‘What happened to you?’ Dominic says, but as he sees Mathilde’s tiny chest begin to move, sees her start to try to answer him he stops her, brushes the question aside. ‘Never mind, God, don’t try to talk right now – let’s just get you out of here.’ He crouches down, touches Mathilde’s hair. It is soft, like feathers. Mathilde’s lips are moving; she is trying to speak.
‘She . . .’ Mathilde says. ‘Erin . . .’
Dominic twists his head; in the shock of seeing Mathilde he hasn’t even checked if she’s alone, if there is anyone else lurking in the darkness of the house.
‘What? Who did this to you?’
Mathilde’s eyes are on his, as though she can read his thoughts as he wildly looks around the room.
‘She’s gone,’ she manages. ‘There’s nobody here. It was Erin, Dominic. She’s Richard’s daughter.’
Dominic’s brain feels sluggish, slow-moving. Erin? It can’t be. Erin is his friend. She’s his colleague. She wouldn’t do this. Mathilde coughs, and Dominic feels a jolt of fear as he sees the way her body shakes. There is no time to piece together what Mathilde is saying, the only thing that matters in this instant is Corinne. If Erin has gone, he must find Corinne. He needs to know that she and the baby are safe.
‘All right,’ he says, trying to think quickly, willing his brain to snap into action. He wants desperately to stay calm. He can’t panic Mathilde any more than she already is.
‘All right, Mathilde, all right, we’re going to sort this out, we’re going to get you up and I’m going to call the police.’ He keeps his voice soft, quiet, controlled. Mathilde is moaning slightly, a low, painful sound that breaks Dominic’s heart. He reaches into his pocket, grabs his car keys and uses them to loosen the ropes on her wrists. They are not tied as tightly as he’d first thought, after a few minutes he is able to ease her left wrist out of the rope, followed by her right. She gives a little cry as they are released; he sees tears prick her eyes.
‘Hush now, nearly there,’ he says, as though talking to a child. He moves on to her ankles, forces his way through the thin tie that knots them together. The rope is fraying, he has to pick it apart with the metal of his key. It seems to take forever, all he can hear is the sound of his breathing, ragged and fast. Mathilde’s feet are horribly swollen, he winces at the sight of the elderly flesh pouched around the rope.
‘There!’ He has done it. Mathilde’s legs jerk apart and she lies still for a moment, her body rising and falling, rising and falling. Dominic puts his arms underneath her, helps her to a sitting position. The floor beneath them is unforgiving and hard.
The skin on her face looks almost translucent.
‘Dominic,’ she says. ‘Dominic, thank you. Thank you so much.’
He stares at her. Her lips are deathly pale but she looks unhurt, he can see no blood, no sign of any injuries save the welts on her arms and legs.
‘Mathilde,’ he says, ‘what happened to you? What did she do to you? We need to call the police.’ He glances down at his mobile. No service. ‘Where’s your phone? I need to use your house phone.’
She raises an arm, points to the kitchen. Dominic pushes open the door, snaps on the light in the kitchen. There is a bottle of cleaning fluid on the side, the lid discarded next to it. A half-drunk cup of tea lies cold by the sink. He looks around wildly, sees the phone. His stomach drops. The cord dangles uselessly down, the white plastic shorn to reveal stumps of copper wire. She’s cut off the line.
He has to get to London. Back in the sitting room, Mathilde’s teeth are chattering, she is shaking her head. She reaches out a hand, grips his arm.
‘It’s been cut,’ he says. The words sound hollow in his ears.
Mathilde tightens her grip. ‘She left hours ago, Dominic. There’s no time.’ He feels her nails dig into him, can sense the urgency in her touch. Wordlessly, he puts his arm underneath Mathilde’s shoulders and gently lifts her up so that they are both standing. Her body is so light, she feels almost weightless in his arms. His mouth has a metallic taste.
Together, they half walk, half stumble down the driveway to Dominic’s car. He checks his phone again, his heart hammering in his chest. Still no signal. The police took so long to arrive last night. He’ll call as soon as they hit the road. Dominic switches on all the lights in the car, checks the vehicle just in case. It is empty. Cold air whistles through the open doors.
He helps Mathilde into the back seat, lifting her gently so that she can lie down. She closes her eyes, briefly, and Dominic sees how much pain she must be in. How long has she been a prisoner in her own house? How long has she lain on the cold floor?
He starts the engine, swings the car towards London. His body feels as if it is on autopilot. He talks through the steps in his mind: drive, get reception, call the police, find Corinne. The words are on a loop in his head; he is trying desperately to squash down the panic that is threatening his insides. Erin? Young blonde Erin who sits in a desk chair, typing up court stories and flirting with Andy? How can this be happening?
Sweat breaks out on Dominic’s forehead. What kind of man is he? He hasn’t been paying attention to Corinne, hasn’t been taking the threats seriously. As embarrassingly naive as it sounded – especially as he was a fucking journalist – he’d had no idea what humans really were capable of, until he’d found Mathilde. Bad things didn’t happen to people like them, that’s what he’d secretly thought when he’d heard the horrid stories, read the dark news pieces. The arrogance of his belief makes him blanche.
53
27 March 2017
The day of the anniversary
London
Ashley
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Ashley stands firm on the grave, staring at Erin, wishing she wasn’t on her own. ‘I don’t know who you are. My dad didn’t have another daughter.’
Erin shakes her head. Her arms move back to hold the bundle in both hands. The blanket is still covering it completely. Whatever is inside is not making a sound.
‘You’re both the same, you and your sister. Privileged. Blind. But then, why would you care? You had it all. And you know what I had? I had nothing. I had a father who kept me a secret. I was a disgrace, an embarrassment, a weird little kid who no one wanted. Have you any idea how that feels, Ashley?’
Her arms are looped around the bundle and she is scratching at her arm, dragging her perfect nails up and down the skin on her wrist. Ashley sees the first spots of blood begin to appear, bright scarlet on her flesh.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘I don’t know – I don’t know what you mean.’
Erin laughs. It echoes around the cemetery, bouncing off the graves.
‘You wouldn’t. Living in your little bubble, your happy family. You never gave a shit. None of you did. You didn’t grow up like I grew up.’
Ashley’s mouth is starting to dry up, her stomach beginning to twist.
‘I grew up differently,’ Erin says. ‘You grew up living, and I grew up watching. Inside, outside. You see how it works? I spent my life staring through the windows as you and your sister had the life I wanted, the life I deserved.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘It was like torture. You grew up with a family home and a father and a fucking state-of-the-art doll house. And now you’ve got it all over again, you’ve got the kids and the house and the husband. I’ll never have any of that.’
‘I—’ Ashley says, her mind sticking on the mention of her children. ‘We didn’t—’
Erin sucks in her cheeks, spits saliva onto the ground.
‘I didn’t have a life,’ she says bitterly. ‘I still don’t. All we ever had was money, and then he robbed us of that too. So then we had nothing. I had nothing, no one but a mother who was losing the plot and a full-time job watching you.’
She looks down. Ashley hears a flicker of emotion in her voice when she speaks again. ‘You think I don’t know you, Ashley, but I do. You and your sister were all I thought about. I never had friends. I was sneakin
g around, seeing things unfold.’ She grins suddenly. ‘Why do you think I’m so good at it now?’
She looks at Ashley, puts out a small pale hand and touches the sleeve of her black coat. Ashley flinches, jerks her arm away before she can think what she is doing.
Erin’s mouth twists.
‘See,’ she says. ‘None of you want me. Not then, not now. I just wanted to get to know you, Ashley. I wanted to be involved. I’ve always been left out. It isn’t fair, it’s never been fair. He’s just as much mine as he ever was yours. He’s my dad. And he hated me.’
Her eyes are beginning to glitter with tears; she reaches up, wipes a hand across her face as though cross with herself.
‘Still, it’s over now,’ she says. ‘Your time is up. Perfect childhood, perfect life. Funny how things work out. My mother had nothing. I had nothing. He left us. He pretended we didn’t exist.’
She looks down briefly, runs her eyes over the gravestone. ‘Richard Hawes. Family man. Ha. Nothing was ever enough for him. Not even you two, in the end.’ She smiles, her features twisting.
Ashley opens her mouth. The words won’t come.
‘I – I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I don’t . . I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know, I didn’t have any idea.’
She watches as Erin begins to scratch at her arm again, like an animal. Ashley’s mind twists in circles, trying to gain control of what is happening, what she is being told. Perhaps it is best to play along.
‘Would you . . . would you like to go somewhere, talk?’ She tries again. Her heart is beating far too quickly and her armpits are wet with sweat. She has no idea if the girl is telling the truth, does not know what to think. But she doesn’t want to be here any longer, alone in this graveyard. She doesn’t feel safe.
Erin’s head is bent, but, as Ashley takes a small step backwards, her head snaps up.
‘I don’t think so.’ She steps closer, puts a hand on the blue blanket that is covering the shape in her arms. Slowly, she pulls it back so that a face appears, that of a sleeping child, a child with blonde curls and dark lashes. Ashley screams.
54
27 March 2017
The day of the anniversary
London
Dominic
Dominic is driving as quickly as he can, revving the car up and down in fits and spurts. Mathilde is lying in the back seat, her wrists shining raw and red in the flashing headlights of the M25. Cars zoom past them, their engines loud.
He’s just got off the phone with the police. He has told them to check the cemetery and the flat, explained who Erin is and what she has done to Mathilde. Corinne is in danger. He knows she is; he can feel it.
‘OK, sir, we’re going to get some people out now,’ the DI had said, his voice crackling through the speakerphone in the car. ‘Someone will ring you with an update as soon as we can. In the meantime, try to stay calm. We’ll need you to bring the victim you have there to the station as soon as possible.’
Dominic is trying as hard as he can to be gentle with Mathilde, even though his heart is racing and he wants to scream at the top of his lungs. His body feels as though it is straining against his seat belt, he wants to get to Corinne so badly. He’s tried her mobile, Ashley’s mobile, and the flat phone consistently since calling the police, but there is still no answer.
The police haven’t called back. It has been almost twenty-five minutes – what the fuck are they doing? He pushes the accelerator harder, his mind not focusing properly on the road ahead. Suddenly, a car looms in front of them, his brain clicks and he slams on the breaks.
A whimper echoes from behind.
‘Sorry, Mathilde, sorry.’ He pulls back the speed and rubs at his face.
‘Dominic?’ Her voice is thin, reedy, almost unrecognisable. ‘When did you last see Corinne?’
He swallows at the question and looks into the rear-view mirror. In the darkness she is only a shadow, a tiny shape curled on the seat. ‘This morning.’
When she doesn’t reply he glances back again; lights from the car to the side of them reflect in her eyes, staring out of her face like marbles.
‘Mathilde? Can you tell me what happened?’ he says. ‘Can you tell me what happened today?’
‘She came to the house,’ Mathilde says. Her voice is so quiet, he has to strain to hear her above the sound of the motorway.
‘It was this morning, early. There was a knock on the door. I was in the kitchen, I was cleaning out the cupboards. Spring, and all that. It was a nice day today. And, with the anniversary, I wanted a distraction.’
Dominic nods. ‘So you let her in?’
Mathilde shudders. ‘Not at first. I opened the door,’ she says. ‘I still had the sponge in my hand and when I opened it, the blonde girl – Erin—’ she shudders ‘—Erin said she knew me. She said she had something to tell me. I thought she had me confused with someone else. When I said she was mistaken, she got a hold of my arm. She had . . .’ She pauses. Dominic waits. ‘She had a knife. A big kitchen knife, and she came into the house. Just straight in, as if she owned the place. She looked around the house, all of it. For ages. I had to go with her, she was holding a knife against my throat.’
Dominic feels sick. He tries to keep his eyes on the road, overtakes the car ahead of them. It is so dark outside now.
‘Then she forced me into the sitting room,’ Mathilde says. ‘She tied me up, she kept the knife by my throat the whole time. I couldn’t struggle. I think she’d have killed me.’
‘Did she tell you who she was?’ he asks. How much does Mathilde know?
‘She told me I was a stupid old woman, that I didn’t have a clue about anything. She looked like she hated me. But she was wrong. I knew by then.’
Mathilde’s voice breaks.
Dominic takes his eyes off the road for a second, stares back at Mathilde. In the dark he hears her crying.
55
27 March 2017
The day of the anniversary
London
Ashley
‘Holly! Give me my daughter!’
In one quick movement Erin opens her arms. Holly falls, her body hits the ground with a sickening thud and there is a cry that stabs Ashley’s heart. She looks oddly floppy, as though she is a puppet with the strings cut. Her leg has twisted underneath her. Ashley lunges for her daughter but Erin steps forwards and Ashley sees the flash of silver by her side. Shock pulses through her. She’s holding a knife. The long blade glints in the half-light and Ashley ducks, desperate to touch Holly but Erin is on top of her, she is grabbing Ashley by the neck and twisting, pushing her down to the ground. Ashley cries out in pain and falls to her knees, hitting the cold earth. Erin steps on Ashley’s hand, crushing it into the dirt. The pain is exquisite. Beside them, Holly’s howls fill the air. Ashley is trying desperately to work out if she is seriously injured, whether she has hit her head. Her head is turned sideways at a funny angle. Please God, no.
‘You think you got off so easy, don’t you, Ashley?’ Erin hisses. ‘Your Lucy was a pushover. Pathetic. Shame the police arrived when they did. Guessing she looked quite the slut, lying on the street with her legs apart.’ She laughs, harsh and cold. ‘Guess it runs in the family.’
Ashley is gasping. Her head is very close to the stone of the grave. She can’t move. The knife is at her neck. Holly’s cries are getting quieter. She is losing her energy. ‘How did you get Holly?’ she gasps. ‘Tell me. Tell me now.’
Erin suddenly removes her foot from Ashley’s hand, lifts the hair on her scalp so that Ashley is face to face with her, they are looking at each other right up close. Erin lowers the knife, smiles.
‘You gave her to us,’ she says.
Ashley’s skin is stretched tight over her head, Erin’s fingers still tangled in her hair. It is an effort to speak. Erin’s words force their way into her brain.
‘What?’
‘That’s right,’ Erin says, ‘You handed her over three times a week, Ashley, because you coul
dn’t quite find the time. Let’s hope Mummy took care of her as well as she used to take care of me, hey? I have to say the medicine came in handy tonight, although let’s face it, she might not have needed it if she hadn’t been staying with my mother. Enough to give anyone night terrors, I’d think.’
June. Ashley closes her eyes. The shock is visceral, like a punch to the stomach. Memories come back to her, of her handing Holly over, the small spurts of relief she used to get when June would reach out, gather the baby towards her, shut the front door behind them. She has been giving Holly to June for months. June is this girl’s mother, and Ashley has trusted her with her baby. She is the worst mother in the world. What have they been doing to her daughter?
Erin is shaking her head, frowning. ‘The thing is, I think Mum might have been a little lax with the medicine bottles lately. You see, what’s good for an adult can be – well, it can be poison for a child, wouldn’t you say, Ashley? Especially one as young as your Holly. And Mum’s been on some pretty strong medication for a long time now. Keeps her on the straight and narrow – well, if that’s what you’d call it. I must say I’m impressed with her; she plays the part brilliantly.’
The thought slams into her. The blood test. The doctor’s tone. Ashley can feel her insides going cold, as though a hand is squeezing her heart. As the realisation begins to dawn on her, Erin starts to laugh. ‘Don’t feel bad, Ashley. That little bottle you’ve been giving her kept her nice and quiet for me all the way here. What a shame you couldn’t deal with your daughter without drugging her more than we already were.’
‘You . . . my baby . . .’ Ashley is staring at Holly’s tiny shape on the ground, willing her daughter to scream, cry, whimper – do anything to indicate that she might be alive. She is no longer making a sound.
Erin is still speaking, her eyes bright in the darkness, almost as though she is talking to herself now. ‘Mum quite likes you, I think. Considering how well she’s managed the retired schoolteacher role. I don’t think she’s ever even been inside a school. She certainly never came in mine. Too busy running after my dad.’ She smiles to herself. ‘Perhaps you brought out the best in her. I never could.’
The Doll House Page 28
