The Doll House

by Phoebe Morgan

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of an issue in class today,’ the head says. Her voice is nasal, slightly smug as though she’s enjoying making the call. ‘Benji got a bit angry in his Maths lesson, Mrs Thomas. He’s not usually a violent child but . . .’

  Ashley swallows. Why is the bloody woman dragging it out?

  ‘Yes?’ she says. She can feel Megan looking at her worriedly from behind the café counter.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid Benjamin kicked another little boy named Oscar,’ Mrs Armitage says. ‘In the left shin. As I’m sure you understand, this kind of behaviour is not tolerated in the classroom, or anywhere else for that matter. We’ve had a word with Benji, of course, but I feel it would be best if you could come to collect him. The other little boy is really quite upset.’ She sniffs disapprovingly.

  Ashley sighs. Oscar. The name conjures up a vague image of a snotty-looking child prone to major parts in the Christmas plays. She bets he’s milking it.

  ‘Mrs Thomas?’

  ‘I’ll be there straight away,’ Ashley says, gritting her teeth. It is very unlike Benji to be badly behaved.

  She hangs up and gestures to Megan, who is halfway through cutting a slice of pecan pie.

  ‘Megs, I’m so sorry, that was the school. I’ve got to go get Benji, seems he’s been acting up.’ She pulls a face but Megan waves a hand.

  ‘No worries, Ash. Kids come first! I think I can cope with cake and coffee.’

  As she drives to the school, Ashley’s mobile vibrates again. She glances at the screen. Unknown number. Her chest tightens. The screen lights up and goes dark, lights up and goes dark. Ashley’s fingers grip the wheel. She isn’t going to answer. Her eyes are not on the road, they slide towards the mobile lying on the passenger seat and a car horn blares at her. She jumps, looks up to see a big Range Rover roaring past, the blurry outline of a middle finger raised at her through the window. She has to concentrate. The mobile stops vibrating, lies silently beside her, as though its job is done.

  At school, thoughts of the phone fly out of Ashley’s head as she hurries along the corridors to where her son is standing. Benji is contrite, red-faced, in the hallway outside the teacher’s office. His laces are undone, and his little white shirt is untucked. Ashley feels her heart melt, tries and fails to administer a disapproving face. She crouches down and brushes the strands of hair from her son’s eyes. He will not meet her own, looks steadfastly at the linoleum floor, his dark eyelashes curled against the fullness of his childish cheeks.

  ‘Hey,’ she says, softly, keeping her voice light. ‘What’s up, buddy?’

  The door behind her opens and Mrs Armitage steps out. Ashley, squatted on the floor, sees the black court shoes and nylon tights appear next to her and rises hurriedly to her feet, placing a hand on the top of Benji’s tousled head. The teacher makes her feel instantly inadequate.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Thomas.’ The head’s mouth is set in a thin, straight line, her lips almost invisible. ‘Thank you for coming in. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your son home for the day. I think it’s best he settles down outside of the school environment.’

  Ashley straightens up, wishing the hemline of her blouse didn’t have a smear of cake on it. Standing in front of the teacher, she feels a wave of humiliation, and is horrified to find her throat flushing red, embarrassment making her whole body feel hot.

  There is a tug on the bottom of her shirt and she looks down into her son’s large eyes. He looks helpless and she feels a pang of sympathy shoot through her. Ashley takes a deep breath, tries to compose her thoughts. She takes Benji’s hand firmly in her own, gives his damp palm a little squeeze.

  ‘I’m very sorry there’s been trouble, Mrs Armitage,’ she says. ‘I do hope Oscar is recovering. I’ll speak to my son at home and find out what’s the matter. I have to say—’ she glances at Benji ‘—I can’t really imagine my son doing this unless provoked.’ She raises her eyebrows, tries to keep her voice calm.

  The head’s face is horribly smug. ‘I’m afraid there’s no excuse for violence, Mrs Thomas.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Ashley says. ‘I wasn’t suggesting there was.’

  There’s a pause. Clearly the head isn’t going to back down.

  ‘Well.’ Ashley gives her son’s hand another squeeze. ‘We’ll be going home now.’

  ‘I do think that’s best, really,’ the teacher says, looking down at Benji as though she is looking at a soon-to-be criminal rather than a small boy with a plaster on his knee. ‘We’ll see Benji tomorrow when he’s calmed down a bit.’

  They walk out to the car in silence. Ashley waits as Benji buckles up his belt, his little hands fumbling with the red and black lock. She starts the ignition and holds off until they are a few roads away from the school before gently asking her son what happened.

  His face is blotchy; she can tell that he is still angry. He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, and she slows the car down so that she can hear him over the noise of the accelerator.

  ‘Ben, I can’t hear you. What?’

  He mumbles again.

  ‘Benji, I can’t hear you if you have your hand over your mouth. Tell me what the matter is, please.’

  ‘Oscar said a bad word about Lucy,’ he says.

  Ashley frowns. ‘What kind of bad word?’

  Her son shakes his head, playing with the seat belt. Ashley stares over at him, the way his hair curls around his ears, the childish swell of his limbs. She thinks of the drawing she found in James’s desk; faded colours, imagination on the page. He is just a child. He is her baby. How can he be in trouble?

  ‘I don’t want to say.’

  ‘I’m giving you permission, Ben. Just tell me, please.’

  He looks at her and his rosebud mouth forms the word ‘slut’, in a half-whisper, accentuating the ‘t’. Ashley can’t help herself; she gasps in surprise and her foot catches the brake pedal. The car jolts.

  ‘Sorry.’ She puts her hands quickly on the steering wheel, in the ten and two position, steadying herself and the car. Benji’s cheeks are red, his voice is wobbly and small.

  ‘I didn’t know what it meant but he said it in a mean voice so I kicked him. I’m sorry, Mummy.’

  His eyes are very big and wide. She feels sick.

  ‘It’s OK, Benji, but you mustn’t ever use violence, even when people say very bad things like that. OK, you promise me?’

  He nods.

  ‘I don’t want you to ever use that word either, Ben, OK? And you aren’t to tell your sister about this. What that boy said was silly and it wasn’t true. So the best thing to do with people like that is to ignore them. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  They continue to drive in silence. Ashley’s head is spinning, her heart is hammering uncomfortably in her chest. How can an eight-year-old even know this word? And, more importantly, how does an eight-year-old boy know anything about her daughter?

  She glances at her watch. James will have gone to work. They may as well call at June’s now, Holly’s doctor’s appointment isn’t far off and maybe they can be seen early.

  As they pull into the driveway, Ashley notices another car sitting beside June’s little Renault Clio. The other car seems oddly too large, out of place among the suburban gravel. She parks, unfastens, hurries to June’s front door.

  When June opens the door she looks flustered. Ashley stands back slightly, embarrassed.

  ‘Sorry, hi, June. I had to grab Benji from school a little early as it turned out so I thought I may as well collect Holly now too, take her to the doctor’s like I mentioned earlier. That OK? How’re you?’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ June says. ‘Sorry, dear, I just wasn’t expecting you this minute. Holly’s just down for a nap, I’ll get her.’

  The door remains half closed as June disappears into the house. Ashley hovers on the doorstep, trying to peer inside.

  ‘Shall I . . . shall I come in?’ she calls.

  In seconds, Ju
ne is back, Holly in her arms, wrapped in a fleecy purple blanket with her Frozen socks on.

  ‘Here we are, she’s been a very good girl today. I hope all goes well at the doctor. All right then!’

  ‘Thanks, June. Is there someone here?’ Ashley asks, taking her daughter from the older woman’s outstretched hands. Usually she’d be inside, sometimes having a quick cup of tea at June’s kitchen table, but today it’s as though she can’t wait to be rid of her.

  ‘No, no, well, just the plumber.’

  ‘The plumber?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been having some trouble with the heating, that’s all, silly me, it’s probably just a case of flicking a switch but I can’t seem to get it right! The chap’s upstairs now, having a quick look.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Ashley says, ‘I hope you’re keeping warm enough!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ June says, ‘Holly’s been lovely and tucked up all afternoon, she’s not got a chill on her. That’s not what you’re at the doctor’s for, is it?’ She looks so worried that Ashley feels bad, she reaches out to touch June’s arm.

  ‘Oh, no, June, I wasn’t suggesting it’s anything to do with you! I was meaning I hope the heating gets fixed for yourself!’ Ashley says. ‘If you ever need anything doing round the house just let me know and I can send James over. I know he wouldn’t mind helping you out. You do such a lot for us, with Hol.’

  June smiles, the creases around her eyes deepening. Ashley thinks how pretty she must have been when she was younger. She has a sudden urge to take June’s hand; she hates to think of her being cold in the house.

  ‘That’s very kind,’ June says, and she reaches out, chucks Holly gently under the chin. ‘It’s a pleasure looking after this little one. I’m sure the man will get the heating sorted in no time. I’d better go take him some more tea – I’ll see you on Thursday. Let me know what Doc says.’ She has kept the door half closed for their whole conversation, and now she begins to push it to. Something in her movements seems jittery, nervous, but Ashley cannot work out whether she is imagining it or not.

  ‘Thursday,’ Ashley repeats, nodding, and she is about to say more when the front door of June’s terraced house shuts firmly in her face. For a second she and Holly stand on the doorstep, her daughter’s heartbeat thudding against her own. Then there is a beep; Benji is leaning on the car horn. Ashley turns back to her car, noticing as she does so that Holly’s nappy is warm and wet. She feels a pang of dismay. June is usually so good with Holly; perhaps she’s been distracted by the plumber. Ashley kisses Holly on the forehead; June is right, she is very warm. Not cold at all. She’ll change her nappy when they get to the surgery.

  Benji’s face back in the car reminds her of everything all over again, all of it hitting her like a punch to the gut. Slut. Slut. Slut. The word reverberates in her head as they drive to the doctor’s, so loudly that Ashley is almost surprised her children cannot hear it too.

  ‘What are we doing?’ Benji says.

  ‘I’ve got to take Holly into see the doctor quickly,’ Ashley tells him. ‘Do you want to come in? Or wait in the car?’

  ‘Car,’ Benji says, and he leans down in his seat, pulls his Game Boy out of his pocket. Ashley pulls the car into the doctor’s car park, noticing as she reaches for the handbrake that her hands are shaking. Inside, she unfastens Holly’s nappy, changes her daughter quickly. Her face is warm, her eyes large in her face.

  When they are shown in to see the doctor Ashley feels a bit silly. Is she being a fussy mother?

  ‘What’s wrong with your little one?’ Doctor McPherson has been treating their family for a few years, Ashley likes him. He is calm, efficient. Everything you’d want in a doctor.

  ‘Oh, well, I don’t think it’s anything much really,’ Ashley says. ‘It’s just . . . it’s just she has these . . . well, I think they’re nightmares. Proper screaming fits, and I know all babies cry, of course they do, but this just, well, it feels different. She exhausts herself, almost every night, and she has this look on her face, as though she’s scared, as if she’s seeing something I can’t.’ She gives a little laugh. ‘Sorry, that probably sounds like rubbish.’

  ‘Not at all,’ the doctor says. ‘Let’s have a look at her.’ He places Holly on the bed and examines her, Ashley biting her lip behind him.

  ‘Does she move around, when she cries?’ the doctor asks. ‘Almost as though she’s having a fit?’

  ‘Yes!’ Ashley says. ‘It’s horrible actually, she looks as though she’s in pain.’

  He nods. ‘And you say you notice her eyes?’

  ‘They stare,’ Ashley says. ‘Like she can’t see me, like she’s seeing something else. I don’t know.’

  ‘How long has this been going on for?’

  Ashley tries to think. ‘I don’t know, maybe – six months? It didn’t happen when she was very young, when I had her full time. We take her to a childminder now, just a few times a week.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Doctor McPherson looks up at Ashley, adjusts his glasses on his nose. ‘I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Night terrors, most likely. Have you been doing anything out of the ordinary? Has she met anyone new, done anything different?’

  Ashley shakes her head. ‘No. The only people she’s ever really with are me, June and the children. And James. When he’s around.’

  The doctor narrows his eyes. ‘Is everything OK at home?’

  Ashley nods, horrified to find that her eyes are beginning to blur. She can’t cry here. She has to keep it together.

  Sensing her discomfort, Doctor McPherson hands Holly back to her, turns his back to wash his hands. Ashley breathes in her daughter’s comforting smell.

  ‘The only thing I would say,’ the doctor says as he dries his hands on a blue paper towel, and Ashley’s ears instantly prick up. ‘The only thing is that she seems a little floppy, a tiny bit on the lethargic side. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, as I said, I think it’s probably a very basic side effect of being up all night. She’s exhausted herself, most likely.’ He pauses, looks at Ashley over his glasses. ‘What I might do is a little blood test, nothing major, just to rule everything else out.’ He sees Ashley’s face and raises a hand in the air, smiling. ‘Please, Mrs Thomas, I must reassure you that I’m only covering all bases because we have to. I think your daughter is absolutely fine. We can take a quick sample now and have the results in a week or so.’

  Ashley swallows. She hates the thought of her baby being tested, of a needle piercing Holly’s flesh.

  ‘OK,’ she says. ‘OK, if you think that’s best.’

  ‘I do.’ Doctor McPherson smiles. ‘If you take Holly through to the nurse room next door, one of the practitioners will be with you to quickly take a sample. For now, though, I’m going to prescribe some medicine, nothing major, just to try to help her sleep through,’ the doctor says. ‘For your sake as much as hers. You must be exhausted.’

  He scribbles down a prescription, hands it to Ashley. ‘And just keep an eye on her, check she isn’t being exposed to anything she shouldn’t – I don’t know, your son’s videogames, your daughter’s phone – anything out of the ordinary. But I should think Holly will be fine. Night terrors are fairly common. Try not to worry.’

  Ashley nods and smiles, thanks the doctor. Holding Holly tightly, they go through to the nurse room. The nurse is jolly, chattering to them almost without pause as she readies the needle, her hands encased in white gloves. Ashley closes her eyes as the nurse slips the needle into the pale flesh of Holly’s tiny arm, counts to five in her head. Holly cries, the sound breaking Ashley’s heart. Ashley cuddles her close as soon as it is over, stroking the top of her head until she calms down. She knows she’s being silly – the doctor hadn’t really seemed worried. They will have the results soon. It is always best to be thorough. She picks up her handbag and heads for the door with Holly, her mind racing, then collects the little bottle of medicine from the pharmacy outside. Her heart is beating fast. Has her dau
ghter been exposed to anything odd? She doesn’t think so.

  Back in the car, Benji looks up. He looks contrite. She drives them home, hangs up Benji’s coat and his red reading folder and tells him that he can play outside and she will make him some squash. She lays Holly down upstairs, pulls the covers gently over her little frame. Her daughter snuggles in against her pillows, her little face calm. Her eyes are closed, the lashes sooty against her skin. Ashley’s heart swells with love. Thank God it is nothing more serious. Night terrors. That’s what he said. She repeats the words to herself, trying not to think about the needle piercing Holly’s soft baby skin.

  Lucy is lying on the sofa, asleep, with a blanket thrown over her legs. She looks so young; mascara from the night before is smudged around her eyes and there is a half-drunk glass of water by her side. Ashley doesn’t really want to wake her, needs her daughter to sleep it off so that she can get some sense out of her, find out what possessed her to get drunk last night and do God knows what.

  She isn’t sure what to do. She wants to call James but he’s left a note by the key bowl saying he is at work this afternoon, surprise surprise. Why is it he is never here when she wants him?

  The thought of her daughter being used as playground gossip makes Ashley’s blood boil, makes her want to tear up to the school like a madwoman. She doesn’t know where this Oscar creature can have heard such a thing, can only assume it is through the older teenagers; the high school is across the road from the primary. Lots of siblings attend both, she imagines news travelling like wildfire.

  Ashley sees in her mind the mothers whispering in the playground, their glossy lips parted like birds’ beaks, Is everything alright at home? It’s just, we’ve heard . . .She sees a glimpse of Benji through the window, kicking a deflated football across the garden, the sad shape of it bouncing across the fence. He looks up at her and Ashley waves at him quickly, forces a smile onto her face. At the sight of her, he brightens, runs to the ball and kicks it into the air. She loves him for defending his sister.

  Ashley takes a deep breath, tries to think. She has to speak to Lucy. Can she probe Benji for more information? A burst of anger bubbles up inside her. How did they ever find themselves here, at this point?