The Doll's House

Kate looked at the photographs of Jenkins’s body spreadeagled in the water, and Gahan’s the same – carbon copies of each other. Gahan was single, but Jenkins was married. If the killer had removed the wedding ring, it constituted an act of rebuttal. If he was making a moral judgement on his victim, the killing could be tied to anyone with whom Jenkins had had an affair.

She flicked to her notes on the hotel receipt. Assuming it was a plant, apart from being proof of Jenkins’s infidelity it meant the killer had been tracking him for some time. He might have taken the receipt months before, especially if he was the one who had given the information to Gahan.

Whoever the killer was, he’d been planning this for a protracted period. O’Connor needed to dig deeper on his background checks. Whoever the perpetrator turns out to be, he wouldn’t be capable of maintaining a normal existence. Someone close to him must have seen the signs.





Clodagh


‘Clodagh, I want you to try to open your eyes. Can you do that?’

Again my eyelids feel like they’ve been stuck down with the strongest glue, and again I cannot open them. ‘No,’ I hear myself say, but this time my voice sounds different, as if it belongs to someone else.

‘Good,’ says Gerard. ‘At the count of three, you’ll be able to open your eyes again. One, two, three …’

I open my eyes.

‘Clodagh, can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m inside the doll’s house.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I can see the small sash windows. There are floral curtains on each of the windows.’

‘Who else is in the doll’s house with you?’

‘I don’t know. There are sounds coming from everywhere.’

‘What kind of sounds?’

‘Whispers, muffled voices – adult voices, I think.’

‘What are you doing, Clodagh?’

‘I’m looking around the room.’

‘Which room?’

‘My old bedroom.’

‘Your bedroom looking out on the strand?’

‘Yes, but it’s inside the doll’s house. I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what I see. The girl is there too.’

‘Your younger self?’

‘Yes.’

‘What age is she, Clodagh?’

‘Seven.’

‘Does she know you’re there?’

‘I think so, but she’s busy playing.’

‘What is she playing, Clodagh?’

‘She has my old blackboard standing up in the corner. She’s writing words on it in yellow chalk.’

‘Can you read the words?’

‘It says, HAPPY FAMILIES.’

‘What are you doing now, Clodagh?’

‘I’m walking over to her. She has her back to me.’

‘Is she saying anything?’

‘No.’ I stop talking.

‘Are you okay, Clodagh?’

‘I’m kneeling down beside her. I think …’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think if I kneel down I can make myself smaller. She mightn’t feel afraid.’

‘Do you think she is afraid?’

‘I don’t know. I can hear her singing. It’s an old nursery song.’

‘What song is it?’

“Rock-a-bye Baby’.’ I hear myself singing it out loud, but again it doesn’t seem like my voice. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s the voice of the little girl: ‘Rock-a-bye baby,

On the treetop,

When the wind blows,

The cradle will rock,

When the bough breaks,

The cradle will fall,

Down will come baby, cradle and all.’

‘She keeps singing it over and over.’ I let out a gasp.

‘What’s wrong, Clodagh?’

‘She’s turned around. She’s looking straight at me. She’s known I was there the whole time and …’

‘And what?’

‘She’s crying. I want to help her, but …’

‘Keep going, Clodagh, you’re doing great.’

‘I’m reaching out my hand. Her face is changing. It isn’t her face any more. It’s Emma’s face.’

‘Who’s Emma?’

‘She’s one of my dolls.’ I can hear hysteria in my voice. ‘Her face is cracked. She’s talking to me, but it’s not her voice.’

‘Relax, Clodagh. If it’s not her voice, whose voice is it?’

‘Debbie’s.’

‘Your other doll?’

‘Debbie says, all smart, “CLODAGH, THERE’S NO POINT HIDING IN YOUR ROOM. WE NEED TO GO ON AN ADVENTURE.”’

‘Are you okay, Clodagh?’ I hear Gerard ask.

‘I think so. I need to go on an adventure.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. I’m leaving the room. Now I’m on the landing – the landing of the doll’s house. The whispers are getting louder. I’m following my little-girl self. When she smiles back at me, she looks like Debbie, all smug. She knows the way. She keeps turning around, making sure I’m following her.’

‘Clodagh, I’m going to bring you back. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes.’

‘I want you to remember this point, the landing and your doll called Debbie. I want you to fix on this moment, following your little-girl self. Can you do that?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ll return to this tomorrow, but for now, I want you to come back. I want you to look for the staircase. Can you see it?’

‘It’s very far away.’

‘Keep walking towards it. Is it getting any closer?’

‘I think so.’