Opal Plumstead Read online

  It was an ugly stone building at the edge of the town. There were no windows on the ground floor so you couldn’t peep inside. I had no clear idea what happened to the poor inmates. I wasn’t even sure what kind of work happened in this grim house. I had vaguely heard of people picking oakum. I had no idea what oakum was, or how you picked it. I had a vivid imagination, but it was hard to picture Mother, Cassie and me sitting in rags and picking this oakum all day long. I had a sudden urge to paint a picture of us, surrounded by little Oliver Twists all begging for more gruel, but I could hardly leave Mother again to closet myself in my room and paint.

  I made a pot of tea instead, and we both sipped at it, looking wary. We had both said too much, and now we didn’t know how to engage with each other. Mother’s long sobbing fit had stopped now, though her breath still came in little gasps and she kept clutching her chest dramatically, as if she had a pain in her heart.

  It seemed like the longest afternoon of my life. Mother and I talked in a desultory manner of this and that, neither of us able to face discussing our circumstances again. I could tell that Mother was in internal agony, though. She didn’t just clutch her chest, she started giving sharp little moans, as if someone were intermittently stabbing her.

  I sat thinking of Father, hunched in the prison cell. I couldn’t help thinking of myself too, wondering what was going to happen to me. It still seemed impossible that we might really end up in the workhouse. It was an institution for the destitute, not families like us.

  I tried to make coherent plans. I had to think of some way of raising money. Perhaps I could do a little babysitting? I knew a girl in my class at school who regularly babysat in the evenings for her sister and brother-in-law, and they paid her half a crown a time. But they were family. I didn’t have any infant nephews or nieces. I didn’t know anyone with babies. There were several women in the street who had young children. Could I approach them and offer my services? But I didn’t know anything about children. What if they cried? What would I feed them? And – oh Lord – what if they needed their napkins changing?

  I couldn’t possibly be a babysitter. Maybe I could try to help elderly folk? I was good at reading aloud and could just about manage little domestic tasks, so perhaps I could be a part-time paid companion after school and at weekends. But when would I do my homework? And I wouldn’t be able to spend precious hours dawdling with Olivia and stuffing my face with sweets.

  At ten past four there was a rat-a-tat-tat on our front door – Olivia’s signature knock.

  ‘Oh dear God, who’s that? Is it that Liversedge woman come back to gloat?’ said Mother.

  ‘No, Mother, it’s Olivia, come to see why I was called away from school,’ I said, leaping up.

  ‘What? You mustn’t let her in! You mustn’t say anything to her. Oh, how that whole family will crow if they find out. They’ve always acted as if we’re not good enough. That girl’s mother looks down her nose at me,’ my own mother hissed.

  ‘I can’t ignore her. She’s my friend,’ I said.

  I was suddenly desperate to see dear old Olivia. Before Mother could stop me, I ran into the hall and had the front door open in a trice. Olivia stood there scuffing her boots on the doormat, her plaits unravelling, her mouth open anxiously.

  ‘Oh, Olivia!’ I said, and I threw my arms round her.

  ‘Opal?’ She hugged me back warmly. ‘Opal, what’s happened? Why did they call you away? I was so worried!’

  I heard Mother shouting, telling me to send Olivia away this instant.

  Olivia couldn’t help hearing too and screwed up her face. ‘Gosh, what’s up with your mother? What have I done?’

  ‘Nothing!’ I took hold of her and led her back onto the garden path, out of Mother’s earshot. ‘Mother’s just hysterical. That’s why I had to go home. She’s gone off her head because . . .’ I suddenly faltered, wondering if I could really tell Olivia the truth.

  ‘Because what?’ she asked.

  ‘Look, do you swear you won’t tell anyone? Anyone at all?’ I whispered.

  ‘Cross my heart and may I die if I tell a lie,’ Olivia murmured solemnly, crossing her chest and miming cutting her own throat.

  ‘Father’s been arrested,’ I whispered right into her ear.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shush! Oh, Olivia, it’s so dreadful. He’s going to court in the morning, and then he’ll be locked away, and the policeman thinks he’ll be in prison for at least a year.’

  ‘Prison!’ said Olivia, her eyes enormous.

  ‘You won’t tell, will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t – but golly, what has your pa done? Surely it’s all a terrible mistake?’

  ‘I wish it was, but I think he really did take some money from his firm.’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Olivia looked so shocked that my stomach lurched.

  ‘It’s not such a very bad crime, is it? I mean, he didn’t harm anyone – and it wasn’t money to spend on himself, it was for the family. He wanted us to think he’d earned it from his writing. You can understand, can’t you?’ My voice wavered.

  Olivia didn’t look as if she understood at all. She kept staring at me as if she couldn’t quite believe I’d said it.

  ‘Opal!’ Mother was at the door, dishevelled and furious. ‘Opal, come inside this instant!’

  I pressed Olivia’s hand urgently and then obeyed. Mother slammed the door shut, then slapped me hard across the cheek.

  ‘How dare you!’ she cried.

  ‘How dare you,’ I said, holding my stinging face.

  Mother used to slap Cassie and me regularly when we were little, but she hadn’t done it for years.

  ‘I am your mother! I shall treat you severely until you learn to do as you’re told. I am head of the family now,’ she said.

  ‘Father hasn’t died,’ I protested.

  ‘If only he had! Then we could go about our normal lives with dignity,’ said Mother.

  ‘You can’t really mean that. You love Father. You’ve been so specially nice to him recently.’

  ‘Well, more fool me, letting myself believe he’d at last achieved something, acted like a real man.’ Mother’s voice wavered, but she didn’t cry again. She pressed on her eyes with the backs of her hands, as if literally stopping the tears. ‘I suppose I’d better start preparing supper. Cassie will be home soon. Oh, poor dear Cassie, how I dread breaking this to her.’

  Cassie was singing as she came through the front door. She had a large paper package in her arms, cuddling it as if it were a baby.

  ‘Hello, Mother, hello, sis. Wait till you see my new gown! It’s heliotrope – oh, so sophisticated! Wait till I put it on. It’s perhaps a little too décolleté, but I can always fashion a piece of lace to act as a modesty panel – though do you know what? Madame Alouette herself said I had a beautiful figure and I should be proud to show it off.’ Cassie giggled coyly, and then at last took in our expressions.

  ‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that? Why can’t I have lovely clothes now that we have money. Where’s Father? I’m sure he’ll let me keep the new gown.’

  ‘You must take it back tomorrow and say you’re not allowed to have it,’ said Mother. ‘God knows how we’re going to pay for the other dresses. Oh, Cassie!’ This time she couldn’t keep back her tears.

  ‘What’s happened?’ said Cassie. ‘Aren’t Father’s publishers going to cough up after all?’

  ‘He was pretending all the time. Lord knows why I believed him. I knew his writing nonsense was a waste of time. If only he’d been man enough to admit it! But what does he do? What does he do?’ Mother repeated histrionically, gulping for breath. ‘Tell her!’ she gasped, pointing at me.

  ‘Father stole from the shipping office. I think he made out a cheque to himself and paid it into his own bank,’ I said.

  ‘Father did?’ said Cassie. ‘Our father stole?’ She suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Father!’ she repeated. ‘Who would ever have thought it! Father!’