Opal Plumstead Read online

  ‘Morgan!’ I cried and I ran to him.

  ‘Opal!’ He smiled and held out his arms. We embraced, hugging hard, both of us going pink with emotion. ‘Oh, Opal, it’s so good to see you at last.’

  ‘I’m so glad you came. I was so scared you wouldn’t,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss our day out for the world,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid there has to be a little change of plan. Look!’ He gestured inside the station. There was a big placard.

  WE ARE SORRY TO ANNOUNCE THAT BECAUSE OF THE

  CURRENT SITUATION THERE WILL BE NO TRAIN SERVICE

  FROM SOUTHERN WESTERN. PLEASE ACCEPT OUR

  SINCERE APOLOGIES FOR THE DISRUPTION.

  LET US PRAY FOR PEACE.

  ‘Oh my goodness, there are no trains because of the war? We’re not at war now, are we?’

  ‘No, not yet, but it looks horribly likely. Don’t let it spoil our day, though. By hook or by crook I’m going to get us to the seaside. I’ve been talking to a chappie who says that there are motorized coaches taking folks to the coast on day excursions. They stop outside the bus station. He thinks they leave at half past seven. Do you think you could run very fast? Then we might just catch one.’

  ‘I’ll run like the wind,’ I said, hitching up my narrow skirts a little in preparation.

  ‘Oh, you’re such a good sport. How wonderful that you’re as early as me! Come on, then, let’s sprint.’

  Morgan seized my hand and we ran hard, dodging through the gathering crowds, rounding the corner, down to the end of the road, and there was the omnibus station. There was a line of big shiny green and cream coaches.

  Morgan raced ahead and started talking earnestly to the first driver. ‘Not this one!’ he said, when I caught up. ‘It’s going to Brighton. You don’t care for Brighton, I know.’

  ‘I don’t mind. Brighton’s fine,’ I said hastily, but Morgan was already dashing to the coach behind.

  ‘Where are you going, driver?’ he asked.

  ‘Hastings,’ he said.

  ‘Hastings?’ Morgan said to me.

  ‘Wonderful!’ I replied.

  ‘Then we’ll have two return tickets, please,’ said Morgan.

  ‘No can do, sir,’ said the driver. ‘I’m fully booked, every seat. Just take a look.’

  The coach was crowded with families, with children clashing their buckets and spades, shouting and laughing.

  ‘What about asking some of the little ones to squeeze up together on one seat? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind too much,’ said Morgan. ‘Then I could pay you for two extra adults. In fact, why don’t I pay double for our tickets, just for your trouble?’ He pressed money into the driver’s hand.

  ‘Right you are, sir. Jolly decent of you. How about you two sitting three seats down on the right? You kids budge up in the front with the others. You’ll like that – you can make out you’re driving the bus. If you’re very good, I’ll let you sit up in my driving cabin for a mo when we get to the seaside.’

  In less than a minute both men had smoothed out the situation to everyone’s satisfaction. We subsided onto the vacated seat. The driver started up his engine and we were off. There was a huge cheer from the passengers. The children kept whooping for a full five minutes.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Morgan. ‘I didn’t realize it was going to be quite so rowdy. Do you mind terribly that it’s a motor coach?’

  ‘Of course I don’t, silly. I think it was brilliant of you to get us on it.’

  ‘I feel a bit of a fool not being able to drive. I could take us anywhere in a car. I’ll get Mitchell to talk me through it, and then, later this summer, I’ll take us out in true style. I’ll have to learn to drive anyway. When Mitchell picked us up from the station yesterday, we were discussing the likelihood of war, and he said he was keen to join up. I think he’d like to drive an army truck.’

  ‘Oh, Morgan, you won’t join up, will you?’ I said, squeezing his arm.

  ‘Me? No, I hate the idea of killing anybody. I can’t even stand hunting. I haven’t the stomach for it.’

  ‘You promise you won’t join up?’

  ‘You’re as bad as Mother, Opal. And this is all a bit premature. Maybe we’ll be able to wangle some kind of peace treaty at the eleventh hour.’

  ‘I do hope so.’

  ‘But we won’t think about it now. This is our day out. I do hope Hastings is jolly. I’ve never been there.’

  ‘Neither have I, but I’m sure it will be lovely,’ I said fervently.

  It was truly lovely, though the sea still wasn’t storybook blue and the beach wasn’t as sandy as I’d hoped. But the sun was shining and we were together and, like most of the couples on their bank holiday outing, we walked hand in hand along the seafront.

  It was crowded, with musicians and ice-cream sellers and fortune-tellers and tintype photographers clamouring for our custom. Morgan bought me an ice cream. I rather hoped we could have our photograph taken together, but he laughed at the idea.

  We threaded our way through the crowds towards the quaint fishermen’s huts at the end of the beach. They were very thin and tall, made of blackened wood. The fishermen in their tan smocks were busy selling cod and plaice to eager folk. There were whelk and cockle stalls too. Morgan offered me a penny pot, but I didn’t fancy them at all.

  ‘Let’s find some cooked fish,’ he suggested.

  We went into a little blue and white fish restaurant. Their fried fish was truly delicious: golden batter, very crisp, with the whitest cod, still tasting salty from the sea. I ate every mouthful, with a big portion of fried potatoes, a plate of bread and butter and two cups of tea.

  ‘And you’re such a scrap of a girl! I don’t know where you put it all,’ said Morgan admiringly. ‘This is such fun. I’ve always wanted to eat in a fried fish shop.’

  We went for a walk around the old town, looking in all the strange curio shops. I’d brought a full purse with me, so I was able to buy Morgan a china shaving mug with an interesting mermaid design in blue and white. I liked the mermaid’s unusual blue hair and shiny blue tail.

  ‘It’s lovely, Opal, but you mustn’t spend your money on me,’ he told me.

  ‘You’ve spent much, much more on me,’ I said. ‘You’ve spoiled me utterly.’

  ‘I don’t have to work so hard for my money,’ said Morgan. ‘But very well, I shall accept my mug with enormous gratitude if you’ll let me buy you a present in return.’

  ‘You’ve already bought me my beautiful shawl.’

  ‘I want to buy you something else,’ said Morgan, pausing at a jewellery shop window. ‘I tell you what! Do you own any opals?’

  I didn’t have any jewellery at all, certainly not opals. I saw the prices of the opal necklaces in the jewellery shop and grew frightened. ‘No, Morgan. No, absolutely not,’ I said.

  But he spotted a slim silver chain hanging on a black velvet stand at the back of the display. It had a small opal pendant in the shape of a teardrop. ‘That looks perfect,’ he said.

  It was perfect. I wanted it desperately, though I protested that I couldn’t possibly let him buy it for me. He took no notice whatsoever. He went into the shop, had the little old jeweller take it out of the window, and told me to fasten the opal pendant around my neck.

  ‘It could have been made just for you, madam,’ said the jeweller happily.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Morgan. ‘I shall buy it.’

  When we left the jeweller’s, I looked to see if anyone was watching, and then I kissed Morgan very quickly on the cheek.

  ‘It’s the most beautiful present in the world. I shall never ever take it off,’ I said.

  We wandered further until we came to the bottom of the cliffs. There was a little queue waiting for the East Cliff funicular lift. It took passengers all the way up to the cliff top.

  ‘Oh, we have to go up!’ said Morgan.

  We waited patiently, paid our two pennies, and then ascended slowly and jerkily upwards. I was frightened w