The Good Terrorist

‘That was nice,’ said Alice softly, smiling in the dark.

And so they talked, quietly, Jasper telling everything, for he was good at this, building up word-pictures of an event, an occasion. He ought to be a journalist, thought Alice, he is so clever.

She could have talked all night, because of course she had slept a long time. But he fell asleep quite soon; and she was content to lie there, in the quiet, arranging her plans for the next day which, she knew, would not be easy.

When she woke Jasper was not there. She ran to the top of the house, and looked into the four rooms where she had left all the windows open. The two rooms where the horrible pails had been were already only rooms in which people would soon be living. But she had not come for that. On two of the ceilings were sodden brown patches, and having located on the landing the trapdoor to the attic, she stood on a windowsill to reach. She could, just, and felt the trapdoor lift under her fingers. No problem there!

Down she ran to the kitchen, where there were voices. What she saw made her eyes fill with tears. They were sitting round the table, Bert and Pat, these two close together; Jasper; Jim smiling and happy, and Philip, already working on the cooker, bending over behind it, a cup of coffee on its top. Bert had gone to his friend Philip’s girlfriend, Felicity, the thermos had been filled, he had bought croissants and butter and jam. It was a real meal. She slid into her place at the head of the table opposite Bert and said, ‘If this room had some curtains…’ They all laughed.

‘Before talking about curtains, you had better get things fixed with the Council,’ said Jasper, rather hectoring, but only because he was jealous of Pat, who said, ‘Oh, I’d back Alice. I’d back her in anything.’

Coffee and croissants appeared before her, and Alice said, ‘Has anybody noticed the ceilings upstairs?’

‘I have,’ said Pat.

Philip said, ‘I can’t do everything at once.’ He sounded aggrieved and Pat said, ‘Don’t worry. It’s not difficult to fix slates. I did it once in another squat.’

‘I’ll do it with you when I’ve finished this,’ said Philip.

Pat said to Bert, ‘If someone could get the slipped-down tiles out of that guttering?’

‘No head for heights,’ said Bert comfortably.

‘I can do that,’ said Alice. Then she said to Jasper, not Bert, ‘If you could borrow the car from 45 you could go looking in the skips for some furniture? I saw four skips in my father’s street with all sorts of good stuff.’ She added fiercely, ‘Waste. All this waste.’ She knew her look was about to overcome her, as she said, ‘This house, all these rooms…people throwing things out everywhere, when there’s nothing wrong with them.’ She sat fighting with herself, knowing that Pat was examining her, diagnostic. Pat said to Bert, ‘There you are, Bert, job for the day. You and Jasper.’ As he sat laughing from some old joke about his laziness, she said, irritated, ‘Oh, for shit’s sake, Alice has done all the work.’

‘And found all the money,’ said Philip, from the cooker.

‘Put like that,’ said Bert.

‘Put like that,’ agreed Jasper, pleased, already restlessly moving about because of wanting to be off with Bert, looting and finding, street-combing…

Those two went off as Roberta and Faye came in, saw the remains of the croissants and sat down to consume them.

Alice dragged Philip’s heavy ladder to the front of the house, and went up it. Luckily the house was built squat, heavy on the earth, not tall and frightening. By the time she reached the top, Pat was already on the roof, sitting near the chimney with one arm round it. She had come up through the attic and the sky-light. Around the chimney’s base the roof looked eroded, pocked. A great many tiles had slipped and were now propped along the gutter. All that water pouring in, and going where? They had not properly examined the attics yet.

Alice was reaching out for the fallen tiles, and laying them on the roof in front of her. Pat seemed in no hurry to start; she was enjoying sitting there, looking at roofs and upper windows. And at neighbours, of course, watching them, two women at work on a roof. And where were the men? these people could positively be heard thinking – Joan Robbins, the old woman sitting there under her tree, the man staring grumpily out of a top window.

‘Catch,’ called Alice, ready to throw, but Pat said, ‘Wait.’ She wriggled on to her stomach and squinted in through the roof.

‘There’s a nest on the rafter here,’ she said in a hushed voice, as though afraid of disturbing the birds.

‘Oh no,’ said Alice, ‘oh how awful!’ She sounded suddenly hysterical, and Pat glanced at her, coldly, over her arm which was stretched in under the roof. ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Alice, and began to cry.

‘A bird,’ said Pat. ‘A bird, not a person.’ She pulled out handfuls of straw and stuff, and flung them out into the air, where they floated down. Then something crashed on to the tiles of the roof: an egg. The tiny embryo of a bird sprawled there. Moving.

Alice went on crying, little gusts of breathless sobs, her eyes fixed on the roof in front of her.

Another egg crashed on the roof.

Childlike frantic eyes implored Pat, who still was rooting about with her arm through the hole beneath her. But Pat was deliberately not looking at Alice snuffling and gulping below her.

A third egg flew in an arc and crashed splodgily in the garden.

‘Now, that’s done,’ said Pat, and she looked at Alice. ‘Stop it!’ Alice sniffed herself to silence, and at a nod from Pat, began to throw up the tiles. Pat caught them, carefully, one after the other.

Roberta and Faye appeared below, and went off, waving to them.

‘Have a good day,’ said Pat, brief, ironical, but with a smile saying that she, like Alice, did not expect anything else.

Soon Philip came up to join Pat, and Alice, having cleared all the gutters as far as she could reach, went down to move the heavy ladder along a few paces. She worked, in this way, all round the house, removing wads of sodden leaves, and fallen tiles. Above her, Philip and Pat replaced the tiles.

Alice felt low and betrayed. By somebody. The two minute half-born birds were lying there, their necks stretched out, filmy eyes closed, and no one looked at them. The parent birds fluttered about on the high branches near by, complaining.

Alice tried to keep her mind on what next had to be done. The cleaning. The cleaning! Windows and floors and walls and ceilings, and then paint, so much paint, it would cost…

In mid-afternoon she went off to ring the Council, as if this were not an important thing, as if things were settled.

She heard that Mary Williams was not there and her heart went dark.

Bob Hood, an official disturbed in his important work, said curtly that the matter of 43 and 45 had been put off until tomorrow.

Said Alice, ‘It’s all right, then, is it?’

‘No, it certainly is not,’ said Bob Hood. ‘It has not been agreed that you or anyone else can occupy those premises.’

Alice said in a voice as peremptory, as dismissive as his, ‘You ought to come and see this place. It is a disgrace that it could ever be considered as suitable for demolition. Somebody’s head should roll for it. I am sure heads will roll. These are two perfectly sound houses, in good condition.’

A pause. Huffily he said – but he was retreating, ‘And there have been more complaints. Things cannot be allowed to continue.’

‘But we have cleaned up 43 – the one we took over. The police would confirm that it has been cleaned up.’

Alice waited, confident. Oh, she knew this type, knew how their cowardly little minds worked, knew she had him. She could hear him breathing, could positively note how mental machineries clicked into place.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will come round. I’ve been meaning to take a look at those two properties.’

‘Can you give me some indication as to time?’ said Alice.

‘There’s no need for that, we have keys.’

‘Yes, but we can’t have people just wandering around, can we? I’d like you to give us some approximate time.’

This was such cheek, that she wondered at herself. Yet she knew it was not over the top, because of her manner: every bit as authoritative as his. She was not surprised when he said, ‘I’ll come round now.’

‘Right,’ said Alice. ‘We’ll expect you.’ And put down the receiver on him.

She raced back. She called up to Philip and Pat that the Council was coming, and on no account should they stop because it would be a good thing for them to be seen at work up there. She ran indoors to check on sitting-room, kitchen. She went upstairs to the rooms where they slept, and marvelled that Roberta’s and Faye’s room was a veritable bower of femininity, with dressing-table, cushions, duvet on the double sleeping-bag, photographs – a bit grubby, but it would make a good impression. She whisked on a skirt. Her hair, her nails. She heard a knock before she expected it and tripped down the stairs with a cool smile already adjusted on her face to open the door correctly on, ‘Bob Hood? I am Alice Mellings.’

‘I hope those two on the roof know what they are doing?’

‘I expect so. He is a builder. She is assisting him. As an amateur, but she has done it before.’

She had silenced him. Oh you nasty little man, she was thinking behind her good girl’s smile. You nasty little bureaucrat.

‘Shall I show you downstairs first? Of course this will give you no idea of what it was like only three days ago. For one thing, the Council workmen had filled in the lavatory bowls with concrete and ripped the electric cables out – they left them anyhow, a fire hazard.’

He said, ‘I have no doubt they were fulfilling their instructions.’

‘You mean, they were instructed to leave the cables dangerous, and to concrete over the main water tap? I wonder if the Water Board knows about that?’

He was red, and furious. Not looking at him, she flung open one door after another downstairs, lingering over the kitchen. ‘The electrician has made it safe in here, but you were lucky the place didn’t go up in flames. Mary Williams said you had been over this house. How was it you didn’t notice the cables?’

Upstairs, she said, knowing that to this man anything incorrect, even so much as a mattress on a floor rather than on a bed, must for ever be an affront, ‘Of course you will have to take my word for it – the state of these rooms was unspeakably awful when we came, but we have only just started.’

‘Unspeakably awful now,’ he said huffily, looking in at the room she and Jasper slept in, the two sleeping-bags like the shed skins of snakes loose against the wall.

‘It’s relative. I think you will be surprised when you see it in a month’s time.’

He said, quick to take his advantage, ‘I told you, don’t expect anything.’

‘If this house is left empty again, it will be filled to the brim with vandals and derelicts inside a week, you know that. You’re lucky to have us. It’s being put back into order, with no expense to the ratepayer.’

He did not reply to that. In silence they went through the rooms on the top floor, now sweet-smelling, the air blowing through them. He instinctively closed the windows one after another, performing the task with a fussy, virtuous, irritated little air. Like a fucking housewife, thought the smiling Alice.

They went downstairs. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I have to agree with you – there’s no reason why these houses should come down, that I can see. I’ll have to look into it.’

‘Unless,’ said Alice, sweet and cold, ‘someone was going to make a profit out of it. Did you see the article in the Guardian? The Scandal of Council Housing?’

‘As it happens, I did. But it is not relevant to this case.’

‘I see.’

They were at the door.

She was waiting. She deserved a capitulation; and it came. The official said, unsmiling but with his whole body expressing unwilling complicity. ‘I’ll put the case for you tomorrow. But I am not promising. And it is not just this house, it’s No. 45. I’m going there now.’

Again Alice had forgotten next door.

Bob Hood gone, she ran up to a little window that overlooked next door, and watched, in a rage of frustration, how the well-brushed, well-dressed clean young man stood looking at the piles of rubbish in that garden, saw that the expression on his face was like that on the dustmen’s faces: an exasperated, incredulous disgust.

Unable to bear the beating of her heart, her churning stomach, she went down, slowly, suddenly out of energy, and collapsed in the sitting-room as Pat came in, with Philip.

‘Well?’ demanded Pat; and Philip’s face was stunned with need, with longing, his eyes a prayer.

‘It’s dicey,’ said Alice, and began to weep, to her own fury.

‘Oh God,’ she wept. ‘Oh Christ. Oh shit. Oh no.’

Pat, close on the arm of the chair she was huddled in, put her arm around the dejected shoulders and said, ‘You’re tired. Surprise! – you are tired.’

‘It’ll be all right,’ sobbed Alice. ‘I know it will be, it will, I feel it.’

From the silence, she knew that above her head Philip and Pat shared glances that said she, Alice, had to be humoured, patted, caressed, given coffee from the flask, then brandy from a reserve bottle. But she knew that while Pat’s interest was real, it was not like Philip’s and like her own. Pat’s heart would never beat, nor her stomach churn…For this reason, she did not accept Pat’s encircling sisterliness, remained herself, alone, sad and isolated, drinking her coffee, her brandy. Philip was her charge, her responsibility: her family, so she felt, because he was as she was. She was pleased, though, to have Pat as an ally.

And at this point, Jasper and Bert arrived with gleanings from London, that great lucky dip, and Alice flew into the hall, to welcome a load of stuff, which had to be sorted out; and which switched her emotions back to another circuit. ‘Oh the wicked waste of it all,’ she raged, seeing plastic bags full of curtains, which were there because someone had tired of them; a refrigerator, stools, tables, chairs – all of them serviceable, if some needed a few minutes’ work to put right.

Bert and Jasper went out again; they were elated and enjoying it. A pair, a real pair, a team; united by this enterprise of theirs, furnishing this house. And they had the car for the whole day, and must make the most of it.

Philip and Pat left the roof, while they helped Alice allot furniture, flew out to buy curtain fittings for which Alice found the money from her hoard.

They ran around, and up and down, dragging furniture, hanging curtains, spreading on the hall floor a large carpet that needed only some cleaning to make it perfect.

Bert and Jasper came back in the late afternoon, having scavenged around Mayfair and St John’s Wood, with another load, and said that was it, no more for today – and the householders sat in the kitchen drinking tea and eating bacon and eggs properly cooked on the stove, with the purr of the refrigerator for company.

And in the middle of this feast, which was such a delicate balancing of interests, the result of careful and calculated goodwill, there was a knock. It was, however, tentative, not a peremptory summons. They turned as one; from the kitchen they could see the front door, and it was opening. A young woman stood there and, as the others stared: whose friend is she? Alice’s heart began to pound. She already knew it all, from the way this visitor was looking around the hall, which was carpeted, warm, properly if dimly lit, then up the solid stairs, and then in at them all. She was all hungry determination and purpose.

‘The Council,’ reassured Alice. ‘It’s Mary Williams. The colleague of that little fascist who was here today. But she’s all right…’ This last she knew was really the beginning of an argument that would be taking place later, perhaps even that night. Perhaps not an argument, not bitterness, but only a friendly discussion – oh, prayed Alice, let it be all right, and she slipped away from the others, saying, ‘It’s all right, I’ll just…’

She shut the door on the kitchen, and on a laugh which said she was bossy, but not impossibly so. Oh please, please, please, she was inwardly entreating – Fate, perhaps – as she went smiling towards Mary. Who was smiling in entreaty at Alice.

As Alice had absolutely expected, Mary began, ‘I dropped in at the office – I was on a course today, you know, they send you on courses, I’m doing Social Relationships – and I saw Bob on his way out. He told me he had been here…’ Alice was opening the door into the sitting-room, which was looking like anybody’s warm sitting-room, if a trifle shabby, and she saw Mary’s anxious face go soft, and heard her sigh.

They sat down. Now Mary was petitioner, Alice the judge. Alice helped with, ‘It is a nice house, isn’t it? Mad, to pull it down.’

Mary burst out, ‘Well, they are mad.’ (Alice noted that they with a familiar dry, even resigned, amusement.) ‘When I opted for Housing, it was because I thought, Well, I’ll be housing people, I’ll be helping the homeless, but if I had known…well, I’m disillusioned now, and if you knew what goes on…’

‘But I do.’

‘Well, then…’

Mary was blushing, eyes beseeching. ‘I am going to come to the point. Do you think I could come and live here? I need it. It’s not just me. We want to get married – me and my boyfriend. Reggie. He’s an industrial chemist.’ This chemist bit was there to reassure her, thought Alice, with the beginning of scorn which, however, she had to push down and out of sight. ‘We were just saving up to buy a flat and he lost his job. His firm closed down. So we had to let that flat go. We could live with my mother or with his parents, but…if we lived here we could save some money…’ She made herself bring it all out, hating her role as beggar; and the result of this effort was a bright determination, like a command.

But Alice was thinking, Oh, shit no, it’s worse than I thought. What will the others say?

She played for time with, ‘Do you want to see the house?’

‘Oh God,’ said Mary, bursting into tears. ‘Bob said there were rooms and rooms upstairs, all empty.’

‘He’s not going to move in!’ said Alice, not knowing she was going to, with such cold dislike for him that Mary stopped crying and stared.

‘He’s all right, really,’ she said. ‘It’s just his manner.’

‘No,’ said Alice, ‘it’s not just his manner.’

‘I suppose not…’

This acknowledgment of Bob’s awfulness made Alice feel friendlier, and she said gently, ‘Have you ever lived in a squat? No, of course you haven’t! Well, I have, in lots. You see, it’s tricky, people have to fit in.’

Mary’s bright hungry eyes – just like the poor cat’s, thought Alice – were eating up Alice’s face with the need to be what Alice wanted. ‘No one has ever said I am difficult to get on with,’ she said, trying to sound humorous, and sighing.

‘Most of the people here’, said Alice, sounding prim, ‘are interested in politics.’

‘Who isn’t? It is everyone’s duty to be political, these days.’

‘We’re socialists.’

‘Well, of course.’

‘Communist Centre Union,’ murmured Alice.

‘Communist?’

Alice thought, If she goes to that meeting tomorrow and says, They are communists…she’s quite capable of it, and with a bright democratic smile! She said, ‘It’s not communist, like the Communist Party of Great Britain.’ Keeping her eyes firmly on Mary’s face, for she knew that what Mary saw was reassuring – unless she, Alice, was wearing her look and she was pretty sure she was not – she said firmly, ‘The comrades in Russia have lost their way. They lost their way a long time ago.’

‘There’s no argument about that,’ said Mary, with a hard brisk little contempt, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She sat restored, a pleasant ordinary girl, all brown shining curls and fresh skin. Like an advertisement for medium-quality toilet soap. But tomorrow she could decide the fate of them all, thought Alice, curiously examining her. If she said to Bob, tomorrow morning, sharing cups of coffee before the meeting, I dropped in last night at that house, you know, 43 Old Mill Road, and my God, what a set-up!…Then he could change his mind, just like that, particularly with 45 in such a mess.

She asked, ‘Did Bob Hood say anything about next door?’

‘He said there’s nothing structurally wrong.’

‘Then why, why, why, why?’ burst out Alice, unable to stop herself.

‘The plan was to build two blocks of flats, where these houses are. No, not awful flats, quite decent really, but they wouldn’t fit, not with these houses around here.’ She added bitterly, forgetting her status, ‘But some contractor will make a packet out of it.’ And then, going a step worse, ‘Jobs for pals.’ Shocked by herself, she shot an embarrassed glance at Alice, and added a social smile.

‘We can’t let them,’ said Alice.

‘I agree. Well, it’s what Bob says that counts, and he is furious, he is really. He is really going to fight. He says it’s a crime these houses should come down.’ She hesitated, and took the plunge into what she clearly felt was a descent into even worse indiscretion with, ‘I was in Militant Tendency for a bit, but I don’t like their methods. So I left.’

Alice sat silent with amazement. Mary, in Militant! Well, of course she wouldn’t like Militant’s methods. And she wouldn’t like the methods of Alice, Jasper, Pat, Roberta or Faye. Nor, for that matter, Jim’s. (So Alice suspected.) But that Mary had gone anywhere near Militant, that was the impossibility! She asked cautiously, ‘And Reggie?’

‘He was trying out Militant for the same reason I was. I was shocked by what I saw going on at work, jobs for pals, as I said…’ Again the brief, social smile, like a frozen apology. ‘We decided at once Militant was not for us. We joined Greenpeace.’

‘Well, of course,’ said Alice, hopefully, ‘but if you are Trotskyists…’ With a bit of luck Mary would say Yes, she counted herself with the Trots, and then of course this house would be impossible…But she heard, ‘We’re not anything at the moment, only Greenpeace. We thought of joining the Labour Party, but we need something more…’

‘Dynamic,’ said Alice, choosing a flatteringly forceful but not ideological word. ‘I think perhaps the CCU would suit you. Anyway, come and see the house.’ She got up, so did Mary – it was like the termination of an interview. Alice had decided that she really did like Mary. She would do. But what of Reggie? Thoughts of Reggie accompanied the two women as they went rapidly around the upper floors. Alice flung open doors on empty rooms, and heard how Mary sighed and longed, and was not at all surprised to hear her say, as they came down the stairs again, ‘Actually, Reggie is in the pub down the road.’

Alice laughed, a robust girl’s laugh, and Mary chimed in, after a pause, with a breathless little tinkle.

‘The thing is,’ said Alice, ‘we have to discuss it. All of us. A group decision, you know.’

‘If we come back in half an hour?’

‘Longer than that,’ said Alice, and added, because of Mary’s beseeching eyes, ‘I’ll do my best.’

She went into the kitchen, where they sat in a fug of comfort (created by her), and sat down, and she put the situation to them.

Because of all that food and chat and good nature and togetherness, there was an explosion of laughter. Literally, they fell about. But there was a theatrical quality to it that Alice did not much like.

Silence at last, and Pat said, ‘Alice, are you saying that if we don’t let them come here, we won’t get this house?’

Alice did not reply at once. At last she said, ‘She wouldn’t do anything spiteful on purpose, I am sure of that. But if she was coming here to live, she’d be careful about what she said. It’s human nature,’ said Alice, feebly, using a phrase which of course was simply beyond the pale.