The Claw

by Ramsey Campbell

  As she entered the shadow of the house, she faltered. The plunge into shade was too sudden – the grass looked almost black – and so she couldn't really be seeing a red trail that led across the garden to the house. She hurried to the front door and scraped the key into the lock. 'Hurry up, child,' she said to Anna, pushing her inside.

  In the hall she found that she was virtually blind. No wonder she almost tripped over Anna, who had halted. 'It's all right,' Liz said harshly. The low blurred voice coming from the long room must be the television or the radio. Anna had left one or the other switched on, that was all. Half-blind, Liz strode to the door of the room and threw it open. Yes, it was the television. Anna really must learn to be less careless and untidy; she'd left some article of clothing on a chair in front of the set, a dark blur against the screen. But as Liz stumbled forward, dizzy with drink and sunlight and needing to sit down, the blur rose up in front of her. She screamed.

  'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you,' Isobel said.

  Anna was giggling uncontrollably, perhaps from shock. 'You stop that right now, miss,' Liz said furiously, 'or I'll give you something to make you stop.' She turned on Isobel. 'How did you get in?'

  'Why, the front door was open. I assumed you'd stepped out for a moment. Weren't you aware that it was?'

  'No, I wasn't,' Liz said, and thought that she sounded accusing. That would do no good, even though she hated the idea of Isobel prying into her home. 'I've been a bit distracted lately,' she said.

  'Yes, quite. I hope you don't mind, I made coffee while I was waiting. Let me get you some.'

  Liz sat down while the blackened room paled and swam back into focus. She had to close her eyes before she could get rid of some of the dollops of blackness. Now she could see Anna, who looked upset by the way she'd snapped at her. Before Liz could apologize, the child followed Isobel to the kitchen. Wonderful, Liz thought. Just the way to make Isobel think that the child wouldn't even stay with her mother.

  When Isobel brought in the coffee, Anna returned with a glass of lemonade for herself. Liz smiled at her, but she wasn't looking. 'Would you like to find yourself something to do in your playroom, Anna?' Isobel said. 'Your mother and I would like to talk privately.'

  Did Isobel want to take over the running of the house? Once Anna had gone, Isobel said, 'Well, dear, what seems to be the trouble?'

  'I don't know that anything is.'

  'Oh, really, dear, you mustn't try to keep things from me. What's the trouble between Alan and yourself? Why did he go away so suddenly?'

  'Because he needs to do more research.'

  'Is that your story? I see.' Isobel shook her head sadly. 'Don't you think it's strange that he went away without telling me?'

  'No, not particularly,' Liz said, and almost added: Not when he married me for his freedom.

  'Well, I do. We always used to be close. It isn't like him to leave me worrying like that.' Now she was offended. 'And how long is he supposed to be staying away?'

  'I really couldn't tell you, Isobel.'

  'Well then, there's something wrong there, don't you think?' She seemed to be debating which approach to take. 'I wonder,' she said, as if performing a duty, 'if he'd stay away if he could hear some of the talk.'

  'What talk? What on earth do you mean?'

  'I don't like spreading gossip. Still, it's best you should know what's being said.' She frowned like a headmistress conducting an unpleasant interview. 'I put you on your honour, Elizabeth. Is it true that after Alan had gone away, you left the child alone in the house while you went to a party at the hotel?'

  'You put me on what? Who the hell do you think you are? No, it certainly isn't true, and you'd better tell me who said it.'

  'I'm sure you understand that I can't do that. I was told it in confidence. In fact, I can't remember who it was. Anyway, that's rather beside the point. You won't deny that the child came crying to you at the hotel?'

  'No,' Liz said dangerously, 'I won't deny that.'

  'Then you can appreciate why people are talking. They're worried about you.'

  'Worried how?*

  'Really, dear, you force me to say these things. They're worried about your behaviour lately.'

  Liz remembered the night that Alan had virtually accused her of wanting to ill-treat Anna – the night before he'd left her. 'Let me make something clear to you. Alan was still here the night she came running to the hotel. Here with her, do you understand that? That's why she came running to me. Maybe you should start worrying about his behaviour.'

  Isobel held up one hand. 'I really think that's rather cheap, accusing him in order to defend yourself. I should have expected better of you. He would never harm the child. At least, he wouldn't have when I knew him,' she said with a kind of bitter triumph, 'when he lived with me.'

  'But he wouldn't have been able to have a child then, would he? That would have been taking things a bit too far.'

  'I don't know what you mean, and I don't want to know. You can be very coarse sometimes.' She shook off her disgust. 'In any case, dear, we shouldn't be quarrelling. Don't feel that you have to defend yourself to me. I know how much of a strain it can be to bring up a child single-handed. That's really all I came to say. I'll take the child off your hands for a while whenever you need a rest from her.'

  Just now, despite all that had been said, it seemed a tempting offer. 'All right, Isobel, I'll tell her you've invited her.'

  'I hope you'll allow her to decide for herself whether she wants to come.'

  'Of course I will. What are you trying to say? I don't keep her locked up, you know.' She was tired of the argument; she wanted to be alone to think, if she could. At least, she thought she wanted to be alone, but now she wasn't even sure of that; her head was pounding. 'I'd like to be quiet now, Isobel. I'll be in touch if I need you.'

  At the front door – rather grotesquely under the circumstances, Liz thought – Isobel said, 'I hope you'll both still come for dinner,' and wouldn't leave until they'd agreed a date. Liz stood gazing at the flat landscape long after Isobel had driven away. Who was spreading stories about her? How dare they suggest that she wasn't looking after the child as well as she possibly could, considering all that she had to put up with?

  But there was another problem, more immediate and perhaps more disturbing. How had Isobel got into the house? The more she thought about it, the more Liz was convinced that she hadn't left the door open at all.

  Twenty-six

  By lunchtime on Monday, Anna was intolerable. Sunday had been an unforecasted rainy day, and she'd hardly left Liz alone for a moment, pestering her to read her latest story every time she finished a paragraph, refusing to watch television unless Liz watched it too, constantly complaining that she had nothing to read, and asking Liz to find her things to do. The house had become overrun with her toys that had strayed out of the playroom: bears in armchairs, dolls on the carpets, even her bicycle in the hall.

  Eventually Liz had lost patience. 'You know perfectly well not to ride in the house. How old are you supposed to be? I thought you were a big girl.' But then Anna had started whining – she didn't like living here any more, she had nobody to play with, when was daddy coming home – and that had been more than Liz could stand. She'd made a hasty dinner and had sent Anna to bed early, despite her protests. She'd restrained herself from going up to look until she was sure that the child was asleep. Had Anna cried herself to sleep? Liz had thought for a while that she heard snuffling upstairs.

  Eventually she'd gone to check. Anna had been peacefully asleep, though her eyelids looked sticky with dried tears. Downstairs, Liz had fetched her story from the playroom to re-read; something about it was nagging her, something she'd almost noticed.

  After two more readings she still couldn't define the cause of her unease, the story was just what it seemed to be, a series of harmless anecdotes about a family of goats who lived in a field. Liz had watched television to take her mind off Alan and the rumours that someone was s
preading about her, only to wake up to the doodling of light after the programmes had ended. It had made her feel utterly alone, that and the sound of the sea and the snuffling of the moist wind around the house. She'd gone to bed and dreamed that she was watching goats, staring at them for hours or perhaps for days before she gave up and wandered away. She'd woken up before she knew where she was going.

  On Monday she was determined to be kinder to the child. She let her make prawn cocktails for tonight's first course, and tried to conceal her growing despondency at the thought of an evening with Derek and Jane. Perhaps they could tell her who was spreading the rumours -perhaps she could rid herself of at least that problem. She'd thought that once Alan had gone away there'd be less tension around the home, but instead it was worsening. She felt very much as if she were lying in bed at four in the morning, restless and jaggedly nervous, incapable of peace.

  After finishing making the prawn cocktails, Anna wandered away, but soon came back. 'I don't know what to do,' she complained.

  'Why don't you take your bike out now that it's stopped raining?'

  'I don't want to go out. I don't like it.'

  'What don't you like?'

  'Someone keeps looking at me over the cliff.'

  'Now that's silly, Anna. Why would anyone do that?' Liz ignored her own leaping pulse. 'Where did you think you saw something?'

  'I don't have to see him. I know he's there.' To Liz, she sounded more obstinate than nervous. 'Just out there. Beyond the hedge.'

  'Well, you can see there's nothing. Here, I'll lift you up.' She did so, for as long as she could manage it; slim though she was, Anna was no lightweight. The hedge had broken out in diamonds, the parched grass looked drowned in cider. 'There couldn't have been anyone,' Liz said. 'There's nowhere they could stand.'

  'I don't care. He's still there. He's hiding.'

  'Oh, Anna, for heaven's sake. I'm too busy to take you out to show you there's nothing. All right – don't go out if you don't want to. Since you've got such an imagination, why don't you get on with writing your story.'

  'I don't want to.'

  Liz remembered her undertaking to be kinder. What was she thinking of, mocking the child's story? You'd think she was jealous of Anna for taking after her father. 'I'm sorry, darling,' she said. 'I know I wasn't very encouraging yesterday, but I read it properly after you went to bed, and I really like it. I'm anxious to find out what happens next.'

  'I still don't want to. I don't like it any more.'

  'Good God, Anna, is there anything you do like?' She felt helplessly frustrated, desperate to vent her rage on something. Just as she was setting out ingredients for this evening's main course she found the perfect excuse. 'Oh, skit!'

  Anna started giggling at that, but stopped when she saw Liz's face. 'What's wrong?'

  'I've got no sherry for the bloody marinade. Now I'll have to go into the village.'

  'I'll go if you like.'

  'Would you mind?' It seemed odd that she was proposing to go out now, but perhaps the village was far enough from the cliff. 'All right, I'll make the sweet while I'm waiting. Just be careful, and hurry back.'

  As Anna cycled away, Liz called, 'Remember, ask for the dryest sherry they have,' and watched until Anna was out of sight, long brown legs pumping easily, red hair streaming like inexhaustible fire. Suddenly she felt intensely proud of her. Of course she was irritating at times, but so were all children. For a moment she seemed too precious to let go, but Liz couldn't cling to her for ever.

  In the kitchen she switched on the mixer and made the meringue topping, then on an impulse she went out to the cliff. Anna wouldn't be home for fifteen minutes at least, however fast she cycled on the winding road. Liz hoped she would take her time on the bends and began to wish she hadn't made so much of hurrying back.

  There was hardly a breeze on the cliff-top. Fat clouds basked on the horizon, the sea glittered sleepily; her garden was almost still. Of course there was no red trail in the garden; there hadn't been on Friday evening, before the rain. Was it any wonder that she kept seeing red?

  She went to the edge of the cliff and leaned over. As the sea swayed at the edge of her vision, she felt she was falling. Nevertheless she leaned as far as she could, until she was sure there was no hidden foothold. If anyone tried to climb Up here, the cliff face would simply crumble away, and there wasn't a path for another hundred yards. A family – parents, two children, a dog and a large inflatable duck – stared up at her from the beach. Let them stare. At least now she could prove to Anna that there was nothing to fear.

  She strolled back to the house. Anna should be home any minute. Liz made her a lager and lime, her beer-garden treat, and put it in the refrigerator to chill. She dawdled over the marinade, wishing Anna would hurry tip. What could she do while she was waiting?

  A quick call to her mother, in the hope that her father was better. She carried the phone into the long room, and sat with it on her lap, the lead stretching back into the hall. Anna should be home by now, but perhaps she'd had to queue. Suppose Liz's father was worse? She was cradling the phone as if it were a child she was trying to lull to sleep, when all at once it twitched and rang.

  She almost dropped it. It was more like a bomb than a phone. She managed to grab the receiver while she kneed the extension back into her lap. 'Yes, who is it?' she demanded.

  'Is that Mrs Knight?' said a woman's voice that she didn't recognize.

  'Yes, yes, who's that?'

  'One moment please, I have a call for you.'

  Perhaps it was Alan – but the line sounded too clear for Nigeria. Could it be Hetherington, asking about the claw? Suddenly Liz wondered if it was about Anna – why wasn't she home by now? She pressed the receiver against her face as if that would force the caller to speak.

  Eventually he did. 'Hi, it's Liz, isn't it? How are you?'

  She knew the voice, but couldn't remember from where. 'I'm all right. Who's that?'

  'It's Teddy Shaw here. Alan's editor. We met once, if you recall.'

  'Of course, yes. I'm sorry, I've rather a lot on my mind.'

  'I guess you must have, with Alan leaving you on your own again. I was just wondering, are you likely to be in touch with him in the next day or so?'

  'I don't know.' She'd had enough of lying and pretending.

  His pause was almost imperceptible. 'Well, if you happen to be in touch, could you ask him to give me a call? It's about his signing tour. Or maybe you could get his number for me to call.'

  'I'll do my best.' She was willing him to go away; where was Anna? 'I can't promise.'

  'Right, I know it's difficult to keep in touch with Nigeria. Has he found what he was after, do you know?'

  How could she answer that when she didn't know what it was? 'I expect so,' she said.

  'So things aren't looking too bad.'

  'No,' she said, 'they couldn't be worse,' but her hand was over the mouthpiece. 'I suppose not,' she told him.

  'Well, maybe I'll give you a call in a couple of days to see if he's been in touch.'

  'All right,' she said, to get rid of him. She was already making for the hall as she replaced the receiver, and almost tripped over the lead. Why wasn't Anna home yet? Then she fought down the panic. Good God, she was only a few minutes late – no doubt she'd been sensible and had taken her time on the curves. Once Liz reached the road, she'd be able to see Anna's little red head bobbing above the hedges.

  But when she opened her gate and stared across the fields, there was no sign of her.

  Something had happened. The landscape was too flat to hide her. She wouldn't have dawdled or stopped to talk or play when Liz had specifically told her to hurry. Oh, why had she sent her at all? Because she'd wanted to get rid of her for a while. No wonder people said she was neglecting the child.

  Liz ran for her key and slammed the front door, then hurried towards the turn-off for the village. Now she couldn't see beyond the first curve, and she began to run. The hedges and the
tarmac seemed to drift by as if they had all the time in the world. Her sandals stuck to the road, the burning tarmac dragging at her feet. Was that Anna beyond the next curve? No, the glimpse had been too red for Anna's hair.

  She was running in the middle of the road now, praying that she'd hear any cars, though the chirring of grasshoppers seemed almost deafening and seemed to be tangled among her nerves. Every curve was another reason to hope, another disappointment when she arrived there, panting. The heat was like a great weight on her shoulders, slowing her down. The red glimpses were of a scarecrow, a red figure standing in one of the fields – she couldn't quite see which.

  Her chest was hurting, her legs ached. These days she was driving too much and walking too little, but her discomfort didn't matter so long as she found Anna, so long as nothing had happened to the child. She must be safe – what could possibly happen to her in a place like this? It was only the glimpses of the scarecrow that were making Liz nervous. It must be the heat-haze that made it seem to glisten – an unpleasant effect, given that it was dressed, or painted, from head to foot in red. She hadn't time to locate it and look at it directly. It might scare crows, but it seemed unable to scare the animals out of its field; from its direction she could hear snuffling.

  When she came abreast of a stile, she clambered onto the top bar and perched there as long as she could, supporting herself with trembling wrists. Fields surrounded her, blocks of yellow in green frames. She could see almost to the village. There was no sign of a red scarecrow, and no sign of Anna.

  She had to go back, she must call the police. The thought of calling the police yet again was no longer a bad joke; it made the situation real. There was no more room for hope. She should have known the child was in danger – whatever the danger was. She jumped down from the stile, jarring her ankles, and ran for home.