The Doll's House

‘I agree with you, but as you say, it’s still early days for the girl. The body will recover, but the psychological trauma is different.’ Kate hesitated before asking her next question. ‘Did you interview Susie Graham?’


‘Yes, I did. Only members of the force with specialist psychological training are permitted to interview victims. Currently, I’m the most senior in Harcourt Street.’

‘When will you get the DNA results?’

‘Do you really think this is connected to your case?’

‘To be honest, I don’t think so, but I’d still like to be kept in the picture.’

‘We should get the results shortly. We’ll run the usual checks, and I’ll keep you posted.’

‘I’d appreciate that.’ Again Kate hesitated. ‘Will you also keep me informed on how the girl is doing mentally? I have a full brief right now, but there’s always room for another case if need be. I do a lot of work with Jigsaw, the voluntary group.’

‘We do too, especially via SATU.’

‘I know they’re often brought in if a patient isn’t coping and, like many psychologists involved, I offer my services pro bono in support.’

‘Okay.’

After hanging up, Kate went to check on Charlie. He must have woken up without calling her because when she opened the bedroom door, although he was asleep, she saw an open Tom and Jerry colouring book on the bed, with crayons. She tidied them away, leaving his door ajar, as she headed to the living room to do her next report for O’Connor.





Clodagh


When I wake, the room is black. The only sound is my own breathing. The door to our bedroom is open. There are no lights on, not even in the hall. I have no idea if Martin is anywhere in the house.

My head feels as if it has done battle with a hammer. I push the heavy throw off my body. I don’t know what time it is, or how long I’ve been knocked out. Even in the dark, I can see the room has been tidied.

My throat feels dry, and my mouth has an awful aftertaste. I sit on the side of the bed, then stand and walk into the bathroom. Switching on the light, I’m relieved to find I still have a toothbrush in the glass cabinet. Martin hasn’t cleared everything away. I brush my teeth, leaning down to rinse my mouth. I stop. I have that fear again. The all-consuming terror that whatever happens next might be outside my control.

‘Martin,’ I say, low at first. My voice sounds weak. ‘Martin.’ This time it’s a little louder. Still no answer.

I go out onto the landing, aware that my movements are causing further sounds, and pause before I switch on the landing light. I hear a creaking sound coming from Ruby’s bedroom. As happened in the regression session with Keith Jenkins at the door, I’m unsure about opening another door. When I do, I see my old doll, Emma, where I left her, sitting in the middle of the bed, propped up on the pillows. The creaking sound must have been the house settling. I can hear the central heating kicking in. I walk over and pick her up, then lie down on the bed, facing the door, in case someone is there.

Out of nervous habit, I stroke her hair. I lower my hand to the coolness of her porcelain face, touching the crack, wondering if I’ve gone mad.

I check under the pillow for my mobile phone. It’s still there. I realise it’s gone eleven o’clock. Boston is five hours behind. If I contact Orla now, it would be six in the evening there, but the laptop is downstairs. I tell myself I’m acting crazy. I put Emma back on the bed and go down to the living room.

Orla answers straight away. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask me to switch on the Skype camera and says nothing about the automatic female icon face. At first we talk about rubbish things. I can’t believe I sound so calm. Maybe the sleeping tablets Martin gave me are still working.

‘Clodagh,’ she says, ‘are you okay?’ There is something in the way she says it. The same way Gerard Hayden sounded. As if they both care.

‘I’ve been better.’ I attempt a laugh.

‘It’s been tough on you. I know you and your mum didn’t get on well, but she was still your mother.’

For a moment I can’t think of anything else to say so I repeat her last words: ‘Still my mother.’

‘Clodagh?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s been a while since we talked properly, but friendship doesn’t disappear. You do know I’m always here for you, don’t you?’

‘I do. It’s just some things are a bit muddled right now.’

‘That’s only natural. Everyone grieves differently. When my mother died, I thought I’d never get over the heartbreak.’

It feels weird talking to the laptop screen. ‘As you said, Orla, me and Mum weren’t that close.’

There is a pause.

‘Clodagh?’ I can hear her sympathy.

‘Yes?’

‘Martin’s worried about you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know Martin and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but he loves you very much.’

‘What are you talking about?’ The coldness in my voice runs through me.

‘He emailed me to let me know you got my letter. He asked me to keep in touch.’