The Good Terrorist. Doris Lessing

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