Barbara stumbled over to the group of people. Somebody met most of them before she did, and ushered them away. Beyond the few who were still waiting she glimpsed a thin young woman talking quietly to someone who was sitting next to her on a plastic bench. Barbara limped around several New Yorkers, who were complaining loudly that maybe the couriers were on strike too like half this goddamn country, and saw that the other person on the bench was Ted.
She didn't dare speak immediately. She sat beside him-- there was just enough room on the bench--and clung to his arm for a while. Eventually she said, "Thank God you're here. I was afraid you would have gone."
When he'd gazed at her for a while without speaking she realized that something was wrong. He got abruptly to his feet, and she began to tell him she would like to sit for a few minutes, though perhaps he could bring her a drink. Then she saw that he was moving out of her way, out of the way of the underfed girl with the cropped strawy hair at the other end of the bench. The girl had something to tell her, and all at once Barbara was utterly depressed: it was another lead, another false trail, another move in the interminable game that she could never win.
Then the girl looked straight into her eyes. "Hello, Mummy," she said. ------------------------------------282 ------------------------------------283
283
Thirty-five
The airliners rose massively in silence. They grew tiny in order to merge with the clouds. Down in the airport hall, travelers were hurrying about in search of friends or information, but Barbara could sit still at last. The CocaCola had quenched her thirst, the rum was mellowing the presence of the airport until it seemed unreal enough for her dream to have come true.
At first she'd thought it was a trick. This self-assured young woman with her hair like ragged straw couldn't be Angela, couldn't be the child who had needed her mother so much. Yet her face was like Barbara's, it was very much like the sketch she had glimpsed after Margery's death. The young woman had risen from the plastic bench, her deep blue eyes gazing steadily at Barbara, and Barbara had seen the purple cloverleaf on her bare left shoulder. She'd stumbled to her feet and crushed Angela to her, weeping. ------------------------------------284
Now Angela was smiling calmly at her across the table in the airport bar, reassuring her that her edginess was natural, that everything would work out in time. It was hardly surprising that Barbara felt awkward when she had lost a four-year-old child and found a teenager older than her years. Perhaps she had never really believed as she'd searched that they would meet again. However distressing Angela's maturity was--nobody in the bar had questioned her age--it was also reassuring, for it meant she had survived the last nine years.
All at once she smiled at Angela. Of course, Angela was confident now because she was with her mother. Of course she hadn't sounded confident when she was in the hands of the cult, when she'd had no idea what might happen to her. But that reminded Barbara of questions to be asked, however anxious she was not to disturb Angela.
She held her daughter's hand to anchor her in the present. "How did you get away? When I went to the address Ted gave me" (she began to realize how many things she must never refer to, or at least not for a very long time) "the house was empty."
"When I knew they were going to have to move again I called him. I just walked out as soon as I saw him. Then we came here and waited for you."
The police search must have made her captors careless. In that case, Barbara thought wryly, she could have called the police months ago. The end of her search had proved almost anticlimactic: Angela seemed unaware how dangerous her plight had been, how terrified her mother had felt for her. That was all to the good, but the thought of the cult made Barbara nervous. "Do you know where they've gone?"
Angela shrugged. "They must be far away by now."
How could she know? Suddenly Barbara was as nervous as she had ever been. They were surrounded by strangers, ------------------------------------285
any of whom could be watching. If any of them were waiting for a chance to recapture Angela then presumably the girl would recognize them, but suppose she didn't notice them in time? Weren't the women at the table by the exit dressed too shabbily for air travelers? Was the large man opposite Barbara glancing sidelong at Angela only because he suspected her of being under age? "We'd better make a start," Barbara said abruptly. "I feel all right now."
And she did, once Ted rose to his feet. He could deal with anyone who tried to take Angela away from him. Angela was safe between him and her mother. When the crowd at the foot of the escalator closed around them Barbara was watchful but not afraid.
He led them to his car, which was parked close to the building. "Do you mind driving all the way to London?" Barbara said. "I don't think I can be trusted to drive just now."
"I don't mind at all." He gazed blankly at her. "In fact, I insist."
He drove into Glasgow to collect her luggage, then he insisted that they eat before the long drive home. They found a hamburger place opposite the railway station, and Barbara remembered the night she had chased the lopsided woman. The cult had been here in Glasgow, despite what Ted had told her, but it didn't matter now. She felt safe in the restaurant, for there was no window to the street. Young Doris Day and Marilyn Monroe sparkled on the walls. Angela picked up her hamburger in both hands, and Barbara felt a surge of love at the glimpse of her child.
When they joined the highway outside Carlisle the time was close to four o'clock. At last Barbara was able to notice that autumn had begun; the sun was a smudge of light above the rusty flaking trees, leaves swarmed beneath the cars. She sat in the back with Angela while Ted drove ------------------------------------286
and played the car radio. She kept wanting to hug Angela to her, but she sensed that Angela wasn't ready to give herself. Of course they were strangers to each other after nine years, and Angela was all at once in a different world. After nine years of confinement, perhaps she might even find freedom unnerving.
For a while Barbara was content to sit quietly beside her. It felt like a hint of the peace they would share. Orderly ranks of pines marched over the horizon, a few cars cruised along the highway. Ted had found a local station, American pop with Scottish interruptions. Here was the travel news: trains to London suffering from the aftermath of a strike, sudden fogs on the M6 between Penrith and Kendal, part of the Glasgow Inner Ring Road closed temporarily. A house had been destroyed by an explosion, scattering rubble across three lanes. Police suspected a broken gas main. "My God, I did that," she cried. "That's the house."
When Angela smiled fleetingly she regretted having spoken. Even if the house and its influence had been destroyed--even if that helped her forget her own experience there, it seemed already years ago--that was no reason to remind Angela of her life there. Surely Angela had other memories.
"Do you remember our house in Otford? There was the stream you used to like, just across the field by the Archbishop's Palace. And the ducks by the pond always used to make you laugh." She was talking down to Angela, but she couldn't think how else to talk; she had yet to adjust to the fact that Angela was no longer a child.
Nevertheless Angela was responding. "I remember some things. Auntie Jan used to live next door. You used to leave me with her." For a moment Barbara thought she was about to remind her of the kidnapping, perhaps to ------------------------------------287
accuse her, then Angela went on: "And you used to listen to me with an intercom when I was in my room."
"That's right." All at once she recalled what she'd used to hear Angela saying. "Do you remember your father?" she blurted.
"How could I?" She sounded bitter. "He went away."
Was that a childish way of saying that he'd died before she was born, or did she mean something else? Barbara didn't like to ask. "It seems so long ago, Otford. Almost as if it was another life," she said, making the effort to address her as an equal. "I've become more successful since then. I'm doing pretty well, I think
. Only I didn't have anyone to share my success with until now."
Angela responded when Barbara squeezed her hand, yet Barbara felt self-conscious: to be overheard by Ted made her feel she was uttering cliches, and perhaps they were disloyal to a vague secret dream of sharing her life with him--perhaps he had dreamed of that too. Still, he seemed to be too possessed by his driving even to hear.
At half past four a mist came flooding down the Lakeland fells. Ted had turned off the radio; the only sound was the hum of the engine. As the rocky slopes dissolved and the gray softness closed about the car, Barbara felt the swollen walls of the house closing in. She needed sleep, that was all. She could sleep now that she had Angela, now that Ted was here to keep an eye on her.
As they reached the Kendal junction the fog drifted away. Ted accelerated past several hitchhikers who were displaying signs for Glasgow. Most of them were teenagers--Barbara wondered uneasily if the cult had ever captured hitchhikers--but one man was considerably older. For a moment she thought it was Arthur, until she saw his face.
Beyond Kendal the landscape flattened. The featureless road looked unreal as a simulation in a slot machine, the ------------------------------------288
same strip of road unrolling endlessly. Her glimpse of Arthur had made her feel suddenly exhausted, unable to hold back her dreams until she slept, but she tried to stay awake. "I know," she said to Angela. "Would you like to go away for a holiday? I meant to go to Italy this year and I think I will, to celebrate. I have to auction a book for one of my authors but as soon as that's over, we'll go."
That reminded her. "Oh, Ted, I didn't tell you the good news! I found a buyer for your novel. You do understand why I forgot to tell you, don't you? Cathy Darnell will be writing to you."
"All right." He seemed hardly to have taken in the news. Really, she must try to sleep: she felt she was sharing the car with a couple of strangers. Of course Angela would be a stranger for a while, and no doubt Ted was still adjusting to the situation. Nevertheless their strangeness made her uneasy, and the best thing she could do was sleep.
The roaring of trucks woke her. She was surrounded by trucks and concrete. The noise was closing in, closing over her mind. The house had been destroyed, but not its power. It had brought them all back here, into the concrete cage.
Then she saw that it wasn't the Inner Ring Road at all. She was on the highway outside Birmingham, in the midst of a skein of roads. She relaxed, though her heart was scurrying, and then she realized that Ted was in the wrong lane. He was driving them to Birmingham.
When she pointed out his mistake he glared savagely into the mirror. That must be meant for the traffic behind them, not for her. Of course he had been driving for four hours without a break, and how long must he have been awake to have reached the Glasgow house before her? She wished she could offer to drive, but she still felt half asleep. ------------------------------------289
As they neared the highway cafe at Corley she insisted that they halt. The long canteen was crowded with families, tired children picking at their food and wailing. Her sleep had done her no good, for everyone who came in made her nervous, even when the new arrivals looked like families: the cultists had children, after all.
Shouldn't she feel peaceful now that she was with Angela? But after nine years of confinement it was hardly surprising if Angela no longer radiated peace. Perhaps she still had her powers, perhaps they would become apparent in time. It was all to the good that she didn't make her mother feel too peaceful. Still, was Barbara able to be sufficiently cautious when she seemed in danger of hallucinating? Arthur had appeared at the exit, beckoning urgently, but of course when she looked it wasn't Arthur at all.
By the time they left the cafe, night was falling. Ted had seemed reluctant to leave. When she asked if he felt happy to drive he snapped, "Yes, of course." She wondered if he was irritable partly because he felt excluded from the reunion.
As they drove the last hundred miles to London the landscape grew soft and blurred and gray. The fields were turning into foreshortened spreads of fog, the bushes at the edge of the highway were lumps of stuffing that quivered in breezes, the horizon was closing in. Twin wedges of light roared by, again and again. An unlit trailer rocked close to the car, and Barbara thought a face was pressed against its rear window. Faces seemed to stare back at her from every passing car, especially those cars which swung into Ted's path. She must be hallucinating, for at the edge or the road a scrawny stooping figure seemed to pace the car, loping grayly behind the bushes, peering jerkily over the blotches of foliage.
They reached Hendon about ten o'clock. Ted seemed to ------------------------------------290
have difficulty in following the route into London; at one point he began to head back onto the highway, until he saw the two of them staring at him. Barbara insisted that he must stay with them overnight, and he seemed beyond protesting. She wanted him to be there, just in case the cult should try any tricks. Tomorrow she would think about tomorrow.
Before they reached St. John's Wood they had to stop at several traffic lights. Barbara kept checking that the car doors were locked. Suppose someone wrenched them open while the car was halted and seized Angela! On the Euston Road pedestrians crossed in front of the car, and each of them made her more tense, even the sad-faced man who looked like Arthur. Was this how the rest of her life with Angela would be?
Even the Barbican didn't feel safe. The underground garage seemed very dim, its corners dark and clogged. It was only the jittery fluorescent tubes which made the darkness in the corners restless. Nevertheless the ceiling felt lower than ever. She was hemmed in by cars and vans, any of which might conceal an ambush.
Ted was lifting out her suitcases. She told Angela to stay with him while she went ahead to unlock the flat. That allowed her to hurry through the broken ranks of vehicles and see that nobody was lurking. She climbed the steps to the balcony, and found she was still nervous. Long dark fingers groped from beneath the willow toward the church, wind muttered behind the squat concrete pillars. Her shadow followed her up from the parking lot and seemed to dodge into all the darkest areas. Of course it was only her shadow.
She had no cause to be nervous now, she told herself. Angela was safe with Ted, and there was no reason why the cult should want Barbara. Still, she felt relieved when ------------------------------------291
she arrived at her flat. Her key was already in her hand. She unlocked the door quickly and switched on the light.
Here was familiarity at last--the dark green carpet, the silvery wallpaper whose pattern shifted discreetly as you passed, the Escher lithograph which turned perspective inside out, even the smell of her perfume, though she had never realized that it could linger so strongly--but the first thing she noticed was the letter just inside the doorway. She left the door unlatched and made her way with the letter along the hall.
The letter was from Hemel Hempstead. The Kodak address had been crossed out on the envelope. In a minute she would see what news Iris's parents had for her, but first she wanted to get out of the hall, which felt narrower than it should. That must be an aftereffect of her experience in Glasgow. She hoped it would fade once she turned on all the lights.
She switched on the main light in the living room and stepped forward, inserting a fingernail under the flap of the envelope. Ted must have knocked over a bottle of perfume in his rush to collect her luggage for New York--the smell was overwhelming. She'd taken several steps before she glanced up to see what else was wrong.
The letter dropped from her hand at once, but it seemed to take seconds to fall. It was as though her shock had slowed it down, freezing it in flight as shock had frozen her thoughts. Books and records were scattered over the floor. All the furniture had been dragged out of shape, and looked stickily soiled. Her photograph album lay on the carpet in front of her. Most of the photographs had been torn up.
She was reaching desperately for the switch for the wall lamps--the cultists must have
broken in and had vented their frustration on her flat when they hadn't found Angela, she needed more light to help her see how much damage ------------------------------------292
they'd done, to stop the room from feeling so shrunken-- when two children, a boy and a girl about eight years old, stepped out from behind the bookcases. They watched brightly as a man's arm closed tight around her throat.
When her vision started blackening, the stranglehold eased. Apparently they wanted her alive. She could see them all now, two dozen or more of them, emerging from the other rooms. When she saw the lopsided woman she began to struggle furiously but uselessly, choking. So they had found another hiding place. She wondered dully if their powers allowed them to open doors without keys.
She made herself seem to relax, as far as that was possible, so that her captor would let her breathe. Though the flat was sickly with her perfume she could smell him, stale sweat and cannabis. Presumably he realized that the flat was soundproof, which was why his grip had slackened enough to let her scream if she wanted. That was her chance. As soon as the door opened she would scream at Ted and Angela to run. She mustn't think what the cult might do to her, so long as Angela was safe.
When they heard the key in the lock, a large slack-faced man moved to stand just behind the door. The key fumbled for a moment against the latch, then the door edged inward. The arm tightened on her throat at once, and she could not make a sound.
But her captor had miscalculated. She realized that even as the iris of blackness shrank. He was holding her so that she was visible all the way down the hall. Ted would see her at once. Perhaps she could tell him with her eyes to save Angela, not to risk Angela in order to save her.
When the door opened, Angela was in the doorway. Ted loomed behind her, his face blank. Both of them came in quickly. As Ted slammed the door, Angela saw her mother ------------------------------------293
The Nameless Page 23