The Doll's House

‘Our house is filled with people. They’re dancing in the front room. The music is loud and fast. I can smell alcohol and smoke. Sometimes the boys would sneak alcohol up to the attic, and they would all stink of it. At first I’m not sure if he’s there, the man from the doll’s house. I feel small among all the adults, with their tall, tight bodies. Some of their faces smile down at me. I think I’m six or maybe seven. I open the door to the hall, and see the kitchen door is ajar. There’s a light coming from behind it. I pass my father before going out into the hall. He’s in the corner chatting with Uncle Jimmy and another man. The man’s face is in the shadows. I feel I should know who he is, even though I can’t see his face. There is something about him that scares me. The lines on my dad’s forehead look tight, making that bumpy pattern, the one he used to make when he was worried or angry. None of them notices me. Out in the hall, the loud music becomes muted, and I feel cold. I’m curious about the light from the kitchen. When I push the door open, at first I don’t see anyone, but I know somebody’s there. I hear voices, mutters. I hear laughter, my mother’s, then the man’s.

‘They don’t know I’m there, so I move closer to the sounds. They’re in the storage room off the kitchen. The light is off in there. It looks dark, but I can make out their shapes. Mum has her back to me, her arms around his neck. He is leaning into her, kissing her face and then her neck, moving from one to the other, before burying his face in her beautiful ginger hair. It’s trailing down her back. Their bodies are tight together, they’re engrossed in one another, until he sees me. I freeze, not knowing what to do next. He keeps staring at me, saying nothing, like I’m somebody else’s problem, nothing for him to worry about. My mum turns, scooping me up in her arms, moving fast, leaving the man behind her. She brings me upstairs, pretending to be cross because I’ve got out of bed. She tells me it was all a dream, I should go back to sleep and not leave my bed again, not to come down until morning. She puts my doll Sandy in beside me.’

I stop talking, press the stop button, and again listen back.

I phone Dominic. When I hear his voice, I feel instantly reassured.

‘Dominic, it’s Clodagh.’

‘Are you okay?’ His voice is soft.

‘Where are you, Dominic?’

‘I’m at home.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Val’s gone out with friends.’

‘I was wondering if I could call over. I’ve been remembering stuff.’

‘You sound hassled. Martin hasn’t hurt you?’

‘No … Well, yes, but that’s not it.’

‘I’ll kill that prick if he’s hurt you again.’

‘Shut up, Dominic, it doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters, Clodagh.’

‘Dominic, will you stop talking for a minute? I’m not ringing you because of Martin. I need to talk to you about Mum.’

‘Clodagh, when are you going to let that go? It’s all history.’

‘It’s not about our argument. It’s about her and a guy called Keith Jenkins. Do you remember him? He used to visit Mum in the afternoon when Dad wasn’t there. Someone has killed him.’

He doesn’t answer. I wonder if Dominic remembers him. He must do. I couldn’t have been the only one to know. ‘Dominic, I want to talk to you about Keith Jenkins.’

‘What about him?’

‘I remember the two of them together. Dad didn’t know.’

‘Are you sober?’ His question sounds loaded.

I want to lose it with him, but if I’m going to get anywhere, I need to keep calm. I say, ‘I’m perfectly sober. I haven’t been drinking, I’ve been remembering. I’m seeing someone. He’s a hypnotist. He’s helping me to regress.’

‘For God’s sake, Clodagh, what the hell are you going to one of those fraudsters for?’

‘He’s not a fraudster.’

‘How do you know?’

The truth is, I don’t, but I’m not going to admit that to Dominic.

‘Dominic, I need to remember.’ I hear another silence at the end of the phone. Before he has a chance to speak, I say, ‘Dominic, you know more than you’re telling me, don’t you?’

‘Know what, Clodagh?’

‘You knew there was someone else. He used to call in the afternoons, when Dad was at work. I know his name. I know who he was. Dominic, are you still there?’

‘Of course I am.’ He pauses. ‘Clodagh, this isn’t going to do anyone any good, least of all you. None of this matters.’

‘What do you mean, least of all me?’

‘It’s not going to help, all this looking back.’

‘It’s my past, Dominic, not yours. My choice.’ I’m screaming at him now. ‘If you know something, you’d better tell me.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘I promised Mum.’

‘Fuck Mum! Tell me.’

‘Calm down, Clodagh. If it mattered, I’d tell you.’

I take a deep breath, speaking calmer. ‘Dominic, the man I remembered, the one with Mum, he’s dead. He was murdered.’

‘I know that.’

I don’t know why I feel surprised, because then he says, ‘I heard about it on the news, same as you, no doubt.’

‘Do you remember him, Dominic?’

‘Yes, but it’s a long time ago.’

‘What do you remember?’

‘I remember he was a prick.’ Dominic isn’t even trying to disguise his anger, but then he calms down. ‘Clodagh, there’s something else, but before I tell you, I want you to promise me you’re not going to start going off on any wild tangent.’

‘What is it?’

‘Promise me, Clodagh.’

‘I promise.’ Again I attempt to sound calm.

‘Jimmy.’

‘Uncle Jimmy?’

‘He was never our uncle, Clodagh. You know that.’

‘What happened?’

‘You promised to stay calm.’

‘I’m fucking calm.’

‘We haven’t seen either of them in years.’

‘Dominic, will you goddamn tell me?’

‘He’s dead.’

My silence feels deafening. Dominic continues to talk, but I don’t hear him. When I speak, my voice sounds slower, as if it belongs to someone else, someone in control, someone who will be able to take in this information and make sense of it. ‘Dominic, tell me how he died.’