A movement made her look at the top of the cliff. Several big boys with haversacks and red knees had been picnicking near the pillbox; now they tramped away. She glanced at her parents: mummy was asleep, daddy was fanning himself with the colour supplement – then she shaded her eyes and gazed up the cliff. She couldn't see the goats anywhere.
She went back to her parents, and stumbled on the stones as she watched the cliff. The only movement up there was a glimpse of red by the pillbox. It looked wet, but it was gone before she could make it out. 'Daddy, I can't see the goats,' she said.
'Can't you?' He seemed half-asleep, and annoyed that she had disturbed him. 'Well, never mind.'
He was no use. If she asked him to go up and look, he'd only be ratty. If she told him why she wanted to go up, he might tell her not to – grown-ups were like that sometimes, they didn't understand how important things could be. 'Please may I have some more lemonade?' she said.
'You've drunk it all.'
'Can I go and get some more?'
'Yes, if you like,' he said wearily. 'Just be quick.'
He seemed glad to get rid of her. She clambered over the sea wall and ran to the path up the cliff before he could change his mind. She kept staring upward as she climbed. Grass shivered in the wind, a few wispy clouds drifted by above the edge; she felt as if the cliff were shifting. She glanced down at the beach as it fell away beneath her. Mummy and daddy were small as dolls now, and very far away. The wind blustered in her ears until she couldn't hear anything else. Would daddy hear her if she called out? She was beginning to wish that she hadn't come up by herself, that she'd woken mummy and asked her to come with her, but she had to go on now, to make sure the goats were all right. She toiled up the path, fighting the wind from the sea. She was nearly at the top now. Perhaps the goats were safe after all; perhaps she'd see them as soon as she reached the top, for as the wind caught its breath, she thought she could hear them. Yes, she could. Just beyond the edge, over by the pillbox, she could hear snuffling.
Ten
A scream woke Liz. It sounded as if the sky were splitting. Perhaps it was part of her dream, in which someone had been chasing someone else, but it was also above her. She saw the jets screaming away over the horizon as she opened her eyes, but at first she couldn't distinguish much else; the sun had got into her eyes while she was asleep, and everything looked bleached, over-exposed, difficult to interpret. Then she was on her feet and staring about. 'Where's Anna?' she cried.
Alan glanced up from a colour supplement; on the glossy cover a primitive mask bared pointed teeth. 'She went to get some more lemonade.'
'Went where? You didn't let her go up to the house, did you?'
'Why not? Where else would she get it from?' He was staring irritably at the supplement, as if he couldn't meet her eyes. 'She'll be all right,' he mumbled. 'It isn't far.'
'You let her go up there alone? After what happened?' Liz felt sick, her legs were rubbery. 'How long has she been up there?'
'Oh, not long. I don't know exactly.' He heaved himself wearily to his feet. 'AH right, for God's sake, I'll go up if it makes you feel better.'
He strode up the cliff path. She was meant to see how he was driving himself, exerting himself for her peace of mind. All at once Liz wondered if there was some other reason why Anna had gone up to the house. Maybe she hadn't wanted to stay with him while Liz was asleep. Had something happened between the two of them? She made herself climb faster. Sand trickled from the ragged edge of the path.
By the time she reached the top, Alan was almost at the house. The windows were blank with sunlight and she couldn't see through them. Apart from the goats, the cliff-top seemed deserted; the flattened grass looked dusty with sand and harsh light, the coast road shimmered away toward the Britannia Hotel, the fields were giant samples of paint, green and yellow. The only thing that struck her as unusual was a glint of glass by the entrance to the pillbox. It was a bottle, a broken bottle of lemonade.
It was a popular brand. Millions of people besides Anna must drink it. Nevertheless Liz craned into the dim entrance to the long low concrete building and called, 'Anna' down the crumbling steps. She held her breath, so as to hear better and so as to avoid inhaling the stale animal smell that wafted up from the depths of the pillbox. Nobody answered her, but before she could call again, she heard a faint movement from somewhere within.
She glanced toward the house. Alan had reached the garden path. If she called him, she might be taking him away from Anna – and besides, she was furious with him. Suppose the movement in the pillbox wasn't Anna but whoever had killed the goat? She was dithering while Anna might be in danger. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, she went quickly down the steps.
When she reached the bottom, at first she couldn't see. Her eyes were full of the dazzle outside. She had to stand there for a moment, one hand on the cold sweaty wall, and close her eyes. In the underground dimness with its rank smell of mould and concrete dust and something else, she heard movement again. Perhaps a goat had strayed down here; she couldn't recall how many she had seen outside. That would explain the bestial smell.
She opened her eyes as soon as she could and stepped forward, calling, 'Anna.' To her left was a bare room the width of the pillbox. Sunlight blazed in through two small square apertures high up in the wall – gunports, presumably – but it only blurred the edges of the apertures and made the rest of the room more difficult to see. Still, it was clear the room was empty, except for a couple of beer-cans and a crumpled paper handkerchief.
She turned away, down the dim corridor. Small cells opened off it on both sides, each one lit by one of the square apertures. Sometimes she had to halt and close her dazzled eyes, and then she began shivering as the chill of the place settled over her like fog. Her footsteps and the empty echoes of her voice were shrill. Wouldn't Anna have answered by now? Perhaps she was afraid to admit she was down here after being warned so many times to stay away from it. Surely it couldn't be that she was unable to answer?
Liz halted again, gripping the edge of the doorway, and squeezed her eyes shut to drive away a flock of overlapping after-images. Concrete dust whispered down from beneath her hand, and in the silence she heard another sound ahead. It couldn't be Anna. Please, let it be one of the goats… She opened her eyes and groped her way forward, though her vision was crowded with vague pale blotches. All at once she was desperate to find the source of the snuffling.
The next cell on the left was empty, and so was the one on the right. The squares of blue sky looked unreal, part of a different world. As she stepped into the dark area between the sets of doorways, she realized that the corridor ahead wasn't only dim: it was flooded. She must be smelling the stagnant water as well as the goat, for it smelled worse than any animal she had ever encountered. There was something about the smell that she didn't even want to consider.
She was sick with apprehension now. The goat must be injured; that was why it was snuffling. She forced herself forward, to get it over with. Empty cells, blurred squares of distant sky, shrill echoes of herself that she couldn't hush. Now she was at the edge of the water that covered the floor, and now she could see why it was darker here: a clump of bushes outside prevented daylight from reaching into some of the cells. At the edge of the darkness, she realized something else. The stench that she had tried not to define reminded her very much of blood.