Opal Plumstead

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘For goodness’ sake, give me a chance to speak! Yes. Yes, yes, yes!’

  ‘Yes, you like him? And you think he likes me?’

  ‘Yes to everything. I can see why you’re so charmed.’

  ‘Oh, Opie, I’m so happy. I wish he had a younger brother just for you, and then you could be happy too.’

  ‘I’m happy as I am,’ I said, not quite truthfully. ‘And I’d never ever be able to fib to Mother so fluently. I don’t know how you do it. Have you got today’s story all prepared?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy enough. I just open my mouth and a great long story tumbles out,’ said Cassie. ‘You wait and see.’

  ‘Had we better separate? Mother will wonder why we’re together,’ I suggested.

  ‘No, no, we’ll say we simply met up by chance on the way home,’ said Cassie.

  We got to the front door and let ourselves in.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ Cassie called cheerily. There was no reply, just a strange silence. Yet we could hear a series of thumps in the kitchen. We went in, and there was Mother ironing, her face as hard and steely as the iron itself.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ Cassie repeated. ‘Have all the shop girls’ babies gone home? Oh dear, you do look tired. Sit down, and we’ll finish the ironing off for you, won’t we, Opie.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ said Mother, ironing hard.

  ‘Why, you know where we’ve been. I’ve been at Madame Alouette’s and Opie’s been to one of those boring old meetings,’ Cassie said. ‘Here, Mother.’ She took off her hat and coat and went to take the iron, but Mother clung onto it.

  ‘Get away from me,’ she said.

  ‘Mother, whatever’s the matter?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve got a liar for a daughter, that’s what’s the matter.’ She thumped the table so hard it actually shook.

  ‘Do calm down, Mother, you’re getting in such a state. What’s upset you?’ Cassie was trying to sound casual, but she looked frightened now. I clutched her hand.

  ‘I had a visitor this afternoon,’ said Mother. ‘Madame Alouette.’

  I felt Cassie’s hand tighten on mine.

  ‘She came round specially, because she was worried about you, Cassie. It seems you had a bad toothache. She brought you a bottle of oil of cloves to soothe it. Wasn’t that kind, taking time away from the shop specially? I thanked her for all her past kindness, the many days you’ve spent at her house with her nephew Philip. It turns out that she can’t remember any visits whatsoever – and Philip himself is back in Paris continuing his studies.’

  ‘Oh Lord,’ Cassie murmured.

  ‘So would you mind telling me exactly where you’ve been, madam? And you’re clearly in on this whole deception too, Opal. How could you two girls let me down so badly?’

  ‘Opal hasn’t deceived you. She’s just been going to her suffragette meetings – until today. It’s all me. But I told you all those tales because I didn’t want to worry you, Mother. I’ll tell you the truth now. I have been seeing a wonderful gentleman called Mr Daniel Evandale.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you make up this nonsense about Madame Alouette’s nephew? What’s wrong with this gentleman that you had to keep him such a deadly secret?’

  ‘I didn’t, Mother. I told you all about him the very day I met him. He came into the shop and ordered a fancy hat and I modelled all our latest designs for him. Don’t you remember my telling you?’

  ‘But that was a much older man!’

  ‘He’s not a callow youth. He is a cultured gentleman in his prime.’

  ‘What does he do for a living?’

  ‘He’s an artist,’ Cassie said proudly.

  ‘An artist!’ Mother exclaimed, thumping the iron down fiercely, as if she wished to brand Cassie’s gentleman with it. ‘An artist. Oh, Cassie, when will you learn? Of all the disreputable professions! He’ll have you modelling for him next.’ She saw Cassie’s face and gave an anguished moan. ‘How could you sink so low? I suppose you took your clothes off too!’

  ‘Yes I did,’ said Cassie. ‘Daniel’s painted several portraits of me, and they’re all beautiful and may well be displayed in the Royal Academy. I’m so proud, Mother. Daniel is a fine artist. I know he’ll be truly famous one day and I shall be too, as his muse.’

  ‘As his muse!’ Mother spat, as if it were a filthy word. ‘Now listen to me, Cassie Plumstead. You are never to see that man again. I’m not going to let you out of my sight on Sundays. You’ll stay home with me and help with the chores. And on Monday you’ll go to Madame Alouette’s and beg her forgiveness for all the ludicrous stories you’ve been telling, though I’m not sure she’ll keep you on at the shop. She’s truly shocked by your deception.’

  ‘I don’t care if she doesn’t want me to stay on. I’m tired of working there anyway. Why should I waste my time sitting with a lot of silly girls making hats for other women all day long? I don’t even earn anything yet. Daniel’s painter friends are all keen for me to model for them and they’ll pay handsomely!’ Cassie shouted. ‘You can’t stop me seeing Daniel, Mother. I love him.’

  ‘What do you know about love?’

  ‘I think I know more about love than you do,’ said Cassie, her head held high. ‘Who are you to preach at me anyway? You ran off with Father when you were my age, or near enough.’

  ‘And look at me now. Look what it’s reduced me to,’ said Mother bitterly. ‘Shame and penury.’

  ‘Well, I hope to avoid both. Because Daniel is wealthy and I am proud to be seen with him.’

  ‘I’m warning you, if you see him even one more time, you’ll not set foot in this house again,’ said Mother.

  ‘Very well. I shall pack my belongings now,’ said Cassie, and she picked up her skirts and walked upstairs.

  Mother clasped the handle of the iron, suddenly helpless. She looked at me. ‘Can’t you stop her, Opal?’

  I ran up the stairs after Cassie. I thought she might be bluffing, but she was calmly and methodically going through her chest of drawers, selecting her best nightgown, her set of underwear embroidered with little violets, her new stockings, her velvet bag of hair ribbons, packing them all into the big carpet bag. We never went away so we’d always used it as a storage bag. Cassie and I had kept our dressing-up clothes in it when we were little. I saw a discarded heap of tattered costumes on the floor – the ‘princess’ rose-pink dress we’d always fought over, the white ‘ghost’ gown that had once been Mother’s wedding veil, the dark green velvet skirt that had been our mermaid outfit.

  ‘You’re not really packing your things, are you, Cassie?’ I asked stupidly, because it was plain she was doing just that.

  ‘I don’t have any option, do I?’ Cassie went to her wardrobe and rifled through her clothes. ‘You can have most of these, Opie. I haven’t got room to take them, and I’m tired of them anyway. I’ve got my green dress and I’ll take my black costume with the pink blouse. I’ll leave my cream one for you – and you can certainly keep the old elephant.’

  ‘Mother isn’t serious, I’m sure she isn’t. She can’t stop you seeing Mr Evandale. You could pretend you were somewhere else anyway.’

  ‘I’m tired of pretending. I’m going to live with Daniel.’

  ‘But – but what will he say?’

  ‘He’ll be jolly pleased,’ said Cassie, but she suddenly stopped looking so frighteningly grown up. She sat down on her bed and started biting her thumbnail. ‘He will be pleased,’ she insisted, as if I were arguing with her. ‘You see how he is with me. He’s wild about me.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll marry you?’

  Cassie nibbled at her thumb. ‘I think he’s still married to his first wife, though he left her long ago.’

  ‘Oh, Cassie! What if he leaves you?’

  ‘He won’t. But if he does, I shall just have to fend for myself. His friends really do want me to model for them, you know. And when I get too old and fat for modelling, I shall start up my own hat shop. I bet I make a better
go of it than Madame Alouette.’

  ‘Yes, of course you would. You could do anything. But can’t you still stay here, just for me? I’ll miss you so.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too, Opie.’ Cassie stopped her packing and put her arms round me. ‘But you could come and visit me. Number 100 Hurst Avenue. There! It’s easy to remember. Just don’t tell Mother.’

  ‘This is happening much too quickly. Mother doesn’t really want you to go. She sent me up here to stop you.’ I clung to Cassie. ‘I won’t let you go.’

  ‘Opie! Don’t be silly. Don’t make it worse for me,’ said Cassie.

  ‘You’re really choosing Mr Evandale over Mother and me?’

  ‘Yes, I have to. I love him.’

  ‘You’re just trying to be like one the heroines in your romantic novels.’

  ‘I’m the heroine in my own life and I’ve got to live it the way I want,’ said Cassie. She gently pushed me away, grabbed a handful of trinkets from her dressing table (hairbrush, powder, necklaces, a little cherub ornament), thrust them in the top of her carpet bag and then pulled it shut. She picked it up and staggered under the weight.

  ‘Oh Lord, I’m not going to able to walk far with this. I’ll have to get a cab. You couldn’t lend me some money, could you, Opie?’

  I gave her all the change from my savings box.

  ‘I’ll pay you back, I promise,’ she said.

  She staggered downstairs with the carpet bag. I ran round her into the kitchen.

  ‘Mother, Cassie’s really going. Oh, do make it up with her quickly. She won’t change her mind.’

  Mother’s face crumpled but she stayed where she was. ‘I won’t change my mind, either. If Cassie wants to live in sin with an older man, then she’s no daughter of mine,’ she said.

  ‘Won’t you even say goodbye to her?’

  ‘I have nothing to say to her any more,’ said Mother.

  I left her and found Cassie at the front door, ready in her coat and hat.

  ‘Promise you’ll come back home if it doesn’t work out,’ I begged her.

  ‘It will work out.’ Cassie gave me a kiss and then set off determinedly.

  I watched her lugging her carpet bag, walking lopsided to manage the weight. I couldn’t bear to see her struggle. I went running up the road after her.

  ‘Here, Cassie, give me one of the handles,’ I said.

  ‘I can manage,’ she said. ‘Go back, Opie. Look, you’ll freeze without your coat.’

  ‘I’ll help you to the main road and then we’ll find you a cab.’

  ‘Mother will think you’ve left home too,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Oh Lord, are you really, really sure this is what you want to do?’

  ‘Yes. No. I don’t know!’

  ‘I still can’t believe it’s happening. Too many things have happened in our family. We just jogged along in the same old way for years and years, and then poor Father made his mistake, and since then everything’s changed.’

  ‘Father’s gone to the bad, and now it seems I’m bad too. But you’re doing splendidly, Opie, with all your funny old fairies. I’m very proud of you, sis.’

  ‘Oh, Cass, I’m proud of you too,’ I said, and we had to put the carpet bag down so we could have another hug.

  We got to the main road at last and Cassie found a cab immediately. The cabbie rushed to help her with her bag and handed her into the cab as if she were a queen. Perhaps I didn’t need to worry about her quite so much. She did seem to have the knack of making every man fall at her feet.

  I was clammy with the effort of lifting that bag, but I started shivering on the way home. I didn’t have my key and had to bang on the door. Mother was a long time answering. I started to wonder if she’d locked me out. When she opened it at last, I saw the hope in her eyes and then the crushing disappointment as she saw that I was alone.

  ‘So she’s really gone,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Yes. I had to help her with her bag. Oh, Mother, don’t look like that. It’s not as bad as you think. Mr Evandale seems very fond of Cassie and he is a gentleman, even though he’s an artist.’

  ‘I don’t care if he’s a prince. If Cassie lives with any man, she’s ruined. I had such high hopes for her. She could have made a brilliant match if she’d only set her mind to it. She’s a wicked, wilful girl and I’ll have no more to do with her.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, don’t talk like that. You love Cassie, you know you do. And you still have me. I’m never going off with any man, I promise you that,’ I said earnestly, but Mother wouldn’t be comforted.

  It was a long, lonely evening with just the two of us. I felt despairing, wondering if all our evenings were going to be similar. Mother and I had so little in common. We didn’t even really know what to say to each other without Cassie there. I ached to escape to my room, but I felt it was my duty to keep Mother company. I fetched a sketchbook and tried to invent new fairy designs, but for once I had no inspiration whatsoever.

  Sunday was even worse. There were no babies to distract Mother. She sat in her armchair staring into space, brooding darkly. I roamed the house in a turmoil. I was starting to worry terribly about Cassie. What if Mr Evandale had turned her away when she arrived on his doorstep? What if he were entertaining another lady friend? I could see that he liked Cassie, but perhaps he was the type of man who liked many ladies. What if he tired of her quickly and simply discarded her? I had a taste for the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites. I thought of all their anguished fallen women, and saw Cassie in a similar guise, her hair tumbling to her waist, her dress torn, a poor sad creature of the night.

  I was so tormented I couldn’t stand it any longer. After a meagre meal of fish paste and bread (Mother said there was no point in attempting a proper cooked lunch for just the two of us) I said I needed some air and exercise and must go for a walk.

  It was a bleak, grey day, raining steadily, but Mother didn’t question me.

  ‘Do what you want. I can’t stop you,’ she said dully.

  I tried to kiss her goodbye but she moved her head away, as if she couldn’t bear me to touch her.

  I set off anxiously, planning to take a cab myself because I knew that Hurst Road was on the other side of town, but there were no cabs waiting. None came, though I stood by the main road for a good ten minutes.

  I wasn’t sure which bus to take. In the end I walked all the way. By the time I reached Hurst Road at last I was drenched to the skin, my hat ruined, my skirts spattered with mud and my boots squelching.

  I trudged along, counting the long way to number 100. The houses were imposing, tall three-storey dwellings with scrubbed steps leading up to important front doors with brass knockers and bell pulls. There were humbler doors for trade and servants to the side. I agonized over which door I should approach. I wasn’t trade, though I felt like it nowadays. I was going to visit the lady of the house – even though Cassie wasn’t really a lady.

  Number 100 seemed especially splendid, if a little dilapidated. Stone lions crouched on each side of the steps, the spreading moss making it look as if they were growing green fur. The many windows were in need of a wash, but they were intricately leaded, and the downstairs ones had an elaborate stained-glass design. The front door had an ornate tarnished silver unicorn for a knocker. I grasped its horn and knocked timidly, feeling as if I were part of a fairy tale. I waited for quite a while and then knocked again, more boldly. I looked upwards, craning my neck, and saw a heavy curtain twitching at a top-floor window. Someone was there, but still no one came to open the door.

  I started panicking. I forgot genial Mr Evandale of yesterday. In my imagination he had changed into Bluebeard, keeping my sister behind locked doors.

  ‘Mr Evandale!’ I called. I swallowed, summoning up courage. ‘Mr Evandale!’ I repeated, shouting now. ‘It’s me, Opal Plumstead, come to see my sister. Please let me in immediately.’

  This did the trick. I heard footsteps behind the door, and then it opened a few inches. Mr Evandale put hi
s head round. He was wearing a voluminous artist’s smock, heavily smeared with paint. He had a long streak of blue on one cheek, which gave him the unfortunate appearance of a Red Indian in war paint.

  ‘Hello, Opal. Why are you shouting on my doorstep on this drizzly Sunday afternoon?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve come to see my sister,’ I said.

  ‘Yes indeed, of course you have. But I’m afraid Cassie’s rather busy just now. Perhaps you could come back a little later? Maybe you’d like to come for tea?’

  Alarm bells were going off inside my head. What did he mean, Cassie was ‘busy’? Could he really have her locked up somewhere? Was she helpless, powerless, while he had his evil way with her . . . whatever that meant.

  ‘I demand to see my sister now!’ I said, and pushed rudely past him, stepping into the hallway. ‘Cassie? Cassie, where are you,’ I cried.

  ‘Opie?’ Cassie called from a long way upstairs. I started climbing the staircase, running breathlessly in case Mr Evandale seized hold of me. I staggered to the top floor and burst through the first door I saw.

  I jerked to a standstill, my mouth open. I was in an enormous room with a huge skylight. There was hardly any furniture to speak of, just a large artist’s easel, a table littered with oil paints, and an old sofa losing its horsehair stuffing. It was spread with a deep blue satin sheet, and my sister Cassie sprawled on top of it, stark naked. Her hair was piled into a decorative topknot, and her back was to me, showing the smooth curves of her waist and hips. She was peering into a mirror propped against a plaster cupid. She was posing as a modern Rokeby Venus, and the effect was startling.

  ‘Cassie!’ I gasped.

  ‘Don’t move, Cassie,’ said Mr Evandale, coming into the room. He groaned as she wriggled on the sofa and wrapped herself in the blue sheet, laughing.

  ‘What do you think of the pose, Opie? Won’t it look wonderful? Daniel’s getting quite carried away,’ she said.