Opal Plumstead Read online

  ‘Watch out, she’s going to chuck any minute!’ said Patty.

  I took a deep breath. ‘No I’m not. I’m perfectly fine,’ I said, willing this to be true.

  Then a bell suddenly clanged loudly and all the girls stopped moulding and practically ran out of the room.

  ‘Oh goodness, is it a fire alarm?’ I asked.

  George and Geoff shook their heads at me as they took the great copper pan off the flames and stood it on a large rack.

  ‘It’s dinner time,’ said Geoff. ‘Follow us – we’ll show you where to go.’

  ‘I – I’m not sure I want any dinner,’ I said.

  ‘Course you do, silly girl. It’ll settle those fondants.’

  Geoff was very kind, but I wished he wouldn’t call me silly. It was so humiliating not knowing the simplest thing. I wasn’t sure he knew the state of my stomach better than I did, but I let him take me by the elbow and lead me downstairs. George started to take an interest in me too, telling me several times to ‘Perk up, little lass.’

  The dining hall was in another building altogether. A rich savoury smell was seeping through its doors. For a moment my stomach lurched alarmingly and I thought I might have to make a run for it, but then I breathed deeper, hoping that the meat and vegetables might counteract the cloying sweetness inside me.

  I followed Geoff and George into the dining hall and looked at the milling crowd in alarm. There were unruly queues at the serving hatches, some wanting soup, some meat, some pudding, some content with a cup of tea and a bun. There was an even longer queue at a desk, where people balanced trays. People ate at long tables, but I saw that the men all sat on one side, the women on the other. I’d hoped to nestle near Geoff and George, but it looked as though I’d have to chance my luck with the girls. I resolved to sit as far away from Patty as I could.

  I went to join the meat queue, surprisingly hungry now. It looked better than school dinners: boiled beef and carrots and mounds of fluffy mashed potato. I waited politely in the queue, furious when several girls with pointy elbows squeezed past me.

  ‘There is a queue,’ I said.

  ‘Oh Lordy, there’s a queue, is there! Well, swipe me pink,’ said one girl.

  ‘A queue, indeed! And there’s me thinking it was a free-for-all,’ said another.

  They both stayed exactly where they were. I tried to ignore them, but they started making fun of me now, commenting on my ill-fitting overalls and ridiculous cap. So it wasn’t just Patty. All the girls were coarse and unkind. This factory was even worse than I’d feared. I wondered about running out of the dining hall and hiding in the ladies’ room. Oh dear, if only I’d done so! But I stuck it out and waited until I was at the front at last. I received my plate of meat and veg and was then directed over to the desk. I couldn’t understand why we had to queue all over again, our food cooling on our trays. Then I realized what the folk ahead of me were doing. There was a woman with a cash register at the desk. The people were paying for their meals. A sign above the desk swam into focus.

  THREE-COURSE MEAL

  3d.

  MEAT AND VEGETABLES

  2d.

  PUDDING OR BUN

  1d.

  It was just like a restaurant. I’d been a fool to think the meal was provided for free. I didn’t have tuppence for my meat and veg. I didn’t even have a penny for a bun. I had no money at all.

  I felt the shame of it wash over me. I stood dithering, peering around for Geoff or even Mr Beeston, wondering if I could possibly pluck up the courage to ask them to lend me the money, but I couldn’t spot either of them now. I waited until I was at the head of the queue.

  ‘Tuppence please,’ said the woman. She was so fat she oozed out on either side of her seat and hid it totally, so it looked as if she were squatting in thin air. Perhaps she ate the thrupenny, tuppenny and penny choices all day long.

  ‘Please, I’m terribly sorry – I’m new, you see. I didn’t realize we had to pay for our meals. I haven’t got any money on me,’ I whispered to the fat woman. ‘Could you possibly see your way to giving me credit just for today?’

  ‘What?’ she said, frowning at me, her chins wobbling indignantly. ‘We don’t give credit here. We’re not a bleeding charity institution. You pays your money and you has your meal. No money – no meal.’

  ‘But what am I going to do with it if I can’t pay,’ I said, staring at my meal in despair.

  ‘Take it back! Now. Before it gets any colder. And don’t try and play this trick again, girl, it ain’t funny.’

  I had to carry my wretched tray of food back to the hatch. Some fool thought I was pushing in, returning for a second helping, and objected bitterly. The woman behind the hatch was most put out when I thrust my loaded tray back at her.

  ‘Make up your mind, miss! Don’t you go messing me about again,’ she said.

  I was sure I’d never ever dare return to the dining room. I fled from the hall, across the deserted factory floor, back to the ladies’ room. The fondants were churning around again. I reached a cubicle just in time and was horribly sick. I stayed shuddering and crying behind the locked door for a while and then emerged shakily to wash my face.

  I got another shock when I saw myself in the mirror above the washbasins. I was pale grey. The morning working in the fondant room had done its work. I set about washing it off determinedly. I managed to scrub my face and hands pink again, but my cap and overall were still covered in starch. At least the ridiculous cap was preventing my hair turning grey too.

  I wondered what I should do now. I was still feeling weak from vomiting. The rare times I’d been taken ill at school I was sent to the sick room and encouraged to lie down on the bed with a glass of water and a bowl beside me. I very much doubted that the factory had a similar refuge. Should I just ask to go home because I wasn’t feeling well? I had such an urgent longing to be back in my bedroom with my books and my paintings that I doubled up, moaning.

  ‘Oh my goodness! What’s the matter, child?’ A woman was standing in the doorway, peering at me anxiously. Her cap and overall were snowy white and fitted her perfectly. She had extraordinary blue eyes with dark lashes, and a fine complexion. She stood beautifully, with a ramrod-straight back. If she weren’t obviously a factory worker, I’d have thought her a true lady. Her voice sounded like a lady’s too, quiet and melodious.

  I straightened up, feeling incredibly foolish.

  ‘Are you ill, dear?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Well, yes, I’ve just been sick,’ I said.

  ‘Oh dear.’ But the lady looked faintly amused. ‘Is it by any chance your first day here at Fairy Glen?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘So perhaps you spent the morning eating rather a lot of sweets?’

  ‘Fondants, miss. It is allowed, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes indeed, but it often has rather unfortunate consequences,’ she said. ‘Shall I fetch one of the girls from the fondant room to look after you?’

  ‘No! I mean, no thank you, miss. I’d sooner be quiet by myself,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not very pleasant in here,’ said the lady. ‘Perhaps you’d like to walk outside in the yard for a while and get some fresh air? You’ll hear the bell when it’s time to go back to work.’

  ‘Yes, I should like that,’ I said.

  ‘Come here.’ She took several pins from her own hair and deftly adjusted my cap, securing it at a much more sensible angle. ‘That looks a bit better, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes, miss!’

  ‘You are fourteen, aren’t you? You look so young to be working. But at least you’ll be properly looked after here. There’s a lovely family feel to the Fairy Glen factory, don’t you find?’

  I stared at her. What kind of warped family were Patty and all the other girls? But perhaps Geoff was like a kindly big brother, and Mr Beeston was certainly the jolly uncle type.

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  The lady looked perplexed. ‘You don’t look very