The Claw

Twenty-seven

Before dinner was over, Derek had seen off three large Scotches and more than half the wine, and Liz had never known him so drunk. Perhaps he'd been drinking before he and Jane had arrived, for in almost no time at all he'd reached the stage of knocking over ornaments, blushing as he muttered an apology. By now, as they lingered over apple meringue in the pool of shaded light while the afterglow crystallized beyond the window, he was expansively relaxed. When he dropped his spoon and smeared his fingers, or dislodged his jacket, which he'd slung over the back of his chair, he laughed as if it was his night off – as if he hadn't had one for years.

During dinner he'd told anecdotes about his job, and seemed not to care that they could guess who he was talking about. 'That's enough. Don't tell any more,' Jane kept pleading, but Derek was unabashed. 'It's all right, we're all friends here. You aren't bored, are you, Liz?' Liz had to admit she preferred him Like this, even though his jollity seemed shrill, defensive. At least it gave her no chance to talk about their problems, which she felt she ought to be doing. At the moment she had more than enough of her own.

As Jane went to phone the baby-sitter for the second time, Derek launched into another anecdote. 'Then there was the old dear who popped off recently and left two wills, one with her daughter, one with her son. That was just the start of the trouble. You see, the children couldn't stand each other. Really – they'd come to blows in front of their mother more than once, and I don't mean when they were kids, either. It was getting her down so much that she'd made these two wills with different solicitors on the same day. She left everything to the son in the will she gave him, and everything to the daughter in the other one. It wasn't until she popped off that they found out there was more than one will. So they both obliterated the date on theirs, so they could claim theirs was the first…'

'But the solicitors would have a record of the dates, wouldn't they?'

'You'd think so, but that was where the fun really started. Both the solicitors had lost their copies, would you believe, and so they had to swear to the dates. I tried to tell the children that the result would be the same in the end – they'd each get half – but they're bound to insist on fighting to the end, so half their legacies will go in costs. Sometimes I just don't understand people. In fact I don't know if I ever do. What makes us strange creatures tick, Liz, do you know? I expect if Alan were here he'd have a go at telling us.'

There was an awkward silence. Jane had returned, and looked timidly reproving. 'That's all. No more stories,' Derek said.

'Is Anna upset?' Jane said to Liz.

'She may be. Why?'

'I thought I heard her snuffling in her room.'

Liz went up to listen. Through the windows on the stairs and the landing she saw the sky darkening, closing in. She stood outside Anna's door until she could hear the child's breathing. It was quick and shallow. Perhaps Jane had heard her in the middle of a bad dream. Being able to hear her breathing so clearly through the door made Liz feel strange, as if all her senses were unnaturally keen. She was tempted to open the door, but then she might see the scratches she had made on the child's arm… She went downstairs.

Derek had unbuttoned his shirt collar and pulled open the knot of his tie. 'Oh, don't do that, it looks so sloppy,' Jane was wailing. 'Just because I am, it doesn't mean you have to be.'

'Now, now, you look splendid.' He was being kind; Jane looked as if halfway through putting on her make-up she'd lost interest and never finished. 'You'd be a lot better if you weren't forever denigrating yourself.'

'I can't make myself sound any worse than I am.'

'Now, what nonsense. Why do you say these things?'

'Because I thought I might be a good mother, and I can't even be that. There's nothing of me left, and I've got nothing left of you either. I thought children were supposed to save marriages. What a joke! I wish we'd never had a child.'

'You mustn't say that, Jane.' He sounded desperate. 'You know you don't mean it. It isn't like you at all.'

'How do you know? You don't know what I'm like. You haven't cared about me for years.'

Liz wondered if she should leave them to it; it might help them to talk things out, assuming that when they sobered up they remembered what they'd sajd. But Jane turned gratefully to her. 'Was Anna all right? I shouldn't have made you go up. You don't need me to tell you what to do. I don't know anyone who cares more for their child.'

That was too much for Liz. 'I wish you were right, Jane. I don't like the way I've been behaving toward her at all. She's been getting on my nerves so much, I wonder if there's something wrong with me. I've been acting as if I hate her.'

'Now don't you start, Liz,' Derek said, with forced joviality. 'Everyone feels like that about their children sometimes. They wouldn't be human if they didn't. Don't worry about having those feelings, it's only going to make them worse. Ignore them and they'll go away.'

That didn't seem very helpful to Liz, nor apparently to Jane, who looked bright-eyed with despair. Perhaps Liz hadn't made herself clear; perhaps Derek thought she was simply talking out her feelings in order to cope with them. No doubt he thought she was far too stable to need help. But how could she be stable, after all that had happened to her? She ought to make that clear – but Jane was nodding at the door behind Liz, a warning gesture. Liz turned and saw Anna leaning sleepily against the frame.

'What are you doing down here, Anna? You should be in bed.' The scratches on the child's arm were livid; Liz's face grew hot with shame. 'Come on, tell me what's wrong, and then I'll take you up.'

The child was hardly awake. 'Want to sleep in your bed,' she mumbled.

'All right, hurry up and I'll tuck you in.' Liz guided her upstairs, holding her elbow gently so that she wouldn't stumble and wake. Nevertheless Anna opened her eyes as she slipped between the sheets. 'Are you coming up soon?' she said.

'Not just yet, no. You try and go back to sleep.' Couldn't Liz even have dinner with friends without the child making demands on her? She stroked Anna's forehead, as much to quieten her own resentment as to soothe Anna. As soon as the child's eyes closed, Liz tiptoed out of the room.

Derek had lowered his voice, but Liz could hear him as she went downstairs. 'Look, I'm sorry I've left you to cope with Georgie all the time. I'll try and concentrate more on local clients, then I won't be away so much. I know Georgie's precious to you, whatever you say. And you know he is to me. We have to take care of him, he's all we've got.'

Jane must be pushing him away. 'All right, I heard you. Don't make me any messier than I already am.'

They were sitting apart and looking away from each other when Liz went in. 'There, you see how much you care for her,' Jane said anxiously. 'You don't hate her at all.'

'You're only seeing how I behave in company. I'm worse when I'm on my own. Surely you've heard the rumours about me,' she added, out of desperation.

'Rumours? Good heavens no! I'm sure there are no rumours.' Derek's quick response made Liz suspicious, especially since Jane had withdrawn into hersetf. Wasn't there only one person who could make Derek and Jane so devious? But Derek had thought of another anecdote, changing the subject at once.

After that the evening seemed to peter out. They chatted, but avoided half the subjects they thought of. Jane kept asking what time it was and telling Derek that they should be going. Eventually she turned on him. 'I want to get back to Georgie, I don't like leaving him. I wish you wouldn't drink so much, then we wouldn't have to walk back in the dark. I've told you I've seen someone loitering.'

'Loitering where?' Liz demanded, but Derek frowned at her and shook his head. 'Nothing to worry about,' he murmured.

It was all very well for him to assume that Jane was being paranoid; he didn't have to stay here at home by himself. Had he forgotten Joseph, and the robbery? That reminded Liz to ask Jane, 'Did they ever recover your money?'

For a moment Jane seemed not to know what she was talking about. 'Oh, you mean the money that was stolen from my bag? No, they never did.'

Even if they had, it wouldn't necessarily have meant that they'd recovered the claw as well. Liz waved to Derek and Jane, until she found that she was waving at the dark. The brooding thunder of the sea followed her into the house. She didn't feel she'd helped Derek and Jane, nor did she know how she could have. Something about their visit had made her deeply uneasy.

She washed up the dinner service, which she'd left in the sink to soak. The Fairy Liquid botde squirted out a few green bubbles, and she had to suck up water with it before she had enough lather. It wasn't like her to forget to stock up, but then a good many things weren't like her recently. By God, if it was Alex who was spreading the rumours about her… But there was nothing she could do for now, since Alex was away. She left the plates in the drainer and wandered through the empty house.

It didn't take her long to decide to go to bed. She didn't want to read or watch television, and she especially didn't want to think. She was tempted to wait a little in case there was a phone call – but from whom? If she gave in to that, she'd end up falling asleep in her chair. She didn't want to wake alone.

She crept upstairs to the bathroom, switching off lights as she went. As she reached the landing, she heard a sound in her room. Was Anna still awake? Jane must have been right after all, for Liz could hear snuffling. Perhaps Anna was making the sound in her sleep. Rather than risk waking her, Liz kept on to the bathroom.

She was halfway through brushing her teeth when she turned off the taps in order to listen. Anna must be awake, for Liz could hear, faintly but clearly, the padding of bare feet on the polished floorboards of the bedroom. Liz took her time over washing, in order to give the child a chance to return to bed. By the time she'd finished drying herself, the footsteps had ceased.

Liz eased open the bedroom door and a shaft of light from the hall fell across Anna's face. She looked as if she'd been asleep for hours. Liz tiptoed to switch on the lamp on the bedside table. There was an unpleasant smell in the room – presumably a whiff of some kind of effluent, drifting up from the sea, although, curiously enough, it made her think of a zoo. She would have closed the window, except that then Anna would probably be unable to sleep for the heat.

She switched off the hall light and closed the door, then she slid gently into bed. Anna stirred a little, but didn't wake. Liz must have imagined the sound of bare feet after all. She turned off the bedside lamp, and then she lay there, not moving. She was holding herself still so as not to wake Anna, not because she felt that she and the child weren't alone in the room. She'd felt that as soon as she'd turned off the lamp, which showed how irrational it was. She mustn't switch on the lamp again, in case she woke the child. Nevertheless it was a long time before she fell asleep, and the impression persisted into her dreams that something was lying near her in the dark, lying absolutely still and waiting for her to act. In her dreams she felt that soon she would know what to do.