She splashed cold water on her shiny face and brushed her teeth. She could hardly look at herself in the mirror, this pasty, dull-eyed mask, with hair like rusty rope. Halfway through rinsing out her mouth she suddenly stopped, for she thought she'd heard snuffling in the bedroom. She froze, choking down a mouthful of water and toothpaste, but there was no further sound. It must have been Anna feeling sorry for herself.
Liz left her clothes in the bathroom – she must cut her nails when she could find a pair of scissors, she was snagging them on her clothes – and eased open the bathroom door. Anna hadn't moved. Liz switched off the bathroom light and closed the door to shut off the gurgling monologue of the plumbing; then she groped toward the bed. She hadn't quite reached it – she'd misjudged her distance in the dark, and the fog blocked out any light from the window – when she smelled blood.
She would have backed away toward the bathroom, but she couldn't remember which way to go: not straight backwards, certainly. She reached out one shaking hand for the bed, through the darkness that stank of stale blood, and touched something soft. A blanket – Anna beneath a blanket? But then the soft object shifted under her hand, and her fingers touched its eyes, its encrusted sticky cheek, its teeth.
She recoiled, spastic with horror, and collided with the bed. Now she knew where she was; she could see the strip of light from the corridor at the foot of the outer door. She staggered towards it, wrenched at the handle. Then she remembered the bolt. In the strange room she couldn't locate the light-switch.
Her fingernails were in the way, she couldn't grasp the bolt. Then she had it, and the next moment the door was wide open. Light flooded in from the corridor – not enough light. She jerked the switch for the bedroom light, and Anna started screaming.
By God, she was screaming, not at the thing in the dark, but at Liz. Though Liz couldn't believe it, the room was empty. Nothing under the bed, nothing in the bathroom either, when she threw open the door. 'Stay there,' she snarled at Anna, who looked ready to run out of the room. The intruder had felt too solid to have been imaginary. Locked doors meant nothing; it could come to her whenever it was dark. Perhaps it was still watching her; someone was – her neck was prickling. She whirled round. Gail was staring at her from the corridor.
However must she look, naked and ranging about the room like an animal in its cage? Still, there was no need for Gail to watch her quite so disapprovingly. She must have come upstairs to spy on her, otherwise she couldn't have got here so quickly. She was trying to look as if little was wrong. 'Liz,' she said, 'I think it would be a good idea if I found you some room in the cottage.'
So that was it. She wanted an excuse to observe Liz more closely, to take Anna from her or call someone who would. 'No thank you,' Liz said, though she was shaking. 'We'll stay here for tonight.' Before Gail could protest, she'd closed the door in her face and slammed the bolt home.
There was silence in the corridor while Gail considered what to do. Eventually Liz heard her footsteps retreating. She grinned savagely, triumphantly. Behind her Anna whimpered, 'I don't want to stay here any more.'
Liz turned slowly, enjoying herself. When Anna saw her grin, she flinched against the pillows. 'You're going to get what you've asked for,' Liz said.
Forty-five
Anna lay in bed for hours before she dared to move. She could hear the band downstairs, but it sounded as if it was miles away. It might as well be, like everything else in the hotel. Nobody cared what mummy might do to her, not even Gail, who could, see how mummy had changed. Nobody cared what happened to Anna; she was only a child. She began to sob, but managed to choke the sound back before it got out; it might wake mummy, who was sitting in the chair that she'd pushed against the locked door. The thought of waiting until she was sure that mummy was asleep made her eyes sting with a yearning for sleep, but she mustn't sleep, not yet. There was still one person who could save her, who would come and take her away.
The band fell silent at last. She heard people singing along with it: 'Good Night Ladies.' Because of her lack of sleep she thought for a moment that they were singing to mummy and her, and perhaps mummy thought so too, for her nodding head jerked up from her chest, her eyes widening and glaring at Anna. Anna hid her shivering under the bedclothes and peered through her eyelashes, praying that mummy couldn't see her watching.
Car doors slammed, cars shrank into the fog. Grownups came upstairs, talking quietly. Mummy's eyes glinted slyly at the sound of the people; Anna saw her listening until they'd gone into their rooms. Now mummy's head was leaning sideways, lower and lower each time, eyelids drooping. Her hands plucked at her handbag, which she'd taken off the chair to make room for her, then they relaxed. She was asleep.
More than anything else, Anna wanted to sleep too. She sobbed with her hand over her mouth; she didn't dare go to sleep – she didn't know what mummy might do to her if she did. What had mummy meant to do before? Anna had heard someone creeping toward her in the dark, and then mummy had thrown open the bedroom door and switched on the light, because Gail had been outside. It must have been mummy who'd been creeping up on her, but she hadn't been able to do what she'd meant to do, because of Gail. But then she'd locked Gail out, and Gail had gone away and left Anna all alone with the stranger Gail thought was mummy. Gail didn't really care what happened to Anna.
Someone did. Auntie Barbara might have, which was why mummy had stopped her from coming to stay. Daddy might, Anna was no longer sure, but he seemed to have gone away for ever. Rebecca did, but mummy had made sure that Rebecca didn't know what she was doing to Anna. But there was someone who knew, or at least suspected, and cared. No wonder mummy didn't like her. If Anna could let Granny Knight know what was happening, she'd come at once.
But now that it came to letting her know, Anna was terrified to move. If she tried to phone, mummy would wake, mummy would see what she was trying to do. Couldn't she just lie here while mummy was asleep, and hope that everything would have changed when the sun came up in the morning? But the thought of lying there all night terrified her too, for she was so tired that she might fall asleep, might be asleep when mummy woke.
Just then one of mummy's hands moved sleepily, its long nails scraping the air. Anna shuddered, imagining what those nails might do when mummy woke. That was enough to start her inching across the bed toward the phone.
It was on mummy's side of the bed, and it seemed hours away. Anna edged across under the bedclothes, holding herself and her breath still after each tiny movement. Each time she moved, the chill of the new patch of sheet made her shiver. Once the bed creaked, and she froze, biting her tongue so hard that she almost cried out. But mummy hadn't stirred, and so eventually Anna moved again, still sobbing silently.
When she reached the far side of the bed at last, she inched herself into a sitting position against the pillow. Now she could stretch out her arm for the phone. She had to do it; but how much noise would the phone make? It would ring and wake mummy; she knew it would. She was back in the small dark grubby place again – she'd never left it really – and the phone was beyond it, out of her reach. Whether she just lay there or lifted the phone, it all came to the same thing: mummy would hurt her, hurt her terribly, far more than the bruises that were stinging her arms.
The pain and the hopelessness made her reach out suddenly for the phone. After all, if it came to the same thing in the end, it didn't matter what she did. She reached out more quickly than she meant to, and the bed creaked loudly. She buried her face in the pillow; she could already feel mummy's nails raking her back. It was a long time before she could look.
Mummy hadn't moved. Anna reached out again, this time more stealthily. Her fingers stretched further and further, over the Bible on the bedside table. She had to lean out of the bed, and she was terrified in case it creaked again. Then, at last, her hand closed on the receiver.
She held onto it for a very long time, telling herself that she was making sure she wouldn't drop it, while her skin prickled,
her armpits turned clammy, uncomfortable, unbearable. She had to move her arm, to pull away the sticky patch of pyjama from her armpit. She lifted the receiver, and the phone rang.
It was only one note, but it was as loud as the telephone ringing. She froze, clinging to the receiver, waiting for mummy's eyes to open and see what she'd been trying to do. But mummy's eyes were still closed – or were they open just a slit, watching to see what she'd do next? She couldn't replace the receiver in case the phone rang, and yet she couldn't bring it toward her face either. It took forever, but at last she managed to persuade herself that mummy couldn't see her after all.
She inched the receiver towards her and pressed it against her ear, slipping under the sheets to hide from mummy. Then, immediately, she shoved herself up again, terrified of not being able to see what mummy was doing, and of pulling the phone off the bedside table. She held her breath and waited. Gail would answer in a moment. Anna didn't know Granny Knight's number, but Gail would. If she didn't, she could look it up.
She pulled her pyjama away from her armpit with her free hand and pressed her legs together for fear of wetting the bed. Could she keep her voice low enough for mummy not to hear and still manage to be heard by Gail? Her heart was thumping so loud that she was afraid it would wake mummy. 'Hello,' she whispered; she could hardly hear herself. Perhaps her voice was so tiny because she'd realized at last that there was nobody at the switchboard.
There was a number you could dial if you needed someone in the night, the number of one of the rooms, but Anna couldn't think what it was. Wasn't it on a notice somewhere in the room? Yes, of course: the notice was on the inside of the door – the door against which mummy was sitting. The notice was hidden behind her chair. Anna let out a loud sobbing sigh. She didn't care if mummy heard now.
Mummy had, in her sleep. She stirred, and her handbag slid off her knees, catching its strap on the arm of the chair and dangling there. Mummy's hands groped blindly about for it. Anna was praying frantically – she did care if mummy woke after all; please don't let her wake, please don't let her see Anna with the phone… Mummy's nails seemed to be searching wakefully for something to claw, her eyes looked as if they were about to open. At last her hands were still, and the rest of her.
Anna laid the receiver on top of the Bible, as gently as she could. She didn't dare replace it in case the phone rang again and woke mummy before she could hide under the sheets. She drew in her arm and lay there, propped up on the pillow. She was shivering again, afraid of what she'd realized she could do, what the sight of mummy's handbag on the arm of the chair was telling her she could do. Mummy's address book was in there. Granny Knight's phone number was.
There might just as well have been a blazing fire between her and that little book. How could Anna try to get it when it would mean going close to mummy, within reach of her nails? But equally, how could she lie there, knowing that the phone number was there, and that all she had to do was creep over and get it? She was sobbing again, stuffing the bedclothes into her mouth. She wanted to scream, wake mummy and get it all over with.
Before she knew it, she was slipping out of bed. She didn't want to, but she couldn't stop herself. She put first one bare foot on the chilly carpet, and then the other, easing herself off the bed to make sure it didn't creak, holding her breath as if that would help, sobbing inside herself. She was a few inches closer to mummy, and that terrified her. She dropped on all fours, out of sight beside the bed.
Now she couldn't see mummy, couldn't see if she woke. She began to crawl alongside the bed, and found she'd almost forgotten how to crawl. Even before she could see mummy, she was panicking. The coverlet hung down to the floor, so that she couldn't see under the bed, and she felt that something was crouching beyond the far side of the bed, waiting. Was it the man who'd spied on her at home, the man she could never quite see? She crawled hastily to the foot of the bed, and was almost in mummy's reach.
She faltered there, shivering. Her arms and legs felt numb and twisted, her pyjamas were glued to her. She couldn't go on, not now that she was close enough to see mummy's face. Mummy's mouth was drooping open, a cruel curve that showed her glistening teeth. Anna thought it was the most horrible expression she had ever seen. The stranger who pretended to be mummy was made up of teeth and nails; Anna could see nothing else. She couldn't stand up, she couldn't crawl backwards. She would be frozen there until mummy woke.
The thought terrified her so much that she found she was moving. She could only move forward. She was beyond the bed now, but she didn't dare look back to see if anything was crouching by it – she didn't dare take her eyes off mummy's face. Had mummy's breathing changed? Was she awake and waiting for Anna to crawl within reach? Was there a watchful glint behind her eyelashes? Even if there were, Anna couldn't stop herself. Her trembling limbs took her all too quickly to the chair. In a few moments she was squatting beside it on her aching legs, pressing them together, and within reach of mummy's bag.
She stared at it and struggled to reach for it, to be able to crawl away and hide. The bag looked impossibly real, the only real thing in the world, and she was staring at it out of the small dark grubby place. She couldn't just open it – the catch would make too much noise; she had to slide it off the arm of the chair and creep away with it, which meant first edging the strap from under mummy's nails. She couldn't do it, the thought of trying made her sob inside herself. But she had to move, for her legs were aching terribly; if she had to squat much longer, they'd hurt so much that she would stagger to her feet and straight into mummy's arms. The thought sent a shudder through her that almost overbalanced her, and she reached out a trembling hand to lift the strap of the bag. Her teeth were chattering, she couldn't keep them still, even by clenching them until they ached. Perhaps that was why, as Anna grasped the strap and began to slide it gently but shakily along the arm of the chair, mummy opened her eyes.
Forty-six
Mummy's eyes opened, and Anna tried to scream. If she managed to make a sound, she knew she'd scream until everyone in the hotel woke up, until they came to break the door down, to stop mummy before it was too late. But she couldn't scream; she couldn't move at all, not even to relieve the agony in her legs, which in any case she was too terrified to feel. As mummy realized what Anna had been doing, her eyes were growing brighter every second, more and more like a horrible stranger's. Once Anna had seen a rabbit frozen by the headlights of the car; now she knew how it had felt in that pitiless murderous glare.
Mummy's lips opened, baring her teeth. She leaned toward Anna. Could Anna scream now, before those nails seized her? If she waited until they did, it might be too late. But mummy was going to speak, and she couldn't scream while mummy was speaking, even if it was a stranger who was pretending to be mummy. Besides, she was too frightened of what mummy was going to say.
'Well then, you little thief,' mummy said. 'I've caught you, haven't I?'
Anna couldn't speak, she could only squat there, her thighs jerking like a broken wind-up doll. She couldn't make a sound, not when mummy's voice was so gentle. It wasn't that she no longer wanted to – it was that mummy's gentleness was so terrifying that it choked off her scream.
At last the horrible delight faded from mummy's eyes and they grew blank, gazing at Anna as if they were looking at nothing. When she spoke, she sounded almost indifferent. 'Get dressed,' she said. 'We're going now.'
Anna was shivering so much that she could hardly struggle into her clothes. She'd had her chance to scream for help, but now the moment was past; it almost seemed there was no reason to scream now, though she knew there was. All mummy had said was that they were going – she hadn't said anything about going home. Something in her eyes had said they were going somewhere else.
In a minute mummy was dressed, and waiting for her. When Anna made for the bathroom, her legs getting in her way, mummy said, 'Stay out of there.' She didn't want the bathroom noises waking anyone in the hotel. She didn't want anyone to know they wer
e leaving. Anna must let someone know. But as mummy unbolted the door to the corridor she gave Anna a look that dared her to make a sound, a look that already knew she could not. Anna was a rabbit again, frozen in the moment before it was all over.
The corridor was deserted and chilly. The fog outside seemed to have dimmed the lights. There was no sound beyond any of the closed doors; everyone was asleep, whatever time of night it was. It felt cold and grey and empty, neither night nor morning. All the way along the corridor and down the stairs, Anna was praying that a door would open, that someone would appear so that she could run to them, plead with them not to let mummy take her away, plead to be taken to Granny Knight instead. But nothing moved except the fire doors they had passed through. She was alone, with mummy at her back and the aching of her bladder, the agony between her legs.
Nobody was at the reception desk. The potted plants looked dusty in the blurred yellowish light; the glass panels of the lobby doors seemed to have turned into fog. Mummy unbolted the doors quickly and quietly. Surely you weren't supposed to open them at night? Shouldn't that set off an alarm? But there was no sound in the hotel except the mousy squeak of the hinges. Nobody came. Anna was still waiting and praying when mummy pushed her out onto the steps and into the fog.
The fog wasn't quite dark, but it seemed to press close to her face, so close that she felt as if her eyes were closed. When mummy shoved her forward onto the gravel path at the bottom of the steps, her footfalls sounded trapped with her. The fog was her small, dark, grubby prison now. Even if she screamed, nobody would hear her through the fog.
It drifted in front of her as mummy hurried her forward, nipping Anna's bruised arm between her fingers, to the edge of the glistening road. As soon as she reached the verge, Anna couldn't restrain herself; she didn't care what mummy did. She squatted so desperately that mummy lost her grip on her. As Anna relieved herself, mummy stared down at her as if she were an animal soiling a carpet, and dragged her to her feet as soon as she'd finished. 'Come on,' she said in a voice that was colder than the fog.
The Claw Page 30