The Doll's House (39 page)

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t you? I doubt that, Clodagh. Your mother thought you were a bit scatterbrained, more into make-believe and playing doll’s house than real life. But you see, Clodagh, I’m a good judge of people. It’s partly why I’ve been so successful in life, seeing how everyone operates, knowing which buttons to press and when.’

‘Martin works with you. Dominic told me. Has Martin put you up to this?’

‘He’s a fool.’ He hesitates, as if considering his next sentence. ‘Ambition can get in the way of vision. Martin doesn’t know any more than he needs to know, and your brother, Dominic, is much the same. You forget, Clodagh, I knew both of them as young boys. You can observe a lot about a person when you’re the adult and they’re the child, an awful lot.’

‘What else did you observe about me?’ I sense I’m buying time.

‘You were interesting.’ He takes a step closer.

‘Interesting?’

‘A beautiful child, intelligent, and with the wildest imagination.’ He reaches down, taking some strands of my hair into his hand, running his finger through my tangled curls. ‘Your mother thought you were like your hair, wild and fancy-free. But behind it all, you were more of a rebel.’

‘I never felt like one.’

‘Didn’t you? All those wild nights out as a teenager, hitting the bottle hard. You became quite the handful for Martin. You tested his intelligence in the early days, and even now. He never liked that. A man doesn’t like to be undermined.’

‘How do you know so much about me? I haven’t seen you since I was a child.’

‘I like to keep track of people. It makes it less likely that they can do you any harm. It’s always good to be more educated about others than they are about you.’

‘You still haven’t told me why you have me here.’ I tell myself that the longer I can keep him talking, the better chance I have of working out how to get out of there.

‘Clodagh, Clodagh,’ he smiles, ‘if you keep asking the wrong questions, you will keep getting the wrong answers.’

‘What do you want with me?’

‘You look a bit like her at times.’

‘Who?’

‘Lavinia, of course.’

‘My mother?’

‘Yes, your mother. You do know I loved her? Some might say I was obsessed with her.’

I stare back at him, seeing little in the dark, feeling the dusty wooden floor beneath me.

‘Don’t be shocked, Clodagh. I may be an old goat now, but inside I’m still the man who remembers falling for an exciting woman, the
kind who comes into your life and never leaves you, at least, not completely. It was meeting Ruby that rekindled the memory.’

‘Ruby? My daughter?’ I can hear the panic in my voice. ‘What has she to do with all this?’

‘A carbon copy of your mother looks-wise, you must agree.’ Despite the near blackness, I see him smile in reflective admiration. ‘Yes, Clodagh, your lovely daughter. We met recently. Martin introduced us.’

‘When?’

‘I was the main speaker at a function. Some drivel about supporting suicide victims. Funny now, all things considered.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It doesn’t matter. What matters, Clodagh, is that your beautiful, intelligent mind has managed to get you into a whole lot of trouble.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you?’ He pauses, as if wondering whether he should confide in me. ‘I went to see your mother a couple of months before she died. It was meeting Ruby that spurred the whole thing on. I guess I realised I’d never stopped loving her, your mother, that is.’

‘When she was dying? You went to see her when she was sick.’

‘Yes.’ He kicks the baseball bat to the other corner of the room, the noise vibrating long after it lands on the floor. My body tenses. His voice lowers. ‘I could still see her beauty. I’m not a fool. I knew she didn’t have long left, which made it all the more poignant for us to reconcile.’ He let out a low, malicious laugh. ‘But she didn’t want me around. She was having none of it.’ He moves closer, the tips of his fingers touching my hair again, his voice bitter. ‘Even though I helped her more than any other man in her life.’

‘How did you help her?’ I’m sputtering my words.

He pulls back his hand, clenching his fist, the way I had remembered him doing from before. ‘I covered up for your pathetic father and the baby, that’s how.’

‘You know about the baby?’

Kate drove along Tycon Avenue twice, all potential parking spots on either side of the narrow street taken. She found a space in a side-street, turned off the engine and phoned Ocean House, checking they had successfully rearranged her next two appointments. Her next call was to Sophie.

‘Hi, Sophie, I’m glad I caught you.’

‘Is everything all right, Kate?’

‘Something’s come up and I’ve had to reschedule some of my afternoon appointments. I may not get back until after six.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve no plans for this evening.’

‘There’s mince in the fridge, Bolognese sauce and pasta, if either you or Charlie gets peckish.’

‘No bother.’

‘You’re a star. Tell Charlie I’ll be there before seven at the latest.’

Kate disconnected and put her mobile in her briefcase, wondering again about her visit to Gerard Hayden. Turning into Tycon Avenue, she took in the small red-brick cottages with tiny front gardens. She soon found number fifty-one and stopped at the low gate. It gave ample notice of her visit, creaking noisily when she opened it. A brass plaque with Gerard Hayden’s qualifications hung beside a panelled black front door. Kate coughed before she pressed the brass bell button, then waited for a response. She could hear carpeted footsteps before the door opened and a small, middle-aged man, with short dishevelled grey hair, looked at her in mild surprise.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I hope so.’ Kate was endeavouring to sound encouraging. ‘I understand Clodagh McKay is a client of yours.’

‘May I ask who you are?’

‘Sorry, of course. My name is Dr Kate Pearson. I’m a psychologist. I work with the police.’

‘I see.’

Kate tried again. ‘Gerard, I understand Clodagh has been seeing you about regression into childhood.’ She hoped her friendly, even tone would help.

‘I don’t like to discuss my clients, Dr Pearson, with anyone other than themselves, and certainly not on a doorstep.’

‘I understand completely, and normally I would have phoned and talked to you beforehand. Unfortunately there have been some developments, and I’ve been unable to contact Clodagh myself.’

‘Is she in some kind of danger? You say you work with the police.’

‘Would it be possible to come in, Gerard? I won’t take up too much of your time.’

Gerard Hayden hesitated, then stood back and held open the door as Kate walked in. Closing it behind her, he said, ‘Follow me,’ and led her down a dark, carpeted hallway to a room with ‘Office’ in black stickers on a faded cream door. Once inside, she smelt candle wax. He beckoned her to sit down on the first of two comfy chairs at either side of a desk, then took the one opposite.

Kate decided to waste no time. ‘Gerard, how successful have you been with Clodagh’s regression?’

‘You say you haven’t been able to contact her?’

‘That’s right. The police do have some concerns. I completely understand your reluctance to break client confidentiality, but any help you can give me may make a difference.’

‘We’ve been reasonably successful, but I can’t tell you anything directly about the regression.’

‘I understand that, Gerard. I should probably explain a bit about why I’m here.’ She could see he was used to the role of listener, sitting back in his chair to hear what she had to say. ‘Gerard, the reason I’m
helping the police is because two men have been killed. Both men, it appears, were known to Clodagh.’

‘I see.’ His face contradicted his words.

Kate decided to persevere. ‘Her brother, Dominic Hamilton …’ She waited for a reaction. The slight rising of Gerard Hayden’s eyebrows confirmed he was familiar with the name, so Kate continued, ‘Dominic is also missing, as is her husband, Martin McKay.’

‘Missing?’

‘Perhaps that’s too strong a word, but right now, the police are keen to talk to all three.’

‘I don’t really see how I can help.’

‘Perhaps you could tell me how Clodagh was on her last visit.’

‘She was here earlier today. It was a difficult session – regression can be traumatic.’

‘I understand that.’

‘As you said, Clodagh came to me to regress into childhood. I’m not breaking any confidence when I tell you that normally this is because clients have issues they need to address from that particular time. Very often their memories are suppressed. Have you experience in this area, Dr Pearson?’

‘Quite a lot, actually.’

‘Then you’ll understand that these things are not always straightforward and, as I’ve already said, can bring up difficulties.’

‘Would you say Clodagh was stable, Gerard?’

‘The word is subjective, but yes. I think she’s more stable than even she might believe.’

‘These childhood difficulties, do they concern her brother?’

‘There may be some trust issues. He came to see me a short while back, but without wanting to say anything out of turn, Clodagh’s concerns are not restricted to her brother.’

‘He came to see you?’

‘He wanted to know what was happening during the regression.’

‘And did you tell him?’

‘No, I certainly did not.’

‘And you’re positive it was her brother, Dominic?’

‘No, but why would he lie?’

‘Indeed.’ Kate tried to remain expressionless. ‘Gerard, these childhood regressions?’

‘Yes?’

‘I know this is difficult for you, but it would be a great help if you could tell me whether or not there was a particular age Clodagh regressed to or, indeed, any recurring location.’

‘I’m not sure I should.’

‘Gerard, I know Clodagh and Dominic lost their father at a young age. These early traumatic childhood events have a habit of following you into adulthood. Clodagh lost her mother recently, isn’t that correct?’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘So I’m guessing that’s partly why she came to see you.’

‘I believe so.’

‘Would I be right in thinking that a lot of Clodagh’s regression focused around the loss of her father?’

‘It was part of it.’

‘And at the time she would have been what age?’

‘Seven, I believe.’

‘Did Clodagh discover anything during her regression that she had previously shut out?’

‘Yes, she did, but I can’t—’

‘And would this put her life at risk in any way?’

‘I don’t think so. I’m not really sure.’

Kate could tell the conversation was unsettling him. ‘Gerard, if you were looking for Clodagh now, where would be the first place you would go?’

‘Other than her own home?’

‘Yes.’

‘I would probably go to her old house. The one she grew up in. It’s on Sandymount Strand somewhere.’

‘Thanks, Gerard. That may be useful.’

‘There’s an attic room. I think you can access it through one of the upstairs bedrooms. Clodagh went there a couple of days ago, with her brother, I understand.’ Gerard Hayden’s expression was both puzzled and concerned now. ‘Clodagh said she felt frightened.’

Kate stood up. ‘Okay. You’ve been most helpful.’ She put her hand out to shake his, and he responded more firmly than she had expected. ‘I’ll let myself out, Gerard. I’ve already taken up enough of your time.’

‘Dr Pearson?’ He stood up.

‘Yes?’

‘You will let me know if anything is …’

‘I will, Gerard, and thanks again.’

Alister Becon doesn’t answer my question straight away. But, despite my fear, his silence doesn’t unnerve me. It’s as if, within this strange and somewhat surreal communication between us, my need to listen far outweighs everything else.

He moves away from the door, walking easily in the attic space, his short height an advantage, with the low ceiling. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it but as he contemplates answering me he keeps looking back to the door, as if he’s expecting someone. His hands are again clenched into tight fists. My mind is torn between wanting him to tell me about the baby, wondering about Dominic, and my need to know who, if anyone, he is waiting for.

‘Your mother came to me after the child died. She was distraught, angry, frightened out of her wits.’

‘Why you?’ I try to keep my voice steady.

‘For once in her life, she needed me.’

‘Do you know how the baby died?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you know who. Was it my father?’ It sounds crazy. I can’t trust this man, and I have no confidence in my own memory. A part of me wants him to say yes to my second question, because if it wasn’t my father, I’m not sure I can take the reply that I’m frightened he will give.

Alister Becon looks down at me, huddled in the corner, with hatred. And, for the first time, I wonder if perhaps he had been Emmaline’s father.

‘Your mother was in shock. At one point she even considered telling the authorities what had happened.’

‘So it’s true?’ I sit upright, with my back against the attic wall, the large brown eagle with his soulful black eyes above me. ‘Why didn’t she go to the authorities? Who was she protecting?’

‘She knew your father was weak,’ Alister Becon says, as if it gives him some form of pleasure and inner satisfaction. ‘He wouldn’t have been able to survive prison, but she also knew it was partly her own fault for screwing around with pretty-boy Keith.’

He isn’t Emmaline’s father, and a part of me feels relieved. ‘Was Emmaline Keith Jenkins’s baby?’

‘Who can tell? Your mother treated your father like an idiot.’ He’s enjoying himself.

‘I still don’t understand what happened.’ My sentence is a mix of statement and question. I look away from him to the boxes on the low shelves. I see my rusty spinning top on top of a torn cardboard box with ‘Blow Football’ printed on the side. Dominic used to play that game all the time. Then I notice her, and I can’t fathom why I didn’t see her before. Now her blue eyes are looking straight at me. It’s as if Sandy is telling me everything will be fine. Her hair is cropped short. I remember cutting her and Debbie’s hair. I look back at Alister Becon, knowing the madness in seeking answers from a man I fear and despise.