The Claw

Forty-four

'Just don't ask, Liz,' Gail said – and all at once Liz didn't need to. She remembered her saying, 'People who hate their children need help,' and then she knew why Gail had let her stay. Gail was keeping her where she could see her, watching and waiting until Liz did something she could report to the police, the social workers, Isobel. She glared at Gail until her eyes burned, then she dragged Anna upstairs to the room. No doubt Gail could see how she was squeezing the child's arm. Let her try to interfere if she dared.

She gave the bedroom door a slam that must have resounded through the hotel, and pushed Anna into the room so violently that the child fell on the bed. Anna huddled there and watched Liz fearfully. She'd better be afraid – if it hadn't been for her Jimmy wouldn't have been sacked – Jimmy, the only person Liz had felt at ease with in the hotel. By God, if Anna could make things worse, she would. Everything that had gone wrong for Liz in the last few months, everything Anna had done, seemed to be gathering in Liz's skull, an unbearable weight that was growing like a tumour, crushing her mind. There was something she could do to lift that weight, if only she could think – something she must do before her mind burst. Perhaps she could do it without thinking.

That idea seemed promising, but it didn't tell her what to do. She couldn't go home, in case the thing that had driven her out was still there. There was nobody she could consult or take refuge with; there was nowhere she could go, especially in this fog. She was trapped where Gail could spy on her, with the pressure in her head growing steadily worse, impossible to disobey but equally impossible to interpret. She felt sticky, crawling with heat. At least there was something to do, then. 'Take your clothes off,' she said.

Anna stared fearfully at her, almost cowering. 'Do as I say,' Liz cried. 'All of them.'

She glared at the child until Anna began to unbutton her blouse, sobbing dryly and trembling. Anna made it look as if she was no longer capable of manipulating the buttons, as if she weren't old enough to know how to handle them. Liz watched her, loathing her babyishness. How could she once have loved and been proud, of this child?

Eventually Anna had almost finished. She pulled off her socks and sat shivering in her pants. 'Those as well,' Liz said, and when she didn't stand up, moved towards her. Anna dragged them off for fear that Liz was going to, and sat quickly on the bed again, trying to hide herself behind her limbs. 'Give them here,' Liz said.

Anna gathered her clothes from the bed and passed them over, almost dropping them rather than touch her mother. When she tried to give Liz her shoes as well, Liz said, 'Don't be stupid. I can't wash them, can I?' Then she undressed swiftly and washed all the clothes in the bathroom.

As she hung them over the bath, she realized that Anna must have thought Liz was making her undress so that she couldn't run away. It wasn't such a bad idea at that, except that she wouldn't put it past the child to run out naked -one more thing for everyone to blame Liz for. What if she was planning to do so? But when Liz ran back into the bedroom, Anna was lying on the bed, clenched foetally about herself. Perhaps she'd only just adopted that pose, in order to disguise her intentions. Liz shoved a chair against the outer door and sat there. Anna needn't think of getting past her now.

In time the dripping of clothes in the bathroom slowed, grew less rhythmic. Liz sat and couldn't think for the pressure in her head. It seemed to, have stabilized now, almost as if it were waiting. The corridors were silent, the chambermaids had finished hours ago. She was alone up here, alone as the mad wife in the Victorian novel who'd been locked in the topmost room.

Sitting idly was making her tired, and she was nodding. It didn't matter if she dozed, Anna couldn't move her. She was almost sleepy enough to realize what Anna looked like, what the sight of the naked body lying on a white surface reminded her of: an altar? A butcher's? Now and then, as she jerked awake, she realized she was naked too and felt as if she were being watched. But only the fog was nuzzling the window. Surely this was one place where they couldn't spy on her.

She jerked awake, thinking she'd heard stealthy footsteps outside the door. She strained her ears, but could hear nothing. Was somebody standing out there, trying to overhear what she might be doing to Anna? Let them try. A harsh smell was seeping into the room, but that must be the fog. Her nostrils wrinkled at the smell as her head sank again, drawn down into sleep.

It was her own smell. She could tell that from the way people drew back from her as she padded through the hotel. The hotel was much larger and older – the pillars in the dining-room were so tall that the ceiling was lost in darkness – but that wouldn't prevent her from finding Anna: there was nowhere in the world the child could hide from her. Diners peered at her from their islands of light, but the candles on the tables were guttering; now she could see only the glint of eyes and teeth. For a moment she thought she'd lost Anna after all, until she realized that she wasn't alone in the hunt. One of the Labradors from Gail's party was running with her; she could hear it snuffling. A woman at one of the tables leaned forward confidentially just as all the candles went out, and said, 'I used to hear that too.' Liz knew she was Joanna Marlowe, but it seemed unimportant, for Anna was running towards her out of the dark now, and the snuffling was close at her heels. When Liz grabbed her she felt small, too small, and utterly helpless. She was a baby again. Liz was on the edge of remembering how it had felt to hold her baby when she woke.

The memory was gone at once, for she could see Anna, the real Anna, staring at her from the bed, staring as if she wished that Liz would never wake. How dare she look at her like that! Liz stumbled to her feet, and was satisfied to see the child cower back. Why were they both naked? When she remembered why, she found that she was shivering. The clothes were dry enough. She bunched Anna's in one hand and flung them at her. 'Get dressed,' she said.

Soon Liz was dressed, traces of damp making her clothes cling to her. She couldn't stand the child's look. 'What's wrong with you?' she cried.

The child looked afraid to open her mouth, but managed to mumble, 'I'm hungry, mummy.'

'Are you, mummy.' It enraged her that the child should dare to call her that now, after all that she'd done. Outside the window the fog was darkening; she hadn't realized she'd slept so long. 'Well, we shall go down,' she said, almost to herself, 'because I'm hungry, and I'm damned if I'll let them stop me from eating.'

She gave Anna a look to make sure she didn't try anything, then she unlocked the door. The corridors were deserted, the rooms were silent; on the second floor a child was beginning to wail. Gail was hurrying back to the reception desk after alerting the child's parents. She gazed at Liz, but said nothing. Liz strode past, ignoring her.

She faltered when she reached the dining-room. It was so dark in there – was dinner over already? She felt achingly ravenous all of a sudden; she didn't know what she'd do if she didn't get something to eat soon. Then she realized that there were people in the dark, that it wasn't quite dark after all. The Marshalls must have decided to take the guests' minds off the fog by having a candlelit dinner. It reminded her of her dream, but at least people wouldn't be able to spy on her any more. She made her way through the dim maze of tables and hovering faces, gripping Anna's shoulder in case she thought of slipping away in the dark.

The waitress seemed reluctant to serve them. Liz felt her long nails tingling. She was just preparing to say, 'If Mrs Marshall has told you not to serve us, you just bring her here to me' – that would stop all the whispering around her – when the girl took out her pad. How many of the nearby diners had realized what was going on? She couldn't make out the flickering faces, only their glinting eyes, all of which seemed to be watching her.

Anna wouldn't look at her. She stared at the jerky blur of herself in her plate. Liz wished she hadn't brought her downstairs; the child would only put her off her dinner. Most of the other children were in bed, except for one little girl proudly wearing her first evening dress. To think Anna had been like that once! Now Liz dreaded taking her anywhere, loathed the idea. If only they were at home, she could have locked the child in Alan's workroom.

She ate her prawn cocktail without tasting it, while Anna drank her orange juice. The surrounding conversations were so quiet that Liz could hear every sticky sound that Anna made. Her stomach was writhing. 'Make less noise, child,' she hissed, and the spying eyes glinted at her out of the dark.

The waitress served the main course and glided away. As Liz tasted the roast pork, she had the impression that the girl had been eager to be gone. What had they done to the meat that it tasted so wrong? She couldn't make out what it was, only that she couldn't eat it – she knew in advance that it would do nothing to satisfy her hunger. Perhaps she was meant to make a scene about it, so that they could throw her out of the hotel. She forced herself to do nothing, to wait while Anna ate most of her dinner, in between shooting fearful glances at her.

The waitress came back and Anna asked for ice cream; Liz ordered cheese and biscuits for herself, as much to prevent the waitress from remarking about her untouched meal as anything. She managed to eat the cheese, which put a dull weight in her belly. The swarm of candle-flames dazzled her, darkening the surrounding air; unstable faces mouthed and ate. What had they been eating in her dream? She had a vague feeling that if she did remember, she would wish she hadn't. The pressure in her skull was growing, aggravated by the flickering dimness, by the spying eyes, above all by Anna.

As the waitresses cleared away the last dishes, a dance band was setting up on the stage at the edge of the dance floor. That would be too much – people dancing to old favourites, while Liz's skull grew more and more like an open wound. 'Hurry up and finish that,' she said harshly to Anna, who was stirring the last of her ice cream with her spoon.

As soon as the child had finished scraping her dish, a sound worse than fingernails on slate, Liz stood up and took her arm. The band had begun a waltz, a guitar and snare drum turning it into something more primitive. Liz hurried the child out before the music could blot out her sense of direction in the maze.

The corridors looked flickery with after-images of flames, and yellowish with fog. At least the upper floors were quiet, except for the muffled sound of the band, drifting up from below. She unlocked the door and shoved the child into the dark room, shoving harder when the child baulked. She wasn't giving in to Anna's fears this time. There was nothing in the room except the harsh smell, which must be the fog.

Liz switched on the light and locked the door. Anna was staring nervously about. 'What's wrong with you now?' Liz demanded.

The child seemed to have to think. 'I'm tired,' she whined.

'Then go to bed and stay there.' Liz waited while Anna used the bathroom, then watched as she climbed shivering into the chilly bed. Liz switched off the room light; she could think of nothing else to do but go to bed, and she certainly wasn't leaving Anna up here if she couldn't lock her in. She went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar.

She splashed cold water on her shiny face and brushed her teeth. She could hardly look at herself in the mirror, this pasty, dull-eyed mask, with hair like rusty rope. Halfway through rinsing out her mouth she suddenly stopped, for she thought she'd heard snuffling in the bedroom. She froze, choking down a mouthful of water and toothpaste, but there was no further sound. It must have been Anna feeling sorry for herself.

Liz left her clothes in the bathroom – she must cut her nails when she could find a pair of scissors, she was snagging them on her clothes – and eased open the bathroom door. Anna hadn't moved. Liz switched off the bathroom light and closed the door to shut off the gurgling monologue of the plumbing; then she groped toward the bed. She hadn't quite reached it – she'd misjudged her distance in the dark, and the fog blocked out any light from the window – when she smelled blood.

She would have backed away toward the bathroom, but she couldn't remember which way to go: not straight backwards, certainly. She reached out one shaking hand for the bed, through the darkness that stank of stale blood, and touched something soft. A blanket – Anna beneath a blanket? But then the soft object shifted under her hand, and her fingers touched its eyes, its encrusted sticky cheek, its teeth.

She recoiled, spastic with horror, and collided with the bed. Now she knew where she was; she could see the strip of light from the corridor at the foot of the outer door. She staggered towards it, wrenched at the handle. Then she remembered the bolt. In the strange room she couldn't locate the light-switch.

Her fingernails were in the way, she couldn't grasp the bolt. Then she had it, and the next moment the door was wide open. Light flooded in from the corridor – not enough light. She jerked the switch for the bedroom light, and Anna started screaming.

By God, she was screaming, not at the thing in the dark, but at Liz. Though Liz couldn't believe it, the room was empty. Nothing under the bed, nothing in the bathroom either, when she threw open the door. 'Stay there,' she snarled at Anna, who looked ready to run out of the room. The intruder had felt too solid to have been imaginary. Locked doors meant nothing; it could come to her whenever it was dark. Perhaps it was still watching her; someone was – her neck was prickling. She whirled round. Gail was staring at her from the corridor.

However must she look, naked and ranging about the room like an animal in its cage? Still, there was no need for Gail to watch her quite so disapprovingly. She must have come upstairs to spy on her, otherwise she couldn't have got here so quickly. She was trying to look as if little was wrong. 'Liz,' she said, 'I think it would be a good idea if I found you some room in the cottage.'

So that was it. She wanted an excuse to observe Liz more closely, to take Anna from her or call someone who would. 'No thank you,' Liz said, though she was shaking. 'We'll stay here for tonight.' Before Gail could protest, she'd closed the door in her face and slammed the bolt home.

There was silence in the corridor while Gail considered what to do. Eventually Liz heard her footsteps retreating. She grinned savagely, triumphantly. Behind her Anna whimpered, 'I don't want to stay here any more.'

Liz turned slowly, enjoying herself. When Anna saw her grin, she flinched against the pillows. 'You're going to get what you've asked for,' Liz said.