The Good Terrorist

He arrived precariously beside her, and his face, that of a doleful but embarrassed angel, was presented to her for diagnosis and judgment, in perfect confidence of justice. Which she gave him: ‘I am not surprised, all that work on the roof. Well, forget it today, I’d take it easy.’

‘I would have gone with the others, but…’

‘Go into the sitting-room. Relax. I’ll bring you some coffee.’

She knew this sickness needed only affection, and when Philip was settled in a big chair, she took him coffee and sat with him, thinking: I have nothing better to do.

She had known that at some time she would have to listen to a tale of wrongs: this was the time. Philip had been promised jobs and not given them; had been turned off work without warning; had not been paid for work he had done; and this was told her in the hot aggrieved voice of one who had suffered inexplicable and indeed malevolent bad luck, whereas the reason for it all – that he was as fragile as a puppet – was not mentioned; could never, Alice was sure, be mentioned. ‘And do you know, Alice, he said to me, yes, you be here next Monday and I’ll have a job for you – do you know what that job was? He wanted me to load great cases of paint and stuff on to vans! I’m a builder and decorator, Alice! Well, I did it, I did it for four days and my back went out. I was in hospital for two weeks, and then in physio for a month. When I went to him and said he owed me for the four days he said I was the one in the wrong and…’ Alice listened and smiled, and her heart hurt for him. It seemed to her that a great deal had been asked of her heart that morning, one poor victim after another. Well, never mind, one day life would not be like this; it was capitalism that was so hard and hurtful and did not care about the pain of its victims.

At half-past twelve, when she was just thinking that she could go to the telephone booth, she heard someone coming in, and flew to intercept the police, the Council – who, this time?

It was Reggie who, smiling, was depositing cases in the hall. He said that Mary had slipped out from the meeting to telephone him the good news. And she would be over with another load in the lunch hour. The relief of it made Alice dizzy, then she wept. Standing against the wall by the door into the sitting-room, she had both hands up to her mouth as if in an extreme of grief, and her tight-shut eyes poured tears.

‘Why, Alice,’ said Reggie, coming to peer into her tragic face, and she had to repel friendly pats, pushes, and an arm around her shoulders.

‘Reaction,’ she muttered, diving off to the lavatory to be sick. When she came out, Philip and Reggie stood side by side, staring at her, ready to smile, and hoping she would allow them to.

And, at last, she smiled, then laughed, and could not stop.

Philip looked after her; and Reggie, embarrassed, sat by.

And she was embarrassed: What’s wrong with me, I must be sick too?

But Philip was no longer sick. He went off to measure up the broken windows for new glass, and Reggie climbed the stairs to look over the rooms. Alice stayed in the kitchen.

There Mary came to her with a carton of saucepans, crockery and an electric kettle. She sat herself down at the other end of the table. She was flushed and elated. Alice had heard her laughing with Reggie in the same way Faye and Roberta laughed; and sometimes, Bert and Pat. Two against the world. Intimacy.

Alice asked at once, ‘What are the conditions?’

‘It’s only for a year.’

Alice smiled and, on Mary’s look, explained, ‘It’s a lifetime.’

‘But of course they could extend. If they don’t decide to knock it down after all.’

‘They won’t knock it down,’ said Alice confidently.

‘Oh, don’t be so sure.’ Now Mary was being huffy on behalf of her other self, the Council.

Alice shrugged. She waited, eyes on Mary who, however, really did not seem to know why. At last Alice said, ‘But what has been decided about paying?’

‘Oh,’ said Mary, airily, ‘peanuts. They haven’t fixed the exact sum, but it’s nothing really. A nominal amount.’

‘Yes,’ said Alice, patient. ‘But how? A lump sum for the whole house?’

‘Oh no,’ said Mary, as though this were some unimaginably extortionate suggestion – such is the power of an official decision on the official mind – ‘Oh no. Benefit will be adjusted individually for everyone in the house. No one’s in work here, you said?’

‘That isn’t the point, Mary,’ said Alice, hoping that Mary would get the point. But she didn’t. Of course not; what in her experience could have prepared her for it?

‘Well, I suppose it would be easier if it was a lump sum, and people chipped in. Particularly as it is so small. Enough to cover the rates, not more than £10 or £15 a week. But that is not how it is done with us.’ Again spoke the official, in the decisive manner of one who knows that what is done must be the best possible way of doing it.

‘Are you sure,’ inquired Alice carefully, after a pause, ‘that there really is no possibility of changing the decision?’

‘Absolutely none,’ said Mary. What she was in fact saying was: ‘This is such a petty matter that there is no point in wasting a minute over it.’

And so unimportant was it to Mary, that she began to stroll around the kitchen, examining it, with a happy little smile, as if unwrapping a present.

Meanwhile Alice sat adjusting. Faye and Roberta would not agree, would leave at once. Jim, too. Jasper wouldn’t like it – he would demand that both he and Alice should leave. Well, all right, then they would all go. Why not? She had done it often enough! There was that empty house down in Stockwell…Jasper and she had been talking for months of squatting there. It would suit Faye and Roberta, because their women’s commune was somewhere down there. God only knew what other places, refuges, hideouts, they used. Alice had the impression there were several.

A pity about this house. And as Alice thought of leaving, sorrow crammed her throat, and she closed her eyes, suffering.

She said, sounding cold and final, because of the stiffness of her throat, ‘Well, that’s it. I’m sorry, but that’s it.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mary had whirled round, and stood, a tragedienne, hand at her throat. ‘I don’t know what you mean?’ she demanded, sounding fussy and hectoring.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter to you, does it? You and Reggie can stay here by yourselves. You can easily get friends in, I am sure.’

Mary collapsed into a chair. From being the happiest girl in the world, she had become a poor small creature, pale and fragile, a suppliant. ‘I don’t understand! What difference does it make? And of course Reggie and I wouldn’t stay here by ourselves.’

‘Why not?’

Mary coloured up, and stammered, ‘Well, of course…it goes without saying…they can’t know I am living here. Bob Hood and the others can’t know I’m in a squat.’

‘Oh well, that’s it then,’ said Alice, vague because she was already thinking of the problems of moving again.

‘I don’t understand,’ Mary was demanding. ‘Tell me, what is the problem.’

Alice sighed and said perfunctorily that there were reasons why some of them did not want their presence signposted.

‘Why,’ demanded Mary, ‘are they criminals?’ She had gone bright pink, and she sounded indignant.

Alice could see that this moment had been reached before, with Militant. Methods!

Alice said, sounding sarcastic because of the effort she was making to be patient, ‘Politics, Mary. Politics, don’t you see?’ She thought that with Jim, it was probably something criminal, but let it pass. Probably something criminal with Faye and Roberta, for that matter. ‘Don’t you see? People collect their Social Security in one borough, but live somewhere else. Sometimes in several other places.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see.’

Mary sat contemplating this perspective: skilled and dangerous revolutionaries on the run, in concealment. But seemed unable to take it in. She said, huffily, ‘Well, I suppose the decision could be adjusted. I must say, I think it is just as well the Council don’t know about this!’

‘Oh, you mean you can get the decision changed?’ Alice, reprieved, the house restored to her, sat smiling, her eyes full of tears. ‘Oh, good, that’s all right then.’

Mary stared at Alice. Alice, bashful, because of the depth of her emotion, smiled at Mary. This was the moment when Mary, from her repugnance for anything that did not measure up against that invisible yardstick of what was right, suitable and proper that she shared with Reggie, could have got up, stammered a few stiff, resentful apologies, and left. To tell Bob Hood that the Council had made a mistake, those people in No. 43…

But she smiled, and said, ‘I’ll have a word with Bob. I expect it will be all right. So everyone will chip in? I’ll get them to send the bills monthly, not quarterly. It will be easier to keep up with the payments.’ She chattered on for a bit, to restore herself and the authority of the Council, and then remarked that something would have to be done about No. 45. There were complaints all the time.

‘I’ll go next door and see them,’ said Alice.

Again the official reacted with, ‘It’s not your affair, is it? Why should you?’ Seeing that Alice shrugged, apparently indifferent, Mary said quickly, ‘Yes, perhaps you should…’