She ran limping and sobbing to the front door, and fumbled with the latch. Her fingers felt like someone else's, swollen and clumsy; she was terrified that any moment she'd forget how to open the door. As the latch clicked and she remembered to pull at the door, mummy came into the hall.
She wasn't smiling now, though she was showing her teeth. Anna remembered a dog she'd once seen, dribbling white froth. Mummy had hugged her and told her not to move until men in uniform had come in a van to take the dog away. Mummy looked like that dog now – her face did, as she came rushing down the hall at Anna, her long nails reaching for her.
How could Anna turn her back on her? But somehow she did, and fled screaming into the fog, which surged forward as if it were helping mummy, telling Anna that she was trapped, that there was no point in running. It made her feel that she wasn't running at all, just trying to struggle through the grey that hardly moved, while mummy overtook her easily, nails stretched out to drag her back. When she reached the gate and limped out onto the road, she felt she'd run almost as far as she could.
But she could hear a car, on or near the road to the village. Was it Granny Knight's car? It didn't matter who it was, surely they'd hear if she screamed loud enough for help? She ran along the slippery road, screaming at the top of her voice. Her throat felt scraped to shreds by her cries and the fog she was sucking in.
She hadn't reached the road to the village when she stumbled to a halt. She couldn't hear the car any longer. She began to sob, and then she held her breath, she tried to be completely still, not even to shiver. She couldn't hear mummy either. She didn't know where mummy was, how close she might be in the blinding fog.
She'd started to cough, and then to sob because she couldn't suppress her coughing, when she heard the car again. It was on the village road. She wanted to scream for help before it went away, but she made herself be quiet, even though her throat was burning with the urge to cough. In a few moments she was sure that the car was coming back.
Granny Knight must have heard her. She ran towards the village road, screaming Granny Knight's name. It took her so long to reach the road that she thought she'd run past it in the fog. But here it was at last – and here on the verge at the corner, a silent figure was standing. She was dodging away from the looming figure, screaming louder and more desperately, when the fog thinned and she saw that it was the signpost, its pointer dripping like a nose. How could she have thought it was mummy? But any looming shape in the dense fog could be; Anna still didn't know where mummy was.
She limped along the village road as fast as she could. Whenever she slipped on the glistening tarmac, shapes lurched at her out of the fog. She hadn't the breath to cry out now, even though the car was nearer. In a few minutes she saw its lights, steaming like ice. The light touched her and probed beyond her, picking out a crouching shape about to leap. The shape was a stile. The car had halted a few yards from her, and the door behind Granny Knight was opening. Once Anna was in the car, she would be safe.
Then the man who'd opened the door climbed out and came toward her, and she began to scream.
It was daddy, but all she could see were his nails. They were longer than mummy's, and they were reaching for her. As she stumbled backward away from him, she caught sight of his face. It looked worse than it had the night he'd gone away: it was white and hungry and desperate, the face of a stranger who was hardly even bothering to look like daddy. As he opened his mouth to speak, she shoved her hands over her ears and fled screaming, without the least idea of where she was going, back into the fog.
Fifty-one
Liz had almost reached the village road when she heard the car turn back. She ran until she came to the dripping signpost and halted there, clutching her chest, which felt raw, full of fog. She'd never catch Anna now, she could hear how far ahead the child was. As she clawed at the signpost, a splinter painful as a red-hot needle dug under one nail, frenzying her, but it was no use: Isobel had heard the child's screams and was coming to save her. She was welcome to the little bitch.
Liz paced forward, just to hear what they said about her. They'd never see her in the fog. Once she'd heard what Anna said, she would steal away into the fog, which she hoped would never lift. Anna had made her like this, forcing her to creep about in the fog, having to hide from Alan. By God, she wished she could give the little bitch what she deserved.
She stopped, because the car had. The only sound in the fog was the quick flat slap of Anna's footsteps on the road. Fog drifted about Liz's face, wiping out her sense of distance. She couldn't tell how far away Anna was, but if she could hear her running, she'd be able to hear what she said. When she put her hand over her mouth and nose so as not to cough, she felt as if she were clawing her own face in frustrated rage.
Then she strained forward like a runner at the start of a race. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. She stole forward almost before she even realized she was moving, and then she began to grin. Anna was screaming and running. She was running back towards Liz.
Liz crept forward swiftly, enjoying her stealth. Her speed felt effortless; she seemed fluid as the fog. She still couldn't judge how close Anna's limping footsteps were; they sounded flattened, and so did the muffled argument Alan was having with Isobel; running and voices merged into a single plane. Perhaps Anna thought she was fleeing towards their voices instead of away from them.
Then Isobel raised her voice. 'Oh, can't I make you understand? She locked the child up. Anna must have been upstairs all the time we were there. If you knew how she'd been treating the child since you went away, you wouldn't find it so hard to believe. That's only one of the things she's been doing.'
So Isobel knew everything, did she? So much the worse for Anna: there was no longer any reason for Liz to hide what she meant to do. Liz was loping silently towards Anna's limping footsteps; already her throbbing fingernails felt as if they were embedded in her flesh. By God, Anna would pay for betraying her to Isobel and Alan. She didn't care if they were so near; their presence only made her more eager to deal with Anna once and for all. The fog would help.
She faltered for a moment as the car started, then she ran faster. She was still making very little noise. The car would herd the child towards her. She ran a few steps, then she halted, for even her stealthy movements were making it difficult for her to hear. So was the car, and she had to strain her ears for a frustratingly long time before she was sure that she could no longer hear Anna.
Was the child standing still, waiting for the car to pass? Or was she tiptoeing? She might tiptoe past Liz in the fog. Liz stood in the middle of the road and glared around her. The child wouldn't escape her this time. Liz would have to dodge out of the way when she saw the car's lights, but they wouldn't see her. The car was approaching too slowly to take her unawares.
It was the fog that made it seem so. Suddenly the smouldering beams of the headlights found her, splayed past her, lit up a movement on the verge to her left. She spun round, lurching that way to give Anna no chance to escape. But it wasn't Anna, it was a protruding clump of hedge.
Her mistake, and her rage at it, blinded her for a moment. Suddenly she was slithering on the wet road, but she didn't realize how badly she'd lost her balance until she fell. The tarmac hit her like a mallet as big as she was. She tried to suck in a breath that would help her throw herself out of the path of the car, but the car was coming too fast. Liz couldn't believe what was happening. As she raised herself on her hands to hurl herself aside, the front of the car rammed into her chest, smashing her backward on the road.
Fog poured into her body, and she was somewhere else, high in the grey air or across the invisible fields, hearing the belated screech of the brakes, the distant slam of car doors, voices that ebbed and surged, clear then muffled, then clear again. 'Oh my God,' Isobel was saying over and over like an evangelical record that had got stuck. 'Oh my God.'
Liz wished she could see Isobel's face, because for the first time in her life Isobel sounded as if she cared about her. All the same, she was glad to be so far from her own body, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to bear the growing pain. The whole front of her body was turning into pain. Hands touched her, she didn't know whose. 'You'll have to get to a phone,' Alan said in his new voice. 'I don't feel up to driving.'
Isobel had regained control of herself. 'You can't leave her on the road, not in this weather.'
Silence, grey: perhaps Liz had drifted away. 'If we're going to move her at all,' Alan said, 'you might as well
