The Doll's House

When they took Dominic away, they said I could stay here for a while. I pulled my old doll Sandy with her cropped hair from the wooden crate in the attic. Her sea-blue eyes stared back at me as if to say, it’s all over now.

The woman they sent to talk to me was called Kate. I asked her if she had any brothers or sisters, but she said, no, she didn’t. It’s funny the way all our lives are so different, none of us walking in the same shoes as others.

She asked me about my doll’s house and my doll. I told her I had called her Sandy after the strand because of her sea-blue eyes. I had forgotten about that. I told her about Debbie too. How I thought I remembered somebody by that name, someone who was beautiful on the outside but ugly within. It got me thinking about all the other bits I’d forgotten, and how much more will surface over time.

The past cannot hurt you, Gerard Hayden had said, because it has already happened. I now know that isn’t true. The past forms you. It can reach out like a giant claw and drag you back into it. I had asked Kate about that too, whether she thought the secrets of the past, the memories locked within our minds, were best left in peace. Her answer surprised me.

‘Not knowing can be equally hard,’ she said. She looked pensive. I felt she had her own story to tell. Perhaps we all do. She told me she has a patient, a girl close to Ruby in age. She too has memory gaps. Over time Kate hopes all the missing bits will come back. I hope so too. The truth might be harsh, but it is your truth. Without it, like Emma’s cracked face, the pieces are all there but so too is the dark.

I talked about the doll’s house, and how I remembered calling my doll with the porcelain face after my sister Emmaline, when I knew Mum was bringing her home.

I explained that after the regression I felt I had left my little-girl self behind. That I knew she still needed me. She needed someone to tell her everything would be okay.

‘She’s still inside you,’ Kate had said, ‘waiting for you to be okay too.’

I pick up the doll called Sebastian, the one that looked so much like Dominic as a boy. My brother is getting help now, but it’s a long road ahead.

I place my hands in every room of the doll’s house, touching Ben the brown terrier with the black-and-white-spotted ball in his mouth, the intricate pieces of furniture, the miniature plates and cups, the tiny dressing table with the pretend powder and lipstick, and all the while I’m remembering that little girl. The one who ran away to be alone, away from the loud voices and fear, the one who sought refuge with her dolls, and a life inside the world of a doll’s house.





Acknowledgements


Writing a novel is a journey, one that is filled with many hopes and questions. It takes time and the path isn’t always clear, but if your story is worth telling, it’s worth writing. The Doll’s House was such a journey, and it wouldn’t have happened without the help and encouragement of a great many people.

The first people I want to thank are my family, especially my ever patient husband, Robert, my children, Jennifer, Lorraine and Graham, to whom this book is dedicated, and my granddaughter, Caitriona, who has brought so much joy into all our lives.

I owe a huge debt to everyone directly involved with the creation of this novel, starting with my agent Ger Nichol, of The Book Bureau, who has been there for me every step of the way, the great team at Hachette Books Ireland, especially Ciara Doorley, commissioning editor, who believed so enthusiastically in this story from the beginning, and also thanks to Hazel Orme, copy editor, for her wonderful work on the manuscript.