Opal Plumstead Read online

‘No, he’s been remanded. I asked the policeman where they were taking him, and it’s at Whitechurch – miles and miles away,’ she said.

  ‘How long will he be there?’

  ‘It could be months,’ Mother said hopelessly. ‘And he hasn’t a chance of getting off because he’s still pleading guilty. And another thing – all the money in his account is being frozen. I checked at the bank before coming here. We are destitute, Opal. I have been driving myself demented all day long, trying to work out what to do.’ She looked at me, and a little of her animosity crept back. ‘You think you’re so clever, Opal. Do you have any suggestions?’

  I shook my head, so worn out and despairing that I couldn’t stop the tears trickling down my cheeks.

  ‘Now, now, aren’t we both done with crying?’ Mother said, and we trailed home together.

  I’d have sooner trekked through the darkest Congo jungle than walk down our street. There were faces at windows, people pointing, children sniggering – worse than any poisonous snake or snarling lion. Mrs Liversedge had been very busy. When we passed her door, she came rushing out all a-quiver, her long nose twitching.

  ‘How did it go in court, dears?’ she said, her voice oily with false sympathy. ‘Did he get sent down for long, then? How are you going to manage, eh?’

  Mother’s hand tightened on my arm. ‘Take no notice of her,’ she muttered to me.

  I squeezed her back and we walked faster, but Mrs Liversedge’s voice followed us all the way to our front door. We could even hear her faintly when we were inside. Mother leaned against the wall for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Go and take off your sister’s clothes. Hang them up neatly now, or you’ll be in trouble.’

  Cassie came home more than an hour early, breathless from running.

  ‘I told Madame Alouette I had a sick headache – which is true enough, I’ve felt really seedy all day long. Tell me about Father! Oh please, tell me they let him off or gave him a suspended sentence? Please tell me,’ she begged.

  We told her the grim truth and she wept. Mother and I wept a little too as we huddled together on the sofa, trying not to look at Father’s empty chair.

  Mother hadn’t bought any meat for supper. She did not even have the wherewithal to buy three chops or a neck of lamb. We had a strangely comforting nursery tea instead: hot baked potatoes, then bread and milk mushed up into a porridge. We went to bed early, Mother making us Horlicks malted milk. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to get any rest, but within minutes I was sound asleep. I had dreadfully sad dreams about Father. When I woke in the night, I thought for a moment that the past few days were simply part of my nightmare. Then I realized it was all true and wondered how I should bear it.

  Mother was up early the next morning, washed and neatly dressed, though her hands were shaking as she cut us slices of bread for breakfast.

  Cassie noticed too. ‘I’ll stay home with you today,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’ll stay home,’ I said quickly.

  Mother shook her head. ‘You’ll neither of you stay home. You must go to Madame Alouette’s, Cassie, and you must go to school, Opal.’ She said it so firmly there was no arguing.

  I set off in my familiar bunchy tunic, my straw hat jammed uncomfortably on my head. It was a relief to smell the chalk-dust and rubber plimsolls, hear the jangling bell and the chatter of a hundred girls. I was back in my own safe school world. Nobody knew about Father – nobody but Olivia.

  She stared at me anxiously, wringing her hands. ‘Oh, Opal!’ she said, so tragically that half a dozen girls looked up curiously.

  ‘Be quiet,’ I hissed.

  Olivia blinked, looking desperately hurt.

  ‘I’m sorry I snapped at you,’ I said, when we were alone together at break time. ‘It’s just, you mustn’t talk about it. And you must stop looking so sorry for me.’

  ‘But I am,’ she said. ‘Opal, it is true, isn’t it? This isn’t one of your big teases?’

  ‘I wish it was.’

  ‘But . . . your pa will get off, won’t he? I mean, this is all a ghastly mistake, isn’t it? He’s really absolutely innocent, like the father in The Railway Children . . . That was such a ripping story – it always makes me cry at the end.’

  ‘This isn’t a story,’ I said. ‘I wish it was.’ My voice wobbled.

  ‘Oh, Opal, you poor, poor thing!’ Olivia threw her arms round me and hugged me tight.

  I put my head on her plump shoulder and cried all over her blouse sleeve.

  ‘There now,’ said Olivia, rocking me like a baby. ‘Well, don’t you worry, Opal. I’m still going to be your friend for ever and ever, no matter what.’

  ‘You’re the best friend in all the world,’ I said.

  ‘Here – these are for you. I bought them yesterday.’ Olivia fumbled down the front of her tunic and brought out a very crumpled bag of toffee chews. There was less than an ounce in the bag, and they were all bitten in half.

  ‘I checked – these are all banana flavour. I saved them for you,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, you are kind,’ I said. ‘But we must share them out equally.’

  We saved one each for lesson time, because it made the toffee even more enjoyable when it was sucked illicitly, though we had to try very hard not to move our mouths to avoid detection. We had a little competition to see which of us could make her toffee last the longest during mathematics. We opened our mouths at each other whenever Miss Marcus turned to chalk another sum on the board. I won, managing to keep a tiny sliver of toffee on the end of my tongue throughout the entire lesson.

  ‘I don’t want to eat lunch because it will take away the flavour,’ I said as we queued in the canteen.

  ‘We’ll buy more after school,’ said Olivia comfortingly.

  Her pocket money seemed to last for ever. It seemed likely that she had more money to spend on sweets than Mother did for all our meals. I wondered if I could ask Olivia to spare me a shilling or two on a weekly basis. I knew she’d be generous enough to give it to me, but thinking about it made me blush with shame.

  I forced myself to eat double helpings of the dubious steak pie. We always called it ‘rat pie’, and wouldn’t have been surprised to discover a little claw or piece of tail peeping out of the soggy pastry. I ate my watery cabbage and lumpy mash too. I even chewed my way through the jam coconut tart for pudding. This dish was always called ‘blood and dandruff pie’, which didn’t help the digestion. I felt sick by the time I’d finished, but at least I was full, if all we had to eat for supper was bread and milk. I could even nobly offer my portion to Mother.

  After lunch we had the terrible hawk-nosed Mounty for a double housecraft lesson. I hoped to be able to snaffle a handful of raisins or a spoon or two of sugar, but Mounty decided to devote the two lessons to a long and dreary lecture on household matters. She gave us timetables for running a decent household, with set hours for every task – mostly ridiculous matters such as sorting through sheets in the linen cupboard and checking for dust swept under the carpet.

  ‘Old Mounty takes it for granted that we’ll all have servant girls like your Jane to wash the sheets and do the sweeping,’ I whispered to Olivia.

  I wasn’t quite whispery enough. Mounty did one of her hawk pounces, flying through the desks and alighting right in front of me.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Plumstead?’ she said, affecting deafness, even cupping her hand behind her ear in a pantomime gesture. ‘I couldn’t quite catch your contribution to my lecture. Please repeat it and enlighten all of us.’

  ‘I – I was simply remarking that you are assuming we’ll all have servants, Miss Mountbank,’ I said.

  ‘Indeed,’ she replied. ‘St Margaret’s just happens to be a school for the daughters of gentlemen. It is the general assumption that most of our pupils will go on to marry gentlemen and achieve a respectable standard of living. Of course, we cannot guarantee this, especially in the case of scholarship girls.’ She sprayed my face with saliva