The Good Terrorist - Doris May Lessing [144]
“No,” said Caroline. “No.”
Alice felt hurt for Comrade Andrew. It seemed something was softly whimpering away in there, in her chest. That was the end of Comrade Andrew, then? They didn’t care what happened to him! Or if they never saw him again!
Jasper was saying, “Why? What? I don’t know what you mean?”
And Bert, “What did he do?”
Nobody answered. They couldn’t be bothered. Comrade Andrew was not worth the effort. Gone. Disappeared.
Jasper said hotly—it came bursting out—“Bert and I went to Ireland. We saw the comrades. They weren’t all that interested.”
“So I heard,” said Jocelin calmly. “Yes, I heard about that. But what of it? Who are the IRA to tell us what to do in our own country?”
This struck them all with the force of some obvious and ineluctable truth that inexplicably had not been seen by them till this moment. Of course! Who were the IRA, to tell them what to do?
Bert laughed softly, and his white teeth showed. Jasper laughed—and Alice suffered on hearing it, for she could measure by it how hurt he had been, how put down, by the refusal in Moscow to take him seriously, after the refusal in Ireland. Jasper’s laugh was scornful and proud, and confidence was rushing back into him, and he looked about at them all, justified.
“Right on,” said Faye. “At last. As far as I am concerned, you’ve all just seen the light. We have to decide what to do, and we will carry it out. We don’t have to ask permission of foreigners.” She was still using her cold, correct voice.
“Absolutely,” said Roberta.
“Then that’s that,” said Alice. “All we have to do now is to make a plan.”
At this point, a knock on the front door. Alice went, and came back in with Felicity. It was a question, since Alice was Philip’s “next of kin,” of her going to the hospital for the formalities. Felicity did not want to sit down; did not want, as they all saw, to be forced into taking on Philip’s affairs.
Alice said angrily, “Why me, Felicity? Why not you?”
“Look,” said Felicity. “Philip came to stay in my place because he was stuck. Desperate. As far as I was concerned, he was just someone without a place to live.”
“But he must have a family, or someone?”
“He has a sister, somewhere.”
“But where?”
“How do I know? He never said.”
The two women faced each other, as if in a bitter quarrel. Seeing how they must look, they became apologetic.
Felicity said, “When I said Philip could stay, I thought it was for the weekend, a week. He was with me for over a year.”
Alice saw that it was she who was going to have to do it, and she said, bitterly, “Oh, very well.” Now she had got her way, Felicity became “nice,” and refused a cup of tea with many hurried apologies, and fussed her way out of the house.
“Poor Alice,” said Roberta. “I’ll come with you.” Alice began to cry. They all looked at her in amazement.
“Of course she is crying,” said Roberta. “Of course she is. She is tired.” She put her arm around Alice and took her to the door. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do when we’ve gone,” she said facetiously to them all, but her eyes were on Faye, who, betrayed, tossed her head and would not look at Roberta; she had suddenly again become a cockney maiden.
The two women were at the hospital for some hours, signing forms, seeing appropriate officials. Alice agreed to get a death certificate. She arranged to go through Philip’s possessions with a Council representative, who would come tomorrow.
At midnight, Roberta tucked her up with a cup of hot chocolate, making it clear that that was it: she did not feel obliged to do more for Philip, though she would if Faye were not so needful.
Alice spent the morning over the death certificate and the afternoon going through Philip’s possessions, with the official. It was an awful, painful business. Philip owned a few clothes,