few months back, and he had no plans to speed down that road again. It made sense to bring Kate into the investigation, but any ideas he might have about their relationship going anywhere were off limits. She was married for one thing.

Passing the corner shop, he was relieved that, with the newspapers going to print before the killing the previous night, Keith Jenkins’s face wasn’t plastered all over them. O’Connor had enough painkillers in him to ease the tension of a horse but, headache or no headache, he loved this point in an investigation. The pace of information flooding in, facts, rumours, data from witnesses, possible sightings, the team moving at top speed to find out everything and anything people might know about the victim and how they managed to end up dead: each segment was raw, fresh and full of potential.

Detectives Quigley and Patterson had pulled in a pal called Johnny Keegan. They had already set up shop in one of the interview rooms at the back, the video cameras hanging high in the corners of the room, recording every word, movement and change of expression. One of the lads would be sitting opposite Keegan, the other moving around. Keegan might keep them company for a while, but he wouldn’t be the only invited guest. Plenty would follow in his footsteps.