The Claw

Twenty-four

Halfway through the village, Liz began to hurry. Beneath the cloudless August sky the houses shone like chalk. Parents were urging children back to hotels for lunch and trying to persuade them to part with bucketfuls of crabs and pebbles, souvenirs of the beach. Fishermen bristling with rods tramped through the crowds, lunchtime coachloads of tourists piled into the pubs. The sun stood over all of them, baking Liz's bare arms, but she felt cut off from everything, trapped in her own world, surrounded by strangers. In the whole street there wasn't a face that she knew, and Anna had been out of her sight for too long.

Eventually she struggled as far as the post office, through the crowd that halted bodily to watch a hang-glider every time he sailed by above the village. Sunlight was peeling the 'Local Author' sign away from the window above Alan's books. The sight of his name, repeated again and again like an admonition, made her feel depressed and helpless, and as she noticed how the sunlight was fading his name, she wanted to weep. She had never been able to reach the part of him that created his stories: she hadn't wanted to, she'd known that he must keep it secret and untouched. Now it was as if she'd never known him at all. She made to hurry past, and collided with Jane's husband Derek.

'Just the person I wanted to see,' he said.

'I'm rather in a hurry, Derek.'

'I'll be quick.' Momentarily, hysterically, she wondered if he said that to his women in bed. She could imagine him as being slightly apologetic as a lover. Was it his politeness, or his faint air of needing to be mothered, that appealed to his female conquests? He looked and carried himself rather like Leslie Howard: at nine years old, when she'd seen Gone with the Wind, she'd preferred Ashley Wilkes to Rhett Butler. Now she found it difficult to understand what she'd seen in either of them.

'I was wondering if it would be convenient for us to take up your dinner invitation soon,' Derek was saying, as if he were in his office in Norwich, dictating a solicitor's letter. Some of his obsessive correctness was at Jane's insistence. At least he was in his shirt-sleeves today, though he still wore a tie with a gold pin and carried his jacket folded neatly over his arm. 'Or would you rather wait until Alan comes home?' he said.

'I don't know when that'll be.'

She could feel him recoiling from the hint of wrongness, much like Jane. You bloody hypocrite, she thought, and almost said it out loud. 'I think it would do Jane good-to get out of the house more than she does,' he said. 'I really don't know what's wrong with her just now.'

The only reason he was taking Jane out was that Alex was away filming. Perhaps Liz's thoughts showed on her face, for he said, 'You don't care for me very much, Liz, do you?'

'I don't care for what you're doing to Jane.'

'Perhaps if you could see the situation from my side…'

'Yes, well, this is hardly the place to discuss that. Look, I've invited you both to dinner, and that invitation still stands. This week's no good, but how about Monday?'

'Monday will be fine. I'm very grateful to you, Liz.'

He made it sound as if she was undertaking a duty. Of course she was, but all the same, just now she'd be glad of company at home. She hurried away, shaking her head, to The Stone Shop.

Rebecca came out of the room behind the counter. 'Anna just made her first sale. I'll have to take her on as an apprentice. How was your morning?'

'Oh, you know,' Liz said, hoping that Rebecca didn't.

'Like that, eh? Well, never mind.' She looked sympathetic. 'Any news of your father?'

'No change. I suppose he's as well as can be expected.' He'd had a coronary. Last time she'd seen her parents her mother had been vainly trying to cut down his intake of food and drink and cigarettes; Liz ought to have seen what was going on, but she must have felt that her father would never change, would always be this stout jolly untroubled figure – Father Christmas all the year round. No doubt his air of seeming to have no troubles had made their effect on him worse. Her mother refused to let Liz go to help; the doctor said he'd be all right if he took things easy… She could cope… Liz must have problems of her own… If only she knew! Liz mustn't worry, her mother had said -an impossible piece of advice.

She beckoned Anna out of the room fuil of shells. 'I think we'd better leave Rebecca to it now.'

'Oh, do I have to go home, mummy?'

'You certainly do if you want any lunch. Come on,' she said more gently, 'we'll have rolimops with salad. You like those. Rebecca doesn't want to put up with you all day.'

'Not a bit of it, Liz. I'd happily keep her until closing time.'

'Well, it's very nice of you to say so, Rebecca, but we really must be going.' Rebecca's motives were kind, but she was rapidly undermining her authority. 'I've things to do at home.'

Rebecca must think she could see through that – perhaps she could – for she said, 'Have you heard from Alan?'

'Yes, he's been keeping in touch.'

'How is he?'

'Very well.' Liz wasn't sure if she sounded bitter or ironic. How much did Rebecca suspect? All she should know was that Alan had gone away again – Liz couldn't bring herself to talk about the situation, even to her. As Liz hurried Anna out of the shop, Rebecca watched them dubiously.

The sunlight outside made them blink like moles. At first Liz could see nothing at all. Strangers closed around them, and she kept hold of Anna's arm until they reached the village green, where the crowd was less dense. Anna didn't run ahead as she usually did when Liz let go of her. Instead she gazed up at Liz, looking heartbreakingly old. 'When will daddy come home?' she said.

Liz hurried her toward the coast road to avoid being overheard. 'Do you want him to?' she said, and suddenly felt tactless. 'Yes, I think I do.' 'You aren't sure.'

'Yes, I am.' Anna sounded defiant. 'He just frightened me before he went away, that's all. I thought he wanted to hurt me. He didn't seem like daddy at all. But I do want him to come back, I do.' Suddenly she was near to weeping. 'He hasn't gone away because of me, has he?'

'Of course not, darling. You mustn't think that. You know it's always his work that takes him away.' 'But what made him like that? He did frighten me.' 'Perhaps problems with his work. You know how he can be sometimes.' She hoped that convinced Anna – because it didn't convince her. If anything, Anna had been closer to the truth: Alan no longer seemed like anyone she knew or wanted to know. When he'd called her from Lagos a few days ago she'd felt that she was talking to a stranger -except that no stranger could have made her feel such a mixture of emotions: anger, grief, nervousness, defensive-ness… It had been a bad line, hardly the best medium for confession or explanations, but all the same, she'd been appalled by the way he chatted on to her as if nothing had happened. She could tell that he knew how false he sounded, but what comfort was that? She'd wondered if he'd called for reassurance. If he'd only admitted that, or asked for her help, she would have told him to come back, that together they would deal with whatever was affecting him – but he wouldn't even give her a hint, nothing to hold onto at all. She'd known her father was ill by then, but she hadn't told Alan. He was no longer someone she wanted to tell.

Now that they were in sight of home, Anna was running on ahead. Goats were cropping the grass near the hedge. At least they were safe now that Joseph had been put away. Outside the garden, the parched grass was turning the colour of straw. Above the sea, on which glinting ripples swarmed to the horizon, a few gulls circled, repeating elaborate patterns of grey and white. The white house looked starkly isolated in the flat landscape, the windows blank with sunlight, preventing her from seeing inside. As she drew near she heard that the phone was ringing.

Her mouth tasted sour, her stomach tightened. Was it Alan or her mother? She fumbled in her handbag for her key as she ran toward the house. No time for distractions: nobody was watching her from the field across the road -nobody could be as red as that. The crimson glimpse at the edge of her vision must have been sunlight through her eyelids.

She ran through the hot stuffy house, trying to blink away the dimness, and grabbed the downstairs phone. 'Hello?' she gabbled, afraid that whoever it was might have given up.

'May I speak to Mr Knight?' The voice was sharp, asexual.

'I'm afraid he isn't here.' She was rather annoyed to have been made nervous for no reason – just another business call. 'Can I help?'

'Are you his secretary?'

'If I am, someone owes me a lot of wages. I'm his wife.'

'Oh, I beg your pardon.' The joke had gone down like a lead balloon. 'I take it he's keeping in touch with you?'

'To some extent. Why?'

'I'm sorry, you must wonder who I am. My name is Hetherington, of the Foundation for African Studies. Presumably you know that your husband returned to Nigeria to find out more about the artefact he brought home – the artefact that was stolen from your house. He was supposed to convey it to us. I wonder if you have any news of it?'

Now she knew who he was. Alan had mentioned him.

But she was still bewildered: was that why Alan had gone back to Nigeria? 'No, the police are still looking,' she said.

'If you'd like to take my number, you can keep me informed, if you will. I'm sure you understand that the artefact is the property of the Foundation. If it is retrieved, it should be delivered to us at once.'

She scribbled his number on the pad beside the phone, then replaced the receiver and stood there, pencil in one hand, receiver in the other. So Alan had been so worried about the loss of the African claw that it had taken him back to Nigeria? He'd already had problems with his work, and then she'd allowed the claw to be stolen.".'. She couldn't condone the way he'd behaved toward Anna, but it seemed that she had to take some of the blame herself. Perhaps she needn't feel so helpless any longer. At least now she could see how she might help.

Anna was in the long room, playing with the remote control, making television channels interrupt one another, giggling. As she remembered how nervous Anna had been of that room while the claw was there, Liz felt a momentary qualm. But there was more at stake than the child's moods. Liz had no idea how she would do it, but if it was within her power, she was going to find the claw – and if Anna didn't like it, that was just too bad.