'I was on my way home from Hemsby, so I thought I might drop in. I didn't phone in case that disturbed you. You're searching for something, are you? Is it to do with your work?'
'No, nothing like that. It's something we thought Liz saw.'
'I see.' In two words Isobel managed to imply that if he felt obliged to waste his time, he was too old for her to stop him. 'Something on the television?' she said.
'Well, no, not exactly. Out on the cliff. She thought she saw a man hiding in the pillbox.'
'But in fact he was on the television?' She turned to Liz. 'I suppose you were overtired.'
'We've both been a bit on edge,' Alan said defensively. 'Someone killed a goat on the cliff the other day.'
For God's sake, Liz cried silently, don't tell her that! Some hangover from his childhood always made him blurt out the truth to his mother, whatever the consequences. 'What do you mean, killed it?' Isobel demanded. 'Ran it over?'
'Nastier than that,' Alan said, while Liz cringed inwardly. 'It looked as if they used a knife.'
'But good heavens, you shouldn't let the child stay here while that kind of thing is going on. I'll take her, by all means. I'm sure Elizabeth would welcome a rest.'
'Thank you very much, Isobel, but I'm sure I can cope.' Liz's mouth was growing unwieldy with resentment. 'Anna's a sensible girl. She knows to stay with me. She's in no danger.'
'Well, I can't force you. Or the child, if she prefers not to come.'
Perhaps hearing that they were talking about her, Anna wandered in from the playroom. 'Would you like to come and stay with me for a while and give your mother a rest?' Isobel said.
Anna must have felt accused, for she looked at Liz for reassurance. 'I want to stay with mummy,' she said, almost pleading.
'Oh well, that's that. There's obviously nothing I can do.' She turned her back on both of them. 'I came to invite you all to dinner next week,' she said to Alan, making it sound like a challenge.
'We'd love to come. Wouldn't we, Liz?'
'Of course we would.' She found it easier to be dishonest while Isobel had her back to her. 'Would you like a cup of tea, Isobel?'
'I don't think so, thank you. I think it'll be best if I go.' Halfway down the path she turned and gazed at Liz. 'My offer is still open if you should change your mind.'
As soon as she had driven away, Alan said, 'I wish you wouldn't resent her so much. She's only trying to help.'
'Yes, at my expense.'
'Oh, that's nonsense. Why do you say that? If she's difficult sometimes, it's only because she'd like to see more of her grandchild.'
'She sees as much of her as my parents do.'
'Well, it isn't my mother's fault if your parents live so far away, is it? It isn't her fault your father has a weak heart and won't drive.'
She stared at him. 'I can't talk to you at all,' she said, and went into the house, half-blind with nerves and anger. In the long room the cassette was still running; great crude masks were dancing. She made for the kitchen, trying to think, through the jumble of her emotions, if there was anything she'd forgotten to do.
She had barely reached the kitchen when Anna came trailing after her. 'Anna, will you please go out and play or find something to do so you don't get under my feet,' she cried.
'I don't want to go out. The man's there.'
'Don't be so childish.' Often the little girl behaved as if she was older than six; right now, for some reason, she was acting as if she was considerably younger. Liz strode into the garden to show her there was nothing there. A breeze tousled her hair, flowers stooped like ballerinas, the hedge shook. Amid the roaring of the sea she heard children shouting and an unpleasant high-pitched sound she couldn't place. She was almost at the point where she could see through the hedge when she faltered. Anna had been right. There was a man beyond the hedge.
The next moment Liz relaxed. It was only Joseph; she would have known that grubby raincoat anywhere, especially on a hot day like this. He was bending over something in the grass, and he had his back to her. His raincoat blocked her view. But she could still hear that high-pitched sound, and it made her apprehensive. Joseph's right arm was rising and falling, the torn sleeve of his coat was flapping. Liz hurried to the hedge to see what he had found.
But she stumbled away before she reached the hedge, one hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out. That might bring Anna, and the child mustn't see. Liz hadn't seen a great deal herself: only far too much – only the sharp stone in Joseph's right hand, which came up redder every time it rose into the air. Now she knew what the high-pitched noise was. There couldn't be much left of what lay at his feet, but whatever was left was screaming.
Twelve
Alan thought: Christ, what's wrong now? Everything seemed to be going wrong since he'd come back from Nigeria: his work, his home life, his surroundings. Both he and Liz were seeing things – she at the window and in the pillbox, he on the cassette. And that was yet another problem to undermine his work. He had been so busy trying to find the man he thought he'd seen on the cassette that he'd completely lost the inspiration the documentary had originally given him. Now his mother and Liz were at each other's throats, which made him feel helpless and edgy, and he was being drawn into silly, time-wasting arguments. Worst of all, there was Anna, moping about the place as if she expected someone to pounce on her, behaving as if she was afraid to be alone with her father or even to have him touch her, making a ridiculous fuss about the weapon he'd brought home from Nigeria, doing everything she could to make it difficult for him to work, even upsetting his mother.
And now, on top of everything else, here was Liz with the latest bad news.
For a moment he thought she wanted to reopen the argument – about his mother, or her parents, or whatever the devil the matter had been. Then he saw how white her face was, and he was furious: nothing was going to make her look like that if he had anything to do with it. 'What's wrong?' he said, suddenly gentle.
'Go and see.' Whatever the matter was, she clearly didn't want to say in front of Anna. 'Go quickly. Just beyond the hedge. I'll call the police.'
She didn't sound at all hysterical. She was hurrying Anna into her playroom – 'Just find yourself something to do for a few minutes' – as he made for the back door. Though he felt apprehensive, she had also raised his spirits; perhaps at last there would be something to confront.
As soon as he had let himself out of the side gate he saw Joseph, his coat flapping like a scarecrow's. For a moment he wondered if Liz had been hysterical after all; there was nobody but Joseph on the cliff. Then he saw how Joseph was tearing at an object in the grass – tearing with his bare hands. Both the object and his hands were crimson. Alan went forward quietly, gritting his teeth.
The noise of the wind and the sea must have drowned the sound of Alan's approach, unless Joseph was too preoccupied to look up. Alan was able to creep within arm's length of him, close enough to gaze down at the body of the goat. It was torn wide open, and Joseph was dragging out the small intestine, a glistening rope that seemed endless. His nails were biting into it; Alan had never seen his nails so long. With a kind of horrible banality, he made a mental note that his own nails needed cutting too.
Joseph stumbled backward without warning – surely the goat was twitching only because he was dragging at it, not because it was still alive? – and Alan saw his face. His eyes were blank, as if they couldn't bear to see what he was doing. He was chewing; a trickle of blood ran down his chin from whatever was in his mouth.
The next moment he saw Alan. His eyes widened with horror – with realization of what he had done? He gave a shrill inarticulate snarl and stumbled away, running bow-legged toward the path down to the beach. He slithered down a few feet, then whirled around and came stumbling upward, slipping on drifts of sand. A family – a podgy man in Bermuda shorts, a plump woman squeezed into an imitation leopard-skin swimsuit, two bright pink children wrapped in bath towels – were climbing the path, blocking his way.
