She was hugging Anna fiercely, waiting for her to speak, when she heard something fall on the beach. She peered down, screwing up her eyes. At last she made out, amidst the stones like the scales of a snake as long as the beach, a face turned up to her. For a moment she was ready to defend Anna in any way she could, and then she thought she recognized the man on the beach. 'Is that you, Alan?' she called, hardly believing.
He didn't answer, but she could see now that it was. It was Alan, even though Anna shrank against her as he came slowly up the path. 'It's all right, Anna,' she murmured. 'It's daddy.' Whatever had happened couldn't have been so bad after all. Her heart could slow down now, stop pounding.
He came and stood close to them in the dark. The wind ruffled her clothes, striking chill on her exposed shoulders. Was that why Anna was trembling? But as he reached out to touch one or both of them, Anna flinched away. At once Liz knew that whatever was wrong, she didn't want to discuss it in front of the people at the hotel, nor here on this narrow precarious path. 'Come on, both of you,' she said, her voice harsh with apprehension. 'Let's get you home.'
On the way to her car, she avoided the party by going round the nursery side of the hotel, where the swings in the playground squealed faintly in the dark. Anna refused to stay with Alan in the car while Liz said her good-byes, so Liz left him staring blankly into the driving mirror and hurried into the hotel, with Anna clinging to her hand. She was beginning to dread finding out what had happened. There was a look in Alan's eyes that she had never seen before.
Gail was in the foyer. 'Oh, you mustn't go yet, Liz. Ned's just going to open the oldest bottle. It's been such a good party that we thought we would, while all our best friends are here. You'll have to stay for that. I'll never forgive you if you go now.' The sight of Anna seemed to throw her for a moment, but she was clearly so drunk that nothing surprised her very much. 'Anna can go and listen to Jimmy. You'd like that, wouldn't you, chick?'
'I'm sorry, Gail, we absolutely have to go. I'll tell you why next time,' Liz said, privately wondering if she'd be able to.
When Anna saw that her father was in the car, she wouldn't get in. Eventually he climbed out dully, like a sleepwalker, apparently unable to look at them. 'Quickly, Anna, in the back,' Liz said. Someone had to behave as if nothing was amiss. The questions would have to wait until they were home.
As Liz drove, the road wound back and forth, lit hedges springing up in front of her like spooks in a ghost train, Alan's glimmering face riding the dark. The journey had never seemed so long. As soon as they arrived, she rushed Anna upstairs to bed, then had to sit with her, stroking her hair, for almost an hour before the child fell asleep. In all that time Anna said only, 'Don't go away, mummy. Don't leave me again.' At least she could speak; but her plea only made Liz more anxious to question Alan. Anna's eyes drooped shut at last, and remained shut when Liz stood up. She tiptoed to the door and glanced back at the small vulnerable tear-streaked face. How dare anyone try to harm Anna? She strode downstairs, feeling angry, miserable, afraid, determined.
Alan was in the long room, staring at his distorted reflection in the dead television screen. As soon as she came in, he stood up and faced her. His expression was unreadable – deliberately so, she thought. Before she could speak, he said, 'Look, Liz, this is very important. I want you to be honest with me. Have you been feeling hostile toward Anna lately?'
She couldn't believe it. After all that had happened -whatever it was – he was accusing her. 'What are you trying to say?' she demanded.
'Don't ask me to explain just yet. Look, this is vital, you've got to tell me.' His eyes looked raw with frustration now. 'Have you felt as if you wanted to hurt her? Tell me, for Christ's sake. I won't blame you.'
'Just what has your mother been saying about me?'
'Oh Christ, don't start that now. Keep to the point.' His attempt to be calm had failed; his fingers were at his temples, as if he wanted to claw them open. 'Are you saying you haven't had any such feelings? None at all?'
'That's right,' she said, her voice sweet with fury.
'Will you swear?'
'I'll tell you, Alan, if I start swearing, I won't stop.'
'Well, I can understand how you feel. I don't blame you.'
That was the second time in a couple of minutes that he'd undertaken not to blame her, as if she ought to be grateful. Was he having a breakdown? Certainly she felt as if she no longer knew him. He looked as if he was willing her to ask him something so that he could explain, and perhaps she might have, except that just then Anna came downstairs. T want to sleep with you, mummy,' she pleaded. T can't sleep.'
It wasn't the plea that made Liz afraid, it was the way Alan looked: pitifully relieved. 'Yes, you two have the bed,' he said. 'I'll stay down here.' As Liz took the child upstairs, Anna clinging to her so hard it was clear that she wouldn't let her mother leave her alone again, she heard him say, 'I don't expect I'll sleep.'
Nineteen
It was almost dawn before he slept. He paced the long room for hours, shuddering from head to foot whenever he remembered what he'd almost done or thought of himself at all. If he couldn't be trusted with Anna he had no right to stay here, he kept thinking. More than once he found himself heading for the front door, but where could he go? Perhaps down to the beach and into the waves until they were too strong for him, until he couldn't come back. Sometimes his shuddering turned into a groan of disgust with himself, but with a consideration that seemed grotesque under the circumstances, he tried not to make any noise in case it woke Anna or Liz. He hardly knew what he was doing. When at last he huddled on the couch, it was to hide from himself.
The phone woke him. He knew he ought to answer it before the ringing of the extensions on each floor woke Liz and Anna, but he was listening to the sea, slow and distant as his breathing heard at the edge of sleep. Then he remembered why he was on the couch, knew why he didn't want to wake.
He struggled to his feet in the early morning light. He felt cold and outcast and contemptible, unrecognizable to himself. As he grabbed the phone he remembered grabbing the piece of driftwood, remembered feeling that the moment when the nail in the wood bit into flesh would be as satisfying as the drag of a fishhook buried in a prize catch. He was close to fleeing, running in the hope he could lose himself. Instead he ground the receiver into his ear as if the pain could suffice.
The voice, when it came, was distorted by jagged static and its closeness to the mouthpiece at the other end. 'May I speak to Mr Alan Knight?'
The man's politeness seemed exaggerated, made Alan think of the police. If they had found him out, that might be the best thing for everyone. 'Knight speaking,' he said, and felt as if he were giving himself up.
'My name is Banjo.'
That sounded like a bad joke, not merely pointless but unbearably tasteless, and Alan was about to drop the receiver into its cradle when the other said, 'Dr Hethering-ton told me where to reach you.'
The name made Alan grind his teeth, as much to hurt himself as anything. 'You're a friend of his, are you?'
'A friend of a colleague of his.' The other hesitated. 'He called me to find out if I knew you. You seem to have shaken him up.'
There was no satisfaction in that, not now: no reason to go on talking, no point to the call. 'Well, what do you want?' Alan demanded.