The Doll's House

I walk over to the little girl and stroke her hair, wondering if she’ll look up. I say to her, ‘Dolls can’t hurt you.’ I don’t know if she can hear me, because she doesn’t turn.

I hear Gerard Hayden’s voice again. He’s asking if I’m okay. I tell him I am. Now he’s asking me to leave the room. I’m not sure I want to. I look back at the little girl. This time, she turns around. I feel a cold breeze coming in from the corridor, as if it wants to whisk me away. I stand in the doorway, my older self looking back at the little-girl me. I tell her, ‘Everything will be okay. I’ll come back.’

Walking from the room, I see the stairs at the end of the corridor. Soon I’m back in the garden, and soon after, I hear traffic coming in from the outside. I hear someone opening a gate – it squeaks before the handle clicks shut. I open my eyes, and once more, I can smell the vanilla scent of candle wax.

Gerard Hayden looks concerned. He asks me what I remember, and I recount what happened, as if I’ve been to see a movie, but instead of watching it, I’m part of it. He says he thinks the dolls could be a way of my subconscious mind protecting me, an extra layer between my perception and actual events. He talks to me about thinking long and hard as to whether or not I want to go back again, telling me I need to be sure. I start to think about my subconscious mind, wondering what it’s protecting me from.

Maybe Martin’s right. Maybe I’m completely cracked, but the room and the memory felt real, and it’s like I’m at a crossroads. If I hold back now, I might never come here again. Something is changing inside me, even if I’m not completely sure what it is.

Gerard Hayden has been talking for a while, but I haven’t been listening, so I say, ‘Sorry?’ hoping he will repeat what he has just said. Instead, he stands up and walks over to the windows, opening the blinds. He has his back to me. I sit up, feeling a little stupid. I wonder if we’ve finished for the day. I remember the gate: perhaps it’s his next appointment.

‘Clodagh, I know you’ve lost both your parents. Who else could you turn to to ask about the past?’

‘Dominic, my brother, I suppose, and my husband, Martin. Martin and Dominic were friends as kids. They used to hang out together.’ What an unlikely gang they used to be, the two of them and Stevie McDaid. Dominic was the leader, of course. He picked up the other two as strays. ‘Why do you ask, Gerard?’

‘I would consider talking to them before we have our next session.’

I realise I don’t want to talk to either Martin or Dominic, so instead I say, ‘They’ll probably tell me I’m crazy.’

‘Still, it’s worth trying. If your subconscious mind is protecting you, it would be important to establish what we’re dealing with before we move on.’

‘Not remembering is frightening too.’

‘It’s your choice, if you wish to continue. I’ll respect your decision. But don’t worry. You don’t have to make your mind up now.’

Sober, everything feels more difficult. Nothing is clear any more; nothing is concrete. The truth is, I’m unsure what I’ll do, but I made a promise to that little girl. I told her everything would be okay, and I would go back to her.





Sandymount Strand


It was late Monday evening by the time Stevie sat on the small stone wall, the palm trees and the red-and-white twin chimneys of Sandymount Strand behind him. Staring at the old house, with its high-gated pillars and ivory fa?ade, he thought about the first time he had been inside Seacrest.

He and Dominic had been playing soccer on the strand at Cockle Lake – a large inlet of water at low tide, their target practice. They’d run past the rusted iron gates of the O’Malleys’ old house on the corner. Dominic had invited him in. It had felt to Stevie as if he had entered another world. Either that or he had stepped inside a television soap opera, one in which he was playing some big rich guy.

He’d practised his American accent with Dominic. Bleedin’ brilliant, it was. Until the mother had come in from the garden, and given him a stare that said she thought he was less than dog shit, something to be left outside, although not on her ladyship’s driveway. She was a tough bird, but she’d got her comeuppance in the end, and Dominic had got to play the fucking hero son.