The Good Terrorist - Doris May Lessing [55]
“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 ten or fifteen pounds 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,” enquired 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