The Doll's House

Mervin Road


It had been a long week. Kate was already regretting staying up late. There would be an early start in the morning, with Charlie, her five-year-old son, who was now asleep in his bedroom, wearing his new Power Ranger T-shirt. The one sent over by his dad in Birmingham. In some ways Kate was relieved Declan was still working away from home. She had thought she would miss him more than she did. Four weeks of his three-month stint setting up a company division in Birmingham had already gone by, and from a distance there had been less opportunity for them to snipe at one another – when he was at home, they bickered constantly. The only one missing Declan was Charlie. He had started to wet the bed again, and none of Kate’s efforts to help him feel more secure had made a blind bit of difference. Tomorrow he was due to spend time with his friend, Shane. Perhaps that would take his mind off his dad.

Kate was still thinking about her earlier conversation with Imogen Willis. Imogen found it hard to trust people. Recalling what she thought had happened to the family dog had unearthed far more than the perceived memory. It had highlighted some of the reasons for her current distress. If Kate was correct, and Imogen had previously disassociated from events because of trauma, she was a girl who could no longer trust her memory, or people in her life, even those closest to her. Whenever others contradicted her fragmented recalls, they became untrustworthy. In essence, she was being forced to decide whom to trust, herself or them, and instinct told her everyone else was lying.

Switching off the lamps in the living room, Kate thought how lonely Imogen must feel to be somewhere that trust was no longer an option, where her mind kept contradicting the truth. But what if the information Imogen remembered had been correct? Even people with prolonged patterns of disassociation could recall factual events a long time afterwards. There had been only one family session with Imogen’s closest relatives, her mother, father, and sister. Perhaps it was time for Kate to set up another.

Witnessing Imogen’s vulnerability today had brought up Kate’s own memories. She had thought again about the murdered schoolgirls, Caroline Devine and Amelia Spain, the last investigation in which she had teamed up with DI O’Connor. Her years spent in the UK working in criminal psychology had taught her a great deal about the way the mind functioned, and the many different directions it could operate from. She had not expected the double murder to prompt her own childhood memories to surface, but it had, and in so doing, it had complicated the investigation, bringing things far too close to home. Kate was determined that wouldn’t happen again.





Off Mount Street


In the alleyway, the only sound Stevie heard was that of his breathing as he thrust himself forward, shoving himself further inside young Susie. She was completely out of it. He pulled her legs apart, holding her up against the wall. The girl’s head sagged, flopping forward as if her neck was partially severed, like a rag doll. She was tiny, light. With his jeans and boxers halfway down his legs, he jerked forward again. Minor moans from Susie, begging him to stop, were a waste of time. He yanked her head back against the wall, grabbing her hair, her eyes bulging from their sockets. She gave him that look – stretched eyes, strained as if they might somehow push him away. He had seen it before. The look of fear, the look telling him that whatever control they’d thought they had was well gone. He shouted, ‘Fuck,’ into her ear as he came off inside her.

Afterwards, the alley was quiet. Like a television set with the sound turned down. Straightening his clothes, Stevie noticed the empty beer cans and cigarette butts around his feet. Urine stains of some other fucker’s piss drained in tiny streams down the wall. Stevie used the girl’s skirt to wipe himself. He thought he saw tears. It was time to get out of there. Susie was a crumpled mess, motionless and silent, her heavy black mascara and eyeliner trailing down her cheeks. The light from the streetlamp at the top of the alley stretched out, like a giant tongue. He caught a glimpse of someone in the shadows, a guy lighting a cigarette, his puffs of smoke billowing sideways, before he turned away again, minding his own business.

‘Fix yourself. Come on, will ya?’ was all Stevie said to the girl.