The Doll House

by Phoebe Morgan

  He tugs on the end of my hair affectionately.

  ‘Please, my love, stop looking so panicked! I think you need to take a test. I think that’s what this is all about, really I do. Take a pregnancy test soon and we’ll get it over with. And when we find out, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. At least we’ll know.’

  He sighs, nudges me with his legs. ‘I have to go back to sleep. You should too. Please, keep calm. Come here.’

  He kisses me softly on the mouth. I hang on to him, not wanting him to turn out the light. I feel like I’m going completely mad.

  19

  London

  Ashley

  ‘She? Who is she?’

  She is staring at her drunken daughter. Lucy is smiling strangely. Her head lolls forward onto her chest and Ashley sighs. She looks at James.

  ‘This is pointless,’ she says. ‘I’ll put her to bed.’

  Together they half drag, half carry a comatose Lucy up the stairs to her bedroom, where Ashley undresses her gently, eases her out of the black leather skirt and replaces it with her daughter’s purple pyjama shorts. She didn’t know Lucy even owned a leather skirt. It is tiny, would barely fit one of Ashley’s thighs these days.

  How has she got so drunk? She thinks of her friend Aoife, saying the same thing about her own daughter. Perhaps it’s not so unusual at fifteen, perhaps they have just been lucky up until now. Ashley feels a flash of her old worries; she’d had Lucy young, and for a while after she was born she’d felt a nagging sense of unease, as though motherhood was a job she wasn’t quite qualified for. The feeling had dissipated over the years, but at times of uncertainty it rears its head. She tries to think back to herself at fifteen – was she drinking by then? Their father always warned them off it, told them horror stories about people whose lives had been ruined by alcoholism. (‘No one ever got where they needed to be by becoming a lush. I didn’t get where I am by drinking beer in a park, believe me.’) As a teenager, the stories had scared Ashley senseless.

  She told me not to tell you. Ashley thinks of her daughter saying the words, of the red lipstick blurring into her skin. She doesn’t usually wear that colour. Who is she? Someone from a new group of friends? Something to do with boys? Ashley likes to think she knows most of her daughter’s friends, is acquainted with their mothers through the high school. Lucy turns over in her sleep, emits a low groan. Ashley clears a space on the side table next to the bed, pushing aside a packet of chewing gum and a little pile of coins. She places a glass of water and two paracetamols down so Lucy will see them when she wakes and tiptoes from the room, back to where her husband is waiting downstairs.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Ash.’ He looks utterly exhausted, dark bags circle his eyes. ‘Who d’you think she meant?’

  She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. She never mentions anyone to me any more. I mean, if it was one of the girls from school why wouldn’t she just say? I can’t say I like the idea of whoever it is, she can hardly be a good influence, can she?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ he says. He sinks down heavily on the sofa, rubs his eyes with his hands.

  ‘Work busy, then?’ She wants to see what he will say.

  He looks immediately uncomfortable. ‘It’s a . . . it’s a bit of a nightmare. Do you mind if we don’t talk about it for now?’

  ‘Were you at work, James?’

  He looks up. ‘Not this again. Of course I was at work! Where do you think I’ve been, out on the town?’

  As he speaks, she hears it; the slow, steady whine from upstairs. Holly is crying. They stare at each other. The sound gets louder and louder, more and more intense.

  ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with her,’ Ashley says. ‘She’s getting worse.’ A headache stretches itself across her temples, she feels teary. Holly’s crying increases.

  ‘I’ll go,’ James says, and he exhales, sighs as though she ought to be grateful, she ought to thank him for this one sacrifice, this one occasion when he will see to his daughter. Their daughter. Ashley puts a hand to her forehead, thinking of herself hunched over his computer screen, tapping madly at the keys, rummaging through his drawers. She hates this. She hates it so much.

  ‘James, I don’t—’ Ashley is about to say more when there is the unmistakable sound of vomiting from upstairs, the sound of liquid hitting the floor. Seconds afterwards, the crying gets louder.

  Ashley groans. ‘I’ll go.’ She leaves her husband sitting in the living room, his head in his hands, his back bent over like that of a much older man. Upstairs, she bends over her daughter’s cot. She is burning up, her face a screaming ball of tears. Her little body is twitching, her legs jerking under the covers. Why is she so upset? It seems her nightmares are getting worse, she is finding it harder and harder to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. Shouldn’t it be getting easier? It did with Lucy and Benji. Ashley strokes her daughter’s little face, murmuring to her. It is her baby’s eyes that frighten her; they are big, staring. If she didn’t know better Ashley would say they look terrified.

  ‘What are you dreaming, my love?’ she whispers, and she lifts Holly up, puts her over her shoulder, rocks her gently until at last the sobs begin to quieten down.

  *

  The next morning, Lucy’s skin is green. Benji is fascinated by it, if not ecstatic.

  ‘An alien! Mum, look! Look at Lucy’s face. She’s an alien!’

  ‘Darling, stop it,’ Ashley says. ‘Lucy’s fine, she’s just not feeling very well is all.’ In spite of everything, she stifles a smile, turns away from Benji to pour milk into his cornflakes.

  Lucy groans. ‘I think I’m going to be sick again.’

  Ashley is biding her time, waiting until her daughter feels better. There is no point questioning her when she is in the grip of her first real hangover.

  ‘Now, Daddy’s taking you to school today so be good, won’t you, Benji,’ she tells her son, placing the bowl of cereal in front of him. ‘I’ll be back when you get home this afternoon.’

  ‘Lucy.’ She turns to her daughter, who is sitting motionless in front of a plate of untouched eggs. She is still wearing her pyjamas. Ashley has not got the heart to make her go to school and there is another part of her, a part she doesn’t want to admit to, that is worried about what people will think if she sends her daughter in reeking of alcohol. She can’t imagine the response would be good.

  ‘Lucy, drink lots of water, please. Make sure Holly doesn’t cause a racket, check on her, please. She’s been crying a lot lately – if she starts, call for Dad. And ask him for some more paracetamol if your head’s bad. I think there might be some Alka-Seltzer in the bathroom cabinet.’ She pauses. Lucy is silent. ‘We’ll talk later. I’ve got to get to Colours. If all else fails, go back to sleep.’

  Ashley ruffles her son’s hair, bends down to kiss Holly, picks up her handbag and goes to the foot of the stairs. James is up in the study. He has miraculously agreed to work from home this morning, Ashley has to do her shift at the café. Megan has covered for her more than once and she doesn’t want to appear rude. Besides, there is a side of her that wants to get out of the house, wants to immerse herself in the easy world of Colours, away from her hungover daughter and her unreachable husband. She has had so little sleep, the kitchen feels too tight, as though it is closing in around her like an elastic band.

  ‘James? James, I’m going! Come see to Holly!’ she shouts. She is met only with a grunt. Ashley is about to call again when she hears the phone start to ring. Her heart skips a beat.

  ‘Phoneeeee,’ Benji says through a spoonful of cornflakes. ‘Phone, phone, phoneeeee.’

  James appears at the top of the stairs. Ashley stares up at him. The phone continues to ring but nobody reaches for it.

  ‘I’m going to work,’ she says, ‘Benji needs to get to school, make sure he takes his reading folder. OK? And you can drop Holly off at June’s around lunchtime; I’ve told her to expect you around twelve. I’m going to ma
ke an appointment at the doctor’s for Hol, make sure there’s nothing wrong. Lucy’s having a day at home.’ She pauses. ‘Think you can manage all that?’

  Ashley can feel her children looking at her, can almost sense their surprise at her tone. She feels her cheeks getting warm but ignores their stares, keeps her eyes focused on James. He nods.

  ‘Sure. Of course. Have a good morning at the café.’

  There is a brief pause; the phone stops ringing and the kitchen falls silent. Holly gurgles. James sighs. Ashley makes a split decision; she slings her bag over her shoulder and swiftly clicks open the front door. James is a grown man. He can handle the children, and he can handle the phone. As she walks away down the street she can hear the shrill of the telephone start up once again from inside the house, before the sound is replaced by the tap of her own footsteps, taking her further and further away.

  Then

  I’m so bored! I hate being by myself all the time. I hate not having proper toys to play with. I hate not having a Dad who will pick me up and swing me around like Jenny at school’s does, or a brother who will ruffle my hair and give me stickers to trade. I hate not having a sister who will share her gel pens or a dog that will jump up at me when I get home from school. People on the TV have those things. And so do the people at school. All I have is Mummy, and most of the time she doesn’t even like me.

  Today, she took me to the house first thing in the morning, really early, even before school. She said she hadn’t been able to sleep, that she was scared something might have happened at the house. She said she had to know something important. I wriggled through the gap in the fence, but I was so sleepy, I still felt like I was in my dream. I looked up at window number three (that’s what I call it anyway) and saw him with her, and she looked the same as she normally does. I said that to Mummy.

  ‘Not different?’ she asked me. ‘Not bigger? Rounder?’ She gestured to her own stomach, made a curving shape. ‘Did she look like that?’

  I shook my head no. ‘She looks the same as always, Mummy.’

  I think that was the right answer; Mummy took a big breath as though she had been holding it, then she took hold of my hand and said she’d make me a special breakfast before school, because I had been such a big helpful girl. We had eggs and soldiers. It was nice, but then when I got home from school in the afternoon, she left me on my own.

  I really didn’t like it. The flat felt too big for me even though really it’s small, it felt like it was swallowing me up. I tried playing a game by myself, going into the different rooms and counting the furniture, counting the lights, counting everything. None of it worked. I felt frightened.

  She put on a lot of red lipstick and said she was going to him. I watched her in the mirror, her hands were a bit shaky like an old person. She made her eyes look all sparkly and put her hair up in a clip.

  ‘This is how I used to look,’ she told me. ‘This is why he fell in love with me.’

  I asked her how long she would be and she told me she’d be as long as it takes. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know why we need him to be here so badly.

  It’s been three hours now and I’m getting hungry. The fridge smells a bit funny when I open the door. The flat is so quiet. I think about their house and I wonder what they are doing. At least they’re together. I wish I was there. I can’t stop thinking about the playground, what happened yesterday at school.

  Someone asked me at break time if my mummy has a boyfriend. I didn’t know what to say so I waited a bit.

  They asked me again. It was Natasha from class, she was twirling a strand of hair around her fingers and she looked at me sideways, like she was trying to catch me out.

  ‘She has an old boyfriend,’ I said eventually. ‘He’s going to be her boyfriend again soon. He’s going to come back to us.’

  I was repeating what Mummy said so I knew it was right, but it didn’t seem to satisfy Natasha, she covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. The sound pierced through my ears, made me want to run, burrow my way through the hole in the fence and stay very very still. I’ve started to feel safe there now, it’s weird. I used to hate it but now it’s the place I sort of feel at home. Even though I know it’s not our home, not really, it’s theirs, but still I like the feeling of being there, down in the grass, looking at the warm golden windows, seeing them all safe inside. Last week I found an old tennis ball resting in the grass, all soft and soggy like the air had gone out of it, but I slipped it in my pocket and took it home with me. Mummy doesn’t know. I like it, it’s like a little bit of them with me in my room.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Natasha said. ‘And when is this old boyfriend going to come back?’

  ‘Soon,’ I said. ‘He wants to come back. He wants to come back very much.’

  She was still laughing. I knew there was something wrong with what I was saying but I didn’t know what. I could feel my cheeks getting hotter and hotter and suddenly I felt it, a flash of anger, a little spark of rage that lit up inside me and started to burn.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’ I asked her, and she just carried on, higher and higher, louder and louder. I clenched my fists into balls at my sides. My fingers all started to hurt.

  20

  London

  Corinne

  In the morning, Dom wakes up late. I can tell he’s annoyed with me for going on at him all night. I sit on the side of the bath, watching him shave quickly. He swears as the razor nicks his skin.

  ‘Shit!’ He glances at me, meets my eye in the mirror.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ I say. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, Dom. It’s not like I had a great night’s sleep either.’ I’m so tired that my eyes hurt.

  He drinks his coffee too fast, gulps it down and hands me the cup. ‘I’ve got to get to work.’

  I must look upset because he relents a bit, sighs. ‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m just tired. I know you’re stressed out – I know you are. But you’ve got to try to stop worrying, Corinne. Nobody is out to get you.’ He leans in, kisses me. I taste the coffee on his tongue.

  ‘Give me a call if that rocking horse decides to show itself, OK?’

  I don’t answer. He thinks it’s a joke. There’s a tiny piece of tissue paper stuck to the blood on his cheek where he caught himself with the razor but I don’t tell him, just say that I’ll see him later on. The door bangs shut behind him and I get up from the table, go over to it and slam it again, slide the silver bolt all the way across. I’m not taking any more chances.

  When I’m sure Dom’s gone down the stairs I search the flat again, one more time, kneel down on the floor and check under the cupboards, under the fridge, behind the sofa. My eyes meet nothing but dust.

  I go to the dresser, pull open the first drawer. My fingers catch on staples as I push paper aside, then my hands grasp wood. I pull out the little blue door and the chimney. There is a sharp pain in my index finger and I yelp and wince; my finger has caught on the nail sticking out of the little door. I drop everything, close my other hand around the cut but not before a few drops of blood have fallen onto the dresser, bright scarlet pinpricks that soak into the wood. I stare at them without blinking until my eyes begin to tear. The cut deepens, I peer at the skin, see the white folds of it parting to reveal the pink flesh beneath. I ignore it and pick up the objects again, twist them from side to side, hold them to the light. Then I shove them back into the darkness, pile newspaper on top of them, pushing them down and down into the black.

  I sit down at the kitchen table, racking my brain. I think of finding the little chimney lying in the doorframe, seeing the blue door on my desk. I screw up my eyes, picturing the last time I saw the doll house, in our big living room with the French windows. Someone must know. There is somebody out there who knows where that house is.

  I pick up the phone. Enough is enough. It’s time to call my mother.

  21

  London

  Ashley

  She’s made a doctor’s appointment for Holly fo
r this afternoon. Ashley rings June, tells her she will come collect Holly a bit early.

  June sounds concerned. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Ashley says. ‘Nothing to worry about, just a check-up, I think she seems a bit unsettled. James will drop Hol off around lunchtime but you don’t mind if I come pick her up early, do you?’ She pauses. ‘I can stop at the shops for you if you need. Can I get you anything?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ June says, and her voice sounds a little strange, taken aback. Ashley worries she’s offended her by suggesting a shop-run, she doesn’t want June to think she is treating her as someone who is too elderly to make it herself.

  ‘I mean, I’ll be passing the shops, that’s all,’ Ashley says, but June says no, she has everything she needs.

  Halfway through the Colours lunchtime rush, Ashley is cutting two extra large slices of coffee cake for a pair of women when she feels her mobile buzz in her pocket. She pops a small sliver of cake into her mouth and immediately feels guilty, as though the waistband on her jeans has tightened within seconds.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she says, laying down the knife and slipping to one side, motioning to Megan to finish serving them. She watches the women nudge each other and make eyes at the creamy slabs of cake.

  ‘There goes my diet!’

  She smiles to herself and presses the phone to her ear. The smile vanishes as the voice of Benji’s headmistress cuts through the happy warmth of the café, telling her to come collect her son right this instant.

  Ashley bridles, feeling as though the bossy headteacher has spat at her, and puts on her best regal voice, an old specialty of her mother’s.

  ‘What exactly seems to be the problem, Mrs Armitage?’ she asks.