Opal Plumstead Read online

  ‘Bless you, dear! We’re happy enough as we are, ain’t we, Maggie? We like our workplace. Mrs Roberts runs a special nursery for our babies, so we don’t have to leave them with some old crone who won’t mind them properly. You wait till you find a fellow and start having babies, dear. You’ll thank your lucky stars you can carry on working here, earning a good wage,’ Jess said earnestly.

  ‘I don’t think I want a fellow,’ I told her.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, your time will come,’ said Maggie, misunderstanding. ‘I reckon you’ll grow taller, blossom a bit, turn into a true dazzler and have all the fellows giving you the glad eye.’

  ‘I don’t think so – but even if I did, I wouldn’t give them the glad eye.’

  ‘Nonsense! You wait till some lad takes your fancy.’

  ‘I don’t believe in romantic love. I think it’s just a myth to make us procreate,’ I said grandly.

  Olivia had listened to my theory and had been impressed. Jess and Maggie simply doubled up with laughter.

  ‘Oh, you’re a one!’

  ‘Just you wait, you funny little thing!’

  ‘Proper little caution, you are.’

  ‘Absolutely priceless. Ooh, stop me laughing or I’ll wet myself!’

  I didn’t like them laughing at me, but I knew there was no malice in their cackles. We walked back onto the factory floor together. The same gawky lad whistled at me.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Opal. Young Freddy’s fallen for you already!’ said Maggie, and Jess made silly kissing noises.

  ‘Well, I’m not falling for him!’ I hissed, going pink with indignation.

  Freddy had hair stuck flat to his forehead with cheap pomade, and he’d clearly grown recently and rapidly, because his sleeves stopped several inches from his bony wrists and there was a similar gap between his trousers and his boots.

  ‘Is he not good enough for you?’ said Maggie, with a slight edge to her voice.

  ‘Oh no, I don’t mean that at all,’ I said – though that was precisely what I felt.

  ‘Don’t worry, dear. You’re obviously bright as a button and you speak lovely, like a little lady,’ said Jess.

  ‘So what are you doing here, eh?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘Well, I . . .’ I swallowed hard. ‘My family need the money.’

  It was a painful admission. The girls at school would have been shocked and embarrassed by such a confession, but Jess and Maggie sighed and smiled at me.

  ‘Down on your luck, dear? Well, good for you to help out.’

  ‘Yes, well done, pet. Your parents must be proud of you.’

  I wished they were. I had no real idea what Father was thinking. Mother was too distracted and miserable to feel anything very much. When I got home after the desperately long afternoon, Cassie was taking a turn making the wretched little rabbits, while Mother was stirring a thick vegetable soup on the stove. Both her hands were bandaged and she winced when she stopped stirring to cut chunks of bread.

  ‘Did you have a better day today, dear?’ she asked wearily.

  ‘Let’s have a look at your hair! Did they give you another starch shampoo?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘I didn’t give them the chance. I shot out of there the very second the bell rang,’ I said.

  ‘Good for you,’ she said. ‘Oh Lordy, these rabbits are all staring at me with their beady little eyes. Horrid things.’

  ‘Shall I help too?’ I offered reluctantly, though I was so weary I just wanted to fling myself down on the sofa and sleep.

  ‘Well, we’ve got at least a dozen more to do tonight – so yes, come here. You stuff this little beggar while I cut out the next,’ said Cassie.

  I sat down and started stuffing. My fingers ached after moulding all day. I couldn’t get the sawdust to fill the spindly limbs properly. It went up my nails and hurt, and when I started sewing the limbs to the body, I managed to dig the needle into the soft pad of my thumb while struggling to pull it through the felt. No wonder Mother was wearing bandages.

  Just as she served the soup there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Oh no, our soup will get cold!’ said Cassie. ‘Don’t answer it, Mother!’

  ‘I’m not going to, don’t worry,’ she replied. ‘It’ll only be that terrible Liversedge woman again.’

  ‘But what if it’s someone important? Oh Lord, what if it’s someone with news of Father?’ I said, feeling sick.

  I imagined a policeman standing there, pale under his helmet. I imagined his voice saying, ‘So sorry, miss, but is Ernest Harold Plumstead your father? The gentleman who is currently in Whitechurch remand prison? Well, I’m very sorry to tell you that there’s been a sad accident – a matter of rope in his cell. I’m afraid he’s gone and hanged himself.’ The voice echoed in my head as plain as anything, though I was still sitting at our kitchen table, stuffing a little rabbit so hard its leg swelled as if it had dropsy.

  Mother and Cassie looked at me.

  ‘How could there be news of Father?’ said Cassie shakily.

  ‘I’d better go and see.’ Mother scrabbled at her apron with bandaged hands. She went out of the kitchen and Cassie suddenly clasped me tightly.

  ‘You don’t half smell of sugary sweets,’ she said.

  We both strained our ears. We could hear a voice saying something and Mother murmuring, but we couldn’t gauge the tone. Then Mother said something else and we heard heavy footsteps in the hall.

  ‘Oh God, I think it is a policeman,’ I blurted. ‘I can’t bear it.’

  I put my hands over my ears, not wanting to hear any further terrible news. But it wasn’t a policeman at all. Mr Andrews, my music teacher from school, came into our kitchen! I stared at him, open-mouthed. Cassie must have been even more bewildered, but he was a reasonably handsome man, so she tossed her hair about and stood up straight.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ she said. ‘I’m Cassie and this is my sister, Opal. How can we help you?’

  ‘Shush, Cassie! It’s my schoolteacher,’ I hissed.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mr Andrews apologetically.

  Mother followed him into the room, in a fluster because of the state of the kitchen. ‘Please let us go in the parlour!’ she implored.

  ‘No, no! Oh dear, I see you’re about to have supper,’ said Mr Andrews. ‘I’m so sorry to come at such an inconvenient time. I promise I’ll only be a minute or two. I just want a quick word with Opal.’

  ‘Take him in the parlour, Opal,’ Mother insisted, sweeping the pile of rabbits off the table, her face on fire. ‘I’m making a few toys for my nieces and nephews,’ she lied, though it was obvious that the rabbits were factory piecework. She was very aware that no respectable middle-class married woman went out to work, let alone did piecework in her own home. She glared at me ferociously to make me do as I was told.

  ‘Please follow me, Mr Andrews,’ I said, and led him into the parlour. It was dark and stuffy in there, and almost too neat. The chairs and table had a melancholy look, because they were so rarely used.

  ‘I’m sorry, Opal. I just wanted to come and see if you were all right,’ said Mr Andrews, standing uncomfortably, making his soft hat slowly circle in his hands.

  ‘Please, do sit down,’ I mumbled. ‘I’m perfectly fine, Mr Andrews. At least, I’m not ill.’ I waited. ‘The reason I haven’t been to school is . . .’ It was no use. I couldn’t say any more in case I burst into tears.

  ‘I do know the reason,’ said Mr Andrews, very gently. ‘I read about your father in the newspaper.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said hopelessly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Opal.’

  ‘Does everyone at St Margaret’s know, then?’

  ‘I – I believe a few people saw the newspaper,’ said Mr Andrews.

  It was clear that the news had spread like wildfire. I thought of Miss Mountbank, Miss Reed and Miss Laurel whispering amongst themselves. I thought of all the girls gasping and giggling, their eyes bright with the scandal, and I burned.