‘Eat,’ I say. ‘Come on, just start. I’m not hungry.’
There’s a long pause. I can feel myself holding my breath, waiting for him to speak. Eventually, I can’t stand it any more.
‘Dom? Say something, for God’s sake. Tell me what you’re thinking.’
‘I thought you’d be happy,’ Dom says then, and his voice sounds so disappointed that I can’t bear it. ‘Aren’t you? We’re going to have a baby, Cor. A baby.’
‘I know!’ I say, my voice rising. I don’t want him to be cross with me, I can’t bear this, I can’t bear ruining things between us. I’m gabbling at him now.
‘I know and I am, Dom, I’m so happy about that, of course I am, but please, will you just listen to me about this? There’s something not right. There’s something funny going on, and I think it’s to do with my Dad. It’s something to do with the doll house.’
‘Corinne.’ Dom looks at me hard. ‘Corinne, your dad is . . . well, he’s dead. He’s not here any more, and I know it’s hard, I know how hard the last year has been for you but—’
The waiter’s in front of us, filling our water glasses. I smile at him tightly, try to say thank you but it comes out as a whisper.
Dominic exhales, puts his hands flat on the tablecloth.
‘Cor. Look. I love you to bits and I don’t want to lie to you. I think maybe . . . I think maybe you ought to go see someone. You’ve not been yourself lately, and I think perhaps it’s all just getting a bit much, you know, with work and the baby and everything we’ve been through with the IVF. It might help if you talked to someone. A professional, I mean.’
I stare at him. Is this what he thinks? Is this what I need? I think of the little yellow rocking horse, clutched in my hand. Gone the next minute. Is Dominic right? He is the person I trust most in the world, whose opinion I count on. Does that mean I can’t trust myself? I don’t know any more.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I say, and my eyes are starting to fill with tears for the hundredth time today. I put my hands across my stomach. Dominic gets up, comes over to my chair, ignoring the stares from the waiters.
‘Shh,’ he says, ‘Shh, Cor. Come on, we’ll sort this out, we’ll get you right. I promise. Shh, my love.’ He puts his arms around me, rocks me back and forth as though I’m a child. I cling to him like a woman drowning. Because isn’t that what I am?
At home, he makes me a drink while I get into bed, pull the covers up to my chin like a child. I feel pathetic, small. When he comes into the bedroom there’s something else in his hands. I sit up.
‘Found this on the doormat,’ he says, ‘We must have missed it when we came in. Addressed to you.’ He throws me a little Jiffy bag, my name is scrawled across the top. No stamp. ‘Here you are, here’s your hot water.’ He puts the mug down next to me, starts getting undressed, but I’m not concentrating, I’m holding the little parcel in my hands. My heart is beating fast.
‘What’s wrong?’ he says, and when he sees my face he actually rolls his eyes.
‘Oh, come on. Here, I’ll open it. It won’t be anything bad.’ He’s annoyed with me, I can tell, or frustrated at the very least.
He sits down on the bed with me, rips open the Jiffy bag in one quick motion. My breath catches in my throat. I clutch his hands.
‘Dominic!’
‘What?’ he says. ‘What’s so bad about this?’
It is a little rocking cradle, made of wood. Inside it are a pair of little pink bootees, fit for a newborn, and a handwritten note. Congratulations.
32
London
Ashley
Colours is dead on Monday. Ashley has been with the children all weekend while James stayed in the office. On Saturday night he’d come home at eleven. She’d left him dinner out on the stove, tried to make conversation with Lucy as the four of them sat around the kitchen table, Holly banging her spoon on the surface. Her older daughter had been moody, non-committal. It was almost a relief to put on her on the school bus this morning.
There is a wind up today and the streets of London are quieter than they usually are; she supposes the weather is keeping people indoors. She drives to June’s house, kisses Holly on her little rosy lips.
‘You be a good girl for me, won’t you?’ she says. She has been, the last few nights have seen her sleep almost through, waking up only twice and crying a little, different altogether from the roaring screams of before she started the medicine. Ashley hopes to start weaning her off it, but is scared of going back to the nights of no sleep at all. The chance to sleep is just so tempting, so delicious.
June is a long time coming to the door. Ashley hesitates on the doorstep, checks her watch. She’ll be late if she doesn’t go now.
‘June?’ she calls through the letterbox, hearing her voice echo back at her through the flat. No reply. She checks her watch again. Holly begins to mewl, little cries that get louder and louder. It’s cold, beginning to rain, the first drops falling onto the dark blue of Ashley’s coat. She tugs Holly’s little hood further over her face, protecting her daughter from the water.
‘June?’ She rings the bell one more time, knocks on the door. Nothing. Has she got the days mixed up? Ashley sighs. Probably. She feels as though everything is running away with her, as though she is losing her focus. June is most likely expecting them tomorrow instead. Ashley looks down at her daughter, who clings to her a little tighter. Her fingers latch onto Ashley’s coat button. Ashley is on her own at the café today, Megan is off. Perhaps she can just bring Holly along.
Ashley straps Holly back into the car and drives to Colours, making a mental note to call June later in the day to confirm the schedule. As predicted, the café is very quiet. Ashley places Holly on the counter at the back, feeds her quickly and stands with her while she gnaws on one of the plastic spoons they use for stirring the takeaway coffees. She rests her chin on her palm. On quiet days there is no need for more than one waitress, she has the café to herself.
‘We’ll be OK, won’t we, Holly?’ She touches her daughter’s hair. Holly smiles at her, calmer now. Ashley stares into her blue eyes, thinking of her father. They are so like his. She wishes he could see his third grandchild, could see how gorgeous she is, how lucky Ashley has been. She touches the tiny needlemark bruise made by the blood test.
‘You’re such a brave girl,’ she says to her daughter, kissing her on the forehead. ‘You’re going to be just fine, aren’t you, my love? The doctor is going to tell us that you’re just fine.’ Holly gurgles and blinks. Ashley smiles. Perhaps she ought to bring Holly to work more often; her presence makes the café seem brighter somehow, warmer. No doubt James would have something to say about that though. Ashley’s mind is still reeling from his confession. She has thought about it all weekend. She is overwhelmingly relieved that he is not having an affair, of course she is, but she cannot believe that he has been so foolish as to lose their money without telling her. All of it. And none of it explains the phone calls.
‘You’re a little busybody, Ashley Hawes,’ her father used to say to her, ruffling her hair and grinning. ‘Always wanting to know what’s what.’ On occasion, people have been less kind; the words ‘control freak’ have been thrown at her more than once.
But this is different. This is her husband! This is their money, their savings. Their life. How can she not want to know what’s going on?
Ashley has never once regretted giving up her own career to have Lucy while James’s took off. She had been an assistant in the publicity department of Parkway Publishing after graduating from Manchester, enjoyed a couple of years of long lunches with the media followed by afternoons spent huddled over her desk, surrounded by books and paper. It had been fun. James had begun working as a digital executive a few weeks before the office summer party, where they had bonded over the overly pretentious canapés that tasted like mush. One of Ashley’s pink plastic earrings (she’d liked them at the time) had dropped to the floor and he’d stooped, picked it up, spent the
rest of the evening by her side while they drank cheap wine that tasted far too sweet.
Their first date was three days later at a shellfish restaurant, just after Ashley turned twenty-three. She had been overwhelmed by his interest, at five years her senior he made her feel special, like she was someone important. She remembers trying to match his opinion of her, to live up to expectations. Ashley had tried to dip her fingers daintily into the water bowl in the restaurant but ruined it by getting hot melted butter all down her white halter neck, leaving an embarrassing stain. James had made eating the shrimps look easy, splitting the pink shells and popping the insides into his mouth in one fluid motion. Ashley remembers watching him crush the plump bodies between his teeth and feeling weirdly impressed.
They had dated for nine months before Ashley found out she was pregnant. At the time, it hadn’t seemed to matter; her dad had made the odd comment about how young they were, and asked gently if she’d thought properly about her career, but Ashley had been over the moon; although she was nervous, having babies was all she’d ever really wanted to do. James had been fantastic, and they’d got engaged a week after finding out. It had seemed hopelessly romantic at the time. She used to think everything James did was near enough perfect. Now she isn’t sure.
She runs through options in her head, pulls herself back into the present. They could take out a loan from the bank. Appeal to James’s company to let him stay on. She doesn’t know the ins and outs of what Daniel has told him, how close to the wire this whole thing is.
Another thought is spiralling through Ashley’s mind.
She could get a proper job.
Ashley stares around the tiny café, at the little tables with their vases of flowers, at the sugar bowls sitting jauntily on the red and white cloths. She looks out of the window at the grey square in front of her. Dry leaves skitter round and around. They make her feel dizzy. Beside her, Holly taps her hand on the counter, smacks her lips together. As she stares at her, Ashley notices there is a smear of mashed banana caught in her blonde hair.
She lets herself imagine for a second what it would be like to return to work – back in an office, wearing clothes free from the muck of children. She thinks of Benji’s sticky fingers, printing peanut butter on her dress. Of Lucy scowling at her across the dinner table, annoyed because Ashley has dared to tidy up her shoes. Her life has revolved around motherhood for so long. It might not be so bad. It might even be alright.
‘Excuse me?’
Ashley jumps; she hasn’t been paying attention and there is a customer at the counter. The girl’s hair is windswept, her black leather jacket is spotted slightly with water. Ashley realises it is raining; great drops hit the window of the café.
‘Sorry!’ she says. ‘I was miles away. What can I get for you?’
‘Just a coffee, please,’ the girl says. ‘Black.’ She smiles at Ashley and gives a little shake, like a dog dislodging water from its back. ‘Horrible out there now.’
‘Yes,’ Ashley says, ‘We’ve had hardly anyone in all day. Everyone’s tucked up at home!’
‘It’s a shame,’ the girl says, ‘I’m only in Barnes for the night, just visiting my mother. We were hoping for a bit of sunshine on the common! Oh, who’s this little munchkin?’ She bends forward to Holly, strokes one of her little feet which are dangling towards the floor.
Ashley smiles. She loves it when people pay attention to her babies. Well, as long as it’s the right kind. She could have done without the headmistress paying attention to Benji.
‘This is Holly,’ she says. ‘The childminder’s gone AWOL so I had to bring her in. She’s my youngest.’ She serves her the coffee, hands it to her with a smile.
‘She’s adorable,’ the girl says. ‘What beautiful eyes! Aren’t you a cutie? Aren’t you?’ She is bending over Holly, who clearly likes her; she is smiling gummily, blowing bubbles like she does when she is excited. ‘She’s lovely,’ she tells Ashley.
‘Oh, thank you,’ Ashley says. She strokes Holly’s head. She shouldn’t get so frustrated with it all, really. She is so lucky to have her baby girl.
‘You take care now,’ she says to the girl. ‘Enjoy your night in London!’
‘Oh, I will,’ she says. ‘Bye bye, Holly! Bye bye!’
She takes a sip of her coffee, gives Ashley a half-smile. As she turns to leave, there is a huge thunderclap and the wind roars; one of the wooden chairs positioned out on the square tips over, lies helpless on the ground.
‘Oh well!’ The girl laughs, turns back to grin at Ashley. ‘Atmospheric, I guess. Thanks for the coffee.’
The door swings to behind her and she is gone. Ashley watches her pick her way across the square, clutching the coffee to her chest. Holly giggles, the sound echoing in the empty café. Ashley reaches out, rubs her daughter’s back absent-mindedly, moving her hand in little round circles. She is thinking about Lucy.
Her elder daughter has been even more closed off than usual since the night she got drunk. Every time Ashley walks into the room she is on her mobile, giggling at the screen, tapping away while ignoring her family. Ashley has tried to corner her, talk to her alone, but each time she does so she is met with irritation or, worse, total disdain.
She looks at her watch. School will be about to finish. The storm is worsening. Colours has barely had five customers all day.
Ashley makes a sudden decision. She will go to the school, go pick her daughter up. She can catch her at the gates, make sure she’s OK. Perhaps they can talk on the way home in the car. It doesn’t really matter if she shuts up Colours early, just this once.
‘Come on, Hol,’ she says, and she scoops her up, fastens on her little coat again and zippers it to her daughter’s chin. She takes a cloth, wipes around Holly’s mouth; the skin is wet from where her daughter has burst saliva bubbles onto herself.
As she grabs her car keys from where they lie on the side, Ashley’s fingers graze the little tip jar full of coins. Her eye is drawn by the colours, the silver and gold glinting out at her. Half the tips are her own, of course, but she usually just ignores them, leaves them all for Megan. Today, Ashley feels a shiver go through her as her fingers reach into the jar, pick out several pound coins before she really notices what she is doing. Ashley shoves the coins into her pocket and leaves the café, locking up quickly behind her, feeling as she does so an odd wave of guilt, as though somebody is watching her, as though somebody is judging. Holly’s breath is warm against her neck.
Then
Now that I’m older, I walk home from school by myself. Some of the girls in my year have been talking to me recently, I think they’re trying to be nice to me. I’m not sure. Mum always tells me that I haven’t to trust anyone, and sometimes I think she’s right, and sometimes I don’t know.
Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if none of this had happened, if I had a normal family, and people who loved me, and things to play with. It makes me want to scream. If it’s very late at night and I can’t sleep, I do scream. I push my face really deep into the pillow and open my mouth as wide as it will go and yell at the top of my lungs. If I get tired I just have to think about them all in the house all over again and then I can feel the anger building up inside me, and I scream and I scream to let it all out. Sometimes I fall asleep with my mouth wide open, mid-way through a scream. It leaves a big oval mark on my flat white pillow. Mum says I could suffocate one day if I’m not careful.
I was walking back from school today and I saw a group of the sixth form girls all clustered together by the bike sheds, and one of them looked just like her. The prettier one with the darker hair. Then I started to think about what she might be doing and I suddenly wanted to see. It isn’t fair for me not to know, to be the one who is left out.
So I changed my walk home and instead I walked to their house. I pretended to Mum that I was going to Natasha’s, which is a joke because she doesn’t even talk to me any more, not even to be mean. Instead I went to theirs. It took me q
uite a long time and when I got there my back was hurting from the way my school bag was digging into my shoulders, and my feet had blisters from where my shoes had rubbed. I didn’t care though; I was just happy that I had got there. I went to the hole in the fence but I can’t really fit through so well any more, so instead I walked around to the front of the house, where the bushes meet the road. In the summertime, those bushes have flowers on, little pink buds that dart out from the green. But it’s only just March so everything still looks kind of brown. He was there, he must not be working. I could only see a little sliver because they’d shut the curtains but I could see his body flickering past, quick flashes of his shirt. I imagined what would happen if I just knocked on the door, introduced myself. What would he say? Would he still recognise me?
I was just about to turn around and go back when I heard them. Voices coming towards me, up the road. It was the mother, walking with one of them, the one who didn’t get married. I think she’s his favourite. Maybe that’s why he wants to keep her at home. They were laughing at something, and her hair was swinging down her back, plaited and tied with a shiny band a bit like the one I wanted the other day but Mum wouldn’t buy me. I panicked, I didn’t know what to do, Mum says we aren’t ever allowed to let them see us. So I ducked my head down and I ran, ignoring how much my shoes were hurting, I put my head against my chest and gripped the straps of my rucksack and ran full speed down the lane. My breathing was funny and my chest hurt but I got away, I escaped before they saw me. When I got home, much later, the insides of my shoes were all stained with blood. I couldn’t really feel much pain though, which is weird because both of my ankles were rubbed completely raw. Nothing seems to affect me much these days. I’m getting tough.
*
Last night, Mum and I stayed up talking, but I didn’t tell her about going to the house on my own. I didn’t need to. I’m halfway through high school, nearly an adult, I can deal with things differently. She let me have a glass of wine with her and it was nice, it made me feel like she liked me, like I was a proper grown up who she could talk to and be friends with. The wine was red, dark, it stained my lips like cherries. The people at school don’t drink red wine, they drink brightly coloured bottles and gin mixed with soda. It’s sophisticated to drink red wine.
The Doll House Page 19