window.
Liz closed her door without making a noise and padded toward the child. She was delighted to find how quickly and quietly she could move. Jane must be in Georgie's room, no doubt Anna had called up to her. Georgie was quiet now, which presumably meant that jane was too busy dealing with him to come down to Anna. Another hundred yards and Anna would never be able to outrun her, even if she turned and spotted her. Liz would have sprinted, except that she didn't want Anna to notice her. In fact, Anna was so intent on the window that she was almost within arm's reach before she noticed Liz.
Her look of horror made Liz so furious that she had to restrain herself from knocking the child down outside Jane's cottage. But had the child meant that look for her? Hadn't she looked like that before she'd seen Liz? Liz couldn't see how; she was just trying to find excuses for Anna, which was more than the child deserved. She grabbed Anna's arm, her fingers sinking into the flesh, and began to drag her toward the car.
Anna was hanging back and trying to open her mouth. Was she struggling to scream for Jane? If she was, it would be the worse for her. Liz yanked at her arm, and she stumbled a few steps, digging in her heels. Liz was about to slap her, whether or not Jane could hear, when Anna managed to stammer 'Mummy'.
'Don't you mummy me.' But it seemed the child had something to tell her, and it would only irritate her not to know. 'Well, what is it?' she said, calmly if not gently.
'I saw the man.' Anna looked desperate enough to say anything. 'He's in Georgie's room.'
'Which man?'
'I've told you about him.' Anna was almost crying with frustration. 'The man who hides near our house.'
Liz could hardly speak, it was so pathetic. Did Anna really expect her to go into the house to look for her imaginary man, just so that she could run off and take refuge with Jane? She must think her mother very stupid. That made Liz even angrier – too angry to go and see Jane. She'd been considering locking Anna in the car and going back to make sure that Jane was all right, to find out what had been wrong with Jane when she'd called, but now she was too angry to talk to anyone. Was there no end to the trouble the child could cause her? She yanked Anna toward the car and didn't stop even when the child stumbled and almost fell. 'Now you get in there,' she said savagely, 'and don't you say another word.'
Anna was about to open her mouth when she saw Liz's eyes. As Liz shoved her into the back seat she seemed to curl up into herself, only her eyes showing. Liz thought of an insect playing dead. If Anna was as frightened as that, she deserved to be. It wouldn't hurt her to stay like that for a while.
Liz drove home, wrenching the car around the curves, stamping on the brake as they pulled up outside the house. She flung Anna inside and slammed the front door so hard she was afraid for a moment that the glass would break. 'Get up to your room,' she snarled, 'and stay there until I come for you.'
When the child had fled upstairs, Liz sat for a while to try and calm down. She didn't know how long she sat -quite a time, certainly. Whenever she thought of Anna she grew furious. She ought to be thinking of Jane; she shouldn't have let Anna distract her from Jane. She carried the phone to her chair and dialled, dialled several times, though it was clear the first time that Jane wasn't going to reply.
She sat with the unresponsive phone in her lap. Damn the child for everything she'd done today, for days, for weeks! She couldn't bear to be alone in the house with her; it angered her too much. She wished she could talk to someone about Jane. Couldn't she talk to Rebecca? But The Stone Shop wasn't on the phone. She could go there, of course – the shop would keep Anna out of the way while they talked – but that seemed too much like giving in to the child.
Eventually she went upstairs. Anna was lying on her bed, her face buried in the pillow. She didn't look up until Liz began to speak. If her eyes were puffy from crying, so they damn well ought to be. 'We're going to The Stone Shop,' Liz said, 'because I want to talk to Rebecca. Don't think we're going for your benefit, miss.'
She walked one step behind Anna as they went to the car. She didn't have to hold Anna's arm now, she could tell that the child wouldn't dare to run. Just now the child didn't look capable of doing anything except what she was told.
Liz swung the car onto the road and drove toward the village. Hedges raced by, rustling like paper; the occasional car was a brief insect buzz. She had to slow down to a crawl when she reached the village, where holidaymakers were spilling off the pavements of the narrow streets. They seemed to regard her as more of an intruder than they were; when she touched her horn, they stared at her as if she were mad. At least it made the crowd part, parents snatching children out of her way. If they'd had any idea how she felt, they'd all have stayed on the pavements.
Eventually she found a place to park, beyond the post office. The 'Local Author' arrow had fallen in the dust inside the window, and Alan's name had faded like skywriting. She had a sudden piercing fear that her memories of him were fading as well, but she couldn't dwell on it now; she had to think about Jane, with Rebecca's help.
She pushed through the dawdling crowd to The Stone Shop. It was locked.
Had she mistaken the time? No, it was past lunchtime, and this wasn't early closing day. Rebecca never closed for more than an hour at lunchtime – she always said she couldn't afford to. Yet there was the closed sign, hanging against the glass. Liz knocked on the window, though she didn't expect an answer, and none came. She was standing there in the oppressive murmuring street, feeling helpless and aimless, when Anna said, 'What's Rebecca doing?'
That seemed the kind of childish question that was best ignored, chatter for the sake of chatter, until Liz realized that Anna was peering toward the back of the shop. She screwed her own eyes up, squinting through the glare of sunlight on the window and the maze of display shelves. There was Rebecca, sitting in the dim back room. She appeared to be gazing straight at Liz without seeing her. Liz banged on the window and waved until Rebecca moved.
When Rebecca emerged into the sunlight, it was clear that something was badly wrong. She looked stunned, almost like a sleepwalker. She saw Anna, and was visibly struggling to compose herself as she came to the door. Liz cursed the child silently. How could she ever find out what was wrong in front of Anna?
But Rebecca had already thought of that. 'Hello, Anna,' she said, too brightly. 'Are you going to finish painting your bird while your mummy and I have a talk? I've stuck it together for you.'
Anna looked unhappy, but went to the back room quickly enough. She didn't mind doing what Rebecca told her, Liz thought bitterly. 'Close the door, Anna,' Liz said as the child made to sit down at the table. She watched until Anna did so. 'What's wrong?' she said, though Rebecca's expression made her afraid to know.
'It's Jane.' Rebecca stared at her for what seemed a very long time. 'She's killed Georgie.’
'Oh, no.' Liz felt sick and in danger of losing her balance; she would have held onto something for support, but everything around her was too fragile. 'When?'
'Today. This morning.' Rebecca was staring at her, but perhaps not seeing. 'She called the police herself.'
Somehow that added to the horror; Liz shrank from imagining how Jane must have felt. 'How do you know all this?' she said, almost accusingly.
'The police came to see me about some of my things at Jane's house.'
Liz didn't understand. She wanted to hug Rebecca and weep, she could tell that Rebecca wanted to give way too, but they couldn't. It wasn't the crowds gazing in the window and trying the door that prevented them, it was the thought that Anna might come out of the back room.
Rebecca seemed to be talking in order to control herself. 'She must have been out of her mind, Liz. They finally drove her to it, that bitch and Jane's swine of a husband. The police said she didn't seem to know what she'd done. All she could talk about when they got there was how she'd been stealing from me.'
Liz stared at her. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'Haven't you been listening? I told you once that someone had been stealing from the shop. Well, it was Jane.' Her face was beginning to crumple. 'I knew it was, but I could never bring myself to tackle her about it. Maybe I should have, maybe she was scared I would. Maybe that was one of the things that made her kill Georgie,' she said, and despite the crowd gaping through the window less than a yard from her, she clung to Liz and wept.
