The Doll's House

by Tania Carver

‘Am I that obvious?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘’Fraid so.’

  He wasn’t unfriendly, just wary. Imani didn’t want to say or do anything to antagonise him. She wanted him on side. ‘I got your name from Mike Pierce, the community officer.’

  Brendan gave a smile at that.

  ‘He said you’re the one to talk to.’

  ‘Did he now. What about?’

  She produced one of the photocopied sheets. Told him what it was about. Brendan took it from her, studied it. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells,’ he said. ‘Something like that…’

  ‘Exactly. Let me leave it with you. In case it jogs your memory. There’s a phone number on there. We really appreciate this.’

  ‘No problem.’ He smiled again. ‘I love a man in uniform.’ He looked over at Khan. Smiled even wider.

  ‘We’ll be off, then,’ said Imani and turned, ushering Khan out of the door.

  The cold and the rain seemed welcome after the heat of the bar.

  Khan turned to her. ‘Did you see that? Hear what he said? Fucking hell… fucking hell…’

  Imani didn’t reply.

  ‘And while we were in there, all the time you were talking, they were eyeing me up. All of them.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  His expression became murderous. ‘What? What? Lucky you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, trying to make light of it. ‘I wish I had that amount of blokes ogling me.’

  He looked as if he was about to explode. Calmed himself down. But not without effort. ‘It’s not right. Not natural, what they do.’

  Imani wondered whether to give him a lecture on gender and tolerance. Decided against it. ‘I think you need some LGBT awareness training. I’m sure there’s a course you can go on.’

  He stared at her.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, walking off towards the next bar.

  He followed along behind her, reluctant.

  This one was a much camper affair than the first. A drag queen was up on a small stage, lip-synching to show tunes. The audience were whooping along, cheering when she showed a well-turned thigh in her split skirt, laughing as she camped up the lyrics with a Les Dawson-like rearrangement of her false breasts.

  Imani realised Khan was mesmerised.

  ‘Good legs,’ she said.

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Did you know,’ she said, leaning in close to him, ‘that when you see a pair of legs on a packet of tights or stockings, or on a billboard ad, it’s probably a man?’

  He turned. ‘What?’

  She pointed to the drag queen on the stage. ‘He’s got good legs. TVs can make quite a bit modelling. Think on that the next time you see a picture.’

  They drew a blank, left a couple of flyers, left.

  Outside, the rain was easing up slightly. Mike Pierce came towards them. ‘Any luck?’

  Imani shook her head. ‘We’ll keep trying, though. Where would you suggest next?’

  He looked up and down the street. ‘Couple more bars, few restaurants and clubs, but we could do those for you if it’s just the flyers. If it’s actual eyeball-to-eyeball you’re looking for, chancing your arm, making an ident, then…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s up to you.’

  ‘What about in there?’ Imani pointed to an unremarkable storefront. It could have been a grocery shop if not for the blacked-out windows and the sign above: HUSTLER CINEMA XXX.

  Pierce smiled. ‘Good luck. Be a bit of an eye-opener.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’ asked Khan. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there.

  ‘Let’s just say the clientele don’t go there to watch the films. Or they may do but that’s usually secondary.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Imani.

  ‘However,’ said Pierce, ‘it’s a sleazy little pit. You never know.’

  Imani looked at Khan. He had gone beyond anger now. He just wanted to get it over and done with. ‘Come on then. We’ll make this the last call of the night.’ She looked at Pierce. ‘Then we might sit in your van and just watch, if that’s OK with you.’

  Pierce smiled. ‘Fine by me.’

  Imani, with Khan trailing behind, entered the cinema.

  61

  I

  t was late when Phil pulled up in front of the house. Not his own house. He didn’t want to go home just yet.

  He could see the rented place he shared with Marina and their daughter just along the street. A light was on in his bedroom window. Marina was either awake, reading probably, or had gone to sleep, leaving his bedside light on to help him find his way. But he wasn’t going there. Not just yet.

  He locked the car, walked up the driveway. It had once been a garage or coach house but a previous owner had converted it to a one-bedroom flat. It was where Eileen now lived.

  Phil rang the bell, stepped back, waited.

  ‘Who is it?’ A voice from behind the door.

  ‘It’s me. Phil.’

  A chain was removed, a bolt released, a heavy lock cracked. The door opened. There stood the only woman Phil had ever called mother.

  ‘Thanks for waiting up.’

  ‘I was up anyway. Watching something on BBC 4. One of those miserable Scandinavian crime series where they all have personality disorders and can’t seem to find a light switch.’ She gave him a brief smile. ‘I suppose your day must have been like that.’

  He smiled wearily in return. ‘Stumbling in the dark with mentalists? My day’s always like that.’

  He entered. She turned off the TV. He sat down on the sofa. She had wasted no time in claiming the place as her own. Where Phil felt he was only a temporary fixture in his house, Eileen looked like she had been in hers for years. She had surrounded herself with as many familiar objects as she could, taking her home with her. It still wasn’t that long since Don’s death. Phil thought she was coping well. Or seemed to be.

  She sat down in her armchair. The one that used to be Don’s, Phil noted.

  ‘Can I get you a tea? Coffee?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Beer? I know you like a beer when you come in from work. I’ve got some in the fridge.’

  He knew she was trying to be useful, not feel redundant, so he went along with her. ‘A beer would be great, thanks.’

  She tried to rise.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he said.

  ‘Stay where you are. I’m not an invalid.’

  She went to the kitchen, returned with a bottle of beer, the cap removed. Handed it to Phil. He thanked her, took a drink. Cold and refreshing, it went down well.

  Eileen sat back. ‘So what did you want to talk to me about? It sounded like it was serious.’

  Straight to the point as always, he thought. ‘Yeah…’ he said, trying to find the right words. ‘It’s… Marina. She’s… I don’t know.’

  He took another mouthful of beer, Eileen waited.

  ‘She’s being funny with me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well… I don’t know. She’s… distant. No, that’s not right. She’s… It’s like she doesn’t want me to… to be close to her.’

  Eileen leaned forward. ‘Has she said anything?’

  ‘Not directly, no. But when I go towards her, she pulls away. And this morning she…’ His eyes dropped to his bottle. He had always been able to tell Eileen anything, but he still felt embarrassed talking about sex with her. ‘I went to join her in the shower, and she screamed. Actually screamed. When I touched her. Pulled the curtain across, said she wanted privacy. Said…’ he thought back, tried to find the exact words, ‘oh it’s just you. Oh it’s you. Something like that.’

  ‘She was expecting someone else?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe in her mind she was. And there’s a… barrier between us. She’s put it up.’ He shook his head.

  ‘I see,’ said Eileen. ‘Has she mentioned anyone else’s name recently? Started talking a lot about someone? From work, maybe?’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said
Phil. ‘Talking about someone I’ve never heard of before is an indicator that she’s having an affair.’

  ‘Might be having an affair. It’s not definite.’

  ‘No, but…’ He shrugged, took another drink. ‘There is… Well, I don’t know.’

  ‘There is someone? Someone she’s been mentioning?’

  ‘Well, sort of. I don’t… Hugo Gwilym.’

  ‘What, from the TV? That Hugo Gwilym?’

  Phil nodded. ‘He’s come up in the course of this case I’m working on. He’s a colleague of Marina’s at the university, same department. I asked her about him. Just to check, you know, that there was no conflict of interest. That he wasn’t a friend.’

  ‘Right. And?’

  ‘She said she didn’t know him. Had hardly met him, or spoken to him. But she didn’t like him. Got quite angry about him, even. And then I went to talk to Gwilym. To do with the case. And… he mentioned her.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In a… creepy way. Said something like, I enjoyed having your wife the other night. Something like that. Then said, for dinner. He’d had her for dinner. What he meant was he’d been at the departmental Christmas dinner with her.’

  Eileen nodded.

  ‘Marina said she didn’t know him, but he made it seem that they were quite close.’ He took another pull of beer. Found the bottle drained. ‘She came in very late that night.’

  Eileen waited, made sure he had finished talking. ‘I see.’

  He looked at her, expecting answers. Knowing how unreasonable that was.

  ‘So you think she’s having an affair with Gwilym?’ Eileen said eventually.

  ‘Well, that would be the logical thing to think, wouldn’t it? Saying she didn’t know him at all, doing the reverse thing of talking about someone a lot. Double bluff. Saying she hated him. Maybe he’s found someone else. Dumped her. Hurt her in some way.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘But screaming when you tried to touch her,’ said Eileen. ‘Don’t forget that. That’s not the action of a woman hiding an affair.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  Eileen sat back, looked thoughtful. ‘When Don and I used to foster kids – you might even remember this – we were always careful with them. Some of them wanted hugging. Needed it. Some of them wanted it but didn’t know to how to ask. They might have thought it was sexual, because that was how they’d been brought up, and that’s how they responded, but they wanted affection. They were kids, after all. But some of them couldn’t bear to be touched.’

  ‘Abused?’

  Eileen nodded. ‘They’d all suffered some kind of abuse. And it affected them in different ways. But the ones who didn’t want to be touched, that was because it reminded them of their abusers. Of what they had been through.’

  ‘So… you think Gwilym might have… touched her? Been inappropriate with her?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, Phil. I’m just saying that’s how the kids were. That’s the behaviour they used to exhibit.’

  ‘But if that’s the case, then why hasn’t she just come out and said it? Why hasn’t she told me?’

  ‘I don’t know, Phil. You’ll have to talk to her. Have you tried talking to her?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Really tried?’

  ‘I have, but… Well, she’s been like she’s been. And also…’ he sighed, ‘what if she says yes? What if I talk to her and she says she was or is having an affair with Gwilym? What do I do then?’

  ‘You deal with it, Phil. Like an adult. It’ll hurt. Things like that are never easy to cope with, but you can both get over it if you try and if you want to.’ She shook her head. ‘Marina’s the last person I would expect to do something like that.’ She shrugged. ‘But, people… Look. It might not be that at all. There might still be some other explanation.’

  ‘I know, but…’

  Eileen looked directly at him. Pity and compassion in her eyes. ‘Talk to her, Phil. Just talk to her.’

  62

  I

  nside the cinema, behind a makeshift counter, sat a failed genetic experiment, a cross between a man and a toad. He was huge and fat, his skin greasy and warty. He had a shaved head and wore chunky gold jewellery that may have been expensive and genuine or may have been Argos. It was so tasteless Imani had no way of knowing. He wore a brown leather jacket that looked as greasy as his skin and a stained T-shirt pulled tight across his expansive belly. He looked half asleep, staring at a porn mag spread out before him, but Imani wasn’t fooled. His round eyes missed nothing. He perked up when they entered.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s what you can do for us,’ said Imani. She showed him the photo, explained what it was about.

  The toad’s round eyes became hooded, hidden. ‘Murder, you say?’

  ‘Murder,’ said Khan, as bluntly and emphatically as he could.

  The toad rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘Never seen that before.’ He handed the flyer back.

  ‘Hang on to it. You never know,’ said Imani. ‘We’ve got plenty more.’

  The toad shrugged, put it under the desk. Went back to his magazine. When he noticed that the two police officers hadn’t left, he looked up.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mind if we take a look inside?’

  ‘Why?’ Eyes hooded and hidden again. ‘We’re licensed. By the council.’

  ‘That’s not why we’re here,’ said Imani. ‘The tattoo?’

  The toad clearly didn’t want to let them in. He was weighing up whether it would be better to go along with them or cause a fuss by refusing them access when Khan made his mind up for him.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, pushing past Imani, ‘let’s get it over with.’

  Imani smiled at the toad. ‘Two minutes,’ she said and followed him.

  Going through the doorway from the front of the cinema she was immediately thrown into darkness. The light hadn’t been particularly bright outside, but her eyes still took a while to get accustomed to it. She stood still, blinked. There was no sign of Khan. Ahead of her was a narrow passageway. Cheap plywood painted black. She saw a doorway at the far end, leading off to the left. She walked towards it.

  She heard the film before she saw it. Overdubbed grunts, sighs and screams. She reached the doorway, looked inside. The room was the size of a combined living and dining room. Seating had been placed in rows in front of a large screen. On the screen two hugely tooled men were servicing each other. Their bodies were hard, hairless, slick and shining with oil and sweat. Their eyes were closed, their faces expressionless. They bore as much resemblance to real people as an episode of The Simpsons. It was the opposite of erotic. It was like watching heavy pneumatic machinery at work.

  But most people weren’t there to watch the film. They were too busy with each other. The room wasn’t full but the clientele were all men. Middle-aged, most of them, Imani reckoned, and not particularly attractive. But they all had something that someone else wanted. Oral sex. Anal sex. Everything in between. A couple of transvestites being anything but ladylike. Even as a police officer Imani had never seen anything like this. She felt as if she had stepped into another world.

  She looked round. No sign of Khan.

  She left the room, continued down the corridor. It ended in a set of stairs. She could hear more overdubbed grunts and groans coming from down there. The hallway turned to the right. She looked down it. A silhouette of a couple in an embrace was etched against the weak covered lighting at the far end. Both male, neither needing the stimulus of the screen. Both in a state of undress. She turned, went downstairs.

  It was the same set-up as before. The same kind of film, the same kind of audience. But somehow being in the basement made it feel even sleazier than above, like there were fewer or even no limits to what went on.

  She found Khan. Standing mutely at the doorway, staring into the room, mouth open like he had been hypnotised. He had been noticed. Imani was aware of at least one seated man wa
ving his erect penis at him, trying to attract his attention. Imani came and joined him.

  ‘There you go, tiger,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

  He turned, anger jumping into his features, crowding out whatever confused emotions were already there.

  Imani smiled, looked at the man who had been waving his penis. Young, dressed in jeans and an unseasonable T-shirt. Only his fly was undone. He saw Imani looking at him and immediately lost interest.

  But Imani was suddenly interested in him.

  ‘Look,’ she said to Khan, still whispering, ‘his arm.’

  Khan looked where Imani told him to. The willy-waggler had bare forearms. On the inside of one was what appeared to be the tattoo they were looking for.

  Imani couldn’t believe her luck. She felt her heart race, fought to keep it down. Forced herself to remember her training. Khan shared a glance with her and they both moved towards the seated man.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Imani, going for her warrant card, ‘could we —’

  She didn’t get any further. The man jumped up and, penis still sticking out of his jeans, pushed her backwards into Khan. While the two police officers were trying to untangle themselves, the man ran past them towards the stairs.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Khan. ‘Police!’

  The man didn’t stop.

  Imani and Khan ran after him.

  63

  M

  arina heard Phil coming in. She had thought of pretending to be asleep to avoid a conversation but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Couldn’t bring herself to lie any more to the man she loved. She had been lying awake, waiting for him. She had made a decision. She was going to tell him. Everything. Gwilym, the drugging, the testing. Everything. Then work it through, see what they could do about it.

  She heard him downstairs, expected him to go to the fridge, get himself a beer, sit down. That was all right, she thought, heart tripping heavily, she could wait. But he didn’t do that. She heard him coming straight upstairs.

  She knew what he would do next, knew his routine as well as he did. Sure enough, she heard the door to Josephina’s room creak open slightly, knew he would be checking on her, watching her sleep. He did it every night. They both did.