The Claw

Twenty-three

Anna was sitting at a table in the room behind the counter at The Stone Shop. She was making a bird, trying to glue the halves of a shell onto the back of a stone for wings. The wings kept falling off, or sticking lopsidedly, and her fingers were sticky and peeling; they unglued themselves every time she moved them. There wasn't much room on the table for her to work, what with Rebecca's half-finished stone creatures, Rebecca's handbag spilling its load of handkerchiefs and lipsticks and make-up, and the 'doctor and nurse' love story that Rebecca was reading, which was folded in half, its pages glued together like a book daddy had once shown her that he'd had to cut open with a knife. She was fed up with gluing, she wanted to paint her bird – that was the part she enjoyed most. She looked longingly at the pots and brushes on the shelf, but it was no good, she had to make the bird first. She mustn't give up. She longed to feel she was some use to someone.

She had managed to line up the shell wings at last and was waiting for the glue to dry when someone at the counter said, 'Isn't that sweet.' An old lady had picked up Anna's caterpillar, several pebbles with a grin painted on the front one. Anna had stuck them on a large stone, which she'd painted green for grass. 'By Anna, aged 6', the cardboard notice said. While Anna watched, the old lady called Rebecca over and bought the caterpillar. 'That little girl in there made it, did she? What a clever child,' the old lady said. 'She'll go far.'

Anna smiled at her, then turned away. She felt like crying. Selling her work didn't matter any more, and nothing else seemed to. All she wanted was to know what she'd done to make daddy hate her so much.

He'd gone away without even saying goodbye to her. That showed how much he hated her, even more than what happened the night mummy had gone to the party. She didn't want to think about that, she wasn't even sure by now what had really happened, but she couldn't forget waking up the next morning to find he'd gone away. He always said goodbye to her, and 'Look after eachother' -and he always gave her a kiss to keep safe for him until he came back. This time he hadn't even spoken to her. That showed how much he blamed her for what had happened.

She went to the shelves for brushes and pots, to give herself something to do: yellow for the bird's body, blue for the wings. She carried them back to the table and sat there, trying to want to paint. But all she could think of was daddy. She was nearly sure that he'd gone away because of her. She had stopped him writing, whatever mummy said. There was only one other thing she could think of that he could blame her for, that would have worried him so much: she'd let the metal claw be stolen, the claw he'd brought home from Africa.

She ought to have seen who'd taken it. She would have done if she'd been in her playroom opposite the long room when the claw had been stolen – only she'd left her playroom because the man had been looking in the window. She was sure the man had been there – baby Georgie had seen him and started crying. She had almost seen him dodging out of sight, even if mummy didn't believe in him. But at the same time, she knew he was no excuse. If she hadn't left her playroom she would have seen who had come into the house.

She tried to remember hearing someone sneak in – she had been trying ever since that afternoon – but try as she might, she couldn't remember anything of the kind. She'd been sitting near the kitchen door. She was almost certain that no stranger had come into the house, but what would that mean? She felt she was trying to excuse herself. She'd let the claw be stolen, daddy had been looking after it for someone, it was far worse if you lost something that belonged to someone else. It was nearly enough of a reason for daddy to hate her, but knowing that still didn't help. Even supposing the claw could be found, she couldn't bear the idea that it might come back.

She didn't know why, she didn't want to think. She was glad it had been stolen; that was why she felt so guilty. She opened the yellow paint and dipped in a brush, to stop herself thinking. The glue should be dry by now. The claw mustn't come back, the idea terrified her, made her feel as if the stuffy room that smelled of glue and paints had turned into a freezer. It was worth being hated by daddy if it meant the claw had gone for good. The bargain shocked and dismayed her. She pulled the bird of shells toward her, and the wings came off again.

She was sitting miserably, feeling as if she'd pulled the wings off a butterfly by mistake, when Rebecca came in. 'That's a nice surprise, isn't it?' she said, which seemed a cruel joke, until Anna realized that she was talking about selling the caterpillar to the old lady. 'Since it's your first sale, I won't take a percentage.'

When Anna didn't smile, Rebecca came to see what was wrong. 'Never mind,' she said, spotting the broken bird. 'Shall I mend it for you? It won't take a minute.'

Anna nodded, but she didn't care, and that must have shown in her face. Rebecca sat down by her. 'What's the matter, love?'

Anna couldn't tell her. There seemed to be so many things she couldn't talk about now. She hadn't been able to tell mummy what had happened that night on the beach – even thinking about it made her feel somehow ashamed. But mummy had asked her only once, she seemed not to want to know. 'Is everything all right at home?' Rebecca said.

'Grandad isn't very well,' Anna said, just for something to say. 'Grandma and him were coming to stay with us, but now they can't.'

'So I believe.' Rebecca wasn't satisfied. 'Have you heard when your daddy's coming home?'

Anna had to look away. She didn't know if mummy had even spoken to him since he went away. Except to ask her about that night on the beach, mummy hadn't mentioned him at all, didn't want to talk about him. That showed how much was going wrong, and it frightened her. She was afraid to ask when he was coming home, in case mummy said 'never'.

Rebecca took her hand. 'If you ever need a friend to talk to, remember I'm here.'

Anna knew Rebecca wished she was her little girl, and for a moment she wanted to tell her some of what she felt – tell her how afraid she was of the claw, and how she didn't think that anyone had sneaked into the house to steal it. Rebecca had been there; perhaps she might have noticed something Anna had missed. Before Anna could think what to say, Rebecca looked back toward the shop. 'Here's your mummy now,' she said.

Anna felt a surge of relief. She didn't need to speak after all. Mummy was here, mummy would protect her. But protect her from what? All at once she felt uneasy. She couldn't think why, but she didn't want to go home.