Opal Plumstead (10 page)

‘Father, it’s me, Opal.’

Father covered his eyes and started to sob. ‘Oh, Father. Please don’t! I can’t bear it. I know it’s all so very dreadful, but we’ll get through it somehow. The policeman here says they will be kind to you in prison. He thinks you’ll get a light sentence. It will be terrible even so, I know, but I’m sure you’ll be very brave and bear it.’

Father was shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t know what possessed me. I’ve disgraced you all. Whatever must you think of me.’

‘I think you’re the finest father in the whole world,’ I said stoutly.

‘I feel so utterly dreadful to have inflicted this on you. We’ll never be able to hold our heads up high again.’

‘Look at
my
head, Father! My neck is positively stretched. Just remember how much I love you. They say I’m not allowed to visit you, but I’ll write to you every week. Maybe the time will pass quicker than we think – and then you’ll come back home and we’ll have happy days again, just you wait and see.’

I KEPT MY
head stretched unnaturally high all the way home. I glared at everyone I passed, though they couldn’t possibly know what had happened – not yet, anyway. Mrs Liversedge would do her best to inform the whole street by sundown. I suddenly realized that local reporters might well be at the courtroom tomorrow. I saw a crude headline –
GENTLEMAN EMBEZZLER ON MAD SPENDING SPREE
– as clearly as if the words were inked in the air in front of my eyes.

Poor dear Father had risked everything just to keep the love and respect of his wife and daughters, even though he must have known he would be found out soon enough. It hadn’t been a mad spending spree at all – a dress, a few accessories, a paintbox, wine, chocolates, flowers and a talking budgerigar in a cage. They were all luxuries to us, but relatively modest purchases for many folk.

I didn’t want to go back home to Mother. I found my footsteps slowing as I got nearer. I was positively creeping by the time I turned into our street. I found myself playing the childhood game of not stepping on the cracks in the pavement. If I placed my feet carefully enough, I might wake up any minute and find myself safe in bed, hearing Father pottering about downstairs, making us an early morning cup of tea. I opened my eyes so wide they watered, but I couldn’t wake from this nightmare world.

The moment I opened the front door I heard Mother moaning. I felt a wave of revulsion. It was mostly because of Mother that Father had stolen the money. Mother had belittled him for as long as I could remember. He had gone on steadfastly loving her, meekly accepting every slight and insult. She’d never valued his writing, but she’d been cock-a-hoop when she thought he was going to be a published author and make our fortunes. She’d suddenly made him feel totally loved and cherished. The past few weeks had been wonderful, even though I’d felt uneasy. Now that the very worst of my half-aware suspicions had come true, Mother seemed to have changed her mind about Father yet again.

I trudged dutifully upstairs. She started even before I opened the bedroom door:

‘How dare you leave me on my own for
hours
? Here I am, lying here helpless, scarcely able to move, my head turned to jelly with all the shame and worry. Where have you
been
?’

‘Surely you know where I’ve been, Mother,’ I said. ‘I’ve been to see poor Father at the police station.’

Mother gave a great shriek, and then started huffing and puffing like a steam train. ‘How
dare
you go there! The
disgrace
! Your father has ruined our lives.’

‘You mustn’t take on so,’ I said coldly. ‘Don’t act as if it’s the worst tragedy in the world. We’ve got the easy part. I dare say Mrs Liversedge will gossip, but do we really care so much what the neighbours think? We shall simply hold our heads up high and get on with our lives. The police think that Father will be sentenced to a whole year in prison. All we have to do is wait. But Father has to
serve
that year, locked up with thieves and robbers and murderers. His is the far greater ordeal. All right, he’s committed a crime – but is it so very dreadful? He didn’t steal money from a person. He stole a paltry amount from an enormously rich company which paid him a pittance and never gave a thought to his welfare or comfort. And I keep
telling
you, Mother – he stole it for us. He felt so worried when he couldn’t make our fortune with his writing. You treated him like a king when you thought he was successful. How can you turn against him now?’

My words came tumbling out in an angry torrent. I’d never spoken in such a way to my own mother before. It was terribly exciting to berate her properly. I felt my whole face flushing, though I’d also started to tremble. When I paused for breath at last, the room was unnaturally quiet. The ticking of the grandfather clock on the landing seemed to beat right inside my head.

Mother heaved herself upright, leaning on her elbow. ‘Have you finished?’ she gasped, her voice hoarse from all her howling.

‘I – I think so, for the moment.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Mother. I know I’ve been a little outspoken. It’s only because I’m so upset.’

‘You think yourself so superior, Opal Plumstead. Your very name’s a total foolishness, just because your father said your eyes flashed blue and green like an opal. He insisted on the name for your christening. If I’d had my way you’d have been plain Jane – and a plain Jane you are, with your pinched face and hair as straight as a poker. How you’re so full of yourself when you look such a fright I don’t know at all.’

I was shaking from head to toe as she spoke the words. I knew that Mother had always found me difficult, but did she actually
detest
me?

‘Well, you’re going to come down to earth with a bump now,’ she went on. ‘You think you’re so clever and yet you haven’t the brains of a blancmange. Look up, girl. Look
up
!’

I looked up, wondering if she had gone demented.

‘What do you see?’ Mother demanded.

‘The . . . the ceiling,’ I said.

‘And above that? The roof, you fool, the roof. How are we going to keep a roof over our heads now, hmm? It’s been hard enough to pay the rent on your father’s salary all these years. Well, it’s going to be even harder now. And how are we going to pay the bills? Oh my Lord, we owe such a lot now too. How are we going to feed ourselves without any income whatsoever?’

I blinked at her.

‘We’re going to end up in the workhouse, that’s what,’ said Mother. She burst out crying again. ‘That’s what your precious father’s brought us to. The workhouse!’

I struggled to collect myself. ‘Of course we’re not going to end up in the workhouse,’ I said calmly enough, though my head was whirling. Mother was right. I was a total fool. I hadn’t even thought about our financial situation. How
were
we going to manage? Was it remotely possible that we really
would
end up in the workhouse?

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.’