'I know she killed him, and that's all I want to know. I should think that's all you know, as well. You weren't there, were you?'
'No, but I've heard what happened. Someone who was there was so appalled he couldn't keep from talking.' No, but she'd been as near as made no difference, and she'd talked to Jane on the night of their dinner about wanting to harm one's child; she might as well have been at Jane's side, egging her on. 'She didn't just kill him; she tore him to pieces. You made her do that by giving her too much to cope with.'
Alex stood up, overturning her chair. 'I think you're the cruellest person I've ever met. I never want to speak to you again.' She stumbled away, one hand at her eyes, and vanished around the side of the hotel. The parents who had been watching turned away.
But, curiously, speaking her mind hadn't made Liz feel any better, however much Rebecca and Gail would have applauded her; instead she felt exhausted and depressed. Accusing Alex had simply been a way of avoiding her own guilt and Anna's, bloody Anna's. She decided to go back and talk to Jimmy. It was easy to coax him into talking about pleasant things, that was part of his job. Anyway she felt sorry for him; this wasn't much of a preparation for having to deal with a roomful of children. One was more than enough.
She talked to him until the bar closed, then she collected Anna from the nursery, where she and another girl were playing tennis with plastic bats and a sponge ball. Anna looked bored and resentful. At least Maggie had given her lunch; Liz realized that she'd eaten lunch herself at some time during her stay in the bar, and that she was quite drunk. It was a good job she hadn't brought the car. Being drunk didn't make her feel any less guilty about Jane, though.
Her guilt followed her home. The sun swelled as it sank toward the hazy fields; families trudged up from the beach, slow as a herd of cattle in search of water. Anna was tired, and beginning to whine: 'My shoulder hurts. It hurts, mummy. It hurts.' She sounded as if she might go on like that all the way home. 'You won't die of it,' Liz snapped, and the child shut up.
Liz was unlocking the front door when the phone started ringing. Perhaps it meant company. She ran down the hall and lifted the receiver. 'Liz Knight,' she said.
'Mrs Knight? Hetherington here. I fear I owe you an apology.'
Her momentary panic faded; he couldn't know about the claw. 'Why's that?' she said.
'Because I'm afraid I let someone find out your number. Joanna Marlowe, the wife of the anthropologist who gave your husband the artefact. Your number was on my desk when she came to my office the other day, and I suspect she may phone you. Please make allowances for her – 2 expect you know her husband killed himself. You'll appreciate that she's still in a hysterical state.'
Liz knew at once that she'd already had the call – hers was the anonymous shrill voice; but she couldn't admit to it, she wanted time to think. 'Thank you for letting me know,' she said.
'I've been trying for some days. While we're speaking, perhaps I can ask you if there is any news of the artefact.'
'No,' she said at once. 'None at all.'
'Well, please do inform me if anything transpires.'
She put down the receiver and gazed at nothing. She couldn't think now, not until Anna was in bed. Anna had taken off her blouse and was waiting for Liz to notice her shoulder. The bruise was fading a little, which made the scratches more vivid. 'It doesn't look too bad,' Liz said, refusing to feel guilty; the child had asked for it. 'Just don't lie on it.'
'Oh, then can I swim tomorrow?'
'No, not yet. You said it was hurting. You mustn't go in the pool until it's better.' Liz couldn't help enjoying the way Anna had talked herself into that. 'And you must wear a blouse until it is.'
'I don't want to. It looks stupid.'
'Of course it doesn't. I don't, do I?' Why must all her conversations with Anna be so excruciatingly banal? 'Now, no arguments. You know what happened the last time you made me lose my temper.'
They had nothing to say to each other at dinner. If Anna wanted to be sullen, Liz decided she was best ignored. The silence intensified the sounds of eating, as though they both were trapped in a film whose soundtrack was turned up too high – the sea might have been the hiss of the soundtrack. Eating made her feel uncomfortable, as if she'd forgotten how to do it properly. The meat tasted overcooked. Perhaps it was.
Afterward Anna found an Enid Blyton to reread, which at least kept her quiet for a while. Nevertheless Liz couldn't think while the child was in the room; she might want to mumble to herself, she might give herself away somehow; she felt too confused to plan silently. The night closed in, the sea rumbled forward; Liz dozed and felt that the house was sinking into dark water, that she was sinking into a darkness within herself, where something raw was waiting. When she jerked awake and saw that Anna was nodding over the book, she sent her up to bed.
Being alone didn't help much. There were too many thoughts and feelings to deal with: Joanna Marlowe, who'd sounded like a spiteful villager but might have had a message for her after all; the way Liz had accused Alex, as if that would stop her feeling guilty herself; Jane and Georgie and Alan and Anna and, thank God, Jimmy; the claw.. . but whenever she thought of the claw her thoughts slipped awry, and she had to start again.
For some time she dozed. When she woke, she was convinced that she'd made Jane kill Georgie so that she could steal back the claw. The idea had the internal logic of a dream, but was more difficult to shake off than that; she couldn't help feeling that it contained some distorted inkling of the truth. She forced her eyes open, and at once her heart was pounding. Anna was in the doorway, staring fearfully at her.
Why was she looking like that? Liz would give her a reason – she was scared of the claw. She struggled to control her feelings, to wake herself up. 'What's the matter?' she demanded. 'What are you doing downstairs?'
'I don't want to be up there by myself.' She sounded as if asking Liz to come upstairs was very much the lesser of two evils. 'I'm scared. There's someone up there.'
Liz knew she'd bolted the front and back doors; nobody could have got in. Anna was starting all over again; she'd learned nothing. As Liz sprang to her feet, the house seemed to darken about her. Anna flinched back, but that wasn't enough for Liz any more.
'Just you remember what happened to Georgie,' she said.
Thirty-eight
When she heard what she was saying, Liz sat down at once. She couldn't have been properly awake, otherwise she'd never have said such a terrible thing. She wanted to go to Anna, but she made herself stay in the chair; Anna was safer that way. In any case, Liz couldn't look at her, couldn't look up while the room was so dark. 'I've changed, haven't I?' she said at last.
Anna said nothing. Perhaps she was afraid to speak, or agreed too deeply to be able to reply. 'I'm sorry. So much has been happening to me,' Liz said, and stopped herself in case she went into details. 'Do you think you should go away for a while?'
Still no response. When Liz looked up, Anna was gazing sullenly at her. She could hardly be blamed if she no longer trusted Liz, no longer knew how to take her. 'I mean it,' Liz said. 'Would you like to stay in the Lakes for a while?'
'Yes.' Anna's voice was small and miserable, as if she wanted Liz to know that she felt rejected. There was nothing Liz could do about that; there wasn't time for love to get in the way; she had to make sure while she could that the child would be safe. Just now she felt that she mustn't touch Anna – even when the child flinched as Liz went into the hall and picked up the phone.
The darkness was all around her, oppressive and prickly as fever; it felt like the threat of a total loss of control. She mustn't dawdle, she had to make the call before she began to have second thoughts. She carried the phone into the long room and sat down, or fell down. 'I'll get you there,' she promised.
She dialled as quickly as she could. The bell sounded distant and hollow, the way calls sounded when Alan picked up one of the extensions while she was on the phone. For a moment she thought someone upstairs was listening in, until she made herself wake. The darkness lingered, prickling. Suddenly the ringing ceased. 'Hello,
