The Claw

Eighteen

Before long, the party overflowed out of the hotel bar and into the foyer. Red wine tinted the goldfish pond, cigarette stubs were gathering at the roots of the potted plants; now and then the roar of conversation and laughter made the cut-glass chandeliers jingle. Most of the hotel guests had been drawn into the party now that their children were in bed, and then there were Gail's and Ned's friends from here to Norwich – big-buttocked girls who ran a riding school, middle-aged ladies Liz had seen sitting at their easels on the cliffs, a fiery old woman called Mrs Tremayne, who had made an elaborate flower arrangement specially and was now shaking her stick at Gail: 'Don't you be saying I shouldn't have made you a present, Gail Marshall.' A pair of Labradors were chasing through the ground floor into the bar, where the chef was arm-wrestling all comers; from there into the lounge where Jimmy the barman was singing folk songs to a guitar – and finally round and round the goldfish pond, almost knocking Rebecca from her perch on the stone rim, where she sat looking pensive. No doubt she was thinking about Jane. Liz felt almost guilty for enjoying herself so much.

There was no doubt about it, she appreciated having an evening away from Anna. Of course, she and Alan could hire sitters – sulky teenage girls who seemed to regard the job as one more dull village activity – but a night like this was special. It was like not being married at all, except that at the end of it she'd be able to go home to everything she and Alan had built together. She felt ten years younger, especially now that she'd had a few drinks. To think she'd been doubtful about leaving Alan at home!

She wandered through the crowd, looking for someone she knew well enough to flirt with. At least Alex wasn't here, though in view of the fact that Jane hadn't come Liz wouldn't have been surprised to see her escorted by Derek. Of course the theft from Jane's bag was. really the last straw. She must have the Walterses round to dinner; surely there was a way to force Derek to face the situation before it was too late? In the lounge Jimmy was singing We Shall Overcome so passionately that she thought he must be quite drunk. Sidestepping the Labradors, she went into the bar.

Ned was coaxing corks out of several dusty liqueur bottles that had been here longer than the Marshalls. 'Here you are, Liz,' he shouted through the crowd. 'You don't want to miss this.' She struggled across the room, which was hot and smoky even though the windows were open, and he thrust a glass of something into her hand. She was about to take a sip when she heard a child crying; the switchboard was connected to microphones in all the rooms. 'It's Tessa,' Gail announced, and the little girl's mother hurried upstairs. Liz couldn't help smiling to herself: for once, she didn't have to listen for Anna – not tonight. She turned and chatted to Ned and some of his friends; then, when she-began to feel dizzy with heat and smoke, she wormed her way out to the foyer and went to see what Jimmy was doing.

The ferocity of his last song seemed to have lost him his audience, for he was sitting alone in the lounge, among the disintegrating magazines and the cupboards full of board games, with the guitar between his knees and his chin resting above the pegs. His long face and full lips were drooping.

'I hate to think what you're going to sing now,' Liz said, in an attempt to cheer him up.

He tried to smile. 'I don't feel much like singing at all.'

Liz sat beside him on the musty settee. 'Anything I can do to help?'

'No, and I can't do anything either.' He was running his thumbnail up and down the lowest string, making a sound like a discordant saw. 'It's my girlfriend Heather. She's in trouble with the law.'

'Nothing serious, I hope.'

'Depends what you call serious.' He slapped his hand over the soundhole, suffocating the echoes of the string. 'Half a gram of cannabis,' he said, with sudden fury. 'Just about enough to make one joint. Would you say that was serious?'

'No, not really.'

'Tell that to the law. You'd think she'd assaulted a child or something. If she lived in a big city, the police probably wouldn't even care; but she's living in a small town, so she'll have to go in front of small-town magistrates.' He was sawing at the string again, so savagely that his nail was cracking. 'And that's only the start of it. She's training to be a teacher – that's how we met. Christ knows what this'll do to her career.'

Liz was sympathetic, but growing ill at ease; another child was crying out for her mother, and it sounded uncomfortably like Anna. 'She'll still be able to get a job somewhere, though, won't she?'

'What, with a police record? You reckon that's a good qualification for teaching, do you?' He looked ashamed of losing his temper with her. 'Sorry – some of the people whojvere in here before got on my nerves. There was one girl so pissed she could hardly stand up who was telling me all about the evils of drugs. Anyone who uses drugs should be flogged in public, and all that frigging nonsense.' He grinned mirthlessly. 'Well, no use letting people like that get through to you. That won't help Heather.'

Liz squeezed his hand. 'I'm sure it won't turn out as badly as you think. Whatever happens, she's lucky to have you to look after her.' But Jimmy didn't seem comforted. She would have stayed with him – it dismayed her to see him so downcast, and she was sure that she could raise his spirits – but the faint cries of 'Mummy' were nagging at her. She knew she ought not to interfere: it couldn't be

Anna, however much it sounded like her. But at the same time she wanted to go and find out what was wrong.

Jimmy's long fingers were limp in her hand. Perhaps he was only suffering her touch and really wanted to be left alone. 'Let me know what happens, anyway,' Liz said, 'and you know you can count on me if there's anything I can do to help.' She was already heading for the foyer. Really, someone had to see to that child.

But when she reached the foyer, she could no longer hear the cries. Someone must have gone to her at last. Liz wandered around the foyer and almost fell over the romping Labradors. She couldn't see anyone she knew. She was relieved to see Mr Mullen, Joseph's father, hadn't come to the party; she wouldn't have known what to say to him. She paused by the switchboard – still no sound – then she went to see what Ned was uncorking.

She had just entered the bar when everyone suddenly went quiet. For a moment she thought it was something she had done. Conversations failed one after another, layers of sound peeled away to reveal the silence. But nobody was looking at her; they were ail staring at the open windows. Was it going to be another anniversary surprise? Then Liz heard the cries again, louder and more desperate – not from the switchboard at all, but out there in the dark.

'Anna!' she cried, so loudly that the crowd fell back to let her reach the window. Before she reached it she was running.

Almost at once she was beyond the light of the hotel, and the bright mats of grass, rectangular and spiky, were giving way to velvety darkness. Only the roaring of the sea stopped her short of the edge of the cliff. Underfoot the grass was slippery. She went forward cautiously, furious with herself for taking so much time.

When she reached the edge, she saw Anna. The beach was a long sinuous glimmer, foam flecking the border of sea and sand, but the palest shape was a small lonely figure at the foot of the cliff. 'Anna!' Liz cried, suddenly afraid that the tiny figure wouldn't move. But Anna cried out and began to run desperately back and forth as Liz ranged along the cliff top, looking for the nearest path down.

Finding it, she ran down the steep dim narrow slope, clutching at handfuls of grass, her heart lurching as sand slithered from under her feet. Anna was scrambling toward her, and they met halfway. The child hurled herself on Liz as if she was drowning and clung to her, shaking and sobbing. Though Liz couldn't see her in any detail, she seemed physically unharmed. That was one less fear – but what had happened to Alan? 'AH right, mummy's here,' she murmured, over and over. 'It's all right now. What's wrong?'

She was hugging Anna fiercely, waiting for her to speak, when she heard something fall on the beach. She peered down, screwing up her eyes. At last she made out, amidst the stones like the scales of a snake as long as the beach, a face turned up to her. For a moment she was ready to defend Anna in any way she could, and then she thought she recognized the man on the beach. 'Is that you, Alan?' she called, hardly believing.

He didn't answer, but she could see now that it was. It was Alan, even though Anna shrank against her as he came slowly up the path. 'It's all right, Anna,' she murmured. 'It's daddy.' Whatever had happened couldn't have been so bad after all. Her heart could slow down now, stop pounding.

He came and stood close to them in the dark. The wind ruffled her clothes, striking chill on her exposed shoulders. Was that why Anna was trembling? But as he reached out to touch one or both of them, Anna flinched away. At once Liz knew that whatever was wrong, she didn't want to discuss it in front of the people at the hotel, nor here on this narrow precarious path. 'Come on, both of you,' she said, her voice harsh with apprehension. 'Let's get you home.'

On the way to her car, she avoided the party by going round the nursery side of the hotel, where the swings in the playground squealed faintly in the dark. Anna refused to stay with Alan in the car while Liz said her good-byes, so Liz left him staring blankly into the driving mirror and hurried into the hotel, with Anna clinging to her hand. She was beginning to dread finding out what had happened. There was a look in Alan's eyes that she had never seen before.

Gail was in the foyer. 'Oh, you mustn't go yet, Liz. Ned's just going to open the oldest bottle. It's been such a good party that we thought we would, while all our best friends are here. You'll have to stay for that. I'll never forgive you if you go now.' The sight of Anna seemed to throw her for a moment, but she was clearly so drunk that nothing surprised her very much. 'Anna can go and listen to Jimmy. You'd like that, wouldn't you, chick?'

'I'm sorry, Gail, we absolutely have to go. I'll tell you why next time,' Liz said, privately wondering if she'd be able to.

When Anna saw that her father was in the car, she wouldn't get in. Eventually he climbed out dully, like a sleepwalker, apparently unable to look at them. 'Quickly, Anna, in the back,' Liz said. Someone had to behave as if nothing was amiss. The questions would have to wait until they were home.

As Liz drove, the road wound back and forth, lit hedges springing up in front of her like spooks in a ghost train, Alan's glimmering face riding the dark. The journey had never seemed so long. As soon as they arrived, she rushed Anna upstairs to bed, then had to sit with her, stroking her hair, for almost an hour before the child fell asleep. In all that time Anna said only, 'Don't go away, mummy. Don't leave me again.' At least she could speak; but her plea only made Liz more anxious to question Alan. Anna's eyes drooped shut at last, and remained shut when Liz stood up. She tiptoed to the door and glanced back at the small vulnerable tear-streaked face. How dare anyone try to harm Anna? She strode downstairs, feeling angry, miserable, afraid, determined.

Alan was in the long room, staring at his distorted reflection in the dead television screen. As soon as she came in, he stood up and faced her. His expression was unreadable – deliberately so, she thought. Before she could speak, he said, 'Look, Liz, this is very important. I want you to be honest with me. Have you been feeling hostile toward Anna lately?'

She couldn't believe it. After all that had happened -whatever it was – he was accusing her. 'What are you trying to say?' she demanded.

'Don't ask me to explain just yet. Look, this is vital, you've got to tell me.' His eyes looked raw with frustration now. 'Have you felt as if you wanted to hurt her? Tell me, for Christ's sake. I won't blame you.'

'Just what has your mother been saying about me?'

'Oh Christ, don't start that now. Keep to the point.' His attempt to be calm had failed; his fingers were at his temples, as if he wanted to claw them open. 'Are you saying you haven't had any such feelings? None at all?'

'That's right,' she said, her voice sweet with fury.

'Will you swear?'

'I'll tell you, Alan, if I start swearing, I won't stop.'

'Well, I can understand how you feel. I don't blame you.'

That was the second time in a couple of minutes that he'd undertaken not to blame her, as if she ought to be grateful. Was he having a breakdown? Certainly she felt as if she no longer knew him. He looked as if he was willing her to ask him something so that he could explain, and perhaps she might have, except that just then Anna came downstairs. T want to sleep with you, mummy,' she pleaded. T can't sleep.'

It wasn't the plea that made Liz afraid, it was the way Alan looked: pitifully relieved. 'Yes, you two have the bed,' he said. 'I'll stay down here.' As Liz took the child upstairs, Anna clinging to her so hard it was clear that she wouldn't let her mother leave her alone again, she heard him say, 'I don't expect I'll sleep.'