Opal Plumstead

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Morgan!’ I cried and I ran to him.

  ‘Opal!’ He smiled and held out his arms. We embraced, hugging hard, both of us going pink with emotion. ‘Oh, Opal, it’s so good to see you at last.’

  ‘I’m so glad you came. I was so scared you wouldn’t,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss our day out for the world,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid there has to be a little change of plan. Look!’ He gestured inside the station. There was a big placard.

  WE ARE SORRY TO ANNOUNCE THAT BECAUSE OF THE

  CURRENT SITUATION THERE WILL BE NO TRAIN SERVICE

  FROM SOUTHERN WESTERN. PLEASE ACCEPT OUR

  SINCERE APOLOGIES FOR THE DISRUPTION.

  LET US PRAY FOR PEACE.

  ‘Oh my goodness, there are no trains because of the war? We’re not at war now, are we?’

  ‘No, not yet, but it looks horribly likely. Don’t let it spoil our day, though. By hook or by crook I’m going to get us to the seaside. I’ve been talking to a chappie who says that there are motorized coaches taking folks to the coast on day excursions. They stop outside the bus station. He thinks they leave at half past seven. Do you think you could run very fast? Then we might just catch one.’

  ‘I’ll run like the wind,’ I said, hitching up my narrow skirts a little in preparation.

  ‘Oh, you’re such a good sport. How wonderful that you’re as early as me! Come on, then, let’s sprint.’

  Morgan seized my hand and we ran hard, dodging through the gathering crowds, rounding the corner, down to the end of the road, and there was the omnibus station. There was a line of big shiny green and cream coaches.

  Morgan raced ahead and started talking earnestly to the first driver. ‘Not this one!’ he said, when I caught up. ‘It’s going to Brighton. You don’t care for Brighton, I know.’

  ‘I don’t mind. Brighton’s fine,’ I said hastily, but Morgan was already dashing to the coach behind.

  ‘Where are you going, driver?’ he asked.

  ‘Hastings,’ he said.

  ‘Hastings?’ Morgan said to me.

  ‘Wonderful!’ I replied.

  ‘Then we’ll have two return tickets, please,’ said Morgan.

  ‘No can do, sir,’ said the driver. ‘I’m fully booked, every seat. Just take a look.’

  The coach was crowded with families, with children clashing their buckets and spades, shouting and laughing.

  ‘What about asking some of the little ones to squeeze up together on one seat? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind too much,’ said Morgan. ‘Then I could pay you for two extra adults. In fact, why don’t I pay double for our tickets, just for your trouble?’ He pressed money into the driver’s hand.

  ‘Right you are, sir. Jolly decent of you. How about you two sitting three seats down on the right? You kids budge up in the front with the others. You’ll like that – you can make out you’re driving the bus. If you’re very good, I’ll let you sit up in my driving cabin for a mo when we get to the seaside.’

  In less than a minute both men had smoothed out the situation to everyone’s satisfaction. We subsided onto the vacated seat. The driver started up his engine and we were off. There was a huge cheer from the passengers. The children kept whooping for a full five minutes.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Morgan. ‘I didn’t realize it was going to be quite so rowdy. Do you mind terribly that it’s a motor coach?’

  ‘Of course I don’t, silly. I think it was brilliant of you to get us on it.’

  ‘I feel a bit of a fool not being able to drive. I could take us anywhere in a car. I’ll get Mitchell to talk me through it, and then, later this summer, I’ll take us out in true style. I’ll have to learn to drive anyway. When Mitchell picked us up from the station yesterday, we were discussing the likelihood of war, and he said he was keen to join up. I think he’d like to drive an army truck.’

  ‘Oh, Morgan, you won’t join up, will you?’ I said, squeezing his arm.

  ‘Me? No, I hate the idea of killing anybody. I can’t even stand hunting. I haven’t the stomach for it.’

  ‘You promise you won’t join up?’

  ‘You’re as bad as Mother, Opal. And this is all a bit premature. Maybe we’ll be able to wangle some kind of peace treaty at the eleventh hour.’

  ‘I do hope so.’

  ‘But we won’t think about it now. This is our day out. I do hope Hastings is jolly. I’ve never been there.’

  ‘Neither have I, but I’m sure it will be lovely,’ I said fervently.

  It was truly lovely, though the sea still wasn’t storybook blue and the beach wasn’t as sandy as I’d hoped. But the sun was shining and we were together and, like most of the couples on their bank holiday outing, we walked hand in hand along the seafront.

  It was crowded, with musicians and ice-cream sellers and fortune-tellers and tintype photographers clamouring for our custom. Morgan bought me an ice cream. I rather hoped we could have our photograph taken together, but he laughed at the idea.

  We threaded our way through the crowds towards the quaint fishermen’s huts at the end of the beach. They were very thin and tall, made of blackened wood. The fishermen in their tan smocks were busy selling cod and plaice to eager folk. There were whelk and cockle stalls too. Morgan offered me a penny pot, but I didn’t fancy them at all.

  ‘Let’s find some cooked fish,’ he suggested.

  We went into a little blue and white fish restaurant. Their fried fish was truly delicious: golden batter, very crisp, with the whitest cod, still tasting salty from the sea. I ate every mouthful, with a big portion of fried potatoes, a plate of bread and butter and two cups of tea.

  ‘And you’re such a scrap of a girl! I don’t know where you put it all,’ said Morgan admiringly. ‘This is such fun. I’ve always wanted to eat in a fried fish shop.’

  We went for a walk around the old town, looking in all the strange curio shops. I’d brought a full purse with me, so I was able to buy Morgan a china shaving mug with an interesting mermaid design in blue and white. I liked the mermaid’s unusual blue hair and shiny blue tail.

  ‘It’s lovely, Opal, but you mustn’t spend your money on me,’ he told me.

  ‘You’ve spent much, much more on me,’ I said. ‘You’ve spoiled me utterly.’

  ‘I don’t have to work so hard for my money,’ said Morgan. ‘But very well, I shall accept my mug with enormous gratitude if you’ll let me buy you a present in return.’

  ‘You’ve already bought me my beautiful shawl.’

  ‘I want to buy you something else,’ said Morgan, pausing at a jewellery shop window. ‘I tell you what! Do you own any opals?’

  I didn’t have any jewellery at all, certainly not opals. I saw the prices of the opal necklaces in the jewellery shop and grew frightened. ‘No, Morgan. No, absolutely not,’ I said.

  But he spotted a slim silver chain hanging on a black velvet stand at the back of the display. It had a small opal pendant in the shape of a teardrop. ‘That looks perfect,’ he said.

  It was perfect. I wanted it desperately, though I protested that I couldn’t possibly let him buy it for me. He took no notice whatsoever. He went into the shop, had the little old jeweller take it out of the window, and told me to fasten the opal pendant around my neck.

  ‘It could have been made just for you, madam,’ said the jeweller happily.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Morgan. ‘I shall buy it.’

  When we left the jeweller’s, I looked to see if anyone was watching, and then I kissed Morgan very quickly on the cheek.

  ‘It’s the most beautiful present in the world. I shall never ever take it off,’ I said.

  We wandered further until we came to the bottom of the cliffs. There was a little queue waiting for the East Cliff funicular lift. It took passengers all the way up to the cliff top.

  ‘Oh, we have to go up!’ said Morgan.

  We waited patiently, paid our two pennies, and then ascended slowly and jerkily upwards. I was frightened w
e might come tumbling down and clung tightly to Morgan’s arm, but we finished our journey without mishap and stepped out onto the tufty grass.

  We stood there for a while, admiring the view of the sea before us and the tumble of rooftops below. Then we set off further along the cliff. The sun was very hot now, too hot to wear a shawl or a jersey. We took them off and knotted them together. We swung them between us like two cream-clad babies.

  It was a great relief when we reached trees and started walking through a beautiful shady glen.

  ‘Should we turn back now? We might get lost,’ I said.

  ‘I should rather like to get lost with you,’ said Morgan.

  So we walked on. When we were entirely alone in this lush green world, Morgan pulled me gently to him, tipped up my chin and kissed me on the lips. He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me . . .

  Then we walked until the trees thinned. We were on the cliff top again, with steps leading down towards a little beach. Morgan helped me all the way down. There we were, on our very own stretch of beach with no one else around.

  ‘Let’s be terribly common and paddle,’ he said, taking off his shoes and socks and rolling up his flannels.

  I could take off my shoes easily enough, but I had to turn my back on him and lift my skirts furtively to undo my stockings. Still, I wasn’t going to let a silly thing like modesty stop me from splashing in that sea with my sweetheart.

  It was colder than I’d expected, but wonderfully refreshing. I hitched my skirts right up like a little girl and ran back and forth in the shallow waves, squealing with joy.

  ‘Careful, you’ll get your pretty dress soaked,’ said Morgan.

  ‘Who cares?’ I said.

  For two pins I’d have ripped off my dress too and gone swimming in my drawers, but when a bunch of little boys tumbled down the steps, threw off their clothes and dashed into the sea in nothing at all, I did turn my back again, feeling my face going pink.

  ‘I shall have to protect you from such an alarming sight,’ said Morgan. He put his hands over my eyes and led me further down the beach.

  It was very strange not being able to see at all. I had to trust Morgan completely. He might lead me into the sea, he might make me stumble on the rocks, he might tip me over altogether – but he didn’t, of course. He led me safely back to a sandy patch near the steps which was in the shade. He made me wait while he fashioned me a cushion from his jersey and then carefully helped me sit down.

  ‘There now, open your eyes,’ he said.

  When I did, the beach and sky and sea seemed picturebook bright for one moment, and Morgan himself brighter than anything else, his dear face right before me.

  He made me put on his straw boater to keep the sun off. There were daisies growing in the tufts of grass near the steps. He picked a handful. I thought he was going to present me with a little bouquet, but he selected individual daisies instead and carefully inserted them at each twist of my plait.

  ‘There, now you look like a fairy-tale princess,’ he said.

  ‘Hardly,’ I said, but I felt like a princess when I was with him. I was as dazzled as the Lady of Shalott.

  I started murmuring the first verse, and Morgan joined in. We recited all our favourite poems, and then passages from Shakespeare. It had been so long since I’d read any poetry, but verse after verse came flooding back until I felt I might permanently talk in rhyming couplets.

  Then Morgan looked at his watch. It was a quarter past five already! The motor coach left at six.

  ‘Oh my Lord, we’ll have to run for it. This is the day of championship sprints,’ said Morgan, leaping to his feet and pulling me up with him. We hastily tugged our stockings and shoes back on, and made for the steps. It was a struggle going up them at top speed. I had to throw myself down on the cliff top and rest for a few seconds, my heart banging in my chest.

  Then we had to set off again. It wasn’t too bad running through the shady wood, but it was hard work when we emerged into the full glare of the sun. We decided to run down the windy cliff path instead of queuing for the lift. We got a little lost and had to ask people to point us the way to the coach station. They argued about the best route to take, which took up more time, but eventually we were on our way again. As six o’clock chimed, we turned the corner and saw a whole line of different-coloured coaches.

  ‘Oh Lord, which one?’ I gasped.

  ‘It’ll be green and cream. Don’t worry, we’ll find it,’ Morgan said, running down the line. ‘Here it is! Come on, Opal.’ He held out his hand and helped me up the steps.

  ‘Thank goodness!’ I was so out of breath I could barely speak.

  The coach driver laughed at us. ‘Bit tight for timing, eh? Sit down and get your breath back, young lady.’

  We collapsed on the seat while the whole coach smiled at us. The children were all pink in the face, their special-outing white clothes grubby now, or sodden from the sea. They were sucking great sticks of seaside rock or nibbling on disgusting cockles and whelks. The mothers and fathers were all eating out of greasy brown bags of fried food.

  ‘Oh dear, we’re the only ones without supper,’ said Morgan.

  ‘I’m still full of lunch,’ I said, hand on my chest. ‘My heart’s thumping!’

  ‘I don’t know why we were in such a rush to catch the coach,’ said Morgan. ‘It would have been much more fun to miss it. We could have stayed overnight at one of those little hotels on the seafront.’ He looked in his wallet. ‘No, actually, we couldn’t!’

  ‘We could have walked the streets, watching the sun set. Then we could have found a fisherman’s hut and curled up inside for the night,’ I suggested.

  ‘You could curl up inside. I’d have to sleep outside to protect your reputation.’

  ‘Oh, bother my reputation. I wouldn’t want you getting cold. Or possibly pecked to death by seagulls! You’ll have to creep in beside me.’

  ‘Then that will be very romantic, though I think there’ll be a very strong smell of fish!’

  ‘And if Britain goes to war, we’ll never go back home. We’ll stay in our fisherman’s hut. I’ll scrub it until it doesn’t smell fishy any more, then I’ll paint fairies all over the wall. No, hang on – mermaids like the one on your shaving mug.’

  ‘Will you grow blue hair and a blue tail too?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll swim all night by the light of the moon. You’ll swim too, but you won’t be able to keep up with me because you’re a mere human. Then I’ll take pity on you and wait, flipping my beautiful blue tail until you catch up.’

  ‘You’d better make yourself useful and catch us lots of fish while you’re at it – or will that be my job? I could get my own fishing boat and cast my nets every night, while you’re doing your moonlight swimming. Yes, I’d sooner be the one providing for you.’

  ‘I shall provide for us too. During the day I’ll decorate the pavement along the seafront with my coloured chalks. I’ll draw mermaids and fishermen, and a converted fisherman’s hut painted in soft sea blue and hung with multi-coloured lanterns. I’ll chalk seagulls and shells and little children paddling, and small ships out at sea. I’ll put your straw boater on the pavement beside me so that passing folk will throw pennies into it. When I’ve collected enough, I’ll buy bread and potatoes to go with the fish you have caught. We won’t mind eating this every day, but I shall work especially hard on Saturdays so that we can have our favourite meal on Sunday. I’ll find a honeydew melon and roast a chicken, and whip up raspberries and sugar and cream to make meringues.’

  We carried on spinning our elaborate fantasy until we got to the halfway house, where the coach driver took a break and we could stretch our legs and buy refreshments.

  Morgan had used up all his money, so I spent the last of mine on two bottles of ginger beer and a huge hot potato swimming in butter and sprinkled with salt. Morgan held it and we took alternate bites.

  When we resumed our journey there was a singsong. Folk sang The Boy I Love Is Up
in the Gallery, It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, My Old Man Said Follow the Van, and others I can’t remember. Morgan and I didn’t know the words properly as we’d never been to a music hall, but the tunes were easy enough to pick up and we la-la-la’d in time. The children joined in too, but they soon fell asleep. After a while their parents started nodding off too.

  Morgan and I were too tired to continue our imaginary games. He put his arm round me and I nestled close, my head on his shoulder. We slept for the rest of the way back to town.

  We didn’t have enough money left for a taxi. I begged Morgan to set out on his long journey to Fairy Glen straight away, but he insisted on walking me all the way home first. It was frighteningly late. I hoped Mother would have long ago gone to bed, but through a crack in the curtains I saw that the lamp was still lit.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said.

  ‘Shall I come in with you?’ said Morgan.

  ‘No, that might upset her more. You’d better go straight home now. I do hope your mother isn’t waiting up.’

  ‘I’m an adult now. I can stay out all night if I wish,’ said Morgan, but he sounded a little uneasy.

  ‘Thank you for the most wonderful day I’ve ever had,’ I said. I fingered my opal necklace. ‘I meant what I said. I shall never ever take it off.’

  ‘Well, I shall walk round with my mermaid shaving mug in my hand for ever too. It had better be my left, so I can still write and shake folks’ hands with my right.’

  ‘Go home, you silly man.’

  ‘We must say goodbye properly first.’ He pulled me closer and gave me another kiss. It lasted longer than the one in the green wood. I’d have happily stood there by the gate kissing him all night long, if it weren’t for that ominous light indoors. At last we broke away from our embrace and I went in to face Mother.