The Doll's House

He gave a tiny moan, then turned away from her. Kate pulled together his clothes – clean socks, pants, vest, his school uniform – and fresh sheets for the bed before waking him again. After she’d removed his wet pyjamas, she wrapped him in a large towel. There was barely a peep out of him as she carried him to the bathroom.

With the shower going full throttle, she put the wet bedding and dirty clothes on to wash. She would say nothing to Charlie about it, not when he slurped his cereal or at any other time.

Her mobile rang as she and Charlie were about to head out of the door. It was Hennessy.

‘Dr Pearson, we’ve found a match for the Susie Graham assault.’

‘Really? That was fast. Is he known to you?’ Kate continued, as she buttoned Charlie’s coat.

‘It’s a guy called Steve McDaid. He’s a mechanic, works local. The match is against a suspected assault in Liverpool a few years back. He was over there on a stag weekend.’

‘That’s good news.’

‘I’m pulling him in for questioning today. If I see any connection with your case, I’ll let you know.’

‘That would be great, Stuart. I have to go, but do call me.’

On the drive to school, Kate caught a glimpse of Charlie yawning in the back seat. She smiled to herself, thinking about his teacher, young Ms Nolan, and what she had in store for her, with twenty-nine other five-year-olds to contend with on this wet and murky morning.

Looking at the other mothers and fathers at the school gates, all getting ready to pick up their work and home lives once their children were safely deposited at school, Kate decided to use her time driving to Ocean House wisely. She made numerous phone calls, including setting up another follow-up meeting with Imogen Willis, then finally she dialled O’Connor.

He was on the back foot from the beginning. ‘Kate, look, about last night.’

‘Last night was last night, O’Connor. You know my feelings on the matter.’

‘I’m sorry for waking Charlie.’

‘I know you are. Now, listen, I’m heading into Ocean House. When is your next full squad meeting?’

‘The usual, ten o’clock.’

‘Good. Ring me with anything you have. I’ve a crazy schedule today, but I want you to get in touch as soon as you make contact with Dominic Hamilton, and Martin and Clodagh McKay.’

‘Lynch is setting up the meetings now. I’m sorry again about last night.’

‘No need to be. Look, O’Connor, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but do the right bloody thing.’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘I’d better go.’

‘Talk later, Kate.’

‘By the way, I’ve emailed you my follow-up report based on our conversation last night.’

‘I appreciate that, Kate.’

‘No problem. It’s what I do.’

Parking outside Ocean House, she thought about their conversation, and how much she needed O’Connor to do the right thing, regardless of the repercussions. She also knew she was giving him time to make up his mind. Would she report the incident, if he didn’t? A part of her wasn’t sure. She’d said he could talk to her in confidence, but that was before she’d known what she was agreeing to. If she had to, she would report it. She had no other choice. Certain lessons in life were hard learned. They had a habit of staying with you, no matter how many years passed. She had been younger than the latest victims when she was attacked. She also thought about her conversation with Stuart Hennessy. It would help Susie Graham to know the identity of her attacker if only because it would be one less unanswered question – a question to which, after all these years, Kate still had no answer. It led her to look into every sea of strangers, knowing one of them could be him.





Clodagh


Tears are blocking my vision and I’m stammering, ‘But – but – I would have loved her, I know I would.’

‘It’s not your fault, Clodagh.’ She sounds as if she is the adult and I am the child. ‘Emmaline wasn’t Daddy’s little girl. She belonged to somebody else. She wouldn’t have been right here. Not with us.’

I can hear Gerard’s voice. He’s asking me again, ‘Clodagh, who is dead?’

‘Emmaline,’ I say.

‘How did she die?’ he asks, as if it is the most normal question in the world.

I look around the room. My mother stands rigid by the window. My father sits, with his head bent, in the corner. Then I look back to the crib. My little-girl self is swinging the cradle, singing the lullaby again.

‘It’s okay, Clodagh,’ I hear her say. ‘She likes me to sing to her. It helps her to sleep.’ I hear Gerard’s voice. Again he is asking how the baby died.

How did Emmaline die? I find it hard to get the words out. If I say them my whole world may tumble. Instead I scream, ‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’

‘Do you want to come back, Clodagh?’

I look to where my mother is standing. I hear her voice, low, stern and without pity: ‘I will never forgive you,’ she says, and I’m not sure who she is talking to, me or my father.