dare go to sleep – she didn't know what mummy might do to her if she did. What had mummy meant to do before? Anna had heard someone creeping toward her in the dark, and then mummy had thrown open the bedroom door and switched on the light, because Gail had been outside. It must have been mummy who'd been creeping up on her, but she hadn't been able to do what she'd meant to do, because of Gail. But then she'd locked Gail out, and Gail had gone away and left Anna all alone with the stranger Gail thought was mummy. Gail didn't really care what happened to Anna.
Someone did. Auntie Barbara might have, which was why mummy had stopped her from coming to stay. Daddy might, Anna was no longer sure, but he seemed to have gone away for ever. Rebecca did, but mummy had made sure that Rebecca didn't know what she was doing to Anna. But there was someone who knew, or at least suspected, and cared. No wonder mummy didn't like her. If Anna could let Granny Knight know what was happening, she'd come at once.
But now that it came to letting her know, Anna was terrified to move. If she tried to phone, mummy would wake, mummy would see what she was trying to do. Couldn't she just lie here while mummy was asleep, and hope that everything would have changed when the sun came up in the morning? But the thought of lying there all night terrified her too, for she was so tired that she might fall asleep, might be asleep when mummy woke.
Just then one of mummy's hands moved sleepily, its long nails scraping the air. Anna shuddered, imagining what those nails might do when mummy woke. That was enough to start her inching across the bed toward the phone.
It was on mummy's side of the bed, and it seemed hours away. Anna edged across under the bedclothes, holding herself and her breath still after each tiny movement. Each time she moved, the chill of the new patch of sheet made her shiver. Once the bed creaked, and she froze, biting her tongue so hard that she almost cried out. But mummy hadn't stirred, and so eventually Anna moved again, still sobbing silently.
When she reached the far side of the bed at last, she inched herself into a sitting position against the pillow. Now she could stretch out her arm for the phone. She had to do it; but how much noise would the phone make? It would ring and wake mummy; she knew it would. She was back in the small dark grubby place again – she'd never left it really – and the phone was beyond it, out of her reach. Whether she just lay there or lifted the phone, it all came to the same thing: mummy would hurt her, hurt her terribly, far more than the bruises that were stinging her arms.
The pain and the hopelessness made her reach out suddenly for the phone. After all, if it came to the same thing in the end, it didn't matter what she did. She reached out more quickly than she meant to, and the bed creaked loudly. She buried her face in the pillow; she could already feel mummy's nails raking her back. It was a long time before she could look.
Mummy hadn't moved. Anna reached out again, this time more stealthily. Her fingers stretched further and further, over the Bible on the bedside table. She had to lean out of the bed, and she was terrified in case it creaked again. Then, at last, her hand closed on the receiver.
She held onto it for a very long time, telling herself that she was making sure she wouldn't drop it, while her skin prickled, her armpits turned clammy, uncomfortable, unbearable. She had to move her arm, to pull away the sticky patch of pyjama from her armpit. She lifted the receiver, and the phone rang.
It was only one note, but it was as loud as the telephone ringing. She froze, clinging to the receiver, waiting for mummy's eyes to open and see what she'd been trying to do. But mummy's eyes were still closed – or were they open just a slit, watching to see what she'd do next? She couldn't replace the receiver in case the phone rang, and yet she couldn't bring it toward her face either. It took forever, but at last she managed to persuade herself that mummy couldn't see her after all.
She inched the receiver towards her and pressed it against her ear, slipping under the sheets to hide from mummy. Then, immediately, she shoved herself up again, terrified of not being able to see what mummy was doing, and of pulling the phone off the bedside table. She held her breath and waited. Gail would answer in a moment. Anna didn't know Granny Knight's number, but Gail would. If she didn't, she could look it up.
She pulled her pyjama away from her armpit with her free hand and pressed her legs together for fear of wetting the bed. Could she keep her voice low enough for mummy not to hear and still manage to be heard by Gail? Her heart was thumping so loud that she was afraid it would wake mummy. 'Hello,' she whispered; she could hardly hear herself. Perhaps her voice was so tiny because she'd realized at last that there was nobody at the switchboard.
There was a number you could dial if you needed someone in the night, the number of one of the rooms, but Anna couldn't think what it was. Wasn't it on a notice somewhere in the room? Yes, of course: the notice was on the inside of the door – the door against which mummy was sitting. The notice was hidden behind her chair. Anna let out a loud sobbing sigh. She didn't care if mummy heard now.
Mummy had, in her sleep. She stirred, and her handbag slid off her knees, catching its strap on the arm of the chair and dangling there. Mummy's hands groped blindly about for it. Anna was praying frantically – she did care if mummy woke after all; please don't let her wake, please don't let her see Anna with the phone… Mummy's nails seemed to be searching wakefully for something to claw, her eyes looked as if they were about to open. At last her hands were still, and the rest of her.
Anna laid the receiver on top of the Bible, as gently as she could. She didn't dare replace it in case the phone rang again and woke mummy before she could hide under the sheets. She drew in her arm and lay there, propped up on the pillow. She was shivering again, afraid of what she'd realized she could do, what the sight of mummy's handbag on the arm of the chair was telling her she could do. Mummy's address book was in there. Granny Knight's phone number was.
There might just as well have been a blazing fire between her and that little book. How could Anna try to get it when it would mean going close to mummy, within reach of her nails? But equally, how could she lie there, knowing that the phone number was there, and that all she had to do was creep over and get it? She was sobbing again, stuffing the bedclothes into her mouth. She wanted to scream, wake mummy and get it all over with.
Before she knew it, she was slipping out of bed. She didn't want to, but she couldn't stop herself. She put first one bare foot on the chilly carpet, and then the other, easing herself off the bed to make sure it didn't creak, holding her breath as if that would help, sobbing inside herself. She was a few inches closer to mummy, and that terrified her. She dropped on all fours, out of sight beside the bed.
Now she couldn't see mummy, couldn't see if she woke. She began to crawl alongside the bed, and found she'd almost forgotten how to crawl. Even before she could see mummy, she was panicking. The coverlet hung down to the floor, so that she couldn't see under the bed, and she felt that something was crouching beyond the far side of the bed, waiting. Was it the man who'd spied on her at home, the man she could never quite see? She crawled hastily to the foot of the bed, and was almost in mummy's reach.
She faltered there, shivering. Her arms and legs felt numb and twisted, her pyjamas were glued to her. She couldn't go on, not now that she was close enough to see mummy's face. Mummy's mouth was drooping open, a cruel curve that showed her glistening teeth. Anna thought it was the most horrible expression she had ever seen. The stranger who pretended to be mummy was made up of teeth and nails; Anna could see nothing else. She couldn't stand up, she couldn't crawl backwards. She would be frozen there until mummy woke.
The thought terrified her so much that she found she was moving. She could only move forward. She was beyond the bed now, but she didn't dare look back to see if anything was crouching by it – she didn't dare take her eyes off mummy's face. Had mummy's breathing changed? Was she awake and waiting for Anna to crawl within reach? Was there a watchful glint behind her eyelashes? Even if there were, Anna couldn't stop herself. Her trembling limbs took her all too quickly to the chair. In a few moments she was squatting beside it on her aching legs, pressing them together, and within reach of mummy's bag.
She stared at it and struggled to reach for it, to be able to crawl away and hide. The bag looked impossibly real, the only real thing in the world, and she was staring at it out of the small dark grubby place. She couldn't just open it – the catch would make too much noise; she had to slide it off the arm of the chair and creep away with it, which meant first edging the strap from under mummy's nails. She couldn't do it, the thought of trying made her sob inside herself. But she had to move, for her legs were aching terribly; if she had to squat much longer, they'd hurt so much that she would stagger to her feet and straight into mummy's arms. The thought sent a shudder through her that almost overbalanced her, and she reached out a trembling hand to lift the strap of the bag. Her teeth were chattering, she couldn't keep them still, even by clenching them until they ached. Perhaps that was why, as Anna grasped the strap and began to slide it gently but shakily along the arm of the chair, mummy opened
