The Good Terrorist - Doris May Lessing [59]
“I’m in one of those hotels, do you know about them? Well, why don’t you, everyone ought to. The Council shoved us there, my husband and me and Bobby. One room. We’ve been there seven months.” Alice could hear in her tone, which was incredulous at the awfulness of it, what those seven months had been like. “It’s owned by some filthy foreigners. Disgusting, why should they have a hotel and tell us what to do? We are not allowed to cook. Can you imagine, with a baby? One room. The floor is so filthy I can’t put him to crawl.” This information was handed out to Alice in a flat, trembling voice, and the child steadily and noisily wept.
“You can’t come here,” said Alice. “It’s not suitable. For one thing there’s no heating. There isn’t even hot water.”
“Hot water,” said the girl, shaking with rage. “Hot water! We haven’t had hot water for three days, and the heating’s been off. You ring up the Council and complain, and they say they are looking into it. I want some space. Some room. I can heat water in a pan to wash him. You’ve got a stove, haven’t you? I can’t even give him proper food. Only rubbish out of packets.”
Alice did not answer. She was thinking, Well, why not? What right have I got to say no? And as she thought this, she heard a sound from upstairs, and turned to see Faye, standing on the landing, looking down. There was something about her that held Alice’s attention; some deadliness of purpose, or of mood. The pretty, wispy, frail creature, Faye, had again disappeared; in her place was a white-faced, malevolent woman, with punishing, cold eyes, who came in a swift rush down the stairs as though she would charge straight into the girl, who stood her ground at first and then, in amazement, took a step back, with Faye right up against her, leaning forward, hissing, “Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.”
The girl stammered, “Who are you, what …” while Faye pushed her, by the force of her presence, her hate, step by step back towards the door. The child was screaming now.
“How dare you,” Faye was saying. “How dare you crash in here? No one said you could. I know what you’re like. Once you were in, you’d take everything you could get, you’re like that.”
This insanity kept Alice silent, and had the girl staring open-eyed and open-mouthed at her cruel pursuer as she retreated to the door. There Faye actually gave her a hard shove, which made her step back onto the pushchair and nearly knock it over.
Faye crashed the door shut. Then, opening it, she crashed it shut again. It seemed she would continue this process, but Roberta had arrived on the scene. Even she did not dare touch Faye at that moment, but she was talking steadily in a low, urgent, persuasive voice:
“Faye, Faye darling, darling Faye, do stop it, no, you must stop it. Are you listening to me? Stop it, Faye.…”
Faye heard her, as could be seen from the way she held the door open, hesitating before slamming it again. Beyond could be seen the girl, retreating slowly down the path, with her shrieking child. She glanced round in time to see Faye taken into Roberta’s arms and held there, a prisoner. Now Faye was shouting in a hoarse, breathless voice, “Let me go.” The girl stopped, mouth falling open, and her eyes frantic. Oh no, those eyes seemed to say, as she turned and ran clumsily away from this horrible house.
Alice shut the door, and the sounds of the child’s screams ceased.
Roberta was crooning, “Faye, Faye, there, darling, don’t, my love, it’s all right.” And Faye was sobbing, just like a child, with great gasps for breath, collapsed against Roberta.
Roberta gently led Faye upstairs, step by step,