‘No! Billy, don’t! Please don’t!’ I screamed.
Billy aimed his little blue body like an arrow. He flew straight through the gap in the curtains, out into the air.
‘Come back!’ I called.
Billy flew away, so fast that I lost sight of him in seconds.
I threw myself down on Father’s side of the bed and cried.
WE HAD TO wait a whole month, but then we received a letter from Father.
My dearest Lou, Cassie and Opal,
I worry about you every minute of the day. I am so horribly aware that I have inflicted hardship and humiliation upon you. I will do everything in my power to make it up to you in the future.
Until then, please remember that I am your very loving husband and father,
Ernest
The writing was shaky and sloped crookedly down the page. The letter seemed pitifully short for a man who had filled so many manuscript books with his stories. He didn’t tell us anything at all about his health or his circumstances. He didn’t answer a single one of my questions or give so much as a hint about his daily routine in prison or his diet or his companions. There was no personal message for me, though I was the only one who had written to him at length. As far as I knew, Mother hadn’t written to him at all, and yet Father had addressed her as, ‘My dearest Lou’. I was simply ‘and Opal’.
I hadn’t told Father very much about working at Fairy Glen, so I couldn’t expect him to write extra sympathetically to me, but surely he must be aware that my whole life had changed now? Had he forgotten? Did he think I was still at school and that somehow good fairies paid the rent and made the food appear in the larder by magic?
I took pride in my weekly salary, handed to me in a buff envelope every Friday morning – a ten-shilling note and a shiny shilling coin. A few weeks ago this would have seemed a fortune: enough for a storybook, a sketchpad and a tin of crayons, and several bags of Fairy Glen sweets. Now this sum seemed piteously small. After the rent money was put aside, we didn’t have much left for food. We chose day-old bread because it was a penny cheaper, fatty mince and scrag-end of lamb, streaky bacon and dubious market eggs. We ate endless mounds of potato because it was cheap and filling. It was fattening too. Cassie squealed in shock when she found she could barely do up the buttons on her beautiful green dress.
‘I shall starve myself for an entire week. I cannot bear being stout,’ she declared dramatically.
She refused her Sunday roast lunch, the one good meal in the week, but became so hungry she ate five slices of bread and dripping at bed time.
‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ she said mournfully, her mouth full. ‘There won’t be any occasion for me to wear my wretched dress now. I’d better resign myself to being a fat old maid for the rest of my life.’
But the very next day, when I trailed home from the factory, I found Cassie all of a twinkle, dancing around the kitchen.
‘Oh, Opal, such a lovely gentleman came to Madame Alouette’s today. Quite old, I suppose – at least thirty, but, oh so handsome – dark, with thick wavy hair, a little long, and the most wonderful warm brown eyes. You know the way some men can look at you and you simply melt!’ she said, whirling about.
‘No I don’t,’ I said.
‘He was dressed so exquisitely too, with a purple scarf and a velvet jacket cut in the most gloriously artistic way, but not at all foppish. Mr Evandale’s a truly manly man,’ said Cassie.
‘Why is a truly manly man frequenting a milliner’s shop?’ I said sourly.
‘Because he’s choosing a special hat for his younger sister, as a surprise. He persuaded me to model for him, as he said I was a very similar size and colouring. Well . . .’ Cassie went a proud pink. ‘He said I was a little prettier, but I’m sure he just said that to be congenial.’
‘Now, Cassie, you mustn’t let a gentleman like that turn your head,’ said Mother. ‘If he’s thirty he must be married – or a very bad sort. He definitely shouldn’t be flirting with a young girl like you.’
‘He behaved with complete propriety,’ Cassie said, but there were little dimples in her cheeks and she couldn’t stop smiling.
‘Now, now, aren’t there any nice young gentlemen around? Did you not say that Madame Alouette’s nephew was currently visiting?’
‘Philip. Or Philippe, as silly old Madame calls him. Now he is a fop. I’ve never known such a vain young man, peering in all the shop mirrors and asking me earnestly for advice about the cut of his new coat,’ Cassie said scornfully.
‘There! If he’s asking your advice, he’s clearly interested in you,’ said Mother.
‘But I’m not interested in him. He’s so pale and slender. He can’t even stand up straight without wilting. If we were ever to embrace, I’m sure I’d knock him over. Whereas Mr Evandale . . .’ Cassie was clearly imagining an embrace with this Mr Evandale, her twinkles and dimples even more in evidence.
‘You watch yourself, madam.’
Although I had no interest in men whatsoever, it was a little galling to note that Mother did not feel it necessary to give me lectures about men, suitable or otherwise. She thought me far too plain to attract anyone at all. Strangely, she was wrong.
I was becoming quite friendly with Geoff, but in the most platonic, big brother–younger sister way. He was very comforting, especially when Patty and Nora were especially tormenting.
‘They’re silly girls but they’re not bad. Try laughing along with them,’ he kept suggesting.
‘Why should I laugh when they’re being so horrid?’ I asked. ‘And why do they keep picking on me?’
‘It’s because you’re new – and you’re little,’ said Geoff. ‘It’s not nice, but it’s human nature. My little girl, Jenny, is barely two, but she’s desperate to play out in the alley with the big children. She frets and screams and kicks at the door until her mother gives in and takes her outside. She’ll only get five minutes’ peace, because there’s screams all over again. And when she goes running, she finds our Jenny tipped over in the gutter and the other children nowhere in sight.’
‘But that’s awful when she’s only a baby,’ I said.
‘It’s just the way of things. They don’t mean her any real harm. They’ll get used to her and let her in on their games soon enough. And then, when she’s bigger and there’s a new little’un sent out to play, I dare say she’ll tip it over and run away laughing with all the others,’ said Geoff. ‘Human nature, see?’
‘I don’t want to see, because it’s thoroughly depressing,’ I said. ‘I don’t like human beings.’
But I did like Geoff and his gentle ways and his cheerful acceptance of his lot in life.
I liked Mr Beeston too, once I got used to his dry sense of humour. He seemed popular with most of the factory folk, which was most unusual, according to Maggie and Jess.
‘Most factory managers are hated because they have such power over you – they can send you packing on a whim. But old Beeswax is a fair man, kindly even, though he can be firm too, and sharp. You wouldn’t want to cross him. But if you work hard, he’ll act like he’s right proud of you,’ they said.
So I liked Mr Beeston and I liked Geoff. I didn’t like Freddy, the lad on the factory floor who whistled at me, but he certainly seemed to like me. He did that dreadful whistle every day without fail. It was shrill and high-pitched. After a week of cringing I went up to him and said, ‘Please don’t whistle at me like that, it embarrasses me.’
He seemed embarrassed himself, his pale face flushing tomato red. He was usually colourless, his lank hair so blond it was almost white, and the fluffy whiskers growing above his lip white too. I felt mean for considering him a bit of a freak. I knew I was certainly no top-notcher. My hair and face and hands were grey by mid-morning, and even freshly scrubbed, I was lamentably plain – small and scrawny, with spectacles to boot. But Freddy seemed as moon-dazzled as Titania lusting over Bottom. ‘I whistle because I like you,’ he said, touching his red cheeks as if st
artled by their heat. ‘All the lads do it to the girls they fancy. There’s no harm in it.’
‘I know, but I still don’t like it. And I’m too young. I’m only fourteen,’ I protested.
‘That’s only five years younger than me,’ said Freddy. ‘Will you walk out with me at the weekend?’
‘No I will not!’ I said.
‘Why? Have you got a sweetheart already?’ he asked anxiously.
‘No. I said, I’m too young.’
‘If you’re old enough to go out to work, you’re old enough for sweethearts. You tell your father that if he’s objecting,’ said Freddy.
That shut me up. I felt my chin wobbling. I had to shut my eyes to stop the tears spurting.
‘Opal?’ When I managed to look at him, I saw that he was terribly concerned. ‘Oh dear, I didn’t mean to upset you. Have you – have you lost your father?’
I knew he was asking if he were dead, but I felt I’d truly lost my dear father for the moment, so I nodded solemnly.
‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so tactless. Of course, that’s why a clever girl like you has come here to work. I’ll bet you passed all your exams at school.’
‘I had a scholarship,’ I said, unable to stop myself.
Patty would have made vulgar noises of disgust at such showing off, but Freddy seemed extremely impressed.
‘Oh my, a scholarship! Fancy me having a scholarship girl for a sweetheart!’
‘I’m not your sweetheart,’ I said.
It was ridiculous. We didn’t even know each other. But Freddy seemed firmly convinced that we were courting. He started giving me little gifts: a piece of Fairy Glen candy fashioned into a heart, a pink ribbon, a coverless book of poetry bought off a penny stall. These were touching presents. I tried to behave graciously, though I kept telling Freddy he mustn’t give me any more.
‘But I want to,’ he said plaintively.
Patty noticed that he was courting me and was merciless in her ridicule. She started up a silly story about Freddy and me, making out that we were doing the most obscene things. She generally muttered it to the other girls, but occasionally her voice got louder so that Geoff and George could hear.
‘Hey, Patty, wash your mouth out with soap,’ said Geoff.
Patty took no notice until George stumped over to her, shaking his head.
‘You look such a pretty lass but you’ve got a mind like a sewer,’ he said. ‘Stop torturing that little girl or I’ll put you over my knee and spank you.’
‘It’s not a crime to chat to my friends, is it?’ said Patty, but George was still frowning, so she quietened down after that.
The next Monday Mr Beeston ushered a new girl into the fondant room. She was almost as young as me. Her hair was still in plaits and she had a large, guileless face and an anxious smile that showed too much of her bad teeth.
‘This is little Edith Catchpole,’ Mr Beeston announced. ‘It’s her first day at Fairy Glen. Say hello to Edith, girls and boys.’
I said hello with extra warmth. I saw Patty and Nora looking at each other, eyes bright. It looked as if they were going to start on Edith now. Maybe I was expected to join in too. Well, I wasn’t going to! I didn’t want to hurt poor Edith, who looked a little simple. She blinked at everybody, her mouth still open.
I would protect Edith! I would take her under my wing and show her what to do. I’d warn her to keep right out of the way of Patty and Co. I’d guard her like a little dog and walk her to the canteen and back, and the ladies’ room, so she need never be vulnerable and alone.
I’d make Edith my friend. She didn’t look anywhere near as much fun as Olivia, but perhaps we would become really close. Then life in the fondant room might actually become bearable. Let Patty and the other girls cat-call and say dreadful things – Edith and I would work quietly together, talking of this and that. She didn’t look as if she’d had much schooling. Perhaps I could teach her a little, tell her stories, talk her through history, instruct her in how to count and say how-do-you-do in French. My imagination knew no bounds. I saw us conversing rapidly in French (though this was a task beyond me too, scholarship or not), able to insult Patty for all we were worth in the Gallic tongue.
Patty started her nasty teasing the minute Mr Beeston had departed.
‘What did he say your name was? Edith Catch-a-cold?’
‘No, it’s Edith Catchpole,’ said Edith, thinking she’d simply made a mistake.
‘Yes, Catch-a-cold. A-tishoo, a-tishoo, a-tishoo,’ said Patty, pretending to sneeze violently. Edith looked completely blank for a moment, and then her face crumpled.
‘Leave her alone,’ I said fiercely, assuming that Patty had made her cry already.
But Edith was laughing, doubled up, helpless. ‘A-tishoo!’ she spluttered weakly. ‘Catch-a-cold atishoo! You’re so funny!’
Geoff didn’t need to give Edith brotherly advice. She couldn’t help laughing along with the other girls.
They still teased her a little, not showing her how to mould properly. Patty insisted she should use the mould upside down. I tried to put Edith right, but she shook her head at me.
‘No, Patty says do it this way,’ she insisted, making pointless patterns in the starch.
George had to gently put her right in the end, but even when she knew they’d played a trick on her, Edith seemed pleased.
‘That was a good joke!’ she said appreciatively. ‘I’m such a fool, I always fall for things.’
At the end of the day I told Edith to run for it, because they might well tip a box of starch over her.
‘They’ll tip it all over me?’ she said, eyes round, as if it were a great treat.
They didn’t, as it happened. They simply flicked a little starch at her – and she flicked some back, laughing hysterically.
Edith followed Patty around like a little pet dog after that, quivering with delight whenever she paid her any attention at all. She seemed proud to be re-named Catch-a-cold, and laughed every single time any of the girls said ‘A-tishoo’. She was soon the treasured baby of the fondant room.
‘You see?’ said Geoff, when we were together in the drying room.
I did see, but I was far too proud to fawn over Patty and the others. It was too late now anyway. They cordially hated me – and I them.
I found it so depressing and lonely working there day after day. If only I could make candy kisses alongside Maggie and Jess! It would be more interesting rolling the hot sugar paste, and they were so much more accepting of me. I ate with them every day in the canteen. Now I had enough money from my earnings to afford a tuppenny hot dinner. I could even have managed a thrupenny three-courser, and I certainly had the appetite for it, but Maggie and Jess were penny-bun women, so I was too. As fully experienced factory hands, they earned more than me, but saved every spare penny for their families.
I thought things over carefully and resolved on a plan of action. I rehearsed a little speech inside my head, and then went to confront Mr Beeston in his office.
‘Ah, little Opal Plumstead, I do believe,’ he said. ‘How can I help you?’
I took a deep breath. ‘It’s more a matter of how I can help you, Mr Beeston. I don’t think you’re getting your eleven shillings’ worth at the moment,’ I said, trying to sound very grown up, which was not easy with a cap clamped about my eyebrows and an overall trailing on the ground.
‘Is that right?’ said Mr Beeston, looking amused. ‘Elucidate!’
Luckily I knew what he meant. I prided myself on my vocabulary.
‘I think it’s time you upgraded me, now that I’m an experienced fondant maker,’ I said.
‘Experienced! You’ve only been here a few weeks!’
‘Moulding isn’t skilled work, Mr Beeston. I’m sure I could learn all kinds of confectionery skills if you give me the chance. I am very good at learning quickly. If you could find me a position on the factory floor – making the candy kisses perhaps – then I would work deftly and pr
ove my worth. You would be getting a bargain. Because I’d still be happy to be paid my eleven shillings a week until I’m a little older,’ I said.
Mr Beeston looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Why are you so keen to work on the factory floor, Opal? Aha! Is it so you can work alongside young Freddy? Is that the idea?’
‘Absolutely not!’ I said indignantly.
‘A little bird told me you and he were sweethearts,’ said Mr Beeston.
‘Well, it was a very confused and silly little bird, because I don’t have any sweetheart at all, especially not Freddy,’ I said.
‘Oh dearie me, there’s poor Freddy’s hopes dashed to dust! So why are you so keen to change your work if it’s not for more money?’
‘I want to extend myself, Mr Beeston,’ I said loftily.
He roared with laughter. ‘Well, you’re certainly a little titch, so I can see you’re in need of extending.’
‘I think you’re deliberately misunderstanding me, Mr Beeston,’ I said.
‘On the contrary, I understand you very well, but I think you’re in too much of a hurry, Miss Plumstead. You’ll be putting yourself forward for my job in a matter of months, and taking over from Mrs Roberts herself by the end of the year. That would put us all in a perfect pickle, though I dare say you’d be happy enough. Now run along, dearie, back to your moulding. I’m keeping you there for a while yet, unless there’s a specific reason why you’d like me to move you, other than ambition?’
He looked at me directly. I fidgeted inside my overall. Yes, yes, yes, there was a specific reason. It was called Patty Meacham, and she was continuing to make my life a misery. I’d held my tongue before, but was now the time to tell him? It couldn’t make Patty and the other girls hate me more than they already did. If Mr Beeston would only free me from the fondant room, I’d be out of their clutches. Jess and Maggie would stand up for me if they trailed after me, cat-calling.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, Mr Beeston . . .’ I began.
He waited patiently, his head cocked to one side. He was still smiling jovially, but he’d opened his eyes a little wider as if in warning. ‘Well?’