her eyes searched the living room as if help were hiding somewhere close ; pausing on and taking in each in turn : the telephone , the tv that only the kids were watching nowadays , the sofa where bill always used to sulk , the armchair where beth had struggled , the threadbare carpet , the family pictures , the picture of when she was just little , bill proud and holding her , the window , or what little she saw of it between the drawn curtains , the door , the telephone again ; her mind scanning all the while , not landing on any one thing .