Opal Plumstead Read online

  ‘It couldn’t have. I sent it by express delivery,’ said Mother.

  ‘You did put your address on it, Father?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course he did! Don’t treat your father like a fool,’ Mother snapped. ‘Perhaps they’re very busy at the publishers, dealing with hundreds of manuscripts. We simply have to be patient.’

  ‘Unless . . .’ said Father. He looked very pale. ‘Unless they’ve decided they don’t want to publish it after all.’

  ‘Don’t!’ said Mother, putting her hands over his lips, as if she wanted to push the words back into his head. ‘Don’t you dare say that, Ernest. Of course that’s not true. Oh Lordy, I couldn’t bear the disappointment. We must be totally positive. Why, I’m sure the publishers’ letter will arrive first thing tomorrow, with a wonderful cheque attached.’

  But we still heard nothing. Father sat down the next night to write a letter of enquiry to the publishers. He laboured over it for hours, sipping the whisky and water that had become a habit.

  ‘I have to get the tone right. I don’t want to appear querulous and demanding,’ he said. ‘But on the other hand, I don’t want to seem too meek and humble.’

  He made half a dozen attempts but tore them all up. He drank another whisky and then thumped his fist on his knee. ‘I’m not going to write. I’ll go to their offices first thing tomorrow and ask, man to man.’

  ‘Oh, Ernest!’ said Mother. ‘Do you really think that’s wise? And how can you go to their offices during work hours? You don’t want to get another warning.’

  ‘I shall find a way,’ said Father grandly. ‘You told me to be positive, Lou.’

  ‘Oh, Ernest!’ Mother repeated, but there was more admiration than exasperation in her tone.

  I didn’t think Father would go through with it in the clear light of day when he was stone cold sober. He was late coming home from work. Very late.

  Mother and Cassie and I sat and gawped at each other in the kitchen, glancing at the clock every now and then.

  ‘Father’s late,’ Cassie said eventually, stating the obvious.

  ‘Perhaps if he was late into the office this morning, he had to stay later this evening?’ I suggested.

  ‘He’s not a naughty child doing detention at school,’ said Mother. She didn’t add like you, but it was clear that’s what she meant. She went to turn down the oven as far as she could. The roast beef spat inside, filling the room with its rich smell.

  ‘That beef’s going to be dry as a bone if I leave it in much longer,’ Mother moaned. ‘And it cost a small fortune at the butcher’s. I’ve run up such a bill lately. I don’t see how we’re going to pay it off if we don’t get that cheque soon.’

  ‘I’ve been offered another salon-soiled dress, the softest, subtlest shade of strawberry pink,’ said Cassie. ‘I know red-heads aren’t supposed to wear pink, but Madame Eva says it looks pretty on me even so – and I do think she’s right. She’s a friend of Madame Alouette so she’s offering me the dress at half price. It’s a wonderful bargain, but I’m still paying off the green gown and—’

  ‘Oh, Cassie, for goodness’ sake, don’t you ever think of anything but your wretched dresses?’ I said sharply.

  ‘Don’t start an argy-bargy, girls – my nerves can’t stand it,’ said Mother. She poked at the cabbage and carrots boiling on top of the stove. ‘These are being done to death too. Oh, I did want it to be a lovely meal. Your poor father has worked so hard. And he’s looking so very pale. He needs some good beef to give him a little boost.’ She looked at the clock again. ‘He’s never been this late before. Opal, run down the road and see if you can see any sign of him. Ask some of the gentlemen coming back from the City if there’s been any trouble with the buses.’

  I ran out into the street, right down to the bus stop. I waited ten minutes for the next bus, and then glared at the gentlemen alighting, willing each and every one to change into my dear pa.

  ‘Please, sir, I’m waiting for my father and he’s very late. Has there been an accident anywhere? Have any of the buses been diverted?’

  They all shook their heads in unison, giving me no comfort. I waited for the next bus, and the next. Still no Father. I knew I should go home, but I couldn’t bear the idea of being cooped up in the kitchen with Mother and Cassie again. I started marching up and down the streets just to give my legs something to do, walking all round the block in between each bus.

  I walked past Victoria Park, where Father used to take Cassie and me to feed the ducks when we were little. I saw a man hunched on a bench beside the pond who looked a little like Father. I stopped, blinking hard. It was Father, sitting there all by himself, staring into space.

  I felt my heart beating hard beneath my tunic. I hurried towards him. He must have heard my footsteps on the stony path, but he didn’t look up. I sat down beside him on the bench. He still stared straight ahead.

  ‘Father?’ I whispered.

  He started and then turned towards me. ‘Hello, Opal! What are you doing here?’ he said. He looked paler than ever and his eyes were bloodshot.

  ‘Oh, Father, we’ve been worried about you. It’s so late!’ I cried.

  ‘Late?’ Father pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘Oh my goodness, so it is! I expect your mother will be wondering where we are.’

  ‘Yes, she has supper all ready.’ I swallowed hard. ‘So why are you sitting here? Why didn’t you come straight home?’

  ‘I just took a fancy to have a little stroll first. I’ve always loved this park. Remember when you and Cassie were children?’

  ‘Yes, you always took us to feed the ducks with stale bread.’

  ‘Very stale – but you would always have a little nibble on a crust too,’ said Father. ‘I used to call you my Jemima Puddleduck, remember?’

  ‘And I’d go quack, quack, quack,’ I said.

  We both chuckled, but the laughter didn’t sound right at all. I reached out and put my hand over Father’s. It was a warm evening, but his hand was icy.

  ‘You’re so cold, Father! Have you been sitting here for ages?’ I said.

  ‘I suppose I have,’ he said. He tried to squeeze my hand reassuringly. ‘Don’t look so worried, Opal. I’m perfectly fine.’

  ‘Oh, Father, don’t! Has something dreadful happened?’ I couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘Did the publishers tell you they don’t want your novel after all?’ I felt the tears running down my cheeks because I was so sad for him.

  ‘Hey, hey, you mustn’t cry, little Opal,’ said Father, gently dabbing at my tears with his cold fingertips. ‘No, you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick. The publishers love my book. They think it’s vastly improved now I’ve done all the corrections. They all clapped me on the back and called me an excellent chap.’

  I stared at Father. He had tears in his own eyes but he was smiling determinedly.

  ‘Is that really true, Father?’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes! Yes indeed.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you come rushing straight home to tell us?’

  ‘Oh dear, you sound like a little Sherlock Holmes now! I suppose I just needed a bit of peace and quiet to let it all sink in. I couldn’t concentrate properly at work. Oh Lord, what a day! The happiest day of my life. Our little Billy bird is so right. Happy days, happy days.’

  I wanted to believe him, but he was acting so strangely, and he looked so tired and shaken. Was he really happy?

  ‘What about your work, Father? Were they very angry when you went in late again? Did you explain?’

  ‘Oh, those cold-hearted slave-drivers are never interested in explanations,’ he said. ‘They gave me another warning. If I’m even one minute late starting work now, it means instant dismissal.’

  ‘But that’s so unfair! What if a bus breaks down? What if you’re taken ill?’

  ‘Don’t be so concerned, dearie. I won’t need the job soon, will I?’

  ‘I – I suppose not.’

  ‘That’s right. Th