Thirty-Three
'Isobel,' Liz said suddenly, 'have you a key to my house?' They were washing up after dinner at Isobel's. Outside the open kitchen window, the wind groped over the twilit fields. Though they were too far inland to hear the sea, the grasses sounded like waves. It was that time of day when everything is vaguest, when one's eyes are no longer to be trusted, and Liz couldn't convince herself that the fields weren't full of crouching figures, or perhaps just one figure that was ranging back and forth. At least the house itself was brightly lit. It ought to have felt like a refuge, but, instead, it always made Liz think of a ceramics showroom – hardly lived in at all, each room a display of pottery and porcelain and glass, everything neatly and tastefully in its place: a lonely woman's house. Whenever they visited, Liz was always terrified that Anna would break something, which was why she was nervous as she washed up, passing the child the plates to wipe. Suppose Anna dropped a piece of the best china? It was partly nervousness that had made her blurt out her question. 'Why, whatever makes you think that?' Isobel said. 'That day you were waiting – I honestly don't think I left the door open. Did you let yourself in?' 'Well, dear, what did I say to you at the time?' 'I'm not talking about what you said.' Isobel had been patronizing her ever since they'd arrived, treating her as if she was ill in some way, and Liz had had enough. 'I asked you a straight question. Have you got a key?'
'Yes, of course I have. Alan gave it to me when the three of you went to Scotland, so that I could look in now and then. He didn't ask me to return it, so I assumed he wanted me to keep it.'
'He must have forgotten. I'd like to have it back, please.'
Anna had finished at the draining-board now and was reaching for the jacket of her white suit. 'Good heavens, how did you hurt your arm?' Isobel cried.
The scratches and the bruise were fading. Even so, Anna had kept her jacket on until it was time to wash up, despite the heat, as though she was ashamed of the marks or anxious to hide them. Now she gazed at Isobel as if she dared not answer. 'What's the matter, child,' Isobel demanded shrilly, 'can't you speak?'
'Don't go on at her, Isobel. Did you ever see a child who wasn't covered with bruises?'
'Yes, certainly. Alan never was.'
Only because you never let him play like a normal child, Liz retorted silently. Only because having lost your husband, you were taking no chances with him. 'And those aren't just bruises,' Isobel said.
Feeling accused, Liz hit back. 'We were talking about the key that you kept. Have you been in my house when nobody was there, apart from that one time?'
'Good heavens, what am I being accused of now?'
Liz was tempted to answer directly – to say that she was finding it increasingly unlikely that a common thief would have stolen the claw: surely it hadn't looked gaudy enough.
'You wouldn't say these things to me if Alan were here,' Isobel said.
'A lot of things might be different if he were here.'
'And whose fault is it that he's gone away, I wonder?' She held up one hand before Liz could respond. 'You can't tell me that nothing's wrong. He didn't tell me he was going – he hasn't called me since he went away, not a single call. Have you told him not to?'
'Why on earth should I want to do that?'
'Oh, I can think of some very good reasons why you wouldn't like me to talk to him. Maybe they're the reasons why you don't want me to have access to your house.'
'I don't know what you're talking about, Isobel.' The skirmish had moved to the lounge, where Liz sank onto the rich leather settee. She was growing tired of the argument; she wanted the key to her house, that was all -she felt insecure enough at home as it was. 'I haven't been saying anything to Alan about you. Believe me, I've very little control over what he does.'
'Oh? I should have said it was the other way round.'
'What are you getting at, Isobel?' Liz felt Anna growing tense beside her on the settee, but she was too furious to stop. 'If you've something to say, spit it out.'
'I shall. It's my duty.' Isobel took a deep breath. 'To begin with, just look at the state of that child. Half the time she looks scared to death. You're deliberately keeping me away from her – and if you ask me, that tells a story in itself. Not only do you let her go into bars, you let her be on familiar terms with that barman, who certainly uses drugs if his woman friend does. God knows what else he gets up to.'
Liz decided that was more than enough for Anna to hear, but Isobel held up one hand when she tried to interrupt. 'Ah, I thought you'd rather not talk about him. He's the reason why you spend so much time at the hotel, isn't he? I gather that you don't do much to help at the nursery any more.'
'I get on very well with Jimmy.' Liz was choking back her anger in case it made her weep. Thank God for him; thank God for someone who could take Anna off her hands for a while. 'Who's been gossiping to you about me?' she demanded.
'You know perfectly well that I can't tell you that. Someone has to keep an eye on things.'
'For whom?' Her fingernails were scratching at the swollen leather; Anna drew away from her to the far end of the settee. 'For you?'
'For Alan, I should think.'
'And just what are they going to tell him?' Liz barely restrained herself from adding, 'If he comes back.' Then she wondered why she'd left it unsaid.
'If he could see his child at this moment, nobody would need to tell him anything. Look at her. She's scared out of her wits.'
'I hardly think so, Isobel,' Liz said, and was unable to look. 'If she's upset it's no wonder, considering what she's heard from you.'
'Oh, you're very skilled at blaming other people. It's never Elizabeth's fault.'
'Do you know, Isobel, I still haven't the faintest idea what is supposed to be my fault. All I've heard are a lonely woman's prejudices and fantasies. No two things you've said fit together.'
'Well, let me fit them together in words even you will understand. I think you're maltreating the child because you feel guilty about carrying on with your gentleman friend at the hotel. You're taking it out on her.'
'All right, Isobel, that's the finish.' Liz stood up, feeling less enraged than exhausted. 'We're going home, but first I want that key.'
'I don't know where it is.'
'Then I'll help you find it. I'll tear your house apart if I have to.'
'Yes, I believe you would. And you want me to think you're fit to look after a child.' Isobel glanced sadly at Anna, and Liz had to look. The child's face was pale and stiff, her eyes bright and blank. She looked ready to cry or to run away.
Isobel snapped open her ornate handbag, which glittered like a chandelier. 'There you are,' she said, and dropped the key into Liz's hand. The movement was so quick that Liz was instantly suspicious. Perhaps she'd had it copied. 'Is this the only one you have?'
Isobel stared stonily at her. After a while she spoke. 'Well, you've achieved what you set out to achieve. You've made sure there's a reason not to let the child come to visit me.'
'Do you know, Isobel, I think you're right.' Liz took Anna by the elbow, making her flinch, and hurried her to the front door. The wind had dropped; the air felt plushy, suffocating. The slam of the car door was the only sound in the night. Liz drove away without a backward glance.
Hedges swung back and forth in the light of her headlamps, beyond the unchanging patch of lit road. It was like being on a ghost train, except that there was no crouching figure behind the hedges, nothing that would spring out and frighten her. All at once Anna said wistfully, 'Can't I go to see Granny Knight any more?'
'Anna, if you do one more thing to annoy me…' Whose side was the child on? Liz drove faster, glaring at the speeding patch of road. Would Anna rather be with Isobel than with her? What would the rumour-mongers say about her then? She'd make sure they never had the chance.
The garage door loomed up against the enormous dark beyond the cliff. The headlights seemed to foreshorten perspective, to bring the edge nearer. She could hear the sea thrashing about in the dark; for a moment the darkness looked as if it was shifting too. She parked the car, pulled down the garage door and almost
