said.
The child didn't speak or move. That annoyed Liz, who went forward. Her own shadow on the bed made her falter momentarily: it looked as if she were carrying the claw, until she realized that it was only her hand with its long nails. 'Anna, I know you're awake. Don't you want to know who that was?'
Still the child didn't stir. Did she think that Liz hadn't heard her padding about? Liz bent to shake her out of her pretence; if her nails touched the child, that ought to make her stop pretending… But then she faltered. Was she really sure enough of Alan to say that he was coming home? She didn't want to raise yet more false hopes. Perhaps Anna's pretence had become reality by now. In any case, she could lie there while Liz tried to call Alan back. It was a long shot, but he might have been calling from his usual hotel in Lagos. The number was somewhere in his workroom.
When she reached the top floor she glimpsed the sea, a huge dim restlessness. Alan's room smelled musty with disuse; a pile of letters for him had toppled toward the edge of the desk, a cobweb bellied from a corner of the ceiling. The room felt as if it had reverted to being an attic. Eventually she found his address book underneath the typewriter. She knew the hotel was listed there, but she couldn't recall its name. Was Anna roaming downstairs again? As soon as she'd made this call, Liz would find out why she was padding around.
She recognized the hotel and its number at last, scribbled beneath Teddy Shaw's name, presumably because it was Teddy who saw to the reservations. The wind made the window shudder as she picked up the receiver and whispered a brief almost wordless prayer. She hardly noticed how sticky the receiver was, for as she put it to her ear she heard an unmistakable sound. One of the extensions had been lifted.
It must have been Anna all the time. 'Anna, if you don't put that down at once I'll come downstairs to you, and you won't like it one little bit if I do.'
After a moment she heard what might have been a response, but in that brief interval she'd also noticed something else: there was no dialling tone – there was no telephonic sound at all. It wasn't only Alan's call that had been cut off; the phone was dead. There was no sound except the breathing on the extension. Her hand tightened convulsively on the receiver, the earpiece jerked against her face. It wasn't Anna's breathing.
She had thought it was, several times before. She'd thought it was Anna, snuffling in her sleep or from grief. She couldn't make that mistake now, not with the moist thick snuffling pressed up against her face. It was as if she'd gone blind, unable to see what had overpowered her. She flung the receiver away from her as though it were rotten, and backed toward the door.
She couldn't go out there. The intruder was on one of the lower floors. It had her trapped. It had been up here too, listening to her and Alan; that was clear from the mark the receiver had left on her hand – a smear of brownish blood. She wiped it frantically on a piece of waste paper, and threw the crumpled paper as far away as she could.
She had to go down. She couldn't phone for help. And it was pointless screaming for help from the open window, nobody lived close enough to hear. She couldn't simply take a chance that someone might be passing – the delay would give the intruder time to come up to her. At least it was still by the extension, whichever extension it was; she could still hear the snuffling over the phone. It sounded hungry. She had to steal out of the house before it started prowling again.
As soon as she reached the open door, she smelled blood. The stench, and the prospect of all those stairs to be crept down, made her faint. It wasn't even as if she'd be able to sneak away – not with Anna. She'd almost forgotten that the child was down there, closer to the intruder than she was. However could she wake Anna without being overheard? But she couldn't leave Anna, however tempting the notion was, however just it seemed. If only she had the claw! She'd have been able to take care of herself then, she knew she would.
She crept down toward the stink of blood. Two steps, and the staircase seemed to melt like jelly; she had to grip the banister with both hands. The house smelled just like the pillbox, that day she'd gone in. She knew what was waiting downstairs for her; she'd known as soon as she'd heard the snuffling and seen the smear of blood.
The banister was growing soft now, squirming beneath her hands as if she'd grabbed hold of an enormous maggot. Her senses were receding. In a moment she'd lose consciousness. If she fell downstairs, at least she would be unaware of what happened then.
She was dangling there near the top of the stairs, held up only by her hands – the banister felt more like water now, she was about to lose her grip – when she heard the intruder. How could she have mistaken that' padding for Anna's? It was too deliberate, and certainly too large. Clearly it no longer mattered that she could hear, since she was trapped. The intruder was coming up to her.
That moment of hopeless terror gave her strength. Since she was trapped, it no longer mattered what she did. All at once she was descending the stairs, swiftly and silently. She reached the middle landing and thought for an instant of carrying on down and out of the house, while the intruder was still on this floor. But the next moment she'd dodged into her room, switching on the light and closing the door, leaving it less than an inch ajar.
The light woke Anna. She sat up violently, snatching the edges of sheets from beneath the mattress. Her eyes were bulging, her mouth was opening; she was about to scream. Liz ran forward and clapped one hand over the child's mouth, 'Listen, Anna. Be quiet and listen. We have to get out of the house. Now, without any noise.'
Anna was struggling, though she was awake. Her lips were writhing under Liz's hand, which she was trying to pull away from her mouth. People weren't supposed to behave like that – they never did in films. It took Liz a while to realize that the child was gazing terrified at her other long-nailed hand, which was hovering defensively. 'Don't start being stupid, Anna. That isn't for you. Not this time.'
Why had she added that? Because she was distracted? Because she was wasting time when the intruder was on the prowl? Was the stench of blood approaching? If she took her hand away from Anna's mouth the child would scream; Liz could see it in her eyes. By God, she ought to leave her here. It would solve everything. But she no longer knew quite what she meant by that; the moment when she'd known was past. She turned her free hand palm upward, and felt utterly defenceless. 'I hope you're satisfied. Now get out of bed and don't you dare make a sound. One sound, and you won't make another, I promise you.'
When Liz took her hand away from Anna's mouth – the hand hovering a couple of inches away, more like a claw than the other had been – the child made no sound. Liz dragged her out of bed and stood over her while she got dressed. Anna followed her like a sleepwalker, her arm limp in Liz's grasp. They were at the door when Liz realized that she could no longer hear the sound of padding.
She'd lost track of it while she was dealing with Anna. Perhaps the intruder was outside the door now, grinning bloodily. She threw the door open, catching it before it could strike the wall. The landing was deserted, but the stench of blood was as strong as ever.
The intruder might be waiting downstairs to pounce. Wasn't the stench even stronger down there? And it wasn't just blood, it was the fetor of a beast, or something worse. She was trying to tiptoe down and at the same time keep hold of Anna, who seemed determined to stumble. By God, if Anna could make a situation worse in any way, she would.
Liz stepped over the bottom stair, which always creaked. She grimaced for Anna to step over it too, but the child trod on it before Liz could wrench her arm. To think she'd once been delighted to have such a big house, such a long hall! The doors were closed, but did that mean the rooms were empty? Wasn't there a dark smear on the doorknob of the long room? Liz ran, dragging Anna, their footsteps thundering; stealth would take too long. The lock of the front door was stiff, and she heard padding behind her -she couldn't tell how far off, or even if it was real. She heaved the door open and almost fell out of the house.
She slammed the door at once, even though it cut off the light from the hall, and ran into the dark, still hauling Anna behind her. Because she knew where the road was, she could just make it out; a strip of fractionally lighter darkness, blurred at its verges. Beyond that, she could see nothing. She mustn't think that the thing in her house was necessarily better at seeing in the dark than she was, or swifter. She could only run past Seaview and the turn-off to the village, running faster when Anna tried to lag behind, dragging the child until she had no option but to keep up. Anna was sobbing with fear, but somehow Liz felt less afraid now. She knew where she was going, if she could only think. She wasn't fleeing to the hotel, she was going somewhere that would keep her safe.
She managed to hold her breath as she ran. 'Shut up, Anna,' she hissed. Couldn't the child stop her row for even a moment? How could she have enough breath to sob and to run? Liz could hear no sound of pursuit, but
