She came in sight of the house at last, and saw her car. Panic had wiped it from her mind as she'd started toward the village. No doubt Alan's car was still parked in Norwich, or would they have towed it away by now? She couldn't believe how long it took her to cross the road, open the gate, stumble down the path as her ankles throbbed, unlock the front door, grope along the hall while her eyes adjusted. At the back of her mind was a desperate hope that Anna would be waiting for her – but Anna had no key.
She grabbed the phone and carried it into the long room, where there was more light. As she fell into the nearest chair, she was already dialling. Shouldn't she check with the wine shop before she called the police? But it was too late. Though she could hardly see what she was dialling -a blotch on her vision made it seem that someone was looming outside the back window – she had reached the police. 'Police station,' said a voice she knew by now. She turned toward the window to dispel the illusion of a figure, but as she did so, the figure began to knock on the glass. It was Anna.
'Wrong number,' Liz said, cursing herself for not hanging up at once; they must be able to recognize her voice. She threw the phone on the chair and ran to unbolt the back door. 'Where on earth have you been?' she cried.
'They wouldn't serve me in the wine shop.' Anna looked nervous and resentful. 'They said I was too young. I had to go to Jimmy at the hotel.'
How could Liz have forgotten that the child was under age? It was Alan's fault that she was so confused. No doubt now there'd be gossip about her sending Anna to buy alcohol – Liz, the alcoholic mother. She ought to feel sympathetic to Anna, but for the moment she felt nothing but helpless rage.
'They all looked at me in the wine shop as if I'd done something wrong,' Anna said tearfully. 'And Jimmy looked as if he didn't want to serve me either. And then I came home and you weren't here, and I came round the back to see if you were there, and you know I don't like it at the back. Why couldn't you know what was going to happen?'
Liz didn't hit her very hard, but she had to do something before her rage became uncontrollable. She slapped Anna's bare arm. She'd forgotten how long her nails had grown. In the moment before Anna fled sobbing into the house, Liz saw the scratches she'd made on the small tanned arm.
She stared after her. Beside the house the sherry bottle shone like amber, a parody of worth. She must go to Anna, say she was sorry, calm her down – but she was a little afraid to go after her. As her nails had scratched the child, she'd had the strangest feeling, so strange that she couldn't define it. And she didn't like it at all.
Twenty-seven
Before dinner was over, Derek had seen off three large Scotches and more than half the wine, and Liz had never known him so drunk. Perhaps he'd been drinking before he and Jane had arrived, for in almost no time at all he'd reached the stage of knocking over ornaments, blushing as he muttered an apology. By now, as they lingered over apple meringue in the pool of shaded light while the afterglow crystallized beyond the window, he was expansively relaxed. When he dropped his spoon and smeared his fingers, or dislodged his jacket, which he'd slung over the back of his chair, he laughed as if it was his night off – as if he hadn't had one for years.
During dinner he'd told anecdotes about his job, and seemed not to care that they could guess who he was talking about. 'That's enough. Don't tell any more,' Jane kept pleading, but Derek was unabashed. 'It's all right, we're all friends here. You aren't bored, are you, Liz?' Liz had to admit she preferred him Like this, even though his jollity seemed shrill, defensive. At least it gave her no chance to talk about their problems, which she felt she ought to be doing. At the moment she had more than enough of her own.
As Jane went to phone the baby-sitter for the second time, Derek launched into another anecdote. 'Then there was the old dear who popped off recently and left two wills, one with her daughter, one with her son. That was just the start of the trouble. You see, the children couldn't stand each other. Really – they'd come to blows in front of their mother more than once, and I don't mean when they were kids, either. It was getting her down so much that she'd made these two wills with different solicitors on the same day. She left everything to the son in the will she gave him, and everything to the daughter in the other one. It wasn't until she popped off that they found out there was more than one will. So they both obliterated the date on theirs, so they could claim theirs was the first…'
'But the solicitors would have a record of the dates, wouldn't they?'
'You'd think so, but that was where the fun really started. Both the solicitors had lost their copies, would you believe, and so they had to swear to the dates. I tried to tell the children that the result would be the same in the end – they'd each get half – but they're bound to insist on fighting to the end, so half their legacies will go in costs. Sometimes I just don't understand people. In fact I don't know if I ever do. What makes us strange creatures tick, Liz, do you know? I expect if Alan were here he'd have a go at telling us.'
There was an awkward silence. Jane had returned, and looked timidly reproving. 'That's all. No more stories,' Derek said.
'Is Anna upset?' Jane said to Liz.
'She may be. Why?'
'I thought I heard her snuffling in her room.'
Liz went up to listen. Through the windows on the stairs and the landing she saw the sky darkening, closing in. She stood outside Anna's door until she could hear the child's breathing. It was quick and shallow. Perhaps Jane had heard her in the middle of a bad dream. Being able to hear her breathing so clearly through the door made Liz feel strange, as if all her senses were unnaturally keen. She was tempted to open the door, but then she might see the scratches she had made on the child's arm… She went downstairs.
Derek had unbuttoned his shirt collar and pulled open the knot of his tie. 'Oh, don't do that, it looks so sloppy,' Jane was wailing. 'Just because I am, it doesn't mean you have to be.'
'Now, now, you look splendid.' He was being kind; Jane looked as if halfway through putting on her make-up she'd lost interest and never finished. 'You'd be a lot better if you weren't forever denigrating yourself.'
'I can't make myself sound any worse than I am.'
'Now, what nonsense. Why do you say these things?'
'Because I thought I might be a good mother, and I can't even be that. There's nothing of me left, and I've got nothing left of you either. I thought children were supposed to save marriages. What a joke! I wish we'd never had a child.'
'You mustn't say that, Jane.' He sounded desperate. 'You know you don't mean it. It isn't like you at all.'
'How do you know? You don't know what I'm like. You haven't cared about me for years.'
Liz wondered if she should leave them to it; it might help them to talk things out, assuming that when they sobered up they remembered what they'd sajd. But Jane turned gratefully to her. 'Was Anna all right? I shouldn't have made you go up. You don't need me to tell you what to do. I don't know anyone who cares more for their child.'
That was too much for Liz. 'I wish you were right, Jane. I don't like the way I've been behaving toward her at all. She's been getting on my nerves so much, I wonder if there's something wrong with me. I've been acting as if I hate her.'
'Now don't you start, Liz,' Derek said, with forced joviality. 'Everyone feels like that about their children sometimes. They wouldn't be human if they didn't. Don't worry about having those feelings, it's only going to make them worse. Ignore them and they'll go away.'
That didn't seem very helpful to Liz, nor apparently to Jane, who looked bright-eyed with despair. Perhaps Liz hadn't made herself clear; perhaps Derek thought she was simply talking out her feelings in order to cope with them. No doubt he thought she was far too stable to need help. But how could she be stable, after all that had happened to her? She ought to make that clear – but Jane was nodding at the door behind Liz, a warning gesture. Liz turned and saw Anna leaning sleepily against the frame.
'What are you doing down here, Anna? You should be in
bed.' The scratches on the child's arm were livid; Liz's face grew hot with shame. 'Come on, tell me what's wrong, and then I'll take you up.'
The child was hardly awake. 'Want to sleep in your bed,' she mumbled.
'All right, hurry up and I'll tuck you in.' Liz guided her upstairs, holding her elbow gently so that she wouldn't stumble and wake. Nevertheless Anna opened her eyes as she slipped between the sheets. 'Are you coming up soon?' she said.
'Not just yet, no. You try and go back to sleep.' Couldn't Liz even have dinner with friends without the child making demands on her? She stroked Anna's forehead, as much to quieten her own resentment as to soothe Anna. As soon as the child's eyes closed, Liz tiptoed out of the room.
Derek had lowered his voice, but Liz could hear him as she went downstairs. 'Look, I'm sorry I've left you to cope with Georgie all the time. I'll try and concentrate more on local clients, then I won't be away so much. I know Georgie's precious to you, whatever you say. And you know he is to me. We have to take care of him, he's all we've got.'
Jane must be pushing him away. 'All right, I heard you. Don't make me any messier than I already am.'
They were sitting apart and looking away from each other when Liz went in. 'There, you see how much you care for her,' Jane said anxiously. 'You don't hate her at all.'
'You're only seeing how I behave in company. I'm worse when I'm on my own. Surely you've heard the rumours about me,' she added, out of desperation.
'Rumours? Good heavens no! I'm sure there are no rumours.' Derek's quick response made Liz suspicious, especially since Jane had withdrawn into hersetf. Wasn't there only one person who could make Derek and Jane so devious? But Derek had thought of another anecdote, changing the subject at once.
After that the evening seemed to peter out. They chatted, but avoided half the subjects they thought of. Jane kept asking what time it was and telling Derek that they should be going. Eventually she turned on him. 'I want to get back to Georgie, I don't like leaving him. I wish you wouldn't drink so much, then we wouldn't have to walk back in the dark. I've told you I've seen someone loitering.'
'Loitering where?' Liz demanded, but Derek frowned at her and shook his head. 'Nothing to worry about,' he murmured.
It was all very well for him to assume that Jane was being paranoid; he didn't have to stay here at home by himself. Had he forgotten Joseph, and the robbery? That reminded Liz to ask Jane, 'Did they ever recover your money?'
For a moment Jane seemed not to know what she was talking about. 'Oh, you mean the money that was stolen from my bag? No, they never did.'
Even if they had, it wouldn't necessarily have meant that they'd recovered the claw as well. Liz waved to Derek and Jane, until she found that she was waving at the dark. The brooding thunder of the sea followed her into the house. She didn't feel she'd helped Derek and Jane, nor did she know how she could have. Something about their visit had made her deeply uneasy.
She washed up the dinner service, which she'd left in the sink to soak. The Fairy Liquid botde squirted out a few green bubbles, and she had to suck up water with it before she had enough lather. It wasn't like her to forget to stock up, but then a good many things weren't like her recently. By God, if it was Alex who was spreading the rumours about her… But there was nothing she could do for now, since Alex was away. She left the plates in the drainer and wandered through the empty house.
It didn't take her long to decide to go to bed. She didn't want to read or watch television, and she especially didn't want to think. She was tempted to wait a little in case there was a phone call – but from whom? If she gave in to that, she'd end up falling asleep in her chair. She didn't want to wake alone.
She crept upstairs to the bathroom, switching off lights as she went. As she reached the landing, she heard a sound in her room. Was Anna still awake? Jane must have been right after all, for Liz could hear snuffling. Perhaps Anna was making the sound in her sleep. Rather than risk waking her, Liz kept on to the bathroom.
She was halfway through brushing her teeth when she turned off the taps in order to listen. Anna must be awake, for Liz could hear, faintly but clearly, the padding of bare feet on the polished floorboards of the bedroom. Liz took her time over washing, in order to give the child a chance to return to bed. By the time she'd finished drying herself, the footsteps had ceased.
Liz eased open the bedroom door and a shaft of light from the hall fell across Anna's face. She looked as if she'd been asleep for hours. Liz tiptoed to switch on the lamp on the bedside table. There was an unpleasant smell in the room – presumably a whiff of some kind of effluent, drifting up from the sea, although, curiously enough, it made her think of a zoo. She would have closed the window, except that then Anna would probably be unable to sleep for the heat.
She switched off the hall light and closed the door, then she slid gently into bed. Anna stirred a little, but didn't wake. Liz must have imagined the sound of bare feet after all. She turned off the bedside lamp, and then she lay there, not moving. She was holding herself still so as not to wake Anna, not because she felt that she and the child weren't alone in the room. She'd felt that as soon as she'd turned off the lamp, which showed how irrational it was. She mustn't switch on the lamp again, in case she woke the child. Nevertheless it was a long time before she fell asleep, and the impression persisted into her dreams that something was lying near her in the dark, lying absolutely still and waiting for her to act. In her dreams she felt that soon she would know what to do.
Twenty-eight
Dear Barbara,
I'm afraid you will think this is a very strange letter, but what else are friends for? Besides, I expect you remember when we agreed that if one of us was ever in trouble she could always count on the other one. Do you think we really thought we would have to? Anyway, you did want to come and stay, so I don't feel quite so awful for making you keep your promise, but I needn't tell you that I wouldn't have if things weren't very serious. Everything seems to be going wrong at once, and the worst of it is that it's making me lose all my patience with Anna. I really need someone to talk to, and there's only you. I'm hoping that when I see you I'll be able to describe
Liz read what she'd written, her pen hovering above the space where the next word should go, then she tore the page jaggedly from the pad. That was just about what it deserved. It was a ridiculous letter, so melodramatic at the outset, so unable to deliver at the end. Surely she was exaggerating. Really, would anyone feel or behave differently under the circumstances?
She stared out of her workroom window. From up here she could see where the village curved round to the Hotel Britannia. On the cliff-top the grass looked ready to burst into flame – one match would do it. Here and there she could see spots of colour: striped balls bouncing on the crowded sand, a green bikini and a purple one, something glistening in the dark of the pillbox entrance. Pam from the dairy was milking the goats. Liz had heard her say that she wished she could take a knife to Joseph, to peel off his skin very slowly. Everyone felt violent sometimes, not just Liz.
All the same, she wanted Barbara to come. If someone else were here, perhaps Anna wouldn't mind staying at home so much. She couldn't go on keeping her caged in the house – but even so, she'd felt a qualm as she'd driven home after leaving her at The Stone Shop. She shouldn't have given in to the child, shouldn't have let her out of her sight if it was going to make her feel this way. Now she was growing resentful, blaming Anna for worrying her. Surely that alone was a good enough reason to want someone to talk to. Perhaps she was too close to the situation; Barbara might see at once what had to be done. She picked her first attempt at a letter out of the waste-basket, from among scraps of cloth.
Dear Barbara,
Yes, it's old scatterbrained Liz, and you're right – having put you off, I now want you to come. At least I remember to fill up the petrol tank these days, so we'll be able to go out sightseeing. I do hope you haven't made other arrangements or can cancel them if you have, because
I'd love to see you. Alan's had to go away, so it will be just like old times. We can sit up half the night and tell each other everything. So bring yourself and your world-famous bag…
That was all the false heartiness she'd been able to manage. Even so, she preferred it to her second try. She might have copied it – it was too crumpled to send – but the thought of copying so much jollity made her feel rather sick. She'd have to write another letter, and that reminded her of Alan at his desk, writing and rewriting. She swallowed before the lump in her throat made her start to weep. If she hadn't lost that wretched claw for him he might be here with her now. She could only hope the police brought it back; she'd keep it here until he phoned, until she could tell him to come back. Couldn't he even let her know where he was? Did he think she no longer cared what happened to him? She couldn't blame him for frightening Anna, for losing his temper with the child. She was beginning to know how he'd felt.
Dear Barbara,
I do hope you haven't gone ahead and made arrangements for your holiday, because I'd very much like to have you stay after all. I'll explain why when I see you. Do please come, because I need to talk to you. Give me a call and let me know when you can make it, and I'll meet you from the bus – the train isn't worth much these days. I'm dying to see you! Much love,
Liz
That would have to do. At least it gave her an excuse to drive into the village, to the post office, and go and see Anna while she was there, buy her lunch if she wasn't ready to come home.
Was she making unreasonable demands on Barbara? She was sure that Barbara wouldn't think so, not if she remembered her vow that Liz could always count on her. It dated back to the time Barbara had failed her nursing finals because her doctor fiance had died of malaria in Kenya. Liz had just bought her first car, a rusty cantankerous Mini, and she'd persuaded Barbara away to Cornwall, to help her through the worst of her loss. Once she'd forgotten to fill the tank and they'd ended up stranded in a storm miles from the nearest petrol station, after trying vainly to find lodgings in a town that was locked up for the night. In the end they'd had to sleep in the smelly car, which, for the last three days of their tour, had refused to travel more than fifty miles a day. It had been all they could do to crawl on board a train at Penzance. Liz must have looked as woebegone as she felt when they staggered into the stuffy carriage, because Barbara had burst out laughing. 'Don't look so destroyed, Liz. It's cheered me up no end, really it has. It's the funniest holiday I've ever had.' And then, more seriously, 'Nobody else would have gone to all that trouble for me. If you should ever need me, you've only to let me know.'
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