Opal Plumstead Read online

  ‘No I’m not,’ I declared stoutly.

  ‘We’ll find a cab when we get to the main road. I took one to your house to get me there as quickly as possible. I should have hung onto it. You must be feeling desperately hungry too. Don’t worry, Opal. In fifteen minutes we’ll be sitting in a warm restaurant ordering a lovely lunch.’

  Morgan was as good as his word. The Royal Hotel was every bit as delightful as I’d imagined. I was worried that I wouldn’t know what to do or how to order, but he was wondrously tactful, whisking me past the supercilious head waiter, making sure I was comfortably seated, and talking me through the menu.

  I became fixated on the word honeydew. It sounded heavenly, a meal suitable for my own fairies. I had no idea what honeydew would look or taste like, but I knew I wanted it desperately. There were all kinds of meat and fish to choose from, many that I’d never tasted before. I decided to ask for roast chicken, a tremendous treat.

  ‘Perfect choice,’ said Morgan. ‘I’ll have exactly the same.’

  I was privately disappointed by my first glimpse of honeydew. It was a big watery fruit with a yellow rind. It tasted delicious, however, so I spooned it up hungrily. The chicken was even better, golden-skinned with succulent white flesh. We had chicken every Christmas (except this last one, when we’d had to make do with cheaper pork chops). But this chicken was served with bread sauce, roast potatoes, and a whole medley of vegetables.

  When I’d finally cleared my plate, I was full and said I didn’t want any pudding.

  ‘Oh, you must have something! Don’t worry, I’m not going to force you to have a large helping of roly-poly. I don’t want you walking bent over all afternoon. How about something light? I know – raspberry meringues!’

  They were quite marvellous: pale pink meringues with dark red cream. Each one disappeared in three mouthfuls.

  ‘This has to be the best meal of my life,’ I said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Morgan, though I was sure he’d eaten at any number of fine restaurants.

  I caught a glimpse of the bill. It terrified me. There hadn’t been any prices on the menu. I’d known it would be expensive – at least twice the price of a Lyon’s Cornerhouse meal – but this was astronomical.

  ‘Oh my goodness! I didn’t think it would be that much!’ I gasped.

  ‘Please don’t worry, Opal. I’ve got more than enough on me, I promise,’ said Morgan.

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, you don’t yet have a salary.’

  ‘I have a generous allowance.’ Morgan looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Too generous. I should think it might make you despise me. You have to work so very hard and I just swan around in the holidays and do nothing very much. I don’t even work that hard at school – not unless the lessons really interest me. Yet I shall waltz off to Oxford for three years, then stroll into the factory and take over. It’s not at all fair, is it? Not fair on all the workers beavering away for very little.’

  ‘You sound like one of those trade union people. They keep giving out leaflets outside Fairy Glen,’ I said.

  ‘Well, my heart’s on their side but my head doesn’t want them to have too much power, for obvious reasons. You don’t want to join a trade union, do you, Opal?’

  ‘I don’t seem to be any good at joining anything. It looks as if I’ll be drummed out of the WSPU unless I learn to keep my mouth shut. Oh dear, I’m still worried about your mother, Morgan. I think you’d better go back home straight away now we’ve had our lovely lunch.’

  ‘I’m not going to do that. We’re going to spend the rest of the day together. Where would you like to go? Why don’t you show me all your favourite haunts? I want to find out about little-girl Opal.’

  So we went for the strangest walk around the town together. Morgan carefully walked on my outside, offering me his arm. It was extraordinarily enjoyable to stroll along together. I was acutely aware that people were looking at us because Morgan cut such a fine figure and I didn’t look too much of a disgrace in my cream lace. I was too cold, though, and when Morgan saw that I was shivering he took me straight to Beade and Chambers, the biggest department store in the town. I had sometimes wandered through with Cassie or Olivia, but I’d never actually bought anything.

  ‘Why are we going in here?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m going to find you something to keep you warm,’ said Morgan. ‘The ladies’ accessories are this way.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Oh goodness, I trotted around after Mother many a time when I was a little boy.’

  The shop assistants clearly knew who Morgan was and bobbed their heads at him. It seemed so strange that I wouldn’t be considered refined enough to work at Beade and Chambers, and yet here I was, shopping at my leisure with Mr Morgan Roberts.

  I thought he might be considering buying me a muffler or maybe mittens, and I longed for this, even though I had a perfectly sensible muffler and mittens at home. But to my astonishment he smiled charmingly at the assistant behind the counter and said, ‘We’re looking for a cashmere shawl. It would be perfect if you had one in cream, to match the young lady’s outfit.’

  ‘Not a shawl, Morgan. And especially not cashmere. It’ll be far too expensive,’ I whispered in his ear.

  But he insisted, choosing the finest they had, a wonderfully soft, luxuriously large shawl in a pale cream. It was a totally impractical garment because it would show the dirt dreadfully, but that made it even more glamorous. It was indeed dreadfully expensive, but Morgan still signed the cheque with a flourish. It made me feel very special. Of course, if I stopped to consider, it wasn’t really Morgan’s money because he wasn’t earning yet. It was Mrs Roberts’ money – which came from the factory. I worked for the factory. My fairy boxes were a big success, so I suppose a tiny percentage of the money came from me. It made it just a little easier to say yes. The assistant asked if we’d like the shawl wrapped or sent to a particular address.

  ‘No, thank you. The lady is wearing it now – that’s the whole point,’ said Morgan. He took the shawl and wrapped it very carefully and competently about my neck and shoulders.

  Then we stepped back outside in style. We wandered around the town together. It seemed as if my own elfin creatures had sprinkled their fairy dust over the familiar dreary buildings. I told Morgan tales of trips to this shop and that. I even told him the story of poor Mother being ill in the butcher’s shop and losing her job.

  Morgan told me about his own excursions into town. He was kitted out at the saddler’s when he got his first pony at the age of six. He used to delve into the sacks of dried apricots and figs at the grocer’s when he accompanied the cook. He’d chosen Treasure Island and The Swiss Family Robinson and King Solomon’s Mines from the bookshop near the park.

  ‘My father used to take me to that bookshop to choose my birthday present,’ I said. ‘And then we’d go to the park and sit on a bench together and I’d read him the first chapter.’

  Morgan and I went to that very park and walked down its small sandy paths and grassy slopes. The crocuses were out, cheerful clumps of colour in the green grass. We sat on a bench by the pond and watched two mothers help their children feed the ducks with bread scraps. We’d both loved to do that when we were little.

  ‘I wonder if there was ever a day when I was six or so and a tiny Opal of two was standing beside me, flinging her bread to the wind,’ said Morgan.

  ‘Flinging herself in after the bread and being taken home dripping wet and in disgrace,’ I said, laughing.

  The only memory I did not share was the one of Father and me sitting on that bench together last autumn, when he was so late home from work. He hadn’t told me what had happened, though I’d sensed something was very wrong. It seemed so long ago now. I still loved Father with all my heart and missed him dreadfully. I worried about him every day, but somehow I didn’t feel quite so connected with him any more. So much had happened since he’d been sent to prison. So many sad and difficult things – yet today I was h