The Claw

by Ramsey Campbell

  The old lady alighted two stations before Norwich. One of her bags burst, spilling apples over the platform. Alan had jumped to his feet and was opening the door to help her until the thought of missing the train stopped him. Wasn't he too eager to believe that there was no danger at home? Didn't he feel too reassured – suspiciously so? He'd already forgotten the claw too often, and he was beginning to be on the alert for sighs that his thoughts were being manipulated.

  Before the train came to a halt at Norwich, he'd flung open the door and was running toward the ticket barrier. By the time he reached the station forecourt his keys were in his hand. He backed the car out in a single sweeping movement and swung it out onto the main road. Now he felt in control, no longer helpless. AH his instincts were tuned at last.

  He drove steadily toward the coast road. He would be in time, he must be. The green landscape sped past, water flashed and vanished. He was halfway home when he thought of the last time he'd driven so fast – the day he'd scared Anna so badly. Liz had accused him of trying to kill the child. Had that been what he'd wanted? He was driving faster now, no longer calm, muttering curse after curse at Marlowe, who'd given him the wretched claw in the first place.

  The shadows lengthened as he drove along the coast road, darkness already fingering the landscape, reaching for his home. His readiness to manufacture images dismayed him, but so did the thought that they might be true. Overhead the clouds were thickening, hastening the twilight. Everything ahead of him looked smudged, and he would have slowed down if he'd dared. Nothing was clear any more.

  Now he could see the house. It looked utterly innocent: lights in the curtained windows downstairs, the kind of sight that would look welcoming at the end of a winter drive. He slewed the car into the driveway and turned off the engine. There was silence – no sound of the women, no sound of Anna or Jane's baby, Georgie. No doubt Liz's at-home was over by now, but why was the house so still? He left the car in front of the garage and ran across the lawn to the front door.

  He had the key ready. It slipped easily into the lock. The door swung inward on the hall, the darkest place in the house. Then there was Liz, coming slowly toward him. He couldn't see her face, and that made him afraid to speak.

  'Everything all right?' he said, to get it over with.

  'Oh, Alan,' she said. 'I'm afraid to tell you what's happened.'

  Fifteen

  It was Rebecca who found the claw. She and Gail had arrived together, shortly after Jane and her baby. Rebecca was placing Anna's tortoise made of shells on the mantelpiece, beneath Liz's seascapes. 'There you are,' she said, 'the start of an exhibition. Two generations of the Knights.' She stooped to tickle baby Georgie, who was laughing because everyone else was, and then she peered under the chair nearest the fireplace. 'Hello, what's hiding under here?' she said, and scooped out the claw.

  'Oh, no. Alan was supposed to be taking that to London.' Liz couldn't understand how she'd managed to overlook it while cleaning the room this morning; she could only assume that she hadn't seen it because she'd expected it not to be there. 'I can't even phone and let him know. He'll be out lunching with his editor, but I don't know where.'

  'Pigs. Well, it'll give him an excuse to go to London again, so I don't suppose he'll mind. I'll leave it here, shall I?' Rebecca said, and replaced the claw on the mantelpiece.

  Anna cried out. 'Oh, don't put it next to my tortoise.'

  'Why, do you think they're going to fight? It might be an unequal contest, at that.' Rebecca moved the tortoise along the mantelpiece. 'Happy now?'

  Anna nodded reluctantly. Liz had done her best to persuade the child that the man who had killed the goats was locked away, but Anna still seemed unconvinced. 'Can I take Georgie in my room and show him my toys?' Anna said.

  'Oh, I wish you would,' Jane said. 'Anyone who takes him out of my hair is the next best thing to a saint.'

  Anna grinned as if Jane had made a silly joke, and carried Georgie across the hall. 'Be very careful with him, Anna,' Liz called.

  Jane seemed already to have forgotten about him. She was gazing at the claw. 'That's a beautiful piece. It's very old, isn't it? How long have you been hiding it from us?'

  'Alan brought it back from Nigeria. It isn't ours, we're only looking after it.' Liz was feeling a hint of dislike for the claw herself now, which annoyed her because she knew it was irrational. 'Follow me,' she said. 'Long drinks are waiting in the fridge.'

  They sat in the back garden, drinking and chatting idly. Jane had delivered her petition and sounded defiantly hopeful, Gail was having a party tonight in the hotel to celebrate her wedding anniversary: seventeen years with Ned, she announced – which meant she could invite her friends without making them feel they had to buy presents. Liz noticed that she'd issued the invitation before Alex came. After a while they stopped talking and just lazed in the sunlight. Warm breezes ruffled the grass, the sea murmured at the beach. All at once they heard Anna shouting. 'Oh, what's he done now?' Jane complained, heaving herself to her feet.

  'You sit and rest, Jane. I'll sort things out.' Liz didn't like Jane's edginess at all, not when it had to do with the baby. She hurried to the playroom to find out what was wrong.

  It wasn't Georgie after all; he was sitting happily in the middle of the room, hugging two of Anna's old teddy-bears. Anna was leaning out of the window, shouting at a group of teenagers on holiday, who were breaking off souvenirs of the garden hedge. When Liz went to the front door, they strolled onward. She left the door open for Alex, though by now had begun to hope that Alex's lateness meant she wasn't coming.

  As Liz emerged into the back garden Gail was saying, 'I think people who hate their children need medical help. I was telling her about Spike's father,' she explained to Liz. 'One of the other parents finally told him what they thought of him. I'd been biting my tongue ever since he arrived – not that telling him off did any good. The whole family left the next day, and no doubt he made life even worse for Spike when they got home.'

  Liz wondered if some of this was meant for Jane. 'Anyway, that's enough depressing news,' Gail said. 'Are we starting soon, Liz? I could do with something to eat to fend off the effects of alcohol. We can't wait for Alex all day.'

  'I'm sure she's coming. She told me she was.' Jane sounded almost desperate. Liz guessed she was terrified of any kind of scene with Alex, in case it weakened her pretence that nothing was wrong. Gail looked as though she felt she had to speak, but Liz grimaced at her just in time, for here was Alex now.

  She was wearing even less than last week: shorts, and a bandanna that just covered her breasts. Liz felt Jane shrink into herself. 'Sorry I'm late,' Alex said jauntily. 'I was down on the beach reading a script my agent sent me, and I lost track of the time.'

  Liz went into the kitchen to get her a drink. Through the window she heard Jane ask, 'What's the script about?'

  'Well, they want me to play the younger woman in this triangle. She keeps the marriage together by sleeping with the husband and helping him sort out his problems.'

  There was a silence tense as wire about to snap. 'I'm sure that must appeal to you,' Gail said icily.

  Jane got up so quickly that her canvas seat fell over. 'Do you want another drink, Gail?' She sounded close to hysteria. 'I'm having one, will you?'

  'Let's take the drinks into the dining-room,' Liz called, glad to join in the interruption. 'I know Gail's starving.'

  They stood aside for one another in the doorway, a ritual of politeness that seemed somewhat farcical under the circumstances. In the end Alex went first, and looked long-suffering; she'd only just sat down outside, after all. Jane went to check on Georgie, and came back looking relieved. 'He's happy for once,' she said.

  Liz had already laid out sandwiches and cakes. Gail and Rebecca heaped their plates, and Alex took her usual token couple of sandwiches. 'I have to watch my figure when I'm going to play a part,' she said, and Liz could almost hear the four of them asking the same question: when did Alex e
ver do anything else? Jane was eating as if she couldn't taste the food at all, stuffing sandwiches into her mouth with a kind of grim absorption. One way or another, the food was disappearing rapidly; there wouldn't be much left for Anna.

  Liz went into the hall to call her, but hesitated; wouldn't it be better to leave the children where they were, to give Jane more of a respite? She came back without calling, trying to be unobtrusive about it; but Alex had noticed and misinterpreted her actions. 'I don't wonder you're worried about her,' Alex said, 'even if they have put that madman away. It's a pity that's all they're allowed to do to him.'

  'What are you talking about?' Rebecca said.

  'Why, whatever his name is, the creature in the raincoat. Did he ever have a name? I'm amazed they let him roam around for so long. You could tell what he was like just by looking at him.'

  'If you mean Joseph, he was just about the gentlest person I've ever met. I'm sure he never hurt a Uving thing until these last few weeks.'

  'Never got caught at it, you mean. I'm sorry, Rebecca, but it's because of people like you that there are so many criminals at large.'

  Perhaps Rebecca felt compelled to defend Joseph because it was Alex who was attacking him. 'There was nobody I was happier to have in my shop,' she said.

  'Then you can't be much of a judge of character. I don't mean to be rude, but you put the rest of us at risk with your attitudes. Don't you realize the danger Anna must have been in before they caught him? Just because you haven't any children of your own it doesn't mean you can ignore their welfare.'

  Liz was damned if she'd let Alex drag Anna into the argument. 'That's nonsense. I'm sure she was never in the slightest danger from Joseph.'

  Rebecca interrupted. 'You're right about one thing, Alex – I try not to judge people. But there are cases where I make an exception,' she said grimly. Jane gaped and reached out to hush her, but it looked as if Rebecca was determined to go on – except that just then, up the hall, Georgie began screaming.

  Liz was first into the hall. Anna was already running towards her. 'He's frightened, mummy! He saw the man looking in the window!'

  'Which man?' Liz glanced into the playroom first. Georgie was sitting on the floor, paralysed by his own screams, but the window was empty. As Jane picked him up, Liz strode out of the open front door. The garden was deserted, and so was the road. 'Which man, darling?' she said.

  'The man. The man who comes into the garden.'

  'Now I told you, Anna, the police have taken him away. You remember I told you that, don't you? There's nothing to be frightened of any more. Anyway, come along, you can have some sandwiches before they're all gone.' The women would have to restrain their hostilities in front of Anna.

  But Georgie was a problem. Jane had taken him into the dining-room, but he still continued to scream. Jane seemed unable to cope with him. 'Shut up, Georgie,' she was muttering, 'shut up, shut up,' in a voice so lifeless and monotonous that the others looked away awkwardly.

  Alex stood up as soon as Liz returned. 'Would you mind very much if I go now? I've got a bit of a headache, and I don't want it to get worse. I wouldn't be much use here.'

  Liz could only stare at her and wonder if she could really be so lacking in any kind of awareness. Still, she was leaving, that was the main thing. Liz didn't bother to see her out.

  Alex's move seemed to release the others from their stasis. 'Let me have him, Jane,' Gail said, and rocked Georgie quiet almost at once.

  Jane bent forward in her chair as though about to be sick, and began to sob. Rebecca tried to put her arm round her, but Jane shook her off. 'Leave me alone,' she cried. 'It's only plain Jane, she's not worth bothering about. She even drives away other people's guests. Nobody wants to know her. She's no use as a mother either. You'd think she could at least be a mother with these tits.'

  The women encouraged her to let go, sob it all out, in the hope that she might feel better. Liz made her a cup of tea, and Anna gravely brought her a sandwich. When Jane refused with an attempt at a smile, Anna went back to her own sandwiches and seemed to lose interest in the situation. Gail put Georgie down and tried to comfort Jane. 'Don't you worry about driving that bitch away. If you hadn't, I would have.' But that only made Jane flinch further into herself. Then they had to chat to her and change the subject, and that was how nobody noticed Georgie crawling away to the long room.

  After a while Jane ceased sobbing, and sat hunched over her cup of tea, sipping it shakily. At last she looked up. Her eyes seemed to say that she felt better now, but instead she suddenly cried out and almost dropped the cup. 'Where is he? Where's Georgie?'

  She leapt to her feet and hurried down the hall. Liz let her go. She mustn't go herself, however apprehensive she felt all of a sudden; that would only be taking responsibility for Georgie away from Jane. There was silence except for the rumbling of the sea, an ominous rumbling. Then Jane cried out, and Liz went running down the hall.

  Her heart was pounding, her mouth suddenly parched. The front door was open; Alex must have left it that way. Beyond the doorway of the long room, the sea was rumbling; for a hallucinatory moment it sounded as if the room itself were full of thunder. She stumbled through the doorway, into the room.

  Georgie was propped up by the television. Jane was in the middle of the carpet, staring at Liz. She was holding her handbag wide open, exhibiting it, but at first Liz couldn't tell what was wrong. 'Someone was in the house,' Jane cried. 'I left my bag in here and they've taken all my money.'

  Liz had to make her face into a mask, in case Jane saw how relieved she was. Whatever Liz had feared – she no longer knew what it was, if she ever had – it hadn't happened. But Jane was pointing at the mantelpiece. 'And they took that,' she said. Anna's tortoise was still there beneath the seascapes, its pebble eyes gleaming dully – but the African claw had gone.

  Sixteen

  Alan didn't dare believe it. It seemed too good to be true. The police had already been, Liz said – the stout policeman yet again, with an expression that suggested the joke was beginning to wear thin – but he hadn't searched the house. Alan began searching at once: first the long room, in case the claw had only fallen after all, and then the rest of the ground floor, in case Georgie might have dragged it somewhere. Suppose the thieves had kept Jane's money and thrown away the claw? Suppose it was still close to the house? He went out to look.

  The sky was clearing. Twilight would take its time after all. The gardens, the hedges, the house – everything looked calm and clear, as if it were giving back some of the light of the day. He searched the gardens, then he paced back and forth along the road, a leaden strip between the glowing verges. Once he caught sight of a glimmer among the roots of a hedge, but it was only an empty bottle. If there was anything to find, in this light he should see it at once.

  Eventually he went down to the beach. Above the sea the sky resembled smoked glass. Foam spread across the dying colours of pebbles and sand. Along the cliff the Britannia Hotel was lit up, and he could hear music: Gail's and Ned's party had begun. He searched until it was too dark to see, by which time he was well away from the house. Why was he still behaving as if the thieves had thrown the claw away? Whoever had stolen it must have it now, and as far as Alan was concerned, they deserved whatever it brought them.

  He climbed the path toward the pillbox, and as he came in sight of home he felt like a climber who'd reached the last slope to the peak. It was an immense relief to be rid of the claw at last. It had gone as unexpectedly as it had come and, thank God, Anna was safe after all. Whoever had stolen the claw had also taken away Alan's aggressive feelings towards the child. He felt grateful to the thieves. Now he needn't admit any of those feelings about the child to Liz, and that was even more of a relief.

  By the time Alan returned from his search, Liz had put Anna to bed and was sitting in the long room, trying to read a Stephen King novel. 'It looks as if it's gone for good,' Alan said happily.

  She must have thought his tone was
meant to cheer her up. 'I'm sorry,' she said.

  'Don't worry, Liz. It wasn't your fault, and anyway it really doesn't matter.'

  'Well, I don't think it was my fault myself. It was that Amis bitch, treating everything as if it's hers. Doesn't even bother closing other people's doors. All the same, I do feel responsible.'

  'There's no need.' He wanted her to share his feeling of relief. 'I've told you, it doesn't matter.'

  'If it doesn't matter, why did you spend so long searching?'

  'Just to make sure.' She was undermining his sense that everything was all right now. 'Honestly, I'm glad it's gone. I should never have brought it home in the first place.'

  'But what about the people you were supposed to give it to?'

  'I'll phone them in the morning. I don't think they'll care much either. They didn't seem to think it was particularly valuable.' If Hetherington made a fuss, too bad; he could go and look for it himself, and suffer the consequences. 'Look,' Alan said, suddenly inspired, 'I tell you what. All this has been a strain on you, and no wonder. I'll stay with Anna while you go to Gail's party.'

  'Oh, it's too late. I'd never be ready in time.'

  'Of course you will. It won't take you long to get ready. Goon.'

  'I'd rather go with you.'

  'I know, but we'd never get a sitter now. You go, it'll be just what you need.'

  After a while she stood up and kissed him, then she went upstairs to change, though not without a doubtful backward glance. He leafed through the television schedules: nothing worth watching. Maybe he'd play a video-cassette.