The waitress seemed reluctant to serve them. Liz felt her long nails tingling. She was just preparing to say, 'If Mrs Marshall has told you not to serve us, you just bring her here to me' – that would stop all the whispering around her – when the girl took out her pad. How many of the nearby diners had realized what was going on? She couldn't make out the flickering faces, only their glinting eyes, all of which seemed to be watching her.
Anna wouldn't look at her. She stared at the jerky blur of herself in her plate. Liz wished she hadn't brought her downstairs; the child would only put her off her dinner. Most of the other children were in bed, except for one little girl proudly wearing her first evening dress. To think Anna had been like that once! Now Liz dreaded taking her anywhere, loathed the idea. If only they were at home, she could have locked the child in Alan's workroom.
She ate her prawn cocktail without tasting it, while Anna drank her orange juice. The surrounding conversations were so quiet that Liz could hear every sticky sound that Anna made. Her stomach was writhing. 'Make less noise, child,' she hissed, and the spying eyes glinted at her out of the dark.
The waitress served the main course and glided away. As Liz tasted the roast pork, she had the impression that the girl had been eager to be gone. What had they done to the meat that it tasted so wrong? She couldn't make out what it was, only that she couldn't eat it – she knew in advance that it would do nothing to satisfy her hunger. Perhaps she was meant to make a scene about it, so that they could throw her out of the hotel. She forced herself to do nothing, to wait while Anna ate most of her dinner, in between shooting fearful glances at her.
The waitress came back and Anna asked for ice cream; Liz ordered cheese and biscuits for herself, as much to prevent the waitress from remarking about her untouched meal as anything. She managed to eat the cheese, which put a dull weight in her belly. The swarm of candle-flames dazzled her, darkening the surrounding air; unstable faces mouthed and ate. What had they been eating in her dream? She had a vague feeling that if she did remember, she would wish she hadn't. The pressure in her skull was growing, aggravated by the flickering dimness, by the spying eyes, above all by Anna.
As the waitresses cleared away the last dishes, a dance band was setting up on the stage at the edge of the dance floor. That would be too much – people dancing to old favourites, while Liz's skull grew more and more like an open wound. 'Hurry up and finish that,' she said harshly to Anna, who was stirring the last of her ice cream with her spoon.
As soon as the child had finished scraping her dish, a sound worse than fingernails on slate, Liz stood up and took her arm. The band had begun a waltz, a guitar and snare drum turning it into something more primitive. Liz hurried the child out before the music could blot out her sense of direction in the maze.
The corridors looked flickery with after-images of flames, and yellowish with fog. At least the upper floors were quiet, except for the muffled sound of the band, drifting up from below. She unlocked the door and shoved the child into the dark room, shoving harder when the child baulked. She wasn't giving in to Anna's fears this time. There was nothing in the room except the harsh smell, which must be the fog.
Liz switched on the light and locked the door. Anna was staring nervously about. 'What's wrong with you now?' Liz demanded.
The child seemed to have to think. 'I'm tired,' she whined.
'Then go to bed and stay there.' Liz waited while Anna used the bathroom, then watched as she climbed shivering into the chilly bed. Liz switched off the room light; she could think of nothing else to do but go to bed, and she certainly wasn't leaving Anna up here if she couldn't lock her in. She went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar.
She splashed cold water on her shiny face and brushed her teeth. She could hardly look at herself in the mirror, this pasty, dull-eyed mask, with hair like rusty rope. Halfway through rinsing out her mouth she suddenly stopped, for she thought she'd heard snuffling in the bedroom. She froze, choking down a mouthful of water and toothpaste, but there was no further sound. It must have been Anna feeling sorry for herself.
Liz left her clothes in the bathroom – she must cut her nails when she could find a pair of scissors, she was snagging them on her clothes – and eased open the bathroom door. Anna hadn't moved. Liz switched off the bathroom light and closed the door to shut off the gurgling monologue of the plumbing; then she groped toward the bed. She hadn't quite reached it – she'd misjudged her distance in the dark, and the fog blocked out any light from the window – when she smelled blood.
She would have backed away toward the bathroom, but she couldn't remember which way to go: not straight backwards, certainly. She reached out one shaking hand for the bed, through the darkness that stank of stale blood, and touched something soft. A blanket – Anna beneath a blanket? But then the soft object shifted under her hand, and her fingers touched its eyes, its encrusted sticky cheek, its teeth.
She recoiled, spastic with horror, and collided with the bed. Now she knew where she was; she could see the strip of light from the corridor at the foot of the outer door. She staggered towards it, wrenched at the handle. Then she remembered the bolt. In the strange room she couldn't locate the light-switch.
Her fingernails were in the way, she couldn't grasp the bolt. Then she had it, and the next moment the door was wide open. Light flooded in from the corridor – not enough light. She jerked the switch for the bedroom light, and Anna started screaming.
By God, she was screaming, not at the thing in the dark, but at Liz. Though Liz couldn't believe it, the room was empty. Nothing under the bed, nothing in the bathroom either, when she threw open the door. 'Stay there,' she snarled at Anna, who looked ready to run out of the room. The intruder had felt too solid to have been imaginary. Locked doors meant nothing; it could come to her whenever it was dark. Perhaps it was still watching her; someone was – her neck was prickling. She whirled round. Gail was staring at her from the corridor.
However must she look, naked and ranging about the room like an animal in its cage? Still, there was no need for Gail to watch her quite so disapprovingly. She must have come upstairs to spy on her, otherwise she couldn't have got here so quickly. She was trying to look as if little was wrong. 'Liz,' she said, 'I think it would be a good idea if I found you some room in the cottage.'
So that was it. She wanted an excuse to observe Liz more closely, to take Anna from her or call someone who would. 'No thank you,' Liz said, though she was shaking. 'We'll stay here for tonight.' Before Gail could protest, she'd closed the door in her face and slammed the bolt home.
There was silence in the corridor while Gail considered what to do. Eventually Liz heard her footsteps retreating. She grinned savagely, triumphantly. Behind her Anna whimpered, 'I don't want to stay here any more.'
Liz turned slowly, enjoying herself. When Anna saw her grin, she flinched against the pillows. 'You're going to get what you've asked for,' Liz said.
Forty-five
Anna lay in bed for hours before she dared to move. She could hear the band downstairs, but it sounded as if it was miles away. It might as well be, like everything else in the hotel. Nobody cared what mummy might do to her, not even Gail, who could, see how mummy had changed. Nobody cared what happened to Anna; she was only a child. She began to sob, but managed to choke the sound back before it got out; it might wake mummy, who was sitting in the chair that she'd pushed against the locked door. The thought of waiting until she was sure that mummy was asleep made her eyes sting with a yearning for sleep, but she mustn't sleep, not yet. There was still one person who could save her, who would come and take her away.
The band fell silent at last. She heard people singing along with it: 'Good Night Ladies.' Because of her lack of sleep she thought for a moment that they were singing to mummy and her, and perhaps mummy thought so too, for her nodding head jerked up from her chest, her eyes widening and glaring at Anna. Anna hid her shivering under the bedclothes and peered through her eyelashes, praying that mummy couldn't see her watching.
Car doors slammed, cars shrank into the fog. Grownups came upstairs, talking quietly. Mummy's eyes glinted slyly at the sound of the people; Anna saw her listening until they'd gone into their rooms. Now mummy's head was leaning sideways, lower and lower each time, eyelids drooping. Her hands plucked at her handbag, which she'd taken off the chair to make room for her, then they relaxed. She was asleep.
More than anything else, Anna wanted to sleep too. She sobbed with her hand over her mouth; she didn't
