As the door opened, Anna moved. She had to, otherwise it would have knocked her down. She dodged behind it, out of sight for the moment, and watched in helpless terror as mummy came into the room.
Mummy was smiling. Her smile was crueller even than her outstretched nails: it wanted Anna to know that she was trapped, that there was nobody to help her, especially not Granny Knight. It wanted Anna to realize what was going to happen to her now. It grew wider as mummy glanced around the room. 'Flaying games, are we?' mummy said softly. 'I know you're here waiting to be rescued. I'll rescue you, you little maggot.' She was reaching behind her to close the door.
Anna tried to duck under mummy's arm, to dodge round the door before it closed, before mummy noticed where she was. But there wasn't room. Her head bumped mummy's arm, and Anna screamed. Everything seemed to slow down like a nightmare: mummy turning triumphantly on her, her smile widening and her eyes gleaming as she jerked the door towards her, trapping Anna between the door and herself. 'So there you are, you little insect,' she said, grabbing Anna with her other hand.
Anna wrenched herself out from between mummy and the door just as mummy's hand closed on her shoulder. Mummy's nails ripped her blouse and her skin, but Anna was free and running desperately out of the room. Mummy slammed the door to trap her in it, to squash her in the opening like the insect she'd said Anna was. She was a fraction too late. Anna was beyond the door and on the stairs, almost falling. She couldn't hear her own feet on the stairs for her screams.
The door of daddy's workroom slammed open before she was halfway down the first flight of stairs. She fell then, clutching wildly at the banister, managing to hold on just as her feet struck the edge of a stair. The impact hurt her ankles terribly, but her only hope was to run downstairs – otherwise she'd fall. She hadn't time to regain her balance, for mummy was already on the landing.
She ran limping and sobbing to the front door, and fumbled with the latch. Her fingers felt like someone else's, swollen and clumsy; she was terrified that any moment she'd forget how to open the door. As the latch clicked and she remembered to pull at the door, mummy came into the hall.
She wasn't smiling now, though she was showing her teeth. Anna remembered a dog she'd once seen, dribbling white froth. Mummy had hugged her and told her not to move until men in uniform had come in a van to take the dog away. Mummy looked like that dog now – her face did, as she came rushing down the hall at Anna, her long nails reaching for her.
How could Anna turn her back on her? But somehow she did, and fled screaming into the fog, which surged forward as if it were helping mummy, telling Anna that she was trapped, that there was no point in running. It made her feel that she wasn't running at all, just trying to struggle through the grey that hardly moved, while mummy overtook her easily, nails stretched out to drag her back. When she reached the gate and limped out onto the road, she felt she'd run almost as far as she could.
But she could hear a car, on or near the road to the village. Was it Granny Knight's car? It didn't matter who it was, surely they'd hear if she screamed loud enough for help? She ran along the slippery road, screaming at the top of her voice. Her throat felt scraped to shreds by her cries and the fog she was sucking in.
She hadn't reached the road to the village when she stumbled to a halt. She couldn't hear the car any longer. She began to sob, and then she held her breath, she tried to be completely still, not even to shiver. She couldn't hear mummy either. She didn't know where mummy was, how close she might be in the blinding fog.
She'd started to cough, and then to sob because she couldn't suppress her coughing, when she heard the car again. It was on the village road. She wanted to scream for help before it went away, but she made herself be quiet, even though her throat was burning with the urge to cough. In a few moments she was sure that the car was coming back.
Granny Knight must have heard her. She ran towards the village road, screaming Granny Knight's name. It took her so long to reach the road that she thought she'd run past it in the fog. But here it was at last – and here on the verge at the corner, a silent figure was standing. She was dodging away from the looming figure, screaming louder and more desperately, when the fog thinned and she saw that it was the signpost, its pointer dripping like a nose. How could she have thought it was mummy? But any looming shape in the dense fog could be; Anna still didn't know where mummy was.
She limped along the village road as fast as she could. Whenever she slipped on the glistening tarmac, shapes lurched at her out of the fog. She hadn't the breath to cry out now, even though the car was nearer. In a few minutes she saw its lights, steaming like ice. The light touched her and probed beyond her, picking out a crouching shape about to leap. The shape was a stile. The car had halted a few yards from her, and the door behind Granny Knight was opening. Once Anna was in the car, she would be safe.
Then the man who'd opened the door climbed out and came toward her, and she began to scream.
It was daddy, but all she could see were his nails. They were longer than mummy's, and they were reaching for her. As she stumbled backward away from him, she caught sight of his face. It looked worse than it had the night he'd gone away: it was white and hungry and desperate, the face of a stranger who was hardly even bothering to look like daddy. As he opened his mouth to speak, she shoved her hands over her ears and fled screaming, without the least idea of where she was going, back into the fog.
Fifty-one
Liz had almost reached the village road when she heard the car turn back. She ran until she came to the dripping signpost and halted there, clutching her chest, which felt raw, full of fog. She'd never catch Anna now, she could hear how far ahead the child was. As she clawed at the signpost, a splinter painful as a red-hot needle dug under one nail, frenzying her, but it was no use: Isobel had heard the child's screams and was coming to save her. She was welcome to the little bitch.
Liz paced forward, just to hear what they said about her. They'd never see her in the fog. Once she'd heard what Anna said, she would steal away into the fog, which she hoped would never lift. Anna had made her like this, forcing her to creep about in the fog, having to hide from Alan. By God, she wished she could give the little bitch what she deserved.
She stopped, because the car had. The only sound in the fog was the quick flat slap of Anna's footsteps on the road. Fog drifted about Liz's face, wiping out her sense of distance. She couldn't tell how far away Anna was, but if she could hear her running, she'd be able to hear what she said. When she put her hand over her mouth and nose so as not to cough, she felt as if she were clawing her own face in frustrated rage.
Then she strained forward like a runner at the start of a race. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. She stole forward almost before she even realized she was moving, and then she began to grin. Anna was screaming and running. She was running back towards Liz.
Liz crept forward swiftly, enjoying her stealth. Her speed felt effortless; she seemed fluid as the fog. She still couldn't judge how close Anna's limping footsteps were; they sounded flattened, and so did the muffled argument Alan was having with Isobel; running and voices merged into a single plane. Perhaps Anna thought she was fleeing towards their voices instead of away from them.
Then Isobel raised her voice. 'Oh, can't I make you understand? She locked the child up. Anna must have been upstairs all the time we were there. If you knew how she'd been treating the child since you went away, you wouldn't find it so hard to believe. That's only one of the things she's been doing.'
So Isobel knew everything, did she? So much the worse for Anna: there was no longer any reason for Liz to hide what she meant to do. Liz was loping silently towards Anna's limping footsteps; already her throbbing fingernails felt as if they were embedded in her flesh. By God, Anna would pay for betraying her to Isobel and Alan. She didn't care if they were so near; their presence only made her more eager to deal with Anna once and for all. The fog would help.