The Doll's House

O’Connor agreed to meet Deborah Gahan at six o’clock. While Kate waited for the babysitter, Sophie, to arrive, she and Charlie made animal shapes with Play-Doh. The package with the crime-scene photographs from Jimmy Gahan’s murder had arrived, but she had decided to spend one-to-one time with her son before she disappeared again.

Every now and then she would notice a silence between them, as if they both had something on their mind. And everywhere she looked, there were fragments of Declan: photos of them together before Charlie was born, two smiling faces; bookshelves filled with their books. She looked at a tiny antique jewellery box that Declan had bought her in Rome, more for decoration than anything else, because she’d fallen in love with the intricate pattern of two doves. She scanned the pieces of furniture in the apartment that they had picked out together, before deciding which piece would finally make it home. Now the question was when Declan would come home. He had another two months in Birmingham, although he’d promised to visit every second weekend. Kate wondered if that would fall by the wayside too.

The man on the phone the other evening had seemed alien, not the one she’d married. The Declan she knew, despite everything, loved her, but now he loved someone else.

She felt torn at having to leave Charlie so soon after arriving home, especially now. It was more than simply the pressure of the murder investigation, or her caseload: she was unwilling to face up to how much their lives were about to change.

It was only as Kate drove to the address O’Connor had texted her that she realised she had forgotten to tell Charlie how long she would be. Picking up her mobile phone, she called home, asking Sophie to put him on. ‘I won’t be long, Buster. I’ll be back a little after seven, if that’s okay.’

His voice sounded lower and less confident than normal: ‘Okay, Mum. Sophie is helping me make a rocket with the Play-Doh.’

‘Be good, honey.’

‘I will, Mum.’

‘Charlie?’

‘Yes, Mum?’

‘I love you tons.’

‘I love you tons too.’





Clodagh


At home, I check my emails. Seeing Orla’s name on the screen feels like another step back into normal life. She wants to know if I use Skype. I haven’t done so before, but the laptop has a camera so I download the link. I’m shocked to see my bruises on the screen. Boston is five hours behind. I could try her now, but she might ask me to use the camera.

The last hypnosis session had left me feeling raw. After I’d left Gerard’s, other memories crept in. The first was from before Dad died. Martin, Dominic and Stevie McDaid were out playing soccer. I was watching them. We were all sent outside because Emmaline had come home from hospital. I was just seven. Mum was settling her to sleep. Stevie called Dominic a sissy. Martin was laughing his head off. There had been a huge fight. Dominic told me to get the hell inside. I was the only one in the house with Dad and Mum and Emmaline. She was asleep in her cot. I heard the Mr Whippy ice-cream van driving up the strand, playing ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’. Then the house went dark. I was crying and Dominic was telling me to shut up. Martin and Stevie were there too, but they weren’t talking. Stevie was Dominic’s soccer buddy and they both loved Manchester United. Martin was crap at sports, but Dominic pitied him because others at school picked on him. We were all in the attic. We’d done something. I think we were hiding. Dominic had the latch over on the inside of the attic door.

The next memory was Dad’s funeral. Dominic was wearing a suit, a shiny grey one. He looked like a miniature big person, as if he could fit inside my doll’s house. I was alone on the front steps of Seacrest looking at the sea. Dominic ran by me, flinging his jacket on the ground, hightailing it over to the strand. Uncle Jimmy dragged him back. I’d forgotten Jimmy was one of my dolls. He told us stories, long ones if he was in a good mood. Jimmy made everyone laugh – everyone except Mum. Jimmy was the same age as Dad; he called him Jimmy the Juggler because he kept so many balls in the air.

Back in Gerard’s office when I was under hypnosis, Mum was pregnant with Emmaline. She had pushed Dad’s hand away, shutting him out, and then that awful sound of a bell ringing, and the man’s face at the door.

I wonder should I write all this down, but instead I go to Ruby’s room. I lock the door behind me. I press the record button on my mobile phone. I say, ‘Testing, one, two, three,’ then listen back. My voice sounds strange, but it’s loud and clear. I press record again and start.

‘I’m on the strand. The sun is beaming down, burning the back of my neck. My neck feels hot, like a furnace, but I don’t want to turn around. I’m building sandcastles with my red plastic bucket and yellow spade.’