She ought to have waited instead of saying she was hungry as soon as she saw a place to eat. Mummy stopped the car at once, even though the pizza parlour was so crowded that they couldn't have a table to themselves. Anna hadn't really meant here, but she felt she'd better not say anything.
The place was full of screaming babies and smeary trays and spilled ketchup. They had to share their plastic table with two little boys, one of whom kept spitting out his food onto his plate while the other tried to tell their parents, who were busy with more children at the next table. Anna's patch of table was sticky with a mixture of sugar and ketchup, and she wiped it as best she could. She sensed that mummy was growing tense with all the heat and noise and cigarette smoke.
When the pizzas arrived, Anna's was lukewarm on top and soggy underneath. Cutting it felt like cutting a bathroom sponge. 'Poo pie, mummy,' she joked, to help herself eat.
'Nobody's forcing you to eat it,' mummy said, so savagely that people turned to look and laugh.
Anna ate the rest of it in silence, though now she didn't feel like eating. She and mummy could always share jokes – mummy never lost her temper over them like that, especially not in public. Anna always used to say poo pie when she was little and didn't like her food. Now mummy had made her feel like the boy across the table who kept spitting on his plate. Her ears were burning, and each mouthful of pizza tasted nastier. 'I've finished, mummy,' she said at last, and mummy threw a penny into the mess on the table for a tip and stalked to the cashier's glass cage.
Anna felt depressed and hurt. She couldn't enjoy anything now. Mummy held her arm like a policeman as they strolled through the crowds on the promenade. She knew mummy was waiting for her to say what she wanted to do, but there was nothing. The beach here was full of people, she preferred the beach at home. The boating lake was like going for a sail in the bath once you'd been on the Broads. The Crazy Golf was crowded and anyway stupid, and the Kiddies' Cars were full of babies, except for the ones stuffed with big kids, their knees and elbows poking out on both sides. She found a pinball machine that she liked, that shouted at you in a monster voice when you were winning, but when she made to squeeze through the crowd at the fruit machines to look for another game, mummy shouted, 'Stay with me,' over the uproar of the machines, as if Anna were trying to escape. Anna felt depressed again. 'I don't want to go on anything else,' she said miserably.
Mummy's lips went thin, and she didn't speak until they were outside. 'Well, what do you want to do?'
Anna heard the warning note in her voice, but she didn't care. 'I wanted to make things for Rebecca.'
Mummy glared at her as if she'd been forbidden to mention Rebecca. 'We're here now. What do you want to do here?'
'I don't know.' The way mummy was, Anna was too depressed to care what she said. 'Nothing.'
'Then you'll just have to do what I want to do,' mummy said – but she seemed not to know what that was. She stared about at the beach and the piers, the model village, the Maritime Museum. 'For a start, let's get away from all these people.'
It took them a long time to struggle through the crowds, and she could feel that mummy was growing more tense. At. last they reached the river quays, where there were fewer holidaymakers. Barges rocked gently in front of the Town Hall, the smell of fish drifted along the river wharf. Now that there was room to stroll along the broad quay, mummy was relaxing, so much so that she let go of Anna's arm. As far as Anna was concerned, it was too late. She felt depressed and bewildered and bored. She didn't understand mummy at all.
That was how she felt when they came to Haven Bridge, and that was why she thought of something naughty to do. A ship was coming down the river, and she knew that the bridge would have to lift up its halves to let the ship through. If she timed it right, she could be on the other side and mummy wouldn't be able to get to her. She wasn't going to run away, she only wanted those few minutes away from mummy. Mummy was making her feel like a dog on a leash.
As the ship sailed toward the point at which they would lift the bridge, she quickened her pace, ready to run – but then mummy grabbed her arm. Just because she no longer knew what mummy was thinking, she shouldn't have assumed that the opposite was true. 'Oh no, you don't,' mummy said, in a voice like a saw. 'That's enough for one day, miss.'
'You're hurting me.' Anna began to cry. 'You're hurting my arm.' But mummy didn't let go until she'd dragged her back to the car, all that way through the crowds. Anna's arm hurt dreadfully, worse than when she'd fallen off the top of the climbing frame at the nursery. The worst thing was the way people laughed as they saw mummy dragging her along, as if that was the proper way to treat her. They didn't know that mummy was never like this.
Mummy held on to her while she unlocked the door. She threw the driver's seat forward and shoved Anna into the gap. Anna baulked, for she'd seen the letter still propped on the dashboard. Just now it seemed her only friend. She reached for it with her throbbing arm; she'd seen a postbox at the corner of the car park. 'I'll post your letter, mummy,' she said.
'No, you won't.' Mummy leaned in, still holding onto her, and snatched the letter. She must think Anna was going to play another trick, though nothing could have been further from Anna's mind. She ran to keep up with mummy – she wanted to anyway, though the grip on her arm gave her no choice – as mummy hurried toward the postbox. Auntie Barbara would come to stay, she would help mummy stop worrying, help her get better. She was mummy's best friend.
As mummy stepped out of the car park, tugging Anna's arm even though she was hurrying, she turned away from the postbox. For a moment Anna thought she hadn't seen it, then she realized what mummy was going to do. She could only stand there feeling sick as mummy let go of her for long enough to tear up the letter to Barbara and throw the pieces in the nearest wastebin.
Thirty
Liz drove home from Yarmouth feeling surer of herself than she'd felt for days. Dark clouds were crawling above the fields, toward the sea, but the darkness couldn't touch her. She could hardly believe how much destroying the letter had helped. When she thought of the letters, that one as much as the ones she'd rejected, she cringed inwardly. How could she have allowed herself to become so hysterical? She couldn't even recall now why she'd been so desperate to invite Barbara. She'd let everything get on top of her, that was all. No, not everything – just Anna.
That made her feel calmer, as if her problems were capable of being solved. Of course Anna was disturbed by all that had been happening, but there was a limit to the allowances that could be made for her, the liberties she could take. What had she been doing the night Alan had chased her along the beach? Perhaps Liz had been looking at that incident the wrong way. When she glanced at Anna in the mirror, at her untypically secretive eyes, she was almost sure she had.
The blackened road veered back and forth like smoke beneath the crawling sky, the verges glowed luridly. A phone box stood beside a deserted stretch of road – a red oblong rooted in the streaming supine grass. As the door of the empty box creaked open in the wind, Liz heard the phone ringing, ringing. It reminded her of the anonymous call, but that didn't bother her so much now; the voice must have been disguised – it must have been one of the people who were spreading rumours about her; perhaps the caller was the source of all the gossip. Now she was trying to scare Liz away for whatever warped reason an anonymous caller might have. She must have heard that