A Partisan's Daughter
“I came by on the day that Airey Neave was killed by the IRA, and found Roza in a penitent mood because she had been horrible to the Bob Dylan Upstairs. She was consoling herself with a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and she offered me some, so I said, “I’d love one, but don’t ever let me drink more than a glass and a half!”
“Why not? It’s good for you. Without wine there is no civilisation,” said Roza, and I replied, “Well, it isn’t good for me. It makes me go very strange. I’ve almost had to stop, so a glass and a half’s my limit.”
“Ooh, what does it do to you?” she asked, her eyes bright with a sort of delighted curiosity.
“Do you know that story about Jekyll and Hyde?”
“Who?”
“Jekyll and Hyde. I don’t suppose there’s any reason why you would have heard of it. It’s about a doctor who takes a potion and it turns him into a murderer until the potion wears off. Well, that’s what happens with alcohol and me, except that it’s me who usually ends up nearly being murdered.
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