by Alex Lake
The conversation went on. Robert asked Anna what she liked to do, who her friends were, where she went to school. He asked if she had been anywhere new recently, if there were things she didn’t like (spiders and broccoli, apparently), if she ever felt unsafe or worried. She answered his questions freely, and, at the end of the half hour, he clapped his hands gently and smiled at her.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘That was every interesting. I enjoyed meeting you, Anna. Would you like to see me again?’
Anna nodded. ‘You’re funny.’
‘OK. Well, I’ll arrange it with your mum. But other than that, we’re done for the day.’
In the lobby Robert asked the receptionist to take Anna to choose a sticker from the basket they kept behind the desk. He shook Julia’s hand.
‘I’ll write up a full report,’ he said. ‘But she seems fine. No signs of trauma. Chatty, confident, relaxed. A very happy little girl. I’ll meet with her once a week for a while and see if that changes, but for now it seems things are well.’
‘Thank you,’ Julia said. ‘I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that.’
‘I have six of my own,’ Robert said. ‘From twenty-two down to ten, so I know how you feel. There’s no worry like the worry you have for your kids. I find it physically painful.’
‘And with six there must always be something to worry about.’
‘There is with one,’ Robert said. ‘And you can only worry so much. With six you just spread the worry around more.’
‘I don’t even want to think about that,’ Julia said. ‘I don’t know how you manage.’
‘Manage?’ Robert said. ‘Who said I manage? With six kids I just focus on survival.’
The receptionist walked over, holding Anna’s hand. ‘She wanted two stickers,’ she said. ‘Normally we only allow one, but I let her have both.’
Anna was going to get that kind of special treatment for a while, Julia realized. It came of being the little girl who was abducted.
‘Which did you get?’ Robert asked her.
‘The unicorn and the butterfly,’ Anna said.
‘Not the train and the racing car?’ Robert said.
‘No,’ Anna said. ‘I told you. Trains are for boys. And racing cars. I like animals. And the big doll’s house.’
‘OK,’ Robert said. ‘Have it your way.’
Julia paused. She looked at Anna and replayed what her daughter had just said. There was something odd, something out of place.
‘What big doll’s house?’ she asked.
Anna titled her head upwards. She frowned. ‘The big one,’ she said. ‘The one I slept in.’
Julia’s heart rate increased. ‘When did you sleep in a dolls’ house?’
Anna didn’t answer for a few seconds. When she did, she looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘What was it like?’ Robert’s tone was exactly as it had been before: calm, measured, playful, but there was an urgency underneath. ‘Tell me about the doll’s house. I love doll’s houses.’
‘No you don’t,’ Anna said. ‘You’re a boy.’
‘You have an appointment starting,’ the receptionist said. ‘Mr Newall.’
‘Could you let him know I’ll be a few minutes late?’ Robert said. He addressed himself to Anna. ‘I love them,’ he said. ‘Boys can love them, too. Tell me about yours. The big one.’
‘I can’t really remember it,’ Anna said. ‘I just remember that it was big, and I slept in it.’
‘How could a doll’s house be big enough to sleep in?’ asked Robert. ‘Surely that would make it a house for people?’
‘No,’ Anna insisted. ‘It was a doll’s house. But it was very big.’
‘Do you remember where it was?’
Anna shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Maybe it was a dream.’
‘Maybe.’ Robert looked at Julia. ‘Let’s have a chat,’ he said.
Julia and Brian occupied the couch in Robert’s office. DI Wynne sat in the armchair. Robert stood by the door.
‘She said she had slept in a big doll’s house,’ Julia said. ‘That was what was strange to me. She was very specific. She said she had slept there. Not played with it: slept in it. It’s not the kind of thing she would make up.’
‘Take me through what she said,’ Wynne urged. ‘Try and get it as close as possible to her exact words.’
Robert drummed his fingers on his upper lip. He recounted the conversation. He talked slowly, stopping every few words to make sure that what he was saying was as close as possible to what he remembered.
‘So,’ Brian said. ‘What do you think?’
‘Well,’ said Wynne. ‘It could be nothing. A dream, a figment of her imagination—’
‘I don’t think it is,’ Julia said. ‘It’s not like Anna to make things up like this.’
Wynne nodded. ‘If it’s true, then it tells us that Anna was in a place with a big doll’s house. Big enough to sleep in. So we need to find places with something that fits the bill.’ She got to her feet. ‘I need to get started,’ she said. ‘Find manufacturers of doll’s houses, speak to places that sell them, start the team digging on this.’
‘It doesn’t seem much to go on,’ Brian said. ‘Just a doll’s house.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ DI Wynne replied, a sharp, hunter’s look in her eye. ‘If we can get some telling detail then we can start to track it down. Assuming it’s real, we already know it’s big, big enough to sleep in. So we find places that sell big doll’s houses, ask them how many they’ve sold, who bought them. If the buyer used a credit card, then we can trace them easily; even if not, a sales rep might remember something. A lone man buying a doll’s house – might have stood out.’
‘Sounds good,’ Julia said. ‘What can we do to help?’
‘Speak to Anna,’ DI Wynne said. ‘Ask her what else she remembers. Anything at all: smells, voices – a man’s voice or a woman’s voice – sensations, feelings – was she scared? Happy? Sad? Was it light or dark, day or night? Did anyone touch her? Were they strong? Wearing rings? A watch? Any details on clothes they were wearing? Anything at all.’
‘Maybe make it a game,’ Robert said. ‘Lie down, eyes closed and play make-believe that she is taking you on a trip to the big doll’s house with her. Get her to describe it to you. That might help jog her memory.’
Julia was reluctant to do anything that took Anna back, even if it was only in a game, but she nodded.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll try.’
She tried that night, lying beside Anna in bed. Anna was freshly bathed and ready for bed and the smell of her filled the room.
‘I was thinking,’ she said. ‘About getting you a special treat.’
Anna stiffened with excitement. ‘What kind of treat? A present kind of treat?’
‘Maybe a doll’s house,’ Julia said. ‘If you want one.’
‘Mummy,’ Anna said. ‘Of course, I want one!’
‘One like the one you slept in?’
‘No!’ Anna said. ‘I would like one with doors and tables and chairs and lots of dolls. ’
‘That one didn’t have those things?’
‘No. It didn’t have anything.’
‘What did it have?’
Anna shook her head. ‘I don’t remember, Mummy. It was dark. And I was sleepy.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Mummy!’ Anna rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I want to talk about the doll’s house you are going to buy for me!’
‘OK,’ Julia said. ‘Let’s talk about that.’
She lay back and listened while Anna rattled off all the things her doll’s house would have. There were a lot of them – it was going to be more like a doll’s castle than a house – and Julia was glad that her daughter did not seem traumatized by whatever had happened to her.
She, on the other hand, could hardly bear to hear the words doll’s house. It reminded her that someone had kidnapped
Anna and held her captive, reminded her of the utter anguish she had gone through.
And it reminded her that whoever it was had not been caught. Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe this really was over. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe there was more to come, some sinister plan that Julia could not even guess at.
So she was glad when Anna fell asleep, and she could lie in the silence and hide away from her fears.
vii.
It was late when Julia woke up. Anna was already out of bed, the duvet pulled back, the pillows in disarray. Anna’s favourite monkey was lying face down by the headboard. Julia put her hand out; the bed was still warm.
Downstairs, Edna was sitting at the breakfast table, the remains of two boiled eggs in front of her. Anna was in the living room, skimming through photos on her grandmother’s iPad.
Edna sipped her coffee.
‘I sent Brian for the paper,’ she said. ‘I don’t normally read them, but he needed the fresh air.’
Typical Edna. A robust, common sense solution for every situation, which normally involved exercise, fresh air, pulling yourself together, or all three. She’d have made a good Victorian schoolteacher, although she might have been a bit too harsh and unforgiving for even that environment. Not for the first time, Julia felt sorry for Brian, although it was now mixed with relief that trying to please her mother-in-law was no longer going to be required of her.
‘Good,’ Julia said. ‘He’s a lucky man, having you to take care of him.’
‘He is. And he’s going to need it when he leaves his home.’
‘That won’t be for a while, at least,’ Julia said.
Edna was, as always, sitting totally upright, but she still managed to straighten in her chair. ‘What do you mean?’ she said.
‘Brian’s staying here. Until things settle down.’
Edna nodded slowly. ‘I see. And how long will that be?’
‘I don’t know. Six months. A year. However long it takes, I guess.’
‘However long what takes?’
‘I don’t know, Edna,’ Julia said. ‘It’s not one specific thing. It just doesn’t feel like now is the right time for him to leave. It might unsettle Anna, for starters.’
‘Anna will be fine,’ Edna said. ‘Children are more robust than we give them credit for.’
‘Right. Of course.’ This was another of Edna’s firmest beliefs: children were tough and were only damaged by mollycoddling. They needed to learn that there was bad as well as good in the world and how to deal with it. Insulating them from it only meant that, when the lesson finally came, it would be harder to learn; far better for them to develop early the skills they needed to cope with disappointments and failure.
Julia happened to disagree. If her daughter could live in a cocoon in which only good things happened then fine. There was plenty of time for misery and upset later. She’d never bothered to argue the point with Edna – it would only have created a problem – but now she had nothing to lose.
‘You know,’ she said. ‘I don’t think they are. I think they are fragile and delicate and need our love and support. Divorce is disruptive and confusing for children, and I don’t think now is a good time for Anna to suffer through it. There’s too much other stuff going on.’
‘Nonsense,’ Edna said. ‘Thousands of—’
‘You know,’ Julia said. ‘I don’t really want to discuss it. What Brian and I do is our business, and we’ll decide between us what course to take. Whether you agree with it or not is really not of interest to me.’
‘It should be,’ Edna said. ‘I have a lot of experience—’
‘Of what?’ Julia said. She was uncontrollably angry; she wanted nothing to do with Edna, and the more she could insult her the more chance there was she would leave Julia alone. ‘Of failed marriages? Of how to drive away your husband? Because that’s what happened, isn’t it? You were so awful that Jim found comfort in the bed of another woman and left.’
‘So,’ Edna said. ‘That’s what you think of me. I’m glad to see your true colours at last. They might not be all that impressive, but at least now you can claim the virtue of honesty. Maybe, anyway. You don’t have much of a track record in the honesty department, after all. And you’d know a thing or two about providing comfort to married men. What was the name of the man whose marriage you destroyed again?’
Julia stopped herself replying. She could see Edna wanted an argument, wanted them to end by shouting insults at each other. Then she could use this as evidence of the unsuitability of Brian staying at home. Julia could picture her now, shaking her head at Brian, saying how can I set foot in that house again, after what she said to me. She couldn’t make the decision herself, so she wanted to create conflict, drive an even deeper wedge into their marriage so that the few remaining bonds were torn apart.
Julia didn’t want to let her have that, so she shook her head and walked into the living room. She sat next to Anna and pulled her close to her.
‘Want to read a book?’ she asked.
Anna looked up at her and smiled. ‘Can we read The BFG?’ she said.
They’d read it twice a few months back and Anna loved it. Julia would not have chosen it again, but she didn’t care. She would have her read the ingredients on a toothpaste tube. She was just glad to be reading to her at all.
They were just arriving at the BFG’s cave when the front door opened. Brian came into the living room, carrying a newspaper and a purple box of chocolates.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘The BFG. My favourite.’ He made a puzzled face and put on a deep West Country accent, which, Julia remembered, was his BFG voice. ‘Where’s my Snozzcumbers? Human beans is very tasty beans.’
Anna giggled. ‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘You’re so funny.’
Brian waggled his eyebrows. ‘I trys me best,’ he said, still in his BFG voice. He held out the box of chocolates. It was about two feet square; Julia wasn’t sure she had ever seen such a large box. Anna reached out and took it.
‘For you,’ Brian said. ‘Some choccies.’
Anna pulled the lid off the box. Her eyes widened. ‘For me? All of them?’
‘All for you.’
‘You can have one, Daddy,’ she said. ‘Or two.’
‘Or three?’ Brian said.
‘Two,’ Anna clarified. She looked at Julia. ‘And you can have two as well, Mummy.’
Julia took a chocolate. She bit into it; it was a rose cream. She hated rose creams. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said. ‘Thank you, darling.’
Brian picked a chocolate from the box. ‘I’ll take one for grandma,’ he said. ‘She loves chocolates. Then I’ll be right back for mine.’
He went into the kitchen. Julia heard him put the newspapers on the countertop, then tell Edna he had a surprise for her.
‘So,’ Julia said. ‘Were there chocolates in the doll’s house?’
Anna paused. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Just dust.’
‘Oh?’ Julia said. ‘Was it an old doll’s house?’
‘I think so,’ Anna said.
‘Did it smell new or old?’
‘Mummy,’ Anna said. ‘You can’t smell old! It’s not a thing, like flowers. It doesn’t smell.’
‘I know,’ Julia said. ‘But sometimes things smell stale if they’re old. Like dust. You mentioned dust.’
‘Oh,’ Anna said. ‘The dust wasn’t in the doll’s house. It was on the floor.’
‘What floor?’
‘The floor of the room the doll’s house was in.’
Julia tried to act calmly, despite the adrenaline flooding her body. ‘What room was it in?’
Anna pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know. A dark room. It was a bit cold, as well.’
‘Like a cellar?’
‘What’s a cellar?’
Julia thought for a second. ‘Was the floor hard? Like stone?’
Anna nodded.
‘Were you standing on the floor, looking at the doll’s house?’
‘Maybe,’ Anna said.
‘I don’t really remember. Mummy, don’t ask me any more questions. I don’t like it.’
‘One more, darling. Can you think what colour the doll’s house was?’
‘I think red,’ Anna said. ‘Or blue, maybe.’
‘Red,’ Edna said. She was standing in the doorway, watching. ‘Or blue, maybe. I think you may be wasting your time.’
‘Thanks for the words of support, Edna,’ Julia said. ‘But since it’s my time I feel as though I am free to waste it all I want.’
‘Very good,’ Edna said. ‘I have to leave.’
She smiled at Julia. It was a strange smile, although Julia could not work out exactly what it was about it that was odd. It was forced, somehow, almost mocking.
‘Bye,’ Julia said. ‘See you later.’
‘Yes,’ Edna said. ‘You will.’
viii.
Julia let the hot shower course over her body. She understood why religious ceremonies of rebirth often took place in water; the idea of washing away the sins of the past wasn’t simply symbolism – there was a definite physical sensation that things were changing, that the old was sluicing off and making space for the new.
And who knew what that would be?
She’d left Anna with Brian and The BFG. Anna was folded at the waist with laughter at her dad’s funny voices; Julia had been both delighted and puzzled by it. Delighted, because her daughter was home and happy, and puzzled because she couldn’t quite work out how she had missed the strength of Anna’s love for her father. Maybe her own disillusionment with Brian had clouded her view, and she had assumed that Anna too found him tedious and uninspiring, but that was emphatically not the case. Seeing them together that morning she had realized that Anna adored him, that she found him the funniest and kindest and strongest man in the world.
And it changed her view of him, too. Not completely; she still didn’t get a thrill at the thought of him, didn’t see him as the rock she could lean on through the rest of her life’s journey, but enough to make her wonder whether she had misjudged him, whether the root cause of her disenchantment with life was not Brian but something inside her. Maybe she was unfulfilled because of her approach to life, or her job, or the lack of adventure in her character. And if that was the case, then breaking up the family would not solve her problem. Taking up scuba diving or adopting a baby or learning the piano might, but not breaking up the family.
