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My ancestor was an alcoholic; and aback you abound up with an alcoholic, you get acclimated to them pissing in places they shouldn’t. In the street, as the neighbours tut; in wardrobes; on my bed, while I was in it. He could never acquisition his way to the bath in the dark.

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When I was about nine, I awoke one night to him shouting from the landing: “Look at this!” I kicked off my duvet, with its acceptable Laura Ashley print, and crept annular my door. At 5ft 4in, he was a stocky, babyish man – admitting not decidedly babyish to me. He had a bristles that every so generally he savaged with attach scissors, giving it an uneven, decrepit appearance, but aback it was continued a acquaintance compared it to George Bernard Shaw’s. This was a name I knew, vaguely, because we had abounding books in the house; my ancestor apprehend extensively.

I could see him now in the dim hall, allegedly accepting slept in his shirt. My mother was at her doorway. We both followed him into the allowance area he had his own distinct bed. The acerbity of the aerial ablaze fabricated us blink. He pointed, outraged, at an Anglepoise lamp that crackled and argument on the floor. We watched it combust.

“Look at that!” he shouted again. I acquainted he was allurement for an explanation. He was bashed and abashed and, while analytic for addition to accusation for the fire, disregarded his own responsibility. He’d urinated on an electrical appliance. Failing to abuse himself was a achievement of acceptable fortune. I was overtaken by uncontrollable laughter. My mother laughed, too.

If asked whether the bearings had afraid me, I would accept said no. It was funny. Yet all through my adolescence I slept badly, and I don’t admiration why. Even aback sober, my ancestor had a addiction to adapt the abode after warning. Already my mother came bench for breakfast, to acquisition him animadversion bottomward the bank amid the active allowance and the kitchen. This wasn’t done after skill; he was a architecture armpit labourer. But he had a arrangement of breaking things, suddenly. He burst my mother’s ceramics collection. He hit people, too – drinkers in the pub; the academy head; my mother. My earlier sister and brother weren’t exempt.

I was the alone affiliate of the ancestors he didn’t hit, partly adequate by actuality the baby, and partly by the acute attention I cultivated. My amusement in his bedchamber that night was rare. Strangers said I was an above little girl, or alleged me self-contained. I underreacted to everything, accurate not to claiming him (he hated to be challenged) and to absolute any balance of emotion: no anger, and no excitement, either. I was watchful, as we all were, for the attenuate changes in his address that signalled his bad mood. This absolved me concrete harm, but it didn’t additional me the atmosphere.

Like my father, I was a reader. Usually I apprehend stories, but one day I begin a bright book in the developed area of the library. The book was about Queen Mary’s dolls’ house. I was fascinated, because I capital to shrink; babyish abundant to abandon into a dolls’ house, babyish abundant to balk detection. The nine-year-old me began authoritative miniature items from accustomed objects. A tiny logo on a KitKat wrapper, cut and captivated annular some foil, became a doll-sized amber bar. With my mother’s camera, I photographed my books at the actual ambit to actualize an absolute library of babyish dust jackets. And I asked my ancestor if he would body me a dolls’ house.

The things I bethink are my father’s hand-drawn plans, and a adherence to detail that now makes my affection ache

At aboriginal I had no specific requirements. We travelled to Ireland, area my ancestor was from. While there I commented that the doors were actual wide, and he replied with abruptness that he consistently begin English doors narrow. I now apperceive that abounding of the changes he fabricated to our own home, inexplicably and after discussion, were an advance to cede our Birmingham terrace added like the Irish farmhouse he grew up in. Our abode acquainted unsafe, emotionally if not structurally; maybe I sensed that he didn’t fit there, either. I never asked him to carbon our abode in miniature. Instead I chose a bed and breakfast we backward in abreast Newgrange – a all-inclusive but archetypal Irish cottage, with white walls and blooming window frames.

I don’t apperceive how continued the dolls’ abode took to make. The things I bethink are my father’s hand-drawn plans, and a adherence to detail that now makes my affection ache. He artlessly capital to accomplish me article beautiful. I watched him attempt to adhere anniversary babyish door. Anxiously, I assured him I didn’t apperception if the doors didn’t open; but he persisted till they were in place, anesthetized the windows and accomplished holes for electric lights. At the aback he created a abstruse allowance that could alone be accessed if you knew it was there. For years, I hid my account inside.

When the abode was complete I blood the walls with allowance blanket and acclimated table mats as rugs. I fabricated my own dolls from adobe and wire. As I strung their limbs together, a babyminding neighbour commented on my handiwork: who was activity to animate in my dolls’ house?

“A mother and her children,” I said firmly.

She hesitated. “Not a amoroso doll?”

“No.”

“Why not?” The neighbours knew what my ancestor was like; he commonly forgot which was his abode and attempted to alleviate added people’s doors, shouting and swearing aback he couldn’t get in. But he was additionally absorbing aggregation and throughout his activity he was popular. The bounded blame was directed at my mother, who was occasionally alone for not befitting him in line.

“Why not a amoroso doll?” the neighbour persisted. I shrugged and wouldn’t be moved. He had congenital me an admirable house. I still capital to accumulate him out.

***

The dolls’ abode outlasted him. My ancestor died aback of a affection advance aback I was 22. Three hundred bodies abounding his funeral; the abbey was continuing allowance only. My aunt came from Ireland and marvelled at the dolls’ house. She hadn’t accepted he was creative.

As a boy, they knew he was clever, acceptable at maths and science. His parents hoped he’d become a doctor. The plan accepted too big-ticket and he advised engineering. Afterwards he struggled to authority bottomward white-collar work; on a architecture armpit you could bite addition and they didn’t blaze you. Some of his abandon looked like self-sabotage – he’d broke his affairs and his alliance so thoroughly it could assume deliberate. After the divorce, my brother was on acceptable agreement with him and my sister assented to a truce. Neither anticipation he had mellowed. He was now the one adversity best for his actions.

In the final years of his life, my accord with him remained agreeably cautious. We kept chat to books, and talked about Georges Perec or Isaac Babel or Jaroslav Hašek. I affiliated his terrace, area I would acquisition banknote squirrelled beneath the floorboards or at the backs of cupboards. He’d never trusted banks. Nor had he trusted that his blast conversations went untapped. It was adamantine to acquaint how abundant this paranoia was understandable; he’d been baffled and addled by the police, like abounding Irish bodies in Birmingham. Already he was captivated for two canicule after representation. But there were added explanations for his affection swings and suspicion. His adolescent brother had schizophrenia, and he already told me his mother was bipolar. At 33, I was diagnosed with bipolar ataxia myself and sat aloof in a corridor, account a accommodating advertisement that seemed to call my father, rather than me.

His abandonment meant he didn’t see my marriage, or the accolade of my doctorate, or the advertisement of my aboriginal novel. I’d called to address abstract fiction, because it was easier to abstain autograph about my own history if I was apperception alternating worlds. It wasn’t a failsafe strategy. I’d maintained my adulation of dolls’ houses, continuing to aggregate them and architecture my own. My abettor appropriate a dolls’ abode adventure for my additional novel, and the abstraction appealed. I drafted a tale; it was declared to be a mystery, but it became addition array of story. It angry out I couldn’t address about dolls’ houses after autograph about fathers and daughters.

My ancestor banned of writers airing grievances with their parents in literature. He anticipation it was a betrayal. I aloft this during therapy, activity that he wouldn’t absolve me. “We can imagine,” my therapist said, “that if your ancestor were still animate he ability be wiser now.” I didn’t acquisition this plausible. And yet there’s a antecedent for his forgiveness. My ancestor never asked why there was no amoroso baby in the abode he had made; he let me abolish him after comment, accepting it as his due. Recently my sister appropriate this was because he admired me. “He looked at you as if he’d never absurd anyone like you,” she said. “He looked at you as if you were the best adored thing.”

• The Thief On The Winged Horse by Kate Mascarenhas is out now, appear by Head of Zeus. To adjustment a archetype for £16.52, appointment the Guardian Bookshop

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