Liz could only stare at her and wonder if she could really be so lacking in any kind of awareness. Still, she was leaving, that was the main thing. Liz didn't bother to see her out.
Alex's move seemed to release the others from their stasis. 'Let me have him, Jane,' Gail said, and rocked Georgie quiet almost at once.
Jane bent forward in her chair as though about to be sick, and began to sob. Rebecca tried to put her arm round her, but Jane shook her off. 'Leave me alone,' she cried. 'It's only plain Jane, she's not worth bothering about. She even drives away other people's guests. Nobody wants to know her. She's no use as a mother either. You'd think she could at least be a mother with these tits.'
The women encouraged her to let go, sob it all out, in the hope that she might feel better. Liz made her a cup of tea, and Anna gravely brought her a sandwich. When Jane refused with an attempt at a smile, Anna went back to her own sandwiches and seemed to lose interest in the situation. Gail put Georgie down and tried to comfort Jane. 'Don't you worry about driving that bitch away. If you hadn't, I would have.' But that only made Jane flinch further into herself. Then they had to chat to her and change the subject, and that was how nobody noticed Georgie crawling away to the long room.
After a while Jane ceased sobbing, and sat hunched over her cup of tea, sipping it shakily. At last she looked up. Her eyes seemed to say that she felt better now, but instead she suddenly cried out and almost dropped the cup. 'Where is he? Where's Georgie?'
She leapt to her feet and hurried down the hall. Liz let her go. She mustn't go herself, however apprehensive she felt all of a sudden; that would only be taking responsibility for Georgie away from Jane. There was silence except for the rumbling of the sea, an ominous rumbling. Then Jane cried out, and Liz went running down the hall.
Her heart was pounding, her mouth suddenly parched. The front door was open; Alex must have left it that way. Beyond the doorway of the long room, the sea was rumbling; for a hallucinatory moment it sounded as if the room itself were full of thunder. She stumbled through the doorway, into the room.
Georgie was propped up by the television. Jane was in the middle of the carpet, staring at Liz. She was holding her handbag wide open, exhibiting it, but at first Liz couldn't tell what was wrong. 'Someone was in the house,' Jane cried. 'I left my bag in here and they've taken all my money.'
Liz had to make her face into a mask, in case Jane saw how relieved she was. Whatever Liz had feared – she no longer knew what it was, if she ever had – it hadn't happened. But Jane was pointing at the mantelpiece. 'And they took that,' she said. Anna's tortoise was still there beneath the seascapes, its pebble eyes gleaming dully – but the African claw had gone.
Sixteen
Alan didn't dare believe it. It seemed too good to be true. The police had already been, Liz said – the stout policeman yet again, with an expression that suggested the joke was beginning to wear thin – but he hadn't searched the house. Alan began searching at once: first the long room, in case the claw had only fallen after all, and then the rest of the ground floor, in case Georgie might have dragged it somewhere. Suppose the thieves had kept Jane's money and thrown away the claw? Suppose it was still close to the house? He went out to look.
The sky was clearing. Twilight would take its time after all. The gardens, the hedges, the house – everything looked calm and clear, as if it were giving back some of the light of the day. He searched the gardens, then he paced back and forth along the road, a leaden strip between the glowing verges. Once he caught sight of a glimmer among the roots of a hedge, but it was only an empty bottle. If there was anything to find, in this light he should see it at once.
Eventually he went down to the beach. Above the sea the sky resembled smoked glass. Foam spread across the dying colours of pebbles and sand. Along the cliff the Britannia Hotel was lit up, and he could hear music: Gail's and Ned's party had begun. He searched until it was too dark to see, by which time he was well away from the house. Why was he still behaving as if the thieves had thrown the claw away? Whoever had stolen it must have it now, and as far as Alan was concerned, they deserved whatever it brought them.
He climbed the path toward the pillbox, and as he came in sight of home he felt like a climber who'd reached the last slope to the peak. It was an immense relief to be rid of the claw at last. It had gone as unexpectedly as it had come and, thank God, Anna was safe after all. Whoever had stolen the claw had also taken away Alan's aggressive feelings towards the child. He felt grateful to the thieves. Now he needn't admit any of those feelings about the child to Liz, and that was even more of a relief.
By the time Alan returned from his search, Liz had put Anna to bed and was sitting in the long room, trying to read a Stephen King novel. 'It looks as if it's gone for good,' Alan said happily.
She must have thought his tone was meant to cheer her up. 'I'm sorry,' she said.
'Don't worry, Liz. It wasn't your fault, and anyway it really doesn't matter.'
'Well, I don't think it was my fault myself. It was that Amis bitch, treating everything as if it's hers. Doesn't even bother closing other people's doors. All the same, I do feel responsible.'
'There's no need.' He wanted her to share his feeling of relief. 'I've told you, it doesn't matter.'
'If it doesn't matter, why did you spend so long searching?'
'Just to make sure.' She was undermining his sense that everything was all right now. 'Honestly, I'm glad it's gone. I should never have brought it home in the first place.'
'But what about the people you were supposed to give it to?'
'I'll phone them in the morning. I don't think they'll care much either. They didn't seem to think it was particularly valuable.' If Hetherington made a fuss, too bad; he could go and look for it himself, and suffer the consequences. 'Look,' Alan said, suddenly inspired, 'I tell you what. All this has been a strain on you, and no wonder. I'll stay with Anna while you go to Gail's party.'
'Oh, it's too late. I'd never be ready in time.'
'Of course you will. It won't take you long to get ready. Goon.'
'I'd rather go with you.'
'I know, but we'd never get a sitter now. You go, it'll be just what you need.'
After a while she stood up and kissed him, then she went upstairs to change, though not without a doubtful backward glance. He leafed through the television schedules: nothing worth watching. Maybe he'd play a video- cassette.
She was downstairs again surprisingly quickly, wearing a glittery stole over her backless ankle-length dress. 'I'm sure it would do me just as much good to stay with you,' she said. 'We could have our own party. I bet it would be sexier than Gail's.'
'Well, I'm pretty tired. I wouldn't be good company.' He felt impatient for her to leave – tiredness, no doubt, a desire to stop talking, to be alone to enjoy his sense of relief. 'Never mind,' he said, seeing her look of disappointment. 'There'll be other nights.'
He stood at the front door and watched as she drove away, her headlights picking out the curve of the hedges beside the road. Then, almost at once, the night had swallowed her up and he couldn't even distinguish the outline of the hedges from the rest of the dark. For a moment he wanted to call her back, but why should he want to do that? It was about time he spent some time alone with Anna. Now the sound of Liz's car had merged with the roar of the sea. He closed the door.
At the foot of the stairs he halted, listening. There was no sound from Anna; the breathing was the sound of waves. All at once he was glad that Liz had gone; he felt somehow freer, less constrained. Perhaps he'd felt that she no longer trusted him enough to leave him alone with Anna. Why ever not? It wasn't as if he had actually done anything to the child, or ever would. No point in speculating about Liz's feelings; he might grow angry with her if he thought about it for too long. He tiptoed upstairs.
Anna was lying on her right side, her right hand nestling beneath her red hair. As he eased the door open, the light from the hall touched her face and her sleeping eyes flickered, her left hand opened and closed on the quilt. He froze, afraid to wake her. He wished he hadn't come to look, for the sight of her was making him uneasy. No wonder: the memories of how he'd felt about her were uncomfortably vivid, even though the cause of his feelings had now been taken away.
