'Yes, but let me pay for it. Please, I insist. Yours is a lager, I take it.'
Liz felt as she'd meant Spike's father to feel. She and Isobel had never been friends – they seemed to have nothing in common except Alan – but Liz did her best, for Alan's sake and Anna's. Isobel returned with the drinks and stood waiting for Liz to open the windows Spike's father had closed. 'I think we ought to sit outside so that the child needn't come into the bar.'
A few round metal tables shadowed the lawn outside the bar. A breeze tried to flip over the beermats, like a baby doing its best to imitate its father. Liz meant to remark on the sunburnt man, but Isobel seemed not to notice him. Instead she stared at Anna. 'Surely you aren't letting the child go on the slide unsupervised?'
'She'll be all right, Isobel. She's been used to it for years.'
'Yes, I seem to remember your letting her on it before she was two years old.'
'That's why she's so confident now.' Liz recalled that holiday all too well; for a short time they'd stayed with Isobel, five miles inland, but there had been so much friction between the two women that in the end Alan had had to bring Liz and Anna to the Britannia Hotel instead. Isobel had paid most of the bill – they couldn't have continued their holiday otherwise. Liz hated feeling obliged to people she didn't like.
'Well, I can't bear to watch.' Isobel turned her back on the playground, as if Liz were forcing her to do so. For a few minutes she was silent, sipping her gin and tonic; from her expression it might have been vinegar. Something else had annoyed her. 'Alan didn't seem very glad to see me today,' she said.
'I expect he just didn't want to be interrupted. Did you let him know you were coming?'
Isobel stared affrontedly at her. 'It's a pity if I have to make an appointment to see my own son.'
'Oh, sometimes I virtually have to make an appointment to speak to him, and I'm in the same house.' Liz was trying her hardest, but evidendy Isobel was offended at being compared to a mere wife. 'He's. having problems with his writing just now,' Liz said.
'I wonder why that is? Has he anything to worry him at home?' When Liz shook her head, less angrily than she might have, Isobel stood up. 'Well, I can't wait all day for the child to come to me,' she said, and strode toward the playground.
Anna jumped off the slide and ran to her. She sat for a while with her grandmother at one of the parents' tables in the playground and chattered to her, while Liz tried to relax with her drink. She must get in touch with her own parents; they were supposed to be coming to stay. She hoped they were, because she'd just put off Barbara Mason, an old friend who'd written asking if she could take up an open invitation.
Anna was back at the slide now, crying 'Watch me, Granny!' as she ran up the ladder two rungs at a time, pushing away Isobel's hand as she tried to help her up the first rungs, and shouting 'Beep-beep' when Isobel waited anxiously to catch her at the bottom of the slide.
Shortly, the children crowded out of the nursery, having finished their meal, and Isobel returned to her gin. Spike's father emerged from the bar, Scotch in hand. 'They haven't let them out already, have they?' he complained.
Anna was trying patiently to show Spike how to ride a tricycle, and for once he didn't look quite so morose; he was pushing the pedals and realizing he was in control. 'He's fine. He's enjoying himself,' Liz said.
'That'll be the day.' His father strode irritably toward the playground. 'What's he up to now? He'll be running the babies over, he's that clumsy.'
Liz jumped up and grabbed his arm. 'It's all right, leave him alone. Anna's looking after him. And Maggie's there – she'll make sure there are no accidents.'
He looked amused by her vehemence; she could have hit him. 'True enough, that's her job. If anything happens, it's her responsibility.' Having found someone else to blame for his son's failings, he strolled back to the bar.
Liz wouldn't have minded another drink, but Isobel was leaning confidentially across the table, gesturing her to sit down. 'Elizabeth, I hope you won't mind my saying this, but I wonder if you oughtn't to care less for other people's children and more for your own.'
Liz controlled herself. 'What makes you think I don't care for her?'
'Well, since you ask, letting her play nursemaid, for one thing. She's too young – and besides, it's such a temptation. Children have dreadful things done to them these days, you've only to read the papers. I'm not saying that Anna would do anything like that, not if she's brought up correctly. But even she could copy things she's heard about or read.'
Anna was running toward them now, having entrusted Spike to Maggie, and seeing her, Liz felt her anger fade. If Isobel regarded Anna as she seemed to, then that was Isobel's loss. Anna scampered past them and into the bar. 'Hit me with an orange juice, Jimmy,' she cried, in imitation of some film.
'My God, another Lolita.' He uncapped the bottle and poured with a flourish. 'Are you going to pay me as well?'
'Certainly not,' Isobel said. Before Liz knew what she intended, Isobel had marched into the bar, thrust a coin at Jimmy and taken Anna by the arm. 'You shouldn't be in here at all, nor speaking to grown-ups like that.'
Jimmy's face betrayed his feelings. 'And I'll have no dumb insolence from you,' Isobel said. 'Did I hear you were studying to be a teacher? God help your class.'
Liz followed her angrily into the bar, on the verge of losing control. 'That's enough, Isobel. Anna's with me. Drink up, Anna, and then we must be going.'
Isobel turned her back on them. 'Well, of course she isn't my child.' That annoyed Liz less than the sympathetic grimace Isobel earned from the old couple in one corner of the bar. 'Goodbye then, Anna,' Isobel said, and to nobody in particular, 'Next time I shall ring up in advance to make sure I'm welcome.'
'Oh, for God's sake, Isobel,' Liz hissed, following her into the deserted foyer, 'don't be so bloody stupid,' but Isobel stalked off to her car and drove away.
Liz had another lager, and after a while her hands stopped twitching with frustration. If Alan was in as bad a mood as she assumed, there'd be no point in hurrying home. Still, she had said they'd be home for lunch. She finished her drink and winking at Jimmy, hurried Anna down to the beach. It was the quickest route, since the coast road was so winding.
Just now the beach was almost deserted. Bare strips of sand and pebbles stretched away for miles in both directions, walled in by sea and cliffs. The enormous sky was empty except for the white-hot sun. 'Do try not to show off in front of Granny Knight so much,' Liz said, but Anna was already chasing off along the beach.
Liz felt edgy, trying to keep pace with the child, and before long her feet were aching on the pebbles. As she passed beneath the churchyard, she found herself glancing up nervously at the precarious graves. She was glad when she reached the path to the top of the cliff, a quarter of a mile before the scar where Seaview had once been.
Anna went scrambling up ahead of her toward the pillbox. Beyond the cliff-edge, Liz could hear the bleating of the goats. When she reached the top she saw that they were beyond the pillbox, huddled just outside the hedge at the end of her garden. Anna was among them, chatting to them as usual, no doubt.
It was the way Anna was standing so still that told Liz something was wrong. She was staring into the grass at the foot of the hedge. Now she was backing away, almost falling over one of the kids as she went. Both she and the kid cried out, and Liz could hardly tell which cry was which. She ran to the child and hugged her, but that didn't stop Anna trembling. As the child clutched her mother's dress, burying her face in it, Liz stared into the undergrowth, afraid to see.
In the glaring sunlight everything was so intense that at first she could make out only an explosion of colours and textures beneath the spiky green grass: white, glistening red, and hectic swarming black. Someone had dumped an old rug there, ruined by tomato ketchup and covered with flies. It must be a rug, for she could see the legs at the corners: a rug that someone had used to carry offal to dump beneath the hedge – her hedge. But o
ne of the kids was missing, and Liz knew what that meant even before she saw its head, still attached to the disembowelled body by what remained of the neck. A bluebottle was crawling over one bulging eye.
Anna fled crying toward the house, and Liz watched her go. As for herself, she thought she would be sick. She stumbled toward the gate, trying not to breathe until she was well away from the hedge, and saw Alan staring down at Anna from his workroom. The next moment he had vanished, presumably to open the back door. In the midst of her horror, Liz felt inexplicably uneasy because she hadn't had time to see his face.
Eight
The rain came hissing toward the house as though the sea itself were breaking over the top of the cliff. As the grass of the lawn whipped back and forth, the whole of the garden seemed to be shuddering. Rain lashed the kitchen window, but Liz could see the hedge at the end of the garden all too well. The blackened hedge was tossing like an animal in pain, and she could hardly bear to look. As the black stain of a thundercloud sped towards her, engulfing the sky, she felt somehow as if a darker stain had seeped into the fabric of the house.
The mutilated animal had been so close; it might just as well have been inside the house. No wonder the house felt soiled and all at once a good deal smaller – though perhaps it felt so only to Liz. Last night Anna had sobbed for hours and insisted on sleeping with Liz, while Alan slept in the spare bedroom on the top floor, but at least that seemed to be the end of it; today she was just rainy-day restless, as far as Liz could tell, except that she refused to be on her own for any length of time.
As for Alan, the incident had made him more withdrawn. He seemed unable to work. Instead he'd been wandering about the house all day, looking for thoughts. She could hear his slow footsteps on the stairs. Anna had been helping make coffee, but now she hurried into her playroom, the only room on the ground floor that didn't overlook the back garden. Liz was staring out at the hedge again as Alan came into the kitchen.
'I wish you'd seen who did it,' she couldn't help saying.
'Don't you think I do too, for Christ's sake? It would make life a lot easier. You make it sound as if I didn't want to see.'
'It's only that you must have been so close when it happened. It just seems strange that you didn't hear anything.'
'Do you know what the most boring thing in the world is? Telling the same story twice. You heard what I told the police. Anyway, you know I like music when I'm working – or even,' he added bitterly, 'when I can't work. I don't see that there's anything terribly suspicious about that.'
The policeman who'd called yesterday had seemed to think there was. He was a large, stout, red-faced man who looked as if he ought to open a pub when he retired. It clearly disturbed him to have to interrogate a writer, because he'd made Alan repeat half his answers as if to show who was in charge. When he'd told Alan for the third time to think if he had seen anything suspicious, Liz had sensed Alan's growing fury, and it had frightened her. The policeman had left at last, promising vaguely that someone would keep an eye on things. Since then, Liz had kept feeling that the house was being watched, but she had yet to see the watcher. It wasn't in the least bit reassuring.
Nor was Alan – not while she knew that there was something he was holding back. Perhaps he sensed that; perhaps that was what was making him linger now that she had poured the coffee. He was clasping his mug and staring at the thin weaving steam. At last he said, 'Well, maybe I wasn't listening to music when it happened. It's just that I didn't want to say that to the police.'
He seemed to hope she would be satisfied with that. Of course she wasn't, but before she could question him, Anna came in. 'I don't know what to do,' she complained.
'Just a minute, Anna. I think I know something you'll like,' Liz said, and hurried to the living-room. Yes, there was a wild-life programme on television, the kind Anna loved: birds unfurling in slow motion, enormous alien close-ups of insects, worlds you could tread on without knowing they were there. She'd meant to draw the curtains unobtrusively over the patio doors, so that the sight of the hedge wouldn't remind Anna of yesterday, but the child had already followed her. Couldn't she have stayed with her father for just a few more moments? To make matters worse, as Liz drew the curtains Anna said, 'I don't want to be in here, mummy.'
'Oh, why not, darling? ^ 9
Anna pointed at the mantelpiece. 'I don't like that.'
'What, the claw?' On top of everything else, this seemed wilfully irritating. 'Why ever not?'
'I just don't. It's nasty. I don't like to go near it,' Anna said defiantly, as if Liz should understand a good deal more that she couldn't put into words.
'Well, don't worry. It won't be here much longer.' As far as Liz was concerned, that would have been the end of it. But just then Alan marched in.
'What's the matter now?' he said irritably to Anna.
'She doesn't like your claw.'
'Good God, Anna, it won't hurt you. Daddy's looking after it for someone.'
Anna trudged away to her playroom, looking lonely and vulnerable. Liz's heart suddenly went out to her. She must still need comforting. At least the rain was keeping her inside the house, out of danger. Last night Liz had imagined finding the child laid open beneath the hedge. They were all nervous. No wonder Anna found her father's irritability alarming.
Liz switched off the television, not least because its light made the claw appear to jerk. She still found it beautiful, too perfectly shaped to seem vicious, but the illusion of movement made her think of a restless severed limb. 'What were you going to tell me?' she said.
'Oh, nothing terribly significant,' he said reluctantly. 'It was only that my mother rang up yesterday afternoon, not long before you came home.'
That would have been after she came to the hotel. What did she have to say?'
'Nothing much. Anyway, it's not what she said. It's just that I might have been talking to her when what happened out there happened.'
His hand was resting on the mantelpiece, leading her gaze to the claw, and she had to look away, for the claw still appeared to be flickering. 'But what was she saying?'
'All sorts of things. Not just about you.'
Perhaps he couldn't see how tense she was growing. 'Such as?'
'Oh, that I behave as if I don't care for Anna, that kind of thing. Just words. They don't mean a thing. She's probably forgotten what she said by now. Look, I came down here for coffee, not to be distracted. I'm still trying to write this fucking book.'
'That's all you care about, isn't it? Nothing matters but your work. As long as that's all right, everyone else can go to hell.'
'It's a good job I do feel like that, or we'd soon be bloody starving. Aside from which, I've just told you that it isn't all right. Try listening for a change. You certainly aren't helping, or that wretched child.'
That seemed so unfair – good God, their entire life was built around his work schedule! For a moment she was too furious to speak.
'Christ, I'm sorry,' he said at once and taking hold of her shoulders, tried to pull her to him. But she was too stiff with fury to respond, even if she'd wanted to.
'I'm sorry,' he said again. 'I didn't mean what I said. I hardly know what I'm saying. All this business has got me down too, you know. I suppose I just try to keep my feelings to myself.'
'Then you should either try harder or not try at all.' Still, she was softening toward him; presumably, he'd been trying to seem strong for her sake. 'You shouldn't try to hide things from me. I always know when you do.'
'There's no point in worrying you when you can't help, is there?' He must be talking about his work – she couldn't think of anything else that would make him sound so savage. 'Anyway, there is something we ought to talk about, since you insist, and that's my mother.'
'Well, she certainly has enough to say about me.'
'Liz, you're being paranoid. Whatever makes you say that?'
'Because you know damn well she called you up yesterday to talk about me. Don't tell
me she accused you of not caring for Anna. She thinks the sun shines out of your arse.'
'Well, does it matter what she says? We know you're a hell of a mother. She only says these things because she feels left out. Maybe we should involve her more in Anna's upbringing. After all, she is my mother.'
'Alan – I've tried to involve her. But do you really want her telling Anna the opposite of everything we say?'
'Well, if it'll keep the peace-'
'I won't have Anna confused or worse, even to keep the peace.'
'Well, it's up to you,' he said irritably. 'Anyway, I've wasted enough time down here. Not that I think I'll be able to work after all this.'
Was that another dig? As he let go of the mantelpiece his hand brushed the metal claw, which rose for a moment, scratching at the air. 'By the way,' Liz said, 'weren't you supposed to be taking that to London?'
'Yes, I will be.' He seemed to want to change the subject. 'No point in making a special journey. Anyway, I thought you liked it;'
'Yes, I do, but Anna doesn't seem to. I don't want her disturbed for no reason, especially now.'
'I've told you, I'll take it next time I go.'
With that, he left her and tramped upstairs.
She stayed for a while in the long room, feeling dissatisfied. By now it was so dark outside the drenched windows that it looked as if the black sky were drowning the house. She had a vague feeling that Alan had deliberately used the argument to avoid explaining something to her. If there was no urgency about delivering the claw to London, why had he needed to bring it from Nigeria? But she found she couldn't think for any length of time about the claw; her thoughts grew blurred and repetitive, frustrating her.
Anyway, she didn't feel that was the explanation she was seeking.
Eventually she tiptoed out and peeked into the playroom. Anna was writing a story, gnawing her pencil and glancing up nervously when the rain tapped at the window. Liz withdrew quietly so as not to disturb her, and went up to her workroom on the floor above, next to Anna's bedroom. Here she could be alone when she wanted to be, with her large old desk, her sewing machine, her shelves of well-thumbed paperbacks, some of them dating back to her childhood. More important, from up here she could satisfy herself that the cliff-top and the beach were deserted. Somehow, though, that wasn't as reassuring as she'd hoped. Perhaps speaking to her parents would be.
The Claw Page 6
