The Doll's House

Kate saw tears in Imogen’s eyes.

‘When Mum and Jilly told me it wasn’t true, that I must have imagined it, I felt awful.’

‘Because you thought the memory was wrong.’

‘No, that wasn’t it.’

‘What was it, then?’

‘The worst bit wasn’t thinking I’d got the memory mixed up. The worst bit, Kate, was that I didn’t believe either of them.’





Clodagh


My mother was always fond of a good Merlot. She had very specific tastes. She would have liked Hubert’s, our swanky restaurant for this evening’s dinner, recommended by Valerie’s tennis-club friends. My sister-in-law has ‘in-the-know’ social connections. The candles on each of the small tables remind me of Mum too – attractive on the outside, but capable of inflicting pain if you got too close. We’re all trying hard to act normal, except for Martin. He likes to act the arsehole. He has a degree in it.

Our attentive waiter with his tight black hair and Mediterranean skin stands back from our table of four, waiting for Martin to taste the wine. My charming husband winks at me before lifting the glass, as if we’re a pair, and the two of us are in some kind of secret game together. Val, always quick to pick up on things, gives Dominic a fleeting glance, a code to my brother that this could blow up at any moment.

‘Beautiful restaurant,’ Val says to no one in particular.

Martin tilts the glass, and the blood-red wine stops halfway up. His sharp, narrow nose reminds me of an overzealous badger as he sniffs the aroma, his eyes closed for an irritatingly long time. The waiter, like Val, Dominic and I, waits for Martin to give his approval.

Lifting his head back, he swirls the wine inside his mouth, then swallows it, before looking at me again. No wink this time.

Dominic is the next to break the ice, another alcoholic connection. They’re bloody everywhere. ‘Well, Martin,’ my brother raises his eyebrows, ‘what do you think?’ He’s hoping his facial expression will speed things up.

‘Fine. Perfect, actually.’ Martin barely turns to the waiter as he says, ‘Ladies first,’ gesturing to Val. She smiles in that polite, stiff way.

I already know my glass is the next target. ‘Bastard,’ I mutter, below my breath. They all pretend not to hear me, including the young waiter who catches my eye. I can see he’s balancing Martin’s instruction against my obvious hostility. It’s not the waiter’s fault. I give him a reassuring look, covering the top of my glass with my hand, saying, ‘Not for me, thanks.’

Martin smiles again. He’s enjoying himself now. ‘Let me,’ he says, reaching for the water jug at the centre of the table. The ice cubes tumble into my glass. I look away.

With everyone’s glass full, Martin lifts his towards Dominic. ‘To Lavinia,’ he says. Val shifts awkwardly in her chair, raising her glass alongside my brother’s. Our four glasses clink above the flickering candlelight.

‘Cheers to Lavinia,’ I say, with more than a hint of sarcasm. They all look at me.

‘“Cheers” is hardly appropriate, darling.’ Martin’s voice is smooth and patronising.

‘I don’t see why the hell not. No point in being miserable.’ Inside I’m thinking, I don’t feel like his darling or anyone else’s for that matter.

Dominic gives me the dagger eyes. Then, to Martin, he says, ‘Let it go.’ This is new for Dominic, the role of peacemaker. There was a time when he would have given Martin a dig just for the hell of it.

‘I don’t see why you’re taking his side.’ I can hear the hurt in my voice, even if the others don’t.

‘Christ, can’t we have a civilised meal out without picking on one another …’ Val gulps some more wine ‘… even for Lavinia’s sake?’

She wasn’t your mother, I want to say. You can’t know. But instead I let it go.

‘It’s not about taking sides, Clodagh. There’s been enough crap, that’s all.’ My brother eases the conversation.

‘Your sister’s bloody-minded, Dominic. She likes to stir things up.’

Martin’s tone is measured, like he’s some kind of expert. ‘She was the same when she was younger, just like Ruby is now.’

‘Leave Ruby out of this, Martin,’ I snap, but I know he’s on a roll.

He directs his next comment at Val. ‘You and Dominic are so lucky not having any children.’

Once, I would have kicked my husband for saying something like that. But what’s the point? They both know what he’s like.

Val shifts in her chair again. Martin takes the silence as an invitation. ‘There was a time when our daughter looked up to her parents. Not any more.’

‘Ruby’s fine,’ I say. ‘She’s like any other teenager.’ They’re all probably thinking she’s like me at that age, only perhaps not quite so bad. But then again, I know only the half of it.