The Doll's House

‘Right, Kate, I’ll keep you posted.’


‘O’Connor, where is Jimmy Gahan’s body now?’

‘Here at the canal. Morrison’s about to start his preliminaries. The press are going to go ballistic with this bloody story. I can see the headlines now, “Riches to Rags” and all that blah, blah rubbish. Thank God Stapleton’s in charge of the media and not me.’

‘Two men are dead, O’Connor.’

‘Thanks for stating the obvious, Kate. I know two men are bloody dead, and if we don’t all get our arses in gear, that number, as you so nicely remarked, might get even bigger.’

‘O’Connor, you said Lynch is talking to Jimmy’s pals.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where’s he interviewing them?’

‘The great outdoors. The last I heard he was in Camden Street.’

‘I have his mobile. I’ll give him a call.’

‘Listen, Kate, I have to go. Hanley and the guys have just arrived. I’ll get Lynch to keep you in the loop.’

‘Okay.’

Hanging up, Kate tried to pull together the information she’d just been given by O’Connor. Thinking she heard Charlie, she walked down the hall to her son’s bedroom. He was still out for the count. Kate wished she was too, but she rang Lynch all the same. He had just left one of the temporary shelters off Camden Street, and was on his way to look for an Ozzie Brennan, one of Jimmy’s old pals. Lynch had already checked some of their usual hangouts, and had a few more to visit.

Walking back into the study, Kate looked again at the images of Keith Jenkins. Two dead men. Those had been her words to O’Connor, two dead men, but only one killer. Who was going to be the next? Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief?





Clodagh


Martin was on edge this morning. He hasn’t yet apologised. I don’t care one way or the other. Lately, he’s been spending more time out than in. This house is beginning to feel like nothing more than a series of connecting rooms. I emailed Orla after he’d left for work. She’d put her email address at the end of her letter. Somehow it felt like taking a step closer to normality. She’s married now, with two young boys, twelve and ten. It’s hard to think of Orla as a mother. I think of myself as a mother, feeling frustrated that I haven’t been able to contact Ruby. I daren’t tell Martin she’s not answering her phone.

I can’t believe it’s only Tuesday. It feels like an eternity since I saw Gerard yesterday. I pick up a photograph of my own mother, the one with Ruby in her first year at secondary school. The two of them were so alike. They were close. I assume even closer when I drank. I was jealous of that love too. I think about phoning Dominic, doing what Gerard suggested yesterday, but then I think again.

I can’t get that little girl out of my mind. Since the regression sessions, it’s as if she’s always with me. I’d seen her at that bus stop too, even before I went to see Gerard yesterday. I wonder if my mind’s playing tricks with me. But something is pulling me back to her.

Out of impulse, I phone Ruby again. The ringing tone is loud in my ear.

‘Hello, Mum.’ Her voice sounds impatient, almost patronising, as if I’ve interrupted her from something more important. I hate it when she sounds like Martin.

‘How are you doing, Ruby? I’ve been trying to get you since the weekend.’

‘I’m fine. You don’t have to keep tabs on me.’

‘I’m not. Ruby, I wish you’d stop shutting me out.’

‘Jesus Christ, Mum, it isn’t all about you, you know.’

‘I didn’t say it was.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘Can’t I simply phone you?’

‘You just did.’

‘Don’t be smart, Ruby. It doesn’t help matters.’ I’m trying to keep calm. ‘I hear you’re seeing someone.’

‘Who told you that?’ Her response is both snappy and accusing.

‘Does it matter?’

‘It matters.’

‘It was Dominic, if you must know. He mentioned it over dinner the other night. He saw you in town with a young guy. Dominic said he called to you, but you didn’t hear him. Is he a student?’

‘He’s just a friend, that’s all.’

‘It would be nice to meet him.’

‘Look, I can’t be dealing with this.’

‘Dealing with what, Ruby? What can’t you be dealing with?’

‘You bloody playing the caring-parent game.’

‘Well, I do care.’

‘It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?’

‘I hope not.’ My voice pulls back. ‘I know you miss your grandmother.’

‘It’s not about Granny.’

‘What is it about, then?’

‘I have to go.’

‘You’re always running away from me, Ruby.’

‘That’s a bit rich, Mum, coming from you.’

I draw a deep breath. ‘I know that, but I’m trying, Ruby. I’m trying hard.’ I hear a long silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Ruby, are you still there?’

‘I’m still here.’ Her voice sounds like mine, as if we’re both waiting for the right thing to be said.