The Claw

by Ramsey Campbell

  'I look very fat, you mean,' Jane said, which was true enough – she looked like an oversized replica of herself made out of dough. 'Were you like this when you had Anna?'

  'Oh, worse – really terrible,' Liz lied, to comfort her. 'It goes away after a while, Jane, you'll see. You won't know yourself.'

  'I don't know myself now, that's the whole trouble. Do you think I've changed? Do you think I should see someone about it?'

  It wasn't Jane's fault, and perhaps Liz ought to say so – but Jane was looking beyond her now, and smiling like a mask.

  'Can anyone join the mothers' meeting?' It was Alex.

  'Of course you can,' Jane said. 'We don't mind you showing us up.' Her tone was bantering, but Liz sensed the pain beneath it. Men glanced at Alex admiringly: her nipples, standing out through the halter top, her long brown legs, her tight round-bottomed shorts… 'I see you're helping keep the dairy open,' Jane said.

  Alex was carrying a bottle of goat's milk. 'I wouldn't be without it. Nothing like it for the complexion. You should try it yourself, Jane.'

  Liz wondered how they were supposed to know, since Alex's complexion was invariably buried under make-up, but Alex was chattering on. 'How's the little one?' she said sweetly.

  'I think he's all right.' Jane stroked the golden fuzz on her baby's sleeping head. 'I hope he is. He's been waking rather a lot at night.'

  'So I gathered,' Alex said. Already Liz was wondering how much more she could take: her head was thumping. Perhaps she ought to leave them to it and hope Jane turned on Alex – except that Jane never would. 'Maybe you should try him with goat's milk,' Alex said. 'Didn't I read that's good for sickly babies?'

  'Oh, I think I'll carry on feeding him, thanks. It's not as if my tits are worth preserving any more.'

  'Now, Jane, you shouldn't underrate yourself. I'm sure you're an excellent mother.'

  Anna was demanding 'Mummy, mummy,' and tugging at Liz's hand. Perhaps she could sense the thinly-veiied hatred as the two women talked.

  'And how's your career?' Jane said to Alex.

  'Well, I'm resting just now while my agent lines up some work. There's a new horror film and some underwear modelling. I do get so bored sometimes down here – I don't suppose you'd know how that feels. I wish I could keep myself occupied like you do.'

  'I thought you did, in your own way,' Liz said, unable to contain herself. At once she wished she hadn't spoken; she had only succeeded in making Jane wince, she hadn't touched Alex at all. She turned to Jane. 'Anyway, let me sign your petition. And then,' she said with heavy emphasis, 'I think we should all leave you to get on with the good work.' As she scribbled her name she added, 'You and Derek must come to us soon for dinner,' and had the awful thought that she might have been addressing either of the two women. She could hardly look up for fear of finding that the same thought had occurred to Jane too.

  She left Jane as soon as she could, hurrying Anna away and staring back to make sure Alex left as well. 'See you next week at Liz's,' Alex said to Jane, which made Liz feel even worse.

  She battled through the sticky crowd of pensioners and holidaymakers, past the mobile library parked on the green, the post office, whose window displayed Alan's books beneath a hand-painted 'Local Author' arrow, the hairdresser's where old ladies sat with their heads in egg-shaped helmets like the victims of a mad scientist on an old pulp magazine cover. Her headache was worsening – it felt as if a metal band was jerking tighter around her head -and she was desperate to talk. She went into The Stone Shop to see Rebecca.

  The shop was full of creatures made of shells and pebbles, carved boxes containing polished stones, multicoloured arrays selected from the beach, larger stones made into ashtrays, candle-holders, cruet-stands. Rebecca was trotting about, fussing over her creations with a feather duster. She was a small square woman who wore voluminous clothes as grey as her hair, and was Liz's best friend in the village. 'That's a pretty dress you're almost wearing,' she said to Anna. 'I wish I could dress for the weather.

  Would you like to go in the back and see if you can make me a creature? I'll give you some shells.'

  As soon as Anna was out of the way, carefully gluing shells together in the workshop, Rebecca said, 'What's up? You look like I feel.'

  Liz threw herself into the rickety chair behind the counter. 'I've just seen Jane,' she said.

  'Oh? She was in here before with her latest petition. I suppose she needs to feel she can still organize. Apparently she had quite a well-paid secretarial job before she had Georgie. Why, what was she saying to you?'

  'It wasn't Jane, it was Alex Amis. She came tarting along, telling Jane how to look after Georgie and virtually saying outright that Derek tells her all the family problems. And you know Jane – she just stood there blaming herself and getting into an even worse state.'

  'They make me sick, all three of them. You saw Alex here that day when she came bursting in with the news that she'd seen Derek in London with another woman. You could see how it excited her, little bitch – for all her drivelling on about poor pregnant Jane and how wicked it was of him to treat her that way. I suppose it must have made her want some herself.'

  'Well, I'm inviting the Walterses for dinner, though God knows what good that'll do.' Nevertheless she felt somewhat better for talking. 'And what was your problem?'

  'Oh, that.' Rebecca was apologetic. 'There's a thief about, that's all. A couple of things have gone missing in the last few weeks, just small things. I think I know who it is, but I want to be sure before I do anything. Now let's talk about something else. Stay and have coffee with me while Anna finishes her masterpiece.'

  They sat sipping coffee and talking summer talk: how Rebecca's shop was doing well, how Liz needed to find Anna more to do during the holidays. 'That's lovely, Anna,' Rebecca said, as she washed up the cups, and Liz agreed: Anna had created a tortoise with pebbly head and feet poking from beneath its seashell. 'Do you want to leave it while the glue dries and collect it next time? Maybe you could come in sometimes and help me make them.'

  Liz hurried to the village's only supermarket for meat, vegetables and wine, Anna pushing the shopping trolley and plaguing her with questions. 'What are tits, mummy? What will Mrs Amis do in her underwear? What did Rebecca mean when she said that Mrs Amis wanted some herself? Can I really help Rebecca in the shop?'

  That at least was easily answered. 'I think she meant it, Anna. We'll have to see.' When she'd loaded her shoulder-bag they followed the curve of the village toward the sea front, past the hotels and raucous arcades. Seagulls wheeled above supine deckchairs and sunbathers on the narrow beach. Eventually, when Anna had been persuaded away from the deafening electronic pinball tables, they reached the Britannia Hotel.

  It was a long three-storey castellated building, a fortress with a teddy-bear in one window. Gail Marshall, the manageress, was at the desk in the foyer, by the potted plants and the goldfish pool. Children screamed happily in the playground behind the hotel, while parents and pensioners sat in the bar. Gail was delighted that Liz had decided to help in the nursery during the holidays, and Liz was tempted to stay for a drink, but Anna was restless. Hefting her shoulder-bag, Liz made for the beach.

  The sea came pouring down from the horizon, parting into slower waves where it reached the groynes. Down here, the sea always looked higher than you were. Sand dotted with pebbles led from the water's edge to the larger stones, which formed a strip against the sea wall. Beyond the wall, nine feet or so above the beach, some of the rocks were big as boulders.

  At first Anna raced along the stones, crying 'Chase me.' Then as soon as she saw that Liz was following, she dodged across the soft sand to the dark hard strip of beach at the water's edge. Liz struggled along the soft strip and clambering over the timber groynes, marvelled at Anna's agility. Just now she looked as unselfconscious as some young leggy animal, yet when she went to the hotel dressed up for the occasional special dinner, Liz felt moved to see how quickly she was growing up.
r />   By the time Liz passed the church up there on the cliff, Anna was a hundred yards ahead. A couple of gravestones leaned precipitously over the edge of the cliff; Liz was always a little afraid that one day a grave and its contents might come sliding down. 'Slow down a bit, Anna!' she called breathlessly, but the little girl had already halted, seeing a figure ahead. 'Here's Joseph,' she cried.

  They often saw Joseph on the beach – Joseph, who wore his long grubby raincoat whatever the weather, its pockets bulging with stones. He lived on the far side of the village with his father, who looked after the grounds of the Britannia Hotel and gave donkey-rides along the beach. Now and then he would take his stones to Rebecca, who usually selected a few and made him accept money for them. He was about thirty – Liz wasn't sure exactly how old – and quite harmless.

  He came running up to Anna, his bow-legged, stumbling gait unmistakable even from half a mile away. He was pointing eagerly at the horizon. 'Can you see the ship? Someone stuck it up there, didn't they? I had a farm in a box where you stuck in the animals to make them stand up. And I had a book where the animals jumped up when you opened it. Boo!' he shouted, leaping up clumsily in front of her and waving his arms.

  Anna laughed and held his hand as they made for the path to the top of the cliff. To begin with, Liz had been afraid that Anna might giggle at him, but she accepted him quite happily – in fact, sometimes she was more tolerant of him than Liz managed to be, since he couldn't stop talking. Now he was fumbling in his pocket for stones. 'Look, here's a hole where something hatched out. Here's one with glittery stuff inside – that's sugar, isn't it? And here's a humbug,' he said, putting the striped stone into his mouth and spitting it out at once.

  'You shouldn't put stones in your mouth,' Anna said. 'And I don't think things hatch out of stones.'

  Joseph was too busy crawling about in search of his stone to heed her. He pocketed it carefully and went stooping off in search of more. 'Look where the sea burns the sand,' he said, pointing at the patterns the waves had left, dark flames in the sand at the edge of the sea.

  Liz and Anna climbed the winding path toward the pillbox. As they reached the cliff top Joseph overtook them and sauntered toward the goats. 'Here, goat. Here, goaty-goaty-goat.' The female came to him first and then, as he dropped on all fours to nuzzle their faces, the kids.

  Liz and Anna made for home. 'Bye-bye, Joseph,' they called.

  'I'm coming now.' He struggled to his feet at once and ran to catch up. Anna grabbed his hand and ran with him toward the house. 'Joseph can have a glass of milk, can't he?' she said.

  ^ 4 I suppose so.' Liz didn't mind having Joseph in the house, but Alan might object to hearing him while he was writing. By the time she reached the back door he was already in the living-room, where Anna was showing him Liz's paintings. 'Don't touch anything,' Liz said, looking at Anna but meaning him as well, and was heading upstairs to warn Alan he was here when he picked up the claw from the mantelpiece.

  He must have scratched himself, for he didn't just drop it but flung it away, onto a chair. 'Oh no, Joseph mustn't,' he said in a strange shaky voice.

  At least he hadn't damaged the claw. Liz would have felt it served him right, except that he was upsetting Anna. He backed away as Anna went to see what he'd done to himself. 'Mustn't,' he said to himself, and floundered away from her into the hall, where after a panicky struggle he managed to open the front door.

  Anna looked puzzled and hurt as she followed him. Liz went after her in case Joseph might upset her further. He was out of the garden now, dancing agitatedly back and forth, stretching his hands out to Anna, flinching back from the gate. 'Don't stay there,' he cried. 'Don't you let them.'

  When Liz touched her arm, Anna flinched. 'It's all right,' Liz murmured. 'You know he's a bit odd sometimes.' She steered Anna back toward the house, more firmly when the child seemed to be resisting. She tried to gesture Joseph away as she elbowed the sunlit door open and pushed Anna screaming into the arms of the figure in the hall.

  It was Alan. Anna must have screamed from shock, not from fear. Nevertheless Liz's heart was pounding, her vision was darkening; she had to hold onto the doorframe while she calmed down. She smiled reassuringly at Alan, for Anna had run to her. 'It was Joseph,' she told him. 'He was in some kind of peculiar mood, scaring her.' She glanced back in case he was still at the gate, but he had fled. There was only the bright gentle landscape, nothing at all to fear.

  Seven

  By noon on Friday, Liz was exhausted. Though the sun was so harsh that you could almost see the grass bleaching, it seemed not to slow the children down at all. Anna was pushing two-year-old Faye in the baby's swing, Beryl and Deirdre were racing tricycles around the hotel playground, Julian and Thorn and Esther were splashing one another in the pool beyond the wire fence, and several children were scrambling up the fifteen-foot slide, toddlers included. One of the toddlers began dancing on the top rung of the metal ladder and Liz had to dash over to persuade him to get onto the slide. Then, since the two girls who worked fulltime in the nursery were busy in the dining-room, she had to prevent another toddler from climbing the wire fence that kept unsupervised children away from the pool, and disentangle Beryl and Deirdre, who had collided and were fighting. At least Hilary the Phantom Crapper had gone home, leaving a hotel legend behind him.

  It wasn't only the children Liz found exhausting: it was their parents, too. Not all of them, by any means. Some were enjoying themselves as much as, and because, their children were. But Deirdre's mother was a teacher, and wouldn't leave the children alone; the moment she saw a child inactive for a moment, she would pounce. It was all that Liz and the girls could do to dissuade her from organizing games. Julian's mother couldn't find anything right with the hotel. 'Can't you give the children a choice of meals? They managed to where we stayed last year. And they organized outings for the children – surely that shouldn't be too much trouble…'

  But the worst of them was Spike's father. Spike was a thin seven-year-old with a long, dull face and pinkish, peeling skin, and everyone could see how much his father disliked him. Yesterday his father had shamed him into braving the pool and had stood looking disgusted while Spike froze calf-deep in water, refusing to venture away from the side. 'Go on, you big baby. Look how everyone's laughing at you.' Eventually he had dragged Spike out and shoved him away as though he couldn't bear to touch him. 'Go on, you useless lump. Nobody wants to know you.'

  This morning he'd virtually ignored his son, and seeing Liz trying to cheer Spike up, had shrugged and strolled away to read a magazine. Spike was in the sandpit now, picking up handfuls of sand and letting them trickle away without looking at them. Liz was about to climb down and propose a sandcastle competition for just the two of them, when his father reappeared.

  'Don't bother with him. He doesn't like enjoying himself. I'm paying the earth to give him and his mother a holiday, but he doesn't care about that.'

  Liz was biting her tongue, when Maggie came out of the nursery to call the children for their meal. She gave Liz a wink that said she would look after Spike, and Liz gladly left her to it.

  Now that the slide was free, Anna made for it. 'I'm just going to have a drink before we go home,' Liz called. Nobody else was in sight except a reddish man at the edge of the cliff, a hundred yards beyond the playground wall. If he was as sunburnt as he looked, why on earth wasn't he in the shade? Against the glitter of the waves she couldn't make him out at all. She took refuge in the cool of the bar.

  Jimmy was serving, a student teacher who worked in the hotel during the holidays. 'Here you go,' he said, drawing a lager without waiting for her order. 'And where's the little mother? I hope I get a few like her when I start teaching. When I look at some of them I wonder what I've let myself in for. Young Julian was skulking outside the window last night until someone left a drink close enough for him to grab. And how old is Faye – seven? She was saying she'd give me a kiss if I gave her a drink. Lolitas get younger and younger. Sti
ll, I'd rather have kids like that than Spike, poor little bugger.' Suddenly he ducked his head and began polishing glasses. 'Enough said. Here comes the fond father.'

  Liz turned to see that Anna was still on the slide, and hoped Spike's father wouldn't come into the bar. He was striding past the pool enclosure, swinging his metal-tipped stick and fluffing up his curly black sideboards between finger and thumb. When he pushed open the windows and stepped into the bar she turned away. She didn't trust herself to be polite.

  But he came straight to her. 'What's this, drinking alone? We can't have that. A Scotch for me, Jimmy, and give this lady whatever she wants.'

  'I don't want anything just now, thanks.'

  'Well, give me a shout when you do. I don't like to see ladies drinking alone. Mine's upstairs resting in case you wondered. No wonder, with what she has to put up with. I'm not surprised you came straight in here.'

  Liz could only walk away without replying and sit in the window. Eventually he flung his corduroy jacket over a chair next to an old couple and began to hold forth to them. Liz squinted at the cliff-top. The reddened man was still there, but she couldn't make him out from this angle either, couldn't even decide if he was watching the sea or the hotel.

  Anna was even less self-conscious now that she was alone, standing on the platform at the top of the slide like a sailor in a crow's nest, then letting herself slide down head-first, before running around to climb the ladder again. Liz watched until she realized she was risking more attention from Spike's father. She was downing the last of her drink when the door from the foyer opened. She'd never be able to slip away now, for here was Alan's mother.

  She was a tall pale dry woman in her early sixties. Today she wore a silky blue ankle-length dress. She surveyed the bar as if she found nobody worth greeting, then she strode over to Liz. 'Hello, Elizabeth. Alan told me you were here, so I came to see my grandchild.'

  'She's outside. Would you like a drink first?'