The Good Terrorist - Doris May Lessing [176]
Bert said, showing a lot of his white teeth, “ ‘Morality has to be subdued to the needs of Revolution.’ V. I. Lenin.” Everybody laughed, and Alice saw from the way they were suddenly not allowing their eyes to meet that they were uncomfortable.
“Anyway,” said Faye, “it serves them right.”
This was one of “her” remarks, which they all habitually covered over, ignored, or—like Roberta now—soothed away.
“Faye, dear,” she said. “That’s not very nice.”
Faye tittered and tossed her head. Her eyes were glittering, her cheeks flushed.
Alice said stubbornly, “I don’t think it’s right. It’s not what we decided.”
Jocelin said soberly, taking her seriously, “You weren’t here when it was discussed. The thing is, these electronic controls aren’t absolutely reliable. Not the things I’ve got, anyway. Of course, there are good ones, but don’t forget, I’ve just put this and that together.”
“Then why not set them to go off in the middle of the night, not when people are around?”
“We did think about that. But it’s a question of how to make the greatest impact. A few windows in the middle of the night—and so what? But this way, it’ll be front page in all the papers tomorrow, and on the news tonight.”
Jocelin, having said, or pronounced this, looked away from Alice; and none of them looked at her. She understood now that she felt excluded not only because she had not been here at the crucial discussion, but because the crucial discussion had taken place “behind her back”—as she felt it—so that she could not be there to say things they did not want to hear. They had known—felt, if not thought—that she would protest, say no, say it was wrong; then they would have been forced to listen, to think. And so, without anyone’s actually planning it, the five had discussed it when she was well out of the way.
And where was Caroline?
It turned out that Caroline, learning that the bombs would be set to go off at a certain time regardless of possible casualties, had said she would have nothing to do with it.
It was Jocelin who told Alice this, in a nonjudging voice, but cold with disapproval. Cold, Alice thought, because of the need to put a distance between her and what she had felt when Caroline had said that. Oh yes, Alice knew what had happened; she could reconstruct the moment, from what was on all their faces now. The plan had nearly been given up, because of Caroline’s decisiveness. Now, as they remembered that argument—which they were all doing—their faces had identical looks of cold uneasiness.
If only I had been there, thought Alice, I could have backed Caroline up; between us we could have swung things the other way.
Alice sneaked a look—she did not dare more—at Bert, who knew she was likely to be looking at him! This was a repetition of Pat! Pat had said Bert was an amateur, at that meeting when the decision was first made to “join the IRA,” when a lot of the inhabitants of this house had simply left. Since then she had sometimes, affectionately, called him an amateur. Probably Caroline too had called him “amateur.”
Alice thought: Pat, Jim, Philip, and now Caroline. She was my friend, she was my real friend.
Already they were talking again. At two o’clock Jocelin, Faye, and Jasper would go off to the Underground, to the car, which there was no reason to believe would not be exactly where it had been left this morning. To set the explosives to go off would take Jocelin five minutes, Faye aiding her with her quick, clever fingers. No one need take any notice of three people with the bonnet of the car briefly up, making minor adjustments to something, rearranging the contents of the boot, checking the set of a wheel.
Jocelin was saying that there was no need for the others to be at the scene at all. There was nothing for them to do. Redundant. Adding to the danger. She suggested that Bert and Roberta and Alice should stay here, and put the kettle on at five-thirty. And how about Alice making some of her soup; they would all be dead with hunger by then.
“No,” said