The Doll's House (16 page)

Each of the rooms has different-coloured wallpaper. On the bottom floor, there is a living room to the left of a wooden staircase and a kitchen to the right. Upstairs there are three bedrooms. The largest one is on the second floor with the bathroom. The other bedrooms are on the third, and the attic toy room is at the top. It runs right across the house. Here, people from the doll’s house lie flat, like Egyptian mummies, when I want everyone to be asleep.

Today Sebastian is waiting for Sandy and Debbie to join him. He looks happy when the house opens. He doesn’t like being left in it with the little ones, Katy and her brother Kim. They are twins. Katy’s hair is soft, the same colour as Sandy’s. Kim’s hair is like Sebastian’s, short and brown with a plastic wave.

When Gerard speaks, I feel caught between two worlds. ‘Clodagh, who are you talking to?’

‘The dolls from my doll’s house.’ My voice sounds surprised.

‘Who else is in the room, Clodagh?’

‘Only me and the girl.’

‘The girl?’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘my little-girl self.’

I’m not sure if I should speak to the little girl. If I do, I might frighten her. She might not know that I don’t mean her any harm.

‘Clodagh, do you think she knows you’re there?’

‘I don’t know. I think I can see what she sees. It feels as if I can.’

‘Anything else, Clodagh?’

‘She’s scared. I’m sure of it.’

‘Scared of what?’

‘I don’t know.’

I watch her move her dolls around, bringing Debbie, Sandy and Sebastian downstairs. She leaves the younger dolls, Kim and Katy, lying on their backs in the attic. I hear her say, ‘You two stay there, where it’s safe.’

Debbie is shouting again: ‘Let’s get Jimmy. The game’s no good without Jimmy.’

‘We don’t need Jimmy today,’ my little-girl self says back, sounding like she’s defying Debbie.

‘Yes, we do, Clodagh.’ Debbie is smirking now.

‘I can tell good stories too, Debbie.’ She doesn’t sound so sure any more.

‘Can I hear a story, Clodagh?’ Sandy pleads.

‘Suck-up,’ Debbie teases.

‘You won’t be in the story unless you’re nice,’ says Sandy, sounding like a teacher.

I watch my younger self arrange all three dolls, Debbie, Sebastian and Sandy, placing them in the living room of the doll’s house, before bringing in a tray with cups and plates from the tiny kitchen. She lifts the china cups up one at a time to their lips, then puts spoons with pretend food from their plates into their mouths. Sebastian isn’t his real name. It’s a name Clodagh has made up.

‘Drink up and eat up,’ she says, like she is all grown-up. Then lying on her tummy, leaning on her elbows, she whispers, ‘Once upon a time there was a little girl called Clodagh who loved her dollies very much.’

‘Who do you love best?’ roars Debbie.

‘Shush,’ says Sandy.

‘Clodagh loves you all the same, because I don’t have any favourites.’

‘Bet your mum loves the man downstairs more than your daddy. I never see her kissing Daddy when he’s here. She doesn’t make herself all pretty for him any more.’ Debbie looks defiant.

‘Debbie, stop it. Clodagh loves us all. Why do you have to be so rotten?’ Sebastian sounds like my brother Dominic.

‘Blah, blah, blah … Clodagh knows the truth, don’t you, Clodagh?’ And again Debbie gets the upper hand.

I walk over to the little girl and stroke her hair, wondering if she’ll look up. I say to her, ‘Dolls can’t hurt you.’ I don’t know if she can hear me, because she doesn’t turn.

I hear Gerard Hayden’s voice again. He’s asking if I’m okay. I tell him I am. Now he’s asking me to leave the room. I’m not sure I want to. I look back at the little girl. This time, she turns around. I feel a cold breeze coming in from the corridor, as if it wants to whisk me away. I stand in the doorway, my older self looking back at the little-girl me. I tell her, ‘Everything will be okay. I’ll come back.’

Walking from the room, I see the stairs at the end of the corridor. Soon I’m back in the garden, and soon after, I hear traffic coming in
from the outside. I hear someone opening a gate – it squeaks before the handle clicks shut. I open my eyes, and once more, I can smell the vanilla scent of candle wax.

Gerard Hayden looks concerned. He asks me what I remember, and I recount what happened, as if I’ve been to see a movie, but instead of watching it, I’m part of it. He says he thinks the dolls could be a way of my subconscious mind protecting me, an extra layer between my perception and actual events. He talks to me about thinking long and hard as to whether or not I want to go back again, telling me I need to be sure. I start to think about my subconscious mind, wondering what it’s protecting me from.

Maybe Martin’s right. Maybe I’m completely cracked, but the room and the memory felt real, and it’s like I’m at a crossroads. If I hold back now, I might never come here again. Something is changing inside me, even if I’m not completely sure what it is.

Gerard Hayden has been talking for a while, but I haven’t been listening, so I say, ‘Sorry?’ hoping he will repeat what he has just said. Instead, he stands up and walks over to the windows, opening the blinds. He has his back to me. I sit up, feeling a little stupid. I wonder if we’ve finished for the day. I remember the gate: perhaps it’s his next appointment.

‘Clodagh, I know you’ve lost both your parents. Who else could you turn to to ask about the past?’

‘Dominic, my brother, I suppose, and my husband, Martin. Martin and Dominic were friends as kids. They used to hang out together.’ What an unlikely gang they used to be, the two of them and Stevie McDaid. Dominic was the leader, of course. He picked up the other two as strays. ‘Why do you ask, Gerard?’

‘I would consider talking to them before we have our next session.’

I realise I don’t want to talk to either Martin or Dominic, so instead I say, ‘They’ll probably tell me I’m crazy.’

‘Still, it’s worth trying. If your subconscious mind is protecting
you, it would be important to establish what we’re dealing with before we move on.’

‘Not remembering is frightening too.’

‘It’s your choice, if you wish to continue. I’ll respect your decision. But don’t worry. You don’t have to make your mind up now.’

Sober, everything feels more difficult. Nothing is clear any more; nothing is concrete. The truth is, I’m unsure what I’ll do, but I made a promise to that little girl. I told her everything would be okay, and I would go back to her.

It was late Monday evening by the time Stevie sat on the small stone wall, the palm trees and the red-and-white twin chimneys of Sandymount Strand behind him. Staring at the old house, with its high-gated pillars and ivory façade, he thought about the first time he had been inside Seacrest.

He and Dominic had been playing soccer on the strand at Cockle Lake – a large inlet of water at low tide, their target practice. They’d run past the rusted iron gates of the O’Malleys’ old house on the corner. Dominic had invited him in. It had felt to Stevie as if he had entered another world. Either that or he had stepped inside a television soap opera, one in which he was playing some big rich guy.

He’d practised his American accent with Dominic. Bleedin’ brilliant, it was. Until the mother had come in from the garden, and given him a stare that said she thought he was less than dog shit, something to be left outside, although not on her ladyship’s driveway. She was a tough bird, but she’d got her comeuppance in the end, and Dominic had got to play the fucking hero son.

Stevie could have written a book about the goings-on in that house. That’s the thing about dog shit: once the smell is covered up, no one sees the shit until it’s too late. It seemed to Stevie that, one way or another, his life kept bringing him back into contact with the Hamiltons. It was as if their paths were always meant to cross.

There was no reason other than soccer and a large stretch of beach that two young guys from either end of the social spectrum should meet, but now he was getting himself tied up with that family all over again, including little Ruby. The girl was the spit of the grandmother. She had the same lofty, up-her-own-arse manner, the one that suggested
she didn’t want to share the same air with the likes of Stevie McDaid. Still, the pretty little thing was taken aback when she’d found him in her flat. The young lover boy hadn’t hung around for long. When Ruby came back, she came alone.

It was easy enough for him to break in. She was an untidy young thing, no doubt well used to others picking up her crap for her. Stevie had had a good rummage. He’d even found her secret stash of coke, and the envelope with nearly a thousand smackers in it. He had been tempted to help himself there and then, but had thought better of it. Still, the little find had turned out to be a bit of a trump card when Angel Face returned, even if she’d nearly had a heart attack at seeing him.

‘What the fuck?’ were her first endearing words.

‘Steady now, Princess. Let’s not get all panicky.’

‘I’m calling the police. Get the hell out of here.’

‘Relax, chill out, Ruby, precious. First, I’m not going to let you do that, and second, they might be interested in your little treasure trove over there.’ Stevie had pointed to her bedside locker.

‘You’ve been through my stuff?’ Her mind was ticking over. ‘How the hell do you know my name?’

‘Just getting to know you, that’s all, getting acquainted.’ He pushed her down on the bed.

‘How do you know my name?’ Ruby attempted to sit back up again.

‘Let’s just say we have connections together.’

‘What do you want? What kind of connections?’

And that was when he saw it. The same stare that the grandmother, Lavinia Hamilton, had given him years before. Stevie had been standing at the bottom of the stairs pretending to be a Yank. Now the look concentrated his mind. He leaned over the girl, holding both her arms above her head, Ruby’s lower body fighting him off. ‘I have to say, Ruby, you have fight in you. I like girls with a bit of fight. It makes getting to know them all the more interesting.’

‘FUCK THE HELL OFF ME,’ Ruby spat in his face. Stevie jumped back before her right foot got him where it would hurt most. He laughed at her.

‘You haven’t answered my question, arsehole, what connections?’

Stevie knew, if he wanted to, he could get the better of her, but decided instead to push her a little, saying, ‘What connections?’ raising his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘You’d think discovering an uninvited stranger in your apartment, a girl like you would be more concerned about what an unknown man might do next, rather than playing Question Time.’

‘I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you’d better leave.’ Her tone was level, calmer, as she stood up from the bed regaining her composure.

‘Now, Ruby, I’m not going to leave until I’m good and ready. Still, I appreciate that you’re not creating a fuss. I don’t like my women screaming.’

‘I’m not your woman.’ Her face distorted as if she had swallowed something revolting.

‘No?’ Stevie walked closer to her, all the time wondering whether she would keep her head, and Ruby didn’t disappoint. Standing upright, rigid, like some beautiful mannequin in a shop window, she waited to see what the stranger would do next. Rubbing the back of his right hand down her left cheek, he felt her cool porcelain skin, like a doll with a hard smooth skull, capable of being smashed to smithereens.

‘I’m not afraid of you. You’re that shitbag from Neary’s.’

‘The name is Stevie. Perhaps, Ruby, you’re used to near strangers being in your place.’ His smile didn’t unnerve her. Again she passed the test. Ruby McKay was going to be a worthy opponent – a pity about her fucking tripping habits.

‘What do you want?’ She pushed his hand away from her face.

‘Just for us to be friends – that isn’t such a terrible thing, now, is it?’

‘Get the fuck out of here.’

‘Now, now, Ruby, that’s no way to talk to a friend of your lovely family.’

‘Has he sent you? Has he asked you to keep an eye on me?’

‘Do you mean Daddy dearest?’ Stevie reached out, touching Ruby on the neck this time, then pulling his hand back.

‘My dad? Why would he? Stop playing stupid games. Admit it. He sent you, didn’t he? You’re one of his fucking crawlers, aren’t you?’

Stevie wasn’t keen on the crawler reference, but she’d ruled Martin out of the equation so the noose was getting smaller. ‘Listen, Ruby, you sound like a girl who needs a friend, someone to protect her. Why don’t you give me your side of the story, and between the two of us, we can take it from there?’

‘Why would you help me? Why the hell should I trust you?’

She was being cagey, but he could tell her nerve was starting to give. Stevie figured she wouldn’t say no to a hit.

‘Why don’t you give yourself a little buzz with some of that charlie over there?’ He pointed to the drawer. ‘I’m not the fucking Drug Squad.’ He didn’t want her flaking out, but he needed her to soften. He remained standing all the while Ruby snorted. Stevie could be a patient man when he had to be. It didn’t take her long to lose some of her harder edges.

Kneeling in front of her, he said, ‘Feeling a bit better now, Ruby, are we?’

She didn’t answer him.

‘You wanted to know why I would help you.’

‘Yeah.’ Her voice softer, slower.

‘Let’s just say I’m an old and close friend of your mother.’

She stared back at him. ‘You know my … mother?’

He needed to play it carefully. Ruby was on the ropes, and he had a pretty good idea why. ‘Dublin is a small place, Ruby. Keeping bad company gets you noticed.’

‘What?’

‘Sugar daddies pick on little girls for a reason.’ He moved closer to her. ‘We both know who we’re talking about, don’t we?’

‘He’s a prick.’

‘I know he is.’

‘Do you know my fucking dad too? You’re not going to tell him shit, are ya?’

‘Not a word, Ruby.’ Then, with as much sincerity as Stevie could muster, ‘I know exactly what he’s like.’