Read Online The Sweetest Dream by Doris Lessing - Free Book Online Page B

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
placatingly 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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Before you go,’ she said, ‘tell us, who killed Kennedy.’
    Johnny shrugged, for once at a loss.
    â€˜Perhaps it was the Soviets?’ suggested the newcomer, daring
to claim his place with them.
    â€˜That is nonsense,’ said Johnny. ‘The Soviet comrades do not
go in for terrorism.’
    Poor James was abashed.
    â€˜Perhaps it was Castro?’ said Jill. Johnny was already staring
coldly at her. ‘I mean, the Bay of Pigs, I mean . . .’
    â€˜He doesn’t go in for terrorism either,’ said Johnny.
    â€˜Do give me a ring before you leave,’ said Frances. ‘A couple
of days, you said?’
    But he still wasn’t leaving.
    â€˜It was a loony,’ said Rose. ‘Some loony shot him.’
    â€˜Who paid the loony?’ said James, having recovered again,
though he was flushed with the effort of asserting himself.
    â€˜We should not rule out the CIA,’ said Johnny.
    â€˜We should never rule them out,’ said James, and