The Doll House: A gripping debut psychological thriller with a killer twist!. Phoebe Morgan
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‘Who’s this?’
‘This is Tommy,’ she says, and she puts a hand on his head, ruffles his dark curls. The gesture gives me the same flicker of familiarity as her laugh did before, but the recognition is gone as quickly as it came. ‘He’s almost two. Listen, Corinne, it’d be lovely to chat some time, why don’t you pop round for a cup of tea one night? It’d be lovely to see you.’
I take a deep breath. Gilly’s face is kind, her eyes are warm and there is something hopeful in her gaze. I can cope with this. I can be friends with a mum.
‘That would be lovely,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
We say our goodbyes, I wave at Tommy and walk off down the corridor, feeling absurdly proud of myself. I did it! She was lovely! I was lovely! It’d be nice to have a friend in the building; it’d mean I don’t have to be on my own when Dom has to work. Besides, she could probably use a friend – it must be hard being a single mum at her age. Not that I wouldn’t swap with her in a heartbeat.
At the gallery, it’s freezing cold; our heating has broken and the pipes are frozen solid. Marjorie is refusing to close so I line up storage heaters and put them up to full power, brushing the dust off the bars with my gloved hands. I hum to myself, ignoring Marjorie’s grumpy huffs. My appointment is this afternoon, and there’s nothing to say that this time won’t work, that we might finally get lucky. I have to believe.
My positivity floods through into my work and I sell an expensive painting to a businessman who wants to impress his wife, and a set of prints to a young girl who tells me she’s just moved to South London, is redecorating her new flat.
‘These are so cute!’ she says, her voice bright and bubbly. She’s very pretty, and blonde, and even though I am wearing my triumphant clothes I feel a tiny bit put out by her vivacity. Still, she buys the prints and I write down the sale, watching the numbers add up. It’s my best day for a while and I sit a little straighter at the till, smiling at the shoppers as they browse against the thick waves of air being pumped out by the heaters. The gallery is only two rooms so it can look quite full on busy days like this.
At lunchtime I call Ashley from my desk. I’m keen to tell her about the chimney pot, see what she thinks. Maybe Mum has the doll house up in the attic; it would be fun to get it out when we’re next visiting, show Lucy as well. I bet she’d love it. My sister answers quickly, sounding a bit out of breath as she always does these days.
‘Hey, Ash,’ I say. ‘How’s it going? You OK?’
I can hear the whirr of their dishwasher in the background. She sounds tired.
‘I’m fine,’ she says, then, ‘Oh, shit! Hang on.’
‘What’s matter?’
There’s a scuffling sound before she comes back on the line.
‘Sorry, sorry. Benji keeps putting his crayons in the dishwasher and jamming it all up.’ She sighs. ‘I think he thinks I find it funny. He doesn’t listen when I tell him to stop.’
‘Get James to have a word,’ I tell her. ‘Lay down the law and all that.’
She snorts. ‘Yeah, right. James is hardly ever here at the moment.’
I can hear something in her voice, as though there’s something she’s not saying.
‘What d’you mean?’
She sighs. ‘He’s always at work, Cor. Like, always. I barely see him. He gets home from the office after ten at night, by which point I’ve usually worked myself up into a temper and gone to bed. It’s getting worse and worse.’
Her voice breaks a little and instantly I feel bad.
‘Oh, Ash, hey, come on. I’m sure he’s just got a lot on. Is it a busy time of year, the post-Christmas rush or something? Is that a thing?’
She half laughs. ‘I don’t know, yeah maybe. I never really worked on the digital side of things like he does. But I just – I just feel like there’s something more going on, Cor. Like there’s something he isn’t telling me.’
There is a beat between us. I know what she’s thinking, but I don’t think James is the type somehow. He’s not the kind of guy to mess around.
‘I had a phone call the other night too,’ she says then. ‘No one on the other end. James wasn’t in, it must have been after ten. Second one in three days.’ She gives a strained little laugh, and I know she’s trying to reassure herself.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I tell her. ‘It’ll be nothing to worry about. James is obsessed with you.’
There’s a small silence, I can hear her exhale.
‘Was obsessed, maybe,’ Ashley says. ‘These days he hardly notices me. Or the children. The other night Benji cried when I put him to bed. I think he prefers it when James does it. Says he’s better at the story voices.’
‘Ash, James works hard for you all. Seriously, you have nothing to worry about. Maybe the call’s from abroad? You know, some stupid call centre or something that can’t connect. Happens all the time.’ I try to reassure her but I can hear the doubt in her voice.
‘Maybe.’
‘Seriously, Ash. Don’t jump to conclusions.’
I can hear her moving what sounds like plates and mugs around, the clatter of the china.
‘Hey,’ I say, ready to distract her. ‘D’you remember our doll house, Ash?’
‘Of course! God, we loved that house. You especially! I don’t know how Dad put up with us, making him play for hours at a time like that. I don’t know any men who’d do that these days. Certainly not James, although I don’t think Lucy’s really the dolls type anyway. Not that I can work out what type she is at the moment.’ She pauses. ‘What made you think of that, anyway?’
‘So, this is going to sound crazy,’ I say, ‘but I found something the other day, just outside the door of the flat – it was exactly like one of the chimney pots that Dad built. I mean, it was probably something left over from the building work upstairs, but it made me smile – it looked so similar!’
‘How funny,’ Ashley says. ‘I do that sometimes too. The strangest things will remind me of Dad – definitely buildings, anything like that – but other stuff, as well. Last week someone at the café ordered a hot chocolate and the way they ate their flake was just like he used to, all around the edges like a hamster. Funny.’
There is a pause.
‘I can’t believe it’ll be a year in March,’ Ashley says. ‘Doesn’t feel like it, does it? Almost a whole year since he died.’
I swallow. It’s been a long year.
‘We should visit Mum soon,’ Ashley says, echoing my thoughts. ‘She called me the other day and I feel bad; we haven’t been for ages, I—Holly – no! Put that down!’ Another pause and then she is back. ‘God, sorry. She went for the fork.’
‘We could go this weekend?’ I tell her, trying not to picture her kitchen, the baby in the high chair, Holly’s beautiful big eyes. ‘Dom isn’t working. Can you bring James along too?’
She hesitates. ‘I hope so. I mean – yes, yes, of course he’ll come. Hey –’ She clears her throat. I imagine her giving herself a little shake. ‘You will let me know how you get on this afternoon at the hospital, won’t you? Keep me posted? And we’ll go to Mum’s at the weekend.’
I nod, before remembering she can’t see me.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, Cor?’ she says. I hesitate. I know she’s only being kind. I can’t tell her that having her next to me makes it worse, having her fertile body beside me in a hospital makes me feel like I’m going to drown in grief and jealousy.