Opal Plumstead (13 page)

Billy had been drooping on his perch, but now he lifted his head and fluttered his wings. ‘
Happy days, happy days, happy days
,’ he chirruped merrily.

‘Oh shut up, for goodness’ sake,’ said Cassie, and gave him some birdseed to distract him.

The room was silent again, except for the tiny sound of his beak among the seeds, and the relentless ticking of the clock.

‘Where
is
Mother?’ said Cassie. ‘You don’t think something has happened to her . . .’

It was what we were both thinking. Mother had been so distraught. What if she’d decided she really couldn’t bear it? What if she’d hurled herself under a bus or over the railway bridge? I thought of all the bad things I’d said to her and started to tremble.

But Cassie’s head went up. She was listening hard. Then we both heard Mother’s key in the front door. We ran and hugged her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

‘Careful, girls, mind the shopping,’ said Mother. ‘There are fresh eggs in that bag, and tomatoes too! Let me get my coat off and I’ll start on the supper.’

‘Oh, Mother, we’ve been so worried about you,’ said Cassie.

I carried Mother’s shopping bag into the kitchen. I unpacked it for her. There was a bottle of milk, half a pound of bacon, a bag of mushrooms, a stick of best butter and an enormous crusty loaf. I stared at them, trying to work out how much they’d cost. Whatever the sum was, it was far more than Mother had had in her purse this morning.

She saw me staring. ‘You can take that look off your face. I didn’t steal them! I went to the pawn shop by the market and pawned my engagement ring and my pearl brooch and that fancy sewing basket your father bought me,’ said Mother.

‘Oh, Mother, how brave of you,’ I said. My heart started thumping. Should I offer to pawn my paintbox? It was expensive, made of real mahogany, but I wanted to keep it so badly. I saw the expression on Cassie’s face and I knew she was thinking of her green dress.

I took a deep breath. ‘Do you think we ought to pawn our special things too, Mother?’ I asked.

‘I don’t see much point. They’d only raise a couple of bob and keep us going for a day or two. The rent’s due at the end of the month. No, we’ve got to find a more sensible solution,’ said Mother. ‘Look, let’s get a meal on the table first, and then we’ll discuss it.’

We had the most glorious fry-up: eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and fried bread, all so good that we didn’t talk at all, simply bolted our food. Cassie cut herself another slice of bread and used it to wipe up all the little crispy bits left on her plate. Mother would never have allowed this before, but now she just shook her head mildly and let Cassie continue.

She cleared the dishes and made a fresh pot of tea. ‘Now, girls,’ she said. ‘I have been out looking for work today.’

We stared at her.

‘But, Mother, you’re still a married lady!’ said Cassie.

Mother had always drummed it into us that no respectable lady should ever carry on working after she got married. She should devote herself to her household duties and rear her children. The only married women who worked were poverty stricken, with feckless husbands who couldn’t support their families. It was a shock realizing that this was now our own situation.

I knew just how hard it must have been for Mother to go out seeking work. I reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘Well done, Mother,’ I whispered.

‘No, it is not well done,’ she said, pulling away from me. ‘I’ve been unsuccessful. I’ve been to Beade and Chambers department store, Evelyn’s the draper’s, Maxwell’s the toyshop, Henley’s china emporium, practically every wretched shop in town, but without success. No one wants to take on a middle-aged lady with scarcely any experience. I even went to the Fairy Glen factory and asked for light work there, but they’re only taking on young girls.’

‘As if you could ever work in a factory, Mother,’ said Cassie fiercely, but Mother glared at her too.

‘We can’t take that attitude now, girls. We have to do what we can. So I’m going to be working at home making novelty rabbits for Porter’s toy factory. They’ll be delivering all the pieces on Monday. I’m to make three dozen a day.’

‘Three dozen?’

‘Apparently they have some women who manage up to a hundred, but even then I don’t think I’ll earn enough to pay the rent,’ said Mother, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

‘Don’t, Mother, I can’t bear it,’ said Cassie. ‘Look,
I’ll
get a job. Hang it, I’ll even work at Fairy Glen.’

I stared at my sister, amazed at her heroism.

‘No, Cassie, I won’t hear of it,’ said Mother. ‘You’re halfway through your apprenticeship. You’ll start earning next year. It would be madness to throw up your position now.’

Cassie slumped with relief.

‘But . . . what are we going to do?’ I said.

Mother bent her head, not looking at me. She stirred her tea, though it had gone lukewarm.

‘I think
you’ll
have to start at the factory, Opal,’ she said.

I was so shocked I could scarcely breathe.

‘
Opal?
’ gasped Cassie.

‘She’s fourteen. There’s many a lass of fourteen who goes to work,’ said Mother, still staring down at her teacup.

‘But I’ve got my scholarship!’ I said. ‘I’m going to stay on at school and take my exams. Father says I might even go to university.’

‘Yes, well, your father has no say in things now. And I can’t quite see the point of all that schooling – it doesn’t teach you anything useful. It’s time you started work, Opal. You can always catch up with your book learning later.’

‘Not at Fairy Glen, though!’ said Cassie. ‘Can’t Opal start an apprenticeship like me?’

‘No she can’t,’ Mother snapped. ‘She needs to start earning money.’

‘What about one of the shops in town?’

‘I’ve
told
you, there are no positions anywhere. The only place needing girls is the factory. So that’s where she’s going. Starting Monday,’ said Mother. ‘I’ve fixed it.’

‘But she’ll
hate
it. Opal will be so different from all the other girls,’ said Cassie.

‘It’s time she learned to fit in. Stop looking at me like that, both of you. I don’t want her to have to leave school. I tried to get a job at the factory myself, I keep telling you. There isn’t any other option. You’ll have to like it or lump it.’ Mother stirred her tea so violently that the cup tipped and spilled all over the green chenille cloth. She and Cassie mopped and wrung the cloth and dabbed at the wooden table underneath. I sat in a daze, tea all over my blouse and tunic.

‘Opal! Shift yourself! You’re sopping wet. It’s going to be the devil of a job to get those tea-stains out if you don’t soak those clothes immediately,’ Mother told me.

‘I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to be wearing them again, am I?’ I said, and then I burst into tears.

I went up to my room, took off my uniform, and lay on my bed in my underwear, howling. How
could
Mother say I had to leave school? If Father knew, he’d be horrified. He’d been so proud of me when I won my scholarship. I’d worked hard. I might wind up old Mounty sometimes, but I was still top of the class in every subject except art – and that was simply my pride, because I wouldn’t work Miss Reed’s boring way. I was
clever
. I was going to go on and come top in every exam and go to university. Intelligence was my only asset. I was small and plain and prickly, with lank hair, weak eyes and a sharp tongue. I was nothing without my scholarship. I couldn’t give it all up! Especially not to work at the Fairy Glen factory!

It was at the south end of town, near the railway station, where the houses were terraced and tumbledown. The streets were so narrow the mothers slung their washing on lines across the cobbles and their children dodged in and out of the wet sheets, patterning them with sooty handprints. The women were big and blousy, with great swollen stomachs. The men wore cloth caps and shirts without collars and were drunk every night. I’d never
seen
them drunk of course, but Mother had given us dark warnings, especially about the young men. The young women were the most frightening – bold girls who wandered around with linked arms and whistled and shouted and swore. I
had
seen these girls. Once, when I was fetching shoes from the cobbler’s at the railway station, three brassy girls had mocked my accent and laughed at me. I’d done my best to ignore them, but I’d blushed furiously, and this had made them laugh even more.

Now Mother wanted me to work in the factory alongside awful girls like that!

‘I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!’ I muttered. ‘I hate Mother. I hate Father, because it’s all his stupid fault. I
hate
them.’

But that made me feel so bad I hated myself even more. I wanted to be good, to be mature and silently long-suffering. Perhaps I should go to the factory and earn enough to feed my family without complaint. I tried to stop crying and calm myself. I rehearsed it inside my head: I’d go downstairs, kiss Mother, and tell her not to worry any more. I knew it couldn’t be helped so I’d start earning my living and work hard. I’d be a dutiful daughter.

I couldn’t make myself do it. I lay there sobbing instead, though I was hurting my eyes and giving myself a thumping headache. After a long while Cassie came in and sat down on the edge of my bed.

‘You poor old thing,’ she said, and she put her cool hand on my burning forehead. ‘I’ve been arguing with Mother, you know. It really isn’t fair on you. It would be better for
me
to go to Fairy Glen, seeing as I’ve left school already, but she won’t hear of it. I mean, I quite like it at Madame Alouette’s. She’s not a bad old stick, and it’s fun being in the fashion world and I’m actually getting quite good at making all the hats – but it’s not as if I’m going to be doing it for the rest of my life. Catch me ending up a fussy old spinster like Madame herself. As soon as the right man comes along I’ll be off like a shot. But it’s different for you, Opie.’

‘So I’m clearly destined to be a fussy old spinster . . .’ I said, blowing my nose.

‘No, I didn’t mean that! But you want to be one of these new independent women who work and campaign and all that other boring stuff. You’re a brainy bluestocking already. It’s hateful that you have to throw away all your chances. How are you going to cope at Fairy Glen? Those girls will make mincemeat of you.’

‘Shut up, Cass,’ I said, but I gave her a big hug all the same.

I couldn’t come down and make my peace with Mother. When I eventually got to sleep, I had nightmares, dreaming of a vast rattling machine in a bleak factory. I was seized by a crowd of raucous girls and stuffed right inside it. I felt the machine crunching my bones, mangling me flat. I fought wildly and woke with my bed sheets tangled around my arms and legs.

I spent most of the weekend in my room, painting pictures of dark satanic mills with towering chimneys, though I knew perfectly well that the Fairy Glen factory was a squat, white-walled building with no Gothic features whatsoever.

I tried to read too, but for once I couldn’t concentrate on storybooks. My own life seemed to be veering outlandishly into melodrama, so that the troubled lives of the young David Copperfield and Jane Eyre seemed prosaic by comparison.

I wasn’t used to having so much free time. I usually spent several hours studying. I’d been set a great deal of homework, but what was the point of doing it now? My schoolbooks stayed in my satchel. It was the oddest feeling knowing that I never needed to get them out again.

I thought of all the girls and how they’d gossip about me when they discovered I’d left school so abruptly and started work in a factory. I tried to pretend I didn’t care what any of them thought, but I did, dreadfully. I thought of Miss Laurel and all the teachers tutting and shaking their heads. Mounty and Miss Reed would cluck triumphantly, insisting that they’d always known I would get my comeuppance. I thought of Olivia, and at last this galvanized me into action.

I went downstairs and took my coat from the hall stand.

‘So you’ve stopped sulking at last,’ said Mother.

‘I wasn’t sulking. I was painting,’ I said.

‘I can see that. You’ve got brown paint all over your hands. Whatever does it look like, Opal!’

‘Oh stop fussing, Mother,’ I said, and I went to the front door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to see my
friend
,’ I said, and slammed out of the house.

I ran most of the way to Olivia’s, suddenly desperate to see her. She was my dear, funny best friend, and she’d been so kind and comforting to me when I’d told her about Father. I wanted her to hold me and rock me again. She’d be devastated when I told her I had to leave school. How would she manage without me? We sat together, we ate lunch together, we walked home together. Olivia wasn’t very good at managing by herself. She often needed my whispered help in lessons, and I frequently did her homework.

I started to feel almost as sorry for Olivia as I did for myself. When I got to her house, I banged eagerly on the door. I had to knock several times. Then the young servant girl, Jane, opened it, her cap crooked, a coal smear all down her apron.

‘Hello, Jane,’ I said, starting to go in, but she gave a little squeal and put out her hand to stop me.

‘Sorry, miss, I have to ask the missus,’ she blurted out.

‘What? But I’ve not come to see your missus, I’ve come to see Olivia.’

‘I’m not sure it’s allowed, miss,’ said Jane, looking terribly flustered.

Then Mrs Brand herself came into the hallway. She was holding a newspaper. She actually shook it at me. ‘You’ve got a nerve coming here, Opal Plumstead,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, I – I don’t know what you mean,’ I stammered, though the sight of the newspaper filled me with dread.

‘Of course you know! It’s written here in black and white,’ she said, stabbing at the newsprint. ‘Your father’s total disgrace!’

I swallowed, feeling dizzy. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘Could I – could I just see Olivia please?’

‘No you could not!’

‘But I need to explain, to tell her that I can’t come back to school,’ I said.