The Good Terrorist Read Online Free PDF

and barred because of the police,” said Bert, in a hurried, placating way, and Alice thought, Well, there’s no need to bother much with him , as she said, “It wasn’t locked this morning, when we came. And the police don’t come at this hour, do they?” She said this because she had to say something: she knew her fit of rage outside the door was unfortunate.
    The five were all staring at her, their faces shadowed by the dull light from the hurricane lamp, and she said, in her ordinary mild voice, “I’ve seen the Council, and it’s all right.”
    “What do you mean, it’s all right?” demanded Bert, asserting his rights.
    Alice said, “Everyone’s here, I want to discuss it. Why not now?”
    “Anyone against?” said Jasper jocularly, but he was shielding Alice, as she saw with gratitude. The seven filed into the sitting room, which was still in full daylight.
    Alice’s eyes were anxiously at work on the two unknown girls. As if unable or unwilling to give much time to this affair, they perched on the two arms of a shabby old chair. They were sharing a cigarette. One was a soft-faced fair girl, with her hair in a ponytail, and little curls and tendrils all around her face. The other was a bulky girl, no, a woman, with short black curls that had a gleam of silver in them. Her face was strong, her eyes direct, and she looked steadily at Alice, reserving judgement. She said, “This is Faye. I am Roberta.”
    She was saying, too, that they were a couple, but Alice had seen this already.
    “Alice. Alice Mellings.”
    “Well, Comrade Alice, you don’t let the grass grow. I, for one, would have liked to discuss it all first.”
    “That’s right,” said Faye, “that goes for me, too. I like to know what’s being said in my name.” She spoke in a cockney voice, all pert and pretty, and Alice knew at once that she affected it, had adopted it, as so many others did. A pretty little cockney girl sat presenting herself, smiling, to everyone, and Alice was staring at her, trying to see what was really there.
    This acute, judging inspection made Faye shift about and pout a little, and Roberta came in quickly with, “What are we being committed to, Comrade Alice?”
    “Oh, I see,” said Alice. “You’re lying low.”
    Roberta let out a short amused snort that acknowledged Alice’s acuity, and said, “You’re right. I want to keep a low profile for a bit.”
    “Me, too,” said Faye. “We are drawing Security over in Clapham, but better not ask how. Least said, soonest mended,” she ended, prettily, tossing her head.
    “And what you don’t know don’t hurt you,” said Roberta.
    “Ask no questions and get told no lies,” quipped Faye.
    “But truth is stranger than fiction,” said Roberta.
    “You can say that again,” said Faye.
    This nice little act of theirs made everyone laugh appreciatively. As good as a music-hall turn: Faye, the cockney lass, and her feed. Roberta was not speaking cockney, but had a comfortable, accommodating, homely voice with the sound of the North in it. Her own voice? No, it was a made-up one. Modelled on “Coronation Street,” probably.
    “That’s another reason we don’t want the police crashing in all the time,” said Bert. “I am pleased Comrade Alice is trying to get this regularised. Go on with your report, Comrade Alice.”
    Bert had also modified his voice. Alice could hear in it at moments the posh tones of some public school, but it was roughened with the intention of sounding working-class. Bad luck, he gave himself away.
    Alice talked. (Her own voice dated from the days of her girls’ school in North London, basic BBC correct, flavourless. She had been tempted to reclaim her father’s Northern tones, but had judged this dishonest.) She did not say that she had rung her mother and her father, but said she could get fifty pounds at short notice. Then she summed up her visit to the Council, scrutinising what she saw in her mind’s eye: the expressions