The Doll's House

‘I am,’ I say. And I realise it’s me, the little-girl me, although there are no words coming out of her mouth. Debbie is staring. She is sitting in the corner by a spinning top, on top of the box of snakes and ladders.

The adult voices downstairs are quiet. Sandy wants me to put Debbie into her cardboard box, the one under my bed with the lid on it.

‘Don’t you want to know who the man is?’ Debbie laughs.

‘No, she doesn’t,’ says Sandy, right back at her.

‘The man loves mummy, the man loves mummy,’ Debbie sings, to the music of ‘Three Blind Mice’ – ‘See how they run’.

‘Shut up, Debbie,’ roars Sandy.

But she doesn’t stop: ‘I saw him kiss her, I saw him kiss her.’ Debbie sticks out her lips, like she’s about to kiss someone too. Then she says, sharp and cold, ‘Let’s all play house.’

‘What if we don’t want to play house?’ asks Sandy, but her face says she has already given in.

My doll’s house has three floors and an attic. The front opens when you release the small clip at the top. One panel, the larger one with the front door on it, opens to the left and the other to the right. The roof with the attic room has a flip-back lid, so when you open the house you can see all four levels and look inside every room.

Each of the rooms has different-coloured wallpaper. On the bottom floor, there is a living room to the left of a wooden staircase and a kitchen to the right. Upstairs there are three bedrooms. The largest one is on the second floor with the bathroom. The other bedrooms are on the third, and the attic toy room is at the top. It runs right across the house. Here, people from the doll’s house lie flat, like Egyptian mummies, when I want everyone to be asleep.

Today Sebastian is waiting for Sandy and Debbie to join him. He looks happy when the house opens. He doesn’t like being left in it with the little ones, Katy and her brother Kim. They are twins. Katy’s hair is soft, the same colour as Sandy’s. Kim’s hair is like Sebastian’s, short and brown with a plastic wave.

When Gerard speaks, I feel caught between two worlds. ‘Clodagh, who are you talking to?’

‘The dolls from my doll’s house.’ My voice sounds surprised.

‘Who else is in the room, Clodagh?’

‘Only me and the girl.’

‘The girl?’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘my little-girl self.’

I’m not sure if I should speak to the little girl. If I do, I might frighten her. She might not know that I don’t mean her any harm.

‘Clodagh, do you think she knows you’re there?’

‘I don’t know. I think I can see what she sees. It feels as if I can.’

‘Anything else, Clodagh?’

‘She’s scared. I’m sure of it.’

‘Scared of what?’

‘I don’t know.’

I watch her move her dolls around, bringing Debbie, Sandy and Sebastian downstairs. She leaves the younger dolls, Kim and Katy, lying on their backs in the attic. I hear her say, ‘You two stay there, where it’s safe.’

Debbie is shouting again: ‘Let’s get Jimmy. The game’s no good without Jimmy.’

‘We don’t need Jimmy today,’ my little-girl self says back, sounding like she’s defying Debbie.

‘Yes, we do, Clodagh.’ Debbie is smirking now.

‘I can tell good stories too, Debbie.’ She doesn’t sound so sure any more.

‘Can I hear a story, Clodagh?’ Sandy pleads.

‘Suck-up,’ Debbie teases.

‘You won’t be in the story unless you’re nice,’ says Sandy, sounding like a teacher.

I watch my younger self arrange all three dolls, Debbie, Sebastian and Sandy, placing them in the living room of the doll’s house, before bringing in a tray with cups and plates from the tiny kitchen. She lifts the china cups up one at a time to their lips, then puts spoons with pretend food from their plates into their mouths. Sebastian isn’t his real name. It’s a name Clodagh has made up.

‘Drink up and eat up,’ she says, like she is all grown-up. Then lying on her tummy, leaning on her elbows, she whispers, ‘Once upon a time there was a little girl called Clodagh who loved her dollies very much.’

‘Who do you love best?’ roars Debbie.

‘Shush,’ says Sandy.

‘Clodagh loves you all the same, because I don’t have any favourites.’

‘Bet your mum loves the man downstairs more than your daddy. I never see her kissing Daddy when he’s here. She doesn’t make herself all pretty for him any more.’ Debbie looks defiant.

‘Debbie, stop it. Clodagh loves us all. Why do you have to be so rotten?’ Sebastian sounds like my brother Dominic.

‘Blah, blah, blah … Clodagh knows the truth, don’t you, Clodagh?’ And again Debbie gets the upper hand.