Now they glanced at each other – disapproval. All, that is, except Andrew. They admired him, and thought Frances bitter. Andrew said to them, seriously, ' It simply isn't on. It's not fair to ask Julia. '
The top of the house, where Julia had her being, was often a subject for mockery, and Julia had been referred to as ' the old woman' . But since Andrew had been home, and had become friends with Julia, they were having to take their cue from him.
‘Why should she look after Phyllida?’ said Andrew. ' She's got her hands full with us. '
This new view of the situation caused a thoughtful silence.
' She doesn't like Phyllida,’ said Frances, supporting Andrew. And she suppressed: and she doesn't like me. She has never liked Johnny's women.
‘Who could?’ said Geoffrey, and Frances looked at him enquiringly: there was something new here.
' Phyllida came here this afternoon,’ said Geoffrey.
' She was looking for you,’ said Andrew.
' Here? Phyllida?'
'She's nuts,' said Rose. 'I was here. She's bonkers. Round the twist. ‘And she giggled.
‘What did she want?’ said Frances.
‘I sent her off,’ said Andrew. ‘I told her she shouldn't be here. '
Upstairs doors were slamming, Johnny was shouting, and he came leaping down the stairs followed by the single word from Julia, ' Imbecile!'
He arrived, sparking off anger.
' Old bitch, ' he said, ' fascist bitch. '
'The kids' looked for guidance to Andrew. He was pale, seemed ill. Loud voices – quarrelling – too much for him.
'Too much,' 'said Rose, in admiration of the general unpleasantness.
Andrew said, ' Tilly'll be upset again. ' He half rose and Frances appealed, afraid that he would find this an excuse not to eat, ' Please sit down, Andrew. ' He did, and she was surprised that he obeyed her.
‘Did you know that your... that Phyllida was here?’ said Rose to Johnny, giggling. Her face was flushed, her little black eyes sparkled.
'What?’ said Johnny, sharp, with a quick glance at Frances. She was here?'
No one said anything. I'll speak to her,’ said Johnny.
Has she got parents?' asked Frances. She could go home while you' re in Cuba. '
She hates them. With good reason. They' re lumpen scum. ' Rose had the back of her hand against her mouth, pressing back more hilarity.
Meanwhile Frances was looking around, taking in who was here this evening. Apart from Geoffrey – well, of course, and Andrew, and Rose, there was Jill, there was Sophie, and she was crying. There was also a boy unknown to her.
At this moment the telephone rang and it was Colin again. I've been thinking, ' he said. Is Sophie there? She must be terribly upset. Let me speak to her. '
This reminded everyone that Sophie had to be upset, because her father had died of cancer last year, and the reason why she was here most evenings was because in her own home her mother wept, and claimed Sophie for grief. Kennedy's death would of course...
At the telephone Sophie sobbed, and they heard, Oh, Colin, thank you, oh, thank you, you understand, Colin, oh, I knew you would, oh, you are coming, oh, thank you, thank you. '
She returned to her place at the table, saying, 'Colin'll catch the last train tonight.' She buried her face in her hands, long elegant hands pink-tipped in the shade prescribed that week by the fashion arbiters of St Joseph's, of whom she was one. Long glistening black hair fell to the table, like the thought made visible that she would never ever have to sorrow alone for long.
Rose said sourly, 'We're all sorry about Kennedy, aren't we?'
Shouldn't Jill be at school? But from St Joseph's pupils came and went, with little regard for time, tables or exams. When teachers suggested a more disciplined approach, they might be reminded of the principles that had established the school, self-development being the main one. Colin had gone off to school this morning, and was on his way back. Geoffrey had said he might go tomorrow: yes, he was remembering he was head boy. Had Sophie ' dropped out' altogether? She certainly seemed to be more often here than there. Jill had been down in the basement with her sleeping bag, coming up for meals. She had told Colin who had told Frances that she needed a break. Daniel had gone back to school, but could be expected to return, if Colin did: any excuse would do. She knew they believed that the moment they turned their backs all kinds of delightfully dramatic events occurred.
There was a new face, at the end of the table, smiling placat-ingly at her, waiting for her to say, ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’But she only put a plate of soup in front of him, and smiled. 'I'm James,' he said, flushing. 'Well, hello James,' she said. 'Help yourself to bread – or anything else.' A large embarrassed hand reached out to take a thick hunk of (healthy) wholemeal. He sat with it in his hand, staring about him with evident delight.
' James is my friend, well he's my cousin actually,’ said Rose, managing to be both nervous and aggressive. ‘I said it would be all right if he came... I mean, for supper, I mean...’
Frances saw that here was another refugee from a shitty family, and was mentally checking food she would need to buy tomorrow.
Tonight there were only seven at the table, with herself. Johnny was standing, as stiff as a soldier, at the window. He wanted to be asked to sit down. There was an empty place. She was damned if she was going to ask him, did not care that her reputation with 'the kids' would suffer.
'Before you go,' she said, 'tell us, who killed Kennedy.'
Johnny shrugged, for once at a loss.
' Perhaps it was the Soviets?’ suggested the newcomer, daring to claim his place with them.
' That is nonsense,’ said Johnny. ' The Soviet comrades do not go in for terrorism. '
Poor James was abashed.
' Perhaps it was Castro?’ said Jill. Johnny was already staring coldly at her. 'I mean, the Bay of Pigs, I mean...'
' He doesn't go in for terrorism either,’ said Johnny.
‘Do give me a ring before you leave,’ said Frances. ' A couple of days, you said?'
But he still wasn't leaving.
'It was a loony,' said Rose. 'Some loony shot him.'
‘Who paid the loony?’ said James, having recovered again, though he was flushed with the effort of asserting himself.
‘We should not rule out the CIA,' said Johnny.
‘We should never rule them out,’ said James, and earned approval from Johnny in a smile and a nod. He was a large young man, bulky, and surely older than Rose, older than any of them, except perhaps Andrew? Rose saw Frances's inspection of James, and reacted at once: she was always on the alert for criticism. She said, ' James is into politics. He is my elder brother's friend. He is a drop-out. '
‘Well blow me down,’ said Frances, ' what a surprise. ' 'What do you mean?’ said Rose, frantic, angry. 'Why did you say that?'
‘Oh, Rose, it's just a joke. '
' She makes jokes,’ said Andrew, interpreting his mother, as it were vouching for her.
'And talking about jokes,' said Frances. When they had all run upstairs to watch the television news, she had seen on the floor two large carrier bags filled with books. She now indicated these to Geoffrey, who could not suppress a proud smile. ' A good haul today I see?’ she said.
Everyone laughed. Most of them shoplifted in an impulsive way, but Geoffrey made a business of it. He went regularly around bookshops, pilfering. School textbooks when he could, but anything he could get away with. He called it ' liberating' them. It was a Second World War joke, and a wistful link with his father, who had been a bomber pilot. Geoffrey had told Colin that he thought his father had not really noticed anything since the end of that war. ' Certainly not my mother or me. ' His father might just as well have died in that war for all the good his family got of him. ' Join the club, ' was what Colin had said. ' The War, the Revolution, what's the difference?'