'Yes, I'm sure.' Liz was pressing her forehead against the door of the long room; the glossy paint seemed to soothe her, a little. 'Who is this?'
'It's Jane. I should have thought you could tell. I wanted to talk to you.'
Liz closed her eyes and opened them again; the red was fading. She'd never heard Jane so shrill. She had a sudden unpleasant idea that it was the voice of someone who couldn't hear herself, who was beyond listening. 'Well, go on,' she said.
This time the pause was so long that she wondered if they had been cut off. 'I wanted to talk about… I wanted to talk about what we were talking about,' Jane said.
Her head was starting to throb again. 'What was that, Jane?'
'You know.' It hadn't seemed possible for Jane to speak more shrilly, but she was doing so. 'You know,' she pleaded.
'I've really no idea. Give me a hint,' Liz said, feeling as if she were being forced to play some kind of insane game.
'You must know. You brought it up. You do know. You do:
'Look, Jane, I don't mean to be rude, but I've problems of my own.' Her headache was threatening to blind her. 'What is it? What do you want to say?'
Jane muttered something. Whatever it was, it sounded like a cry of despair. Perhaps Liz wasn't meant to hear, because the next moment Jane had broken the connection, and Liz was left staring at the buzzing receiver. Good God, was this yet another worry? She couldn't take on Jane's problems as well, not now. All the same, as she replaced the receiver, part of her mind hoped that Jane would call her back.
She strode into the kitchen and shot a warning look at Anna. 'It's a good thing for you that Jane called.'
'Why? Can I go and see her?'
'Anna, you really don't know when you've said enough, do you? No, you can't go and see her. I probably ought to go myself – she sounds as if she needs help. Maybe I could have helped her just now if you hadn't made me so angry.'
'I didn't mean you to be angry, but don't you think it's true? Granny Knight said you made a reason so I couldn't go to see her.'
'Anna!' Liz couldn't stop herself, nor did she want to. She darted forward, raising her hand, her nails tingling. Before she could reach Anna, the child flinched back, so violently that she almost fell out of her chair. That was better; Liz had to stop herself from grinning. 'One more word out of you,' she said, 'and by God, you'll be sorry.'
She stood over the child, hand raised. Anna looked terrified, and so she ought to be. When the child began to tremble, first her lower lip and then her body, Liz had the uneasy notion that she wouldn't be able to turn away. Why was Anna staring at her as if she were a monster? The child was just like the rest of them. 'I want daddy to come home,' Anna whimpered.
'You don't think he'd treat you any differently, do you?' It was Anna's fault that he'd felt obliged to go away. She wished she had the claw – that would shut Anna up, once and for all. The thought made her raise her hand again. 'Just you sit there and don't dare move. I'm going to call Jane, and then we're going to the nursery. Any objections? There'd better not be, for your sake.'
She had to make herself turn away before she could lower her hand. Why should that disturb her? There was nothing abnormal about her behaviour; anyone would do the same if they had to deal with a child as maddening as Anna. Maybe Jane might have wanted to discuss her feelings about her own child. She went back down the hall and dialled Jane's number. There was no reply.
Perhaps Jane had found her own solution, or perhaps Jane had guessed it was Liz calling back and was refusing to answer because of the way Liz had spoken before. The bell made Liz think of a small heart pulsing, a parody of a heart. As she stood there, willing Jane to answer, she heard the back door close stealthily. Anna must be afraid that Liz would hear she was going outside. Liz couldn't begrudge her that. She surely couldn't come to any harm out there.
Jane's phone rang, rang. Liz was thumping the wall with her fist, softly but achingly. Damn the child for making her so curt with Jane! Now Liz felt she wouldn't be able to go to the hotel until she knew what was wrong. But why not drive to Jane's and then to the hotel? That made her feel decisive at least. She hung up the receiver and went to the back door to call Anna.
Her head began to throb at once. She stared about, then she ran out beneath the sky that looked faded by the heat. Her head was so painful that she hardly knew what she was seeing, except that there could be no doubt of it. Goats stared indifferently at her from where they lay on the parched broken grass; nothing else moved on the top of the cliff. Anna had gone.
Thirty-five
To begin with, Anna didn't mean to run away. It was only that she couldn't stay in the house while mummy was being so horrible. Mummy was making the house feel nasty, a small dark grubby place that hated Anna, that wanted to lock her in. As soon as mummy went to phone Jane, Anna crept to the back door, tiptoeing all the way in case mummy might hear her and drag her back.
She closed the door as if it might shatter and stood outside the house. The pillbox was too bright to look at, the grass was as faded as daddy's books in the post office window. The air was rippling with heat above the goats, as if they were cooking. She was still in the small dark place. It wasn't the house after all, it was her feelings – her feeling that mummy hated her more than she would have believed anyone could.
She wanted to cry, but it was too horrible for crying. Mummy wasn't mummy any more. She couldn't be mistaken; other people were noticing- too. Sometimes children were taken away from their homes when their parents hurt them, they were put in a kind of prison so that they'd be safe. Anna didn't want that, she didn't want to be taken away, she didn't know what she wanted. Yes, she did: she wanted daddy to come home. If they were all together again, perhaps everything could be the same as it used to be.
She didn't believe that, she wasn't sure why not. She had no time to think. The feeling of darkness and danger was stronger out here, as if something was near her, watching and waiting. Was it the man she could never quite see, the man she thought was too red to be a person? She hadn't told mummy that, mummy would never believe her, she'd only lose her temper; and besides, Anna couldn't say that she'd ever seen him, not seen him exactly. She wanted to go back in the house, but she was afraid that mummy would hurt her again for no reason. Before she knew where she was going, she'd wandered to the road.
The road was striped with water, as though the verges were leaking. She walked toward the thin streams and tried to guess when they would disappear. She could see flowers reflected in the nearest strip; it looked so real that for a moment she thought it was, and then, as she took one more step, it vanished. It had never been there. There it was again, or one like it, a hundred yards further on. She wasn't particularly enjoying her game, but at least it was something to do. At least it took her away from the house and the feeling of danger.
When she reached the turn-off to the village, she looked back at the house. Her heart jumped. Mummy was in the back garden, staring toward the edge of the cliff. Anna wavered; she couldn't go on, she had nowhere to go, she didn't dare go to The Stone Shop without permission. She ought to go back. Mummy wouldn't hit her for just going for a little walk. She'd just taken one hesitant step toward home when mummy turned and saw her.
''Anna, come back here to me at once!'
It didn't sound at all like mummy. It wasn't a shout so much as a scream. Anna couldn't make out mummy's face, but she knew what it must look like: a mask as cruel and threatening as the voice, as unlike mummy. She faltered – she didn't dare to go back while mummy was like that, but if she didn't, mummy would be worse – and then she ran.
She'd passed the turn-off to the village before she could think where to go. She was running, that was all – running as if she could run away from all the horrible things that had happened. Why had mummy and daddy ever come here, away from all Anna's friends? There was nobody to play with here, nobody to tell about the things that were happening, nothing but the dried-up fields and the dust in the air and the sunlight that hurt her eyes. There
