The Good Terrorist - Doris May Lessing [185]
“Oh, they are always saying that,” said Alice.
“Don’t be so bloody stupid,” said Jasper. “If not this month, then next, or the month after.”
“Well, in the meantime, I’ll stay. And someone has to stay with Roberta.”
This being unarguable, Jasper was silent for a little, and then, overcome again by Alice’s intransigence, he said, amazed, scandalised at her, “But, Alice, we agreed to scatter. It was a unanimous decision.” And he even grasped her wrist in the old bony urgent grip, and bent to stare into her face.
That grip told her that she would not be without him for long. She smiled tranquilly up at that face, with its blue eyes in the creamy shallow lakes where the tiny blond freckles were, and said, “Let me know where you are, and we’ll keep in touch. Anyway, does anyone know where Roberta’s relatives are? She does have some, doesn’t she?”
They knew only the hospital where Roberta’s mother was dying.
“She won’t stay here,” said Jocelin, and Alice knew she was right.
Bert went up to get his canvas sack with clothes in it, and some books. Jasper fetched his belongings. He had even less than Bert.
Alice sat listlessly at the table, thinking of this house, this home she had made, deserted, empty, and the Council builders coming in.
Jocelin said she would leave in the morning. Said she thought the bag full of explosive components would be safe enough until they were needed. Laughed. Went upstairs.
Bert and Jasper lingered about the kitchen, at this last moment not wanting to leave. Not wanting to leave her, or the comfort she had made for them all? She did not choose to think about that. She remarked that she thought Roberta was quietening down.
And certainly the howling from overhead was less. It stopped. The house was silent.
Jasper bent quickly, and darted a kiss onto Alice’s cheek, as in a game of “last touch.” “See you,” he said, and went out, not looking to see if Bert was following. It wasn’t easy for him to leave her, thought Alice gratefully.
Alice was alone in the kitchen.
She listened to the news again. Well, they certainly were getting enough coverage; they had made their mark, all right.
Five dead. Another one, a girl of fifteen, seemed likely to die. Over twenty injured.
The midnight news devoted more than five minutes to the story.
Alice slept, sitting at the table, head on her arms.
She woke at about six, to see Roberta, shaky, sick, and awful, making herself tea.
Roberta said she would pack her things and be off. She would go to see her mother. She should have gone before, of course, but Faye … Her voice shook, she bit her lips, controlled herself, and drank her tea. She went upstairs to pack, came down with various addresses where Alice could reach her, pencilled neatly on a slip of paper. At least Roberta was not floating out of her life forever.
Roberta, unlike the others, owned a lot of things. She would abandon the actual furniture, but keep curtains, hangings, coverlets, pillows, mirrors, blankets. These were made into two great bundles, and she took them away in a taxi to the station.
Alice listened to the 8:00 a.m. news.
The IRA (in Ireland) said they had had nothing to do with yesterday’s bombing, and they would kneecap those who committed such acts in their name. They did not—said the IRA (in Ireland)—go in for murdering innocent people.
Well, thought Alice, fancy that. And actually giggled. At the ludicrousness of it.
Well, it didn’t matter what the IRA said; it was not for them to decide what comrades in this country did.
Alice sat wondering if it was worthwhile making a trip over to Ireland so as to explain to the Irish comrades the English comrades’ point of view?
This speculation was stopped by Jocelin’s coming down, with a backpack and a suitcase. She, too, drank tea, and heard that Roberta had departed without commenting, or even asking whether Roberta had asked her to keep in touch. She did not mention Bert and Jasper. About Caroline, Jocelin said that she was a good comrade but did not understand