Free Opal Plumstead by Jacqueline Wilson Page B

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