The Good Terrorist Read Online Free Page A

“Get her at once. It is an emergency. Tell her it’s Alice.”
    She had no doubt that Theresa would come, and she did.
    “What is it, Alice, what’s wrong, what is the matter?”
    “I want you to guarantee expenses. For a squat. No, no, you won’t have to pay anything, ever, just your signature.”
    “Alice, I’m in the middle of a conference.”
    “I don’t care about your shitty conference. I want you to guarantee our electricity and our gas.”
    “You and Jasper?”
    “Yes. And others.”
    “I’m sorry, my dear. No.”
    “What’s the matter with Jasper? Why are you like this? Why? He’s just as good as you are.”
    Theresa said, calm and humorous, as always, “No, Alice, he is not as good as I am. Far from it. Anyway, that’s it. No, but I’ll give you fifty pounds if you come round.”
    “I
am
around. I am in your flat. But I don’t want your shitty fifty pounds.”
    “Well, then, I’m sorry, my dear.”
    “You spend fifty pounds on a dress. On a
meal.”
    “You shared the meal, didn’t you? This is silly. I’m sorry, I’m busy. All the buyers are here from everywhere.”
    “It’s not silly. When have you seen
me
spend fifty pounds on a meal? If my mother wants to spend fifty pounds on food for all her shitty rich friends, and I cook it, that doesn’t mean …”
    “Listen, Alice, if you want to come round and have a talk tonight, you are welcome. But it will have to be late, because I will be working until eleven, at least.”
    “You … you … are a lot of rich shits,” said Alice, suddenly listless.
    She put down the receiver, and was about to leave when she remembered, and went to the bathroom, where she emptied herself, again carefully washed her face, and brushed her hair. She was hungry. She went to the kitchen and cut herself a lavish sandwich. Lisa followed her and stood at the door to watch, her hands folded around the handle of a feather duster, as if in prayer. A dark, patient, tired face. She supported her family in Valencia, so said Theresa. She stood watching Alice eating her salami and her pâté on thick bread. Then watched while Alice peered into every corner of the refrigerator and brought out some leftover spiced rice, which she ate with a spoon, standing up.
    Then she said, “Ciao,” and heard as she left,
“Buenos días, señorita.”
There was something in that voice, a criticism, that again lit the anger, and she ran back down all the stairs and out onto the pavement.
    It was after two.
    Her thoughts whirled about. Jasper, why did they hate him so? It was because they were afraid of him. Afraid of his truth … She realised that she had walked herself to a bus stop, and the bus would take her to the Council. She got on, suddenly cold, concentrated, and careful.
    She was rehearsing in her mind her previous successful negotiations. A great deal would depend, she knew, on whom she saw … luck.… Well, she had been lucky before. And besides, what she was suggesting was reasonable, in the best interests of everybody, the ratepayers, the public.
    In the great room filled with desks and people and telephones, she sat opposite a girl, younger than she, and knew at once that she was lucky. On Mary Williams’s left breast was a “Save the Whales!” button, and the sprightly shape of the animal made Alice feel soft and protective. Mary Williams was a good person, like herself, like Jasper, like all their friends. She cared.
    Alice gave the address of her house confidently, stated her case, and waited while the official turned to press a button or two, and the information arrived, to be set on the desk between them.
    “Scheduled for demolition,” said Mary Williams, and sat smiling, nothing more to be said.
    This Alice had not expected. She could not speak. It was grief that filled her, transmuting, but slowly, to rage. The face that Mary Williams saw swelled and shone, and caused her to say uncomfortably, even stammering, “Why, why, what is the