empty the house was, how far away Alan was. She wished desperately that he would come home. Apart from anything else, she'd be able to talk to him about the claw.
She couldn't talk to Jane. She ought to have done so when she'd had the chance; she ought to have gone with Rebecca and Gail, and found an excuse to speak to Jane alone. She would have been able to but for Anna, but for being unable either to leave the child with anyone or to take her with her. Now it was too late; Gail had returned from her visit yesterday almost in tears, saying that now Jane was refusing to be visited. It wasn't only the refusal that had upset her, it was Jane's reason for refusing. Apparently she was claiming that someone she'd trusted had made her kill Georgie.
It couldn't be Alex; even Jane couldn't have trusted her. Could she have meant Anna? There was no doubt in Liz's mind that if it hadn't been for Anna and all she'd done that day, she would have been in time to prevent Jane from harming Georgie. Anna was as responsible for the baby's death as Jane was – more so, for Jane couldn't have been able to help herself.
Liz shook her head dully. It was no use brooding about it, but what else could she do? She couldn't find a pretext to visit Derek at home, because he wasn't there; he couldn't bear to stay alone in the house. Why couldn't she ask him or the police to search the house for the claw? Somehow she didn't want anyone to know how important it was to her, perhaps because it seemed shamefully trivial in the context of Jane's tragedy. Could she break into Jane's house? She couldn't imagine herself doing so. She seemed unable to think clearly on the subject of the claw.
She went downstairs – the glimpse of red in the hall was the phone, of course, though for a moment it made her feel inexplicably nervous – and sat for a while in the long room, her back to the sea. Beyond the dormant television, the last gold in the sky was tarnishing. She watched the sky turn blue, dark yet luminous. It looked infinitely deep and peaceful, but its peace couldn't reach her, even now that Anna was laid to rest. She felt helpless and frustrated, without a thought in her head.
She picked up the remote control of the television, for company. Soon she was switching channels. An audience was laughing at a joke she'd missed; a pair of politicians were arguing like talking busts; forgotten British actors of twenty years ago were trying not to make their progress through a studio jungle look too easy. Wasn't this the kind of film in which Alex had made her thirty-second debut as a child? All the more reason not to watch it. Still, the pathetic jungle had reminded her what she could watch -the one thing that might make her feel closer to Alan. She found the African videocassette and fitted it into the videorecorder.
Camels sneered and lurched to their feet, crocodiles yawned like man-traps. Here was the mosque yet again, the worshippers crowding in, and she remembered that time with Alan running the tape back and forth, and Isobel treating her as if she were mad. She was secretly hoping that by some magic coincidence, Alan might phone while she was watching the tape. Surely he must call soon – it had been so long. Surely he must realize that she was desperate to hear from him? If he called, she'd somehow persuade him to come home. That would solve her problems. She wouldn't have to deal with Anna by herself.
Before the tape had finished, she was dozing. Night had closed over all the windows now, wind rushed the sound of the sea past the house, a dark flood. She kept jerking awake and glimpsing the telephone, glimpsing red. She was hoping so intensely that the phone would ring that she kept hearing a single note of the bell. She'd be happy to hear from anyone, so long as it wasn't Joanna Marlowe.
What had that woman meant? Nothing that made any sense to Liz.
She turned off the cassette – no point in running it if she was going to doze – only to feel more awake, or at least on the edge of wakefulness. She couldn't tell if she was about to sleep or to awaken. The sound of the sea made her feel as if her paintings on the wall had come to life. She started the tape again. Here came the mosque, the crowds trooping in. Shouldn't that remind her of something? Perhaps it would have, except that she was nodding off, wearied by Anna, lulled by the sound of the waves.
They sounded like breathing. She was almost asleep. The breathing was in the room with her, but she didn't mind; it must be Alan. She was dozing while he watched the cassette. What was he looking for? What did he want her to see? All at once she remembered why he'd replayed that cassette, remembered what it was he thought he'd seen there. Her eyes opened wide, and then she cried out. The crowds were flocking out of the mosque, and the first to emerge into the sunlight was a thin figure covered with blood. It was coming straight toward her, baring its gory teeth in a grin.
It was only a glimpse. The next moment she'd switched off the recorder, so violently that she dropped the remote control. She was trembling, because now she thought she knew why her glimpse of red in the hall on her way downstairs had made her so nervous. Hadn't it seemed to glisten like a skinned tomato? Had she been too ready to tell herself without even looking that it was the phone?
She had to prove there was nothing, she had to look in the hall. She got up like an old woman, slowly and shakily. The moist regular sounds of the waves seemed very close to her, behind her and beyond the door as well. She was reaching for the doorknob when the telephone rang.
She froze. She didn't know what else might be in the hall. If she'd been able to take her time she could have coaxed herself out there, but the phone wasn't giving her a chance. It was counting the moments while she summoned up the courage to open the door. Five rings, six… It couldn't be much longer before the caller gave up. She threw open the door – the doorknob banged against the wall – and grabbed the phone. The hall was empty. There was nothing else that was red. 'Hello?' she cried.
The phone was full of static that sounded distant, as if one of the extensions had been lifted. As she pressed the receiver against herself, so hard that her ear ached, she made out a faint unsteady voice. 'Liz,' it said.
'Alan!' It didn't sound much like him – the bad line must be making his voice thick – but she knew that it was. Nothing else mattered, certainly not her hallucinations in front of the videorecorder or in the hall. 'I can hardly hear you. Where are you?'
His voice was intermittent, as if he had little control over it – the line must be breaking it. 'I'm still here.'
That meant Nigeria; she'd already deduced as much from the terrible line. 'You're coming home now, aren't you? You mustn't stay away any longer. I can't cope by myself. You must come back.'
It seemed a long time before his voice came drifting to her. 'I need you,' he said.
' I need you.' She was wondering how much he'd heard of her pleas. 'Can you hear me?'
'Yes.' Perhaps it was the faintness of his voice that made the word sound so despairing.
'I need you more than ever. We both do.'
'No.' All at once he sounded savage. 'She doesn't.'
Was this Anna's fault, too – that he felt rejected, cast out? Was there no end to the trouble the child could cause? Liz was suddenly afraid that he would ring off before she had persuaded him to return. There was something she had to tell him, something that would bring him back, and she couldn't recall what it was. She could have wept with frustration, except that it would have wasted time. 'Look, never mind how she behaved,' she pleaded. 'I'm desperate, Alan. I'm not exaggerating. You must come back.'
When at last he spoke, she could only assume that he hadn't heard. 'I just wanted to talk to you.'
Did that mean he'd said all he had to say? She was thinking desperately – something she must tell him, something crucial – but her ear was throbbing, making it even more difficult for her to think. 'Wait,' she cried, but now everything that had happened since he'd gone away was crowding her mind: Anna's unforgivable behaviour, Georgie's death… Of course, Jane's theft of the claw. How could she have forgotten? Thank God she'd remembered in time! 'Alan, you must come home,' she said, 'and I'll tell you why. I know where the claw is. It's safe.'
She heard him draw in his breath sharply. At last he was responding. She wanted to follow up her advantage, but it was best not to interrupt his thoughts. She had him now. She was waiting for him to admit as much when the line went dead.
She stood for a while, hoping that it was a temporary fault. The line was so silent: not even static, just a hollow silence that made her feel overheard. Eventually she replaced the receiver. The phones ringing on each floor must have awakened Anna, for she could hear bare feet padding overhead. At least she could now tell the child that daddy was coming home. Surely that was what his gasp had meant.
But when Liz looked into the bedroom, Anna appeared to be asleep. Her side of the double bed was tousled, and she was lying in the tangle like a china figure in tissue-paper wrapping. Why was she pretending? Perhaps she thought Liz would be angry with her for trying to overhear. 'Who do you think that was on the phone?' Liz
