The Doll's House

‘I’m okay, Daddy, honest,’ she heard him say, and her heart broke some more. What the hell was Declan saying to him? So many times, adults dump their guilt on their children, looking for reassurance in whatever situation they’ve created, the younger and potentially more fragile person forced to help the adult, instead of the other way around.

Kate knew she couldn’t interfere. She didn’t want to make a scene in front of Charlie. She had to remain calm. For all she knew Declan wasn’t unloading anything. But this was the beginning. The beginning of second-guessing what your partner, or ex-partner, was up to. Kate had seen these situations before. Trust blown apart because of doubt and disconnection. That was the thing about beginnings, even the beginning of an end: they might not dictate the final direction, but they set down a future pathway, one that either party in a broken relationship could encourage or pursue. She wrapped her arms tightly around her shoulders, staring at her reflection in the glass as, like her mood, the sky darkened.

‘Will you, Dad?’ Charlie’s voice had an edge of excitement and adventure. ‘I’d like that.’

Kate was almost in tears, and she wasn’t sure why. All of a sudden the sense of loss, of division, made her feel nauseous. She kept her back to Charlie as he continued chatting with Declan, not wanting him to see the upset on her face. She continued to stare at her reflection in the glass, no longer sure who that woman was or what she wanted to do with her life. She thought about Imogen Willis, so much of her memory lost to her, Rachel Mooney’s horrendous rape attack, before her mind drifted to the young girl called Susie sitting in Harcourt Street station with her mother.

Even though Kate had a ton of things on her mind, including the current investigation and the vulnerable five-year-old behind her, she made a mental note to contact Hennessy. O’Connor wouldn’t be happy. He wanted her to concentrate on the main investigation, but O’Connor could go to Hell too. There was something about that young girl, her distant, lost eyes, which made her determined to find out more.

‘Dad, do you want to talk to Mum?’ Another silence. Declan was talking, no doubt. The realisation hit her again. Both she and Charlie were going through the biggest change in their family life and there wasn’t a darn thing she could do about it.

‘Okay, Dad, see you soon. Love you.’ And with that Charlie hung up.

Kate turned to catch his expression: an old head on his young shoulders. She had to say something. ‘Hey, Buster, what do you want to do now?’ A wide smile forced itself across her face.

‘Dunno.’

‘Dunno? What kind of an answer is that?’ She scooped him up and attempted to tickle him under the arm.

‘Stop it, Mum!’ His laughter broke the gloom both of them felt.

‘What about painting? I know you love to make a mess.’

‘I do not.’ His stern but determined look this time brought a real smile to Kate’s face.

‘Or we could play Connect 4. Bet I win.’

‘Bet you don’t!’

Kate put him down. ‘You get the game and I’ll take out the ice-cream.’

‘Can we have cones?’

‘Sure.’ Kate hoped there were cones in the kitchen cupboard.

As Charlie darted into his bedroom for the game, Kate shouted after him, ‘What did your dad have to say?’

‘Nothing.’

It was a very long nothing, thought Kate, but decided, all things considered, it was best to let it go. On opening the kitchen cupboard, she was relieved to find a box of cones at the back.

‘Ice-cream on the way, Charlie.’ As she turned towards his bedroom, she smiled again, watching her son carry the Connect 4 box to the coffee table. The last time they had played the game was a couple of months before. Both she and Declan had allowed Charlie to win every single time. She had every intention of applying the same rules, only this time, she knew, she was in it alone.





Clodagh


I brace myself for the brute force of Martin’s aggression. I don’t know how much more of it I can take. Almost without realising it, my mind shuts down, goes blank. I can’t think what to do next. I have nowhere to run, no means of escape, and with that knowledge, my head and heart swell with such colossal fear that I can’t breathe.

‘What the hell are you at, Clodagh?’ Martin’s voice is edged with a mix of anger and disbelief.

I still haven’t turned, unwilling to look at his face, to contemplate his mood.

‘Nothing,’ I say, for I can’t think of anything else.

‘Are you gone completely mad?’ He slams the bedroom door behind him.

It is only then that I turn. He stands three metres away from me. The bedroom is completely tossed, and a part of me wants to kill him.

‘What do you have in your hand, Clodagh?’ He comes forward a metre.

‘You know darn well.’ My voice sounds like that of a madwoman because I’m screeching.

‘Clodagh, give me the photograph.’ Again he steps forward, reaching out his hand, almost touching me.

‘What’s going on, Martin?’ I clutch the photograph, as if it’s the only bargaining power I have, even though I know he could take it from me if he wanted to.