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.