Opal Plumstead (9 page)

I ran. I ran nearly all the way home, the mince and tapioca slopping uneasily in my stomach, so that I wondered if I might have to stop and be sick in the street. Mother unwell? What on earth had happened? Mother was always in the rudest of health. She rarely had coughs or colds and I’d never known her take to her bed, ever. Father was the parent who got influenza every winter, had to inhale a steaming bowl of Friars’ Balsam, and endure goose grease rubbed into his chest.

Why on earth would Mother call for
me
? Why me and not Cassie? She was the eldest and Mother’s favourite. I couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pride that Mother had asked for
me
.

I was exhausted by the time I got home, my shirt sticking to my back, a hole worn in my stocking so my toe poked out uncomfortably. I let myself in the front door, calling, ‘Mother, Mother, it’s me, Opal, I’m home.’

Mrs Liversedge from two doors along was lurking in our hallway. Mother couldn’t stand Mrs Liversedge, a large blousy woman known to be a terrible gossip. She was flushed with excitement now.

‘Thank goodness, Opal! I’ve taken the liberty of putting your mother to bed, she’s in such a state,’ she said. ‘I had to give her smelling salts to calm her down. Go up to her now, dear, and see if you can quiet her.’

I ran up the stairs. I heard the most tremendous sobbing, a wild keening sound that seemed near demented. I ran into Mother’s room, and there she was writhing on the bed, the collar of her dress undone and her boots unbuttoned, but otherwise fully dressed. She was clutching a lace handkerchief but totally failing to mop her face. Tears were streaming rapidly down her cheeks and her nose was dripping too.

‘Mother? Oh, Mother, what’s happened?’ I looked around wildly. ‘Where’s Father? Is it Father? Oh Lord, what’s happened to Father?’

Mother heaved herself up, gasping. ‘Your wretched father!’ she cried. ‘Trust you to be more concerned about your father! God rot his soul – I wish I’d never set eyes on him,’ she declared, so caught up with emotion she continued to let her eyes and nose stream freely.

I heard footsteps and saw the dreadful Mrs Liversedge standing in the bedroom doorway, arms folded, watching avidly.

‘Mother, please. Stop it! You don’t know what you’re saying,’ I said. I took her lace handkerchief and tried to dab her damp face.

‘Oh, she knows all right,’ said Mrs Liversedge, making tutting noises with her large horsy teeth. ‘Poor soul, this has hit her hard. Your ma’s always considered herself a cut above us ordinary folk in the street, I know that. I’m not blaming her – it’s natural to want to better yourself, especially when you’ve got a husband with a fancy Oxford degree who goes off to the City every day in his serge suit, with his bowler at a jaunty angle. Oh, it’s always that type what lets you down in the end, never your decent working bloke who does his share of honest toil.’

I wanted to scream at her. How dare she talk to us like this? Why didn’t Mother shut her up?

‘Thank you, Mrs Liversedge,’ I said as coldly as I could, as if I were a mistress dismissing an impertinent servant. ‘You’ve been very kind looking after Mother, but we don’t need you any more.’

‘Ooh, Miss High and Mighty!’ said Mrs Liversedge. ‘You’re going to come down to earth with a bump when you find out what’s happened to your precious father. No more toff City job for him.’

‘If you must know, my father has decided to concentrate on his novel writing,’ I said, trembling with rage. ‘He has retired from City life.’

This set her off in such a spiteful cackling fit that I couldn’t bear it any longer.

‘Please get out of our house this instant,’ I said. I looked to Mother to back me up, but she was lying there moaning, tears still seeping out of her shut eyes.

‘All right, then, I’ll go. There’s the thanks I get for bringing your poor mother round from a fainting fit after her terrible shock. I was all prepared to be a good neighbour and tried to help as best I could in these dreadful circumstances, but now I don’t see why I should lift a finger.’ She was so indignant that little beads of spittle gathered at the corners of her mouth. I wondered if she might actually spit straight at me and I took a quick step backwards.

‘You’re a stuck-up little nobody,’ she said, nodding her head emphatically, and then she marched out of the room.

Mother moaned, hiding her face in her hands.

‘Mother! Oh, Mother, please tell me what’s happened,’ I said, trying to prise her hands away.

I heard the door banging downstairs. ‘There, she’s gone! Why ever did you let her in? She’ll be rushing down the street spreading terrible gossip about us now. Look, you must tell me – where’s Father?’

‘Your father’s under arrest,’ Mother said, shaking her head from side to side as if trying to deny her own words.

‘
What?
’

‘Two policemen came this morning and took him away. The whole street saw. Oh, the shame of it!’ said Mother, and she sobbed even harder.

‘But why did they arrest him? There must be some terrible mistake. Father isn’t a criminal!’

‘Oh, but he
is
,’ said Mother. She heaved herself upright, looking straight into my eyes. ‘He stole money from the office – wrote himself a cheque. It was all so obvious and pathetic, the police worked it out straight away. How could he think he wouldn’t get caught? How could he do this to me?’

‘Oh, poor, poor Father!’

‘He’s not
poor
Father, he’s disgraced us all. It turns out the publishers changed their mind about his wretched book. They didn’t want it after all. He wasn’t man enough to admit to it so he stole the money to deceive us,’ Mother sobbed bitterly.

‘He wanted to treat us, Mother. He wanted us all to be happy. Oh, it’s so
sad
.’ I was crying too at the thought of poor, silly, valiant Father trying so hard to convince us all that these were happy days. I’d
known
something wasn’t right. I should have made him confide in me. He must have been in such secret agony – and how must he be feeling now?

‘Will Father be at the police station? I’ll go to him,’ I said urgently.

‘No! No, don’t leave me,’ said Mother, clinging to me.

‘Look, I’ll go and fetch Cassie home. She will look after you.’

‘I absolutely forbid you to call for Cassie! If Madame Alouette finds out, then Cassie will be disgraced too, and unable to continue her apprenticeship,’ said Mother.

I felt a pang. So that was why Mother had sent for me and not Cassie, though if the teachers found out at school, then I would also be disgraced. How Miss Mountbank would glory in my humiliation! I felt ill at the thought, but I couldn’t dwell on that now. Father was my first priority. I had to go and find him.

‘Listen, Mother, I have to go to Father. He has to be supported. If he is to be charged and taken to trial, then he will need a lawyer.’

‘A lawyer! How are we going to pay a lawyer – with buttons?’ Mother said bitterly. ‘Don’t you realize we are ruined now? Without your father’s income we can’t even pay the rent, let alone feed and clothe ourselves. You think you’re so clever, but you didn’t realize that, did you?’ she went on, seeing the shock on my face.

I knew it, of course I did. I just hadn’t let the full realization wash over me. I felt like bursting into tears and weeping like a baby, but I knew that one of us had to stay in control.

‘We will work something out. We can’t be the first family to be in such circumstances,’ I said, trying to sound calm.

‘I dare say there are many such families.
In the workhouse
,’ said Mother, still weeping.

I knew I should feel sorry for her in her terrible distress, but her monstrous selfishness made me almost hate her. She was lying there howling, without an ounce of pity for poor Father and his far more dreadful situation. Mother looked so awful too, her face purple with rage and grief, her nose still smeared, her mouth puckering hideously as she moaned. She smelled strongly of perspiration and sal volatile, an unpleasant combination.

I was ashamed to feel such revulsion for my own mother. I dumped a cloth in the cold water of her basin, squeezed it out, and put it on her forehead.

‘There now, Mother, this will help,’ I said. I went to her dressing table and sprinkled some of her lavender water around to try and clear the air.

‘What in God’s name are you doing? Don’t waste my precious scent!’ Mother cried.

‘I’m simply trying— Oh, never mind. Now, Mother, you lie here quietly, and I’ll go and find out the situation at the police station. I’ll see if I can be of some service to Father. You try and sleep a little. I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ I said quickly.

I rushed out of the room, though Mother protested bitterly. I tore down the stairs and out of the front door, while she called after me. For ever afterwards she declared I’d abandoned her when she was taken so ill. Perhaps this is true, but even so, I’m glad my first concern was for Father.

I knew where the police station was – the tall four-storey building at the end of the high street. When I was very little and fretful, Mother used to say she’d fetch a policeman to take me away. On trips into town I’d stared fearfully at the bleak brick building, wondering where they’d keep me locked up. I could scarcely believe that my own father was actually imprisoned inside. I hurried up the stone steps, took a deep breath, and then pushed open the sturdy door.

I found myself standing in an ordinary little vestibule, with wooden benches against the wall and a polished parquet floor. I’d been imagining stone cells with prisoners in leg-irons. A policeman behind a counter gave me a cheery smile. ‘Yes, missy? You look a little distressed. How can I help you?’ he asked.

‘Oh please, I think you’ve arrested my father!’ I blurted, and then, like a fool, burst into tears.

The policeman was astonishingly kind. He vaulted over the counter into the vestibule, offered me his own large handkerchief and patted me on the shoulder. He looked serious when I gave him Father’s name.

‘Oh dear, yes. We do have that gentleman in our cells.’

‘A cell?’ I sobbed.

‘Rest assured we’re looking after him. We’ve served him lunch, and he’s got a bed and a blanket, though of course it’s not quite home comforts.’

‘How long will he have to stay there?’

‘We’ll take him to court in the morning when we’ve done all the paperwork, and then—’

‘Then he can come home?’ I interrupted.

‘Afraid not, my dear. He’ll very likely be sent to a remand prison until his trial – and seeing as he’s confessed everything, as far as I’m aware, it’s an open and shut case. He
could
be sent for a five-year-stretch, but as he’s been very cooperative and behaved like a proper gentleman, I think we’re more likely looking at one year maximum.’

‘A year . . .’ I whispered. ‘A whole year in prison.’

‘Don’t look so shocked, my dear. It won’t be so bad. I dare say they’ll be quite soft with him. They’ll find him a nice little job in the library, say, as he’s got lots of book learning.’

‘But he’ll hate being in prison!’

‘Well, he shouldn’t have broken the law, then, should he?’

‘He did it for all of us. He just wanted us to be happy,’ I said. ‘Oh please, could I see him now?’

‘I’m sorry, dear. Prisoners in our cells aren’t allowed any visitors – especially not little girls.’

‘Then can I go to court tomorrow and see him?’

‘No children allowed in court. I dare say your mother might be able to sit in the visitors’ gallery, though.’

‘But
I
can’t – even if I dress to look grown up? I look especially young in this silly school tunic.’

‘You can dress in all the finery you care for, but you’ll still look like a young girl. How old are you, missy? Twelve, is it?’

‘I’m fourteen,’ I said indignantly, but I knew I looked fearfully young for my age. ‘Then will I be able to visit my father when he’s . . . in prison?’

‘I doubt it, my dear. It’s not a suitable place for the likes of a young girl like you.’

‘Then I won’t be able to see him for a whole year?’ I said, and I started crying in earnest. ‘I have to tell him how much I still love him. I don’t think any the worse of him even if he has committed this crime. I need to let him know I’ll be thinking of him every single day.’

‘I dare say they’ll let you write to him, dear. Don’t take on so. Please don’t cry,’ said the policeman, dabbing at my face with his handkerchief.

His kindness made me weep even more, till I was almost as hysterical as Mother.

The policeman tutted sympathetically. ‘Dear, dear, dearie me,’ he murmured. He consulted his pocket watch. ‘Ah! My boss the sergeant is having a late lunch break with some of his chums from the Chamber of Commerce. I’m pretty sure he won’t be back at the station till three or even later. So if we were to say you needed to bathe your poor face with cold water – which would be a very good thing because your pretty eyes are looking very red and sore – then I’d have to escort you to the tap in the kitchen. That means we would pass right by the cells. If we were to pause for a minute – and I mean just a minute, mind – you might be able to say a word to your pa.’

‘Oh,
please
!’ I said.

So he took me gently by the arm and opened up the counter for me to walk through. He escorted me down some narrow stone steps, and there were the cells, but the doors were all closed and bolted so I couldn’t see inside.

‘Oh please, could you open the door for me,’ I begged.

‘Now, dear, I can’t go that far. That would be truly scuppering all chances of promotion if it were ever found out. You mustn’t ask it of me. But put your eye to the peephole and you’ll see him. And if you speak loud, he’ll hear what you have to say.’

I put my eye to the peephole, having to stand on tiptoe to do so. I could only see a bleak cell at first, with writing scratched all over the walls, but then my eyes swivelled and I saw Father sitting on the edge of a very narrow bed. His head was down, his chin right on his chest, and his arms were folded very tightly, as if he were literally trying to hold himself together.

‘Oh, Father!’ I called, and he looked up, terribly startled.