Waldo was losing all his shop assistants and was regularly advertising for replacements. The situation was repeated in every business in the town and people with the right experience were hard to find, especially as the factories offered more money.
Gareth left his barber shop with its newly acquired ‘other half’ in the hands of his one-time apprentice. His plan to open the second half of The Wedge as a ladies’ hair salon was abandoned until after the war ended. The second half was simply an enlargement to the original business, giving more space for people to wait, and for display shelves on which he offered combs and brushes and shampoo for sale. The contraceptives remained hidden in a drawer and referred to as ‘a packet of them, you knows’ by his customers.
Owen failed his medical, much to Dorothy’s surprise and Owen’s relief. Young David, the sisters’ red-headed one-time assistant, joined up. Winifred Rees, the girl who helped with the housework, left too, hoping to find better paid work in the factories which were advertising for people to fight the enemy by making bullets and shells for our fighting men.
News of the fighting was sparse. The local papers made big headlines over items like whether or not to supply milk to all school children instead of those proved to be in need. Gareth’s mother gained notoriety for a while having been fined ten shillings for a blackout offence. There was no mention of any air raids that might have taken place in other parts of the country, and no mention of the landmines and barbed wire fences being placed around many of the beaches.
The first local deaths of the war were bizarre. A soldier was shot by a guard on the docks who thought he was a spy. Several people were knocked down in the blackout and a car ran into the river, the driver unable to see the road in an intense storm. All victims who had never heard more of battle than the practice air raid.
It was during a mock air raid, another to test the organizational skills of the defence services, that the first death to affect the sisters occurred. During the noise and the sounds of the terrifyingly realistic mock air attack, Waldo died.
He woke from a deep sleep to the sound of heavy guns protecting the docks, forgetting in his fright that a practice had been planned. He woke Melanie and tried to carry her to the shelter and suffered a heart attack before he left the bedroom. He died almost immediately, still holding Melanie in his arms.
Cecily refused to believe it when the news was brought by Owen early the next morning. She stared at the fat, red-faced boy as though it were his fault, her eyes wide in gradually dawning grief.
‘Waldo? He can’t be! He’s always there when I need him. He can’t be dead, he’d never leave us.’ She rang Peter to tell him, crying as she said the dreadful words, and he promised to come at once. ‘No, not yet. I have to go to see Melanie.’
‘I’ll wait at the shop. It’s sad to lose a friend. Be brave for Melanie, love.’
She repeated the denials over and over in the time it took for Ada and Phil to arrive, and as she went up to tell Van, and as she walked through the house to where Willie was stocking the first orders.
She was still telling herself it wasn’t true as she ran up the hill to the main road where the large store stood, already – to her imagination – looking forlorn and engulfed in sadness in the dark early morning. No light showed. Within, everything was still and silent. What would normally have been a thriving activity with the staff behind the locked doors preparing their counters and displays for the time when customers were admitted was utter stillness. It was as if it too had died in the night.
The side door stood ajar and she went inside, wondering what she should say. What if the rumour was false? What if she blurted out something so terrible and Owen had got it wrong? Waldo wasn’t dead. He’d just suffered one of his attacks. Anger filled her against Owen. The stupid boy, he’d got it wrong.
She stepped inside the dark shop and knew at once it was true. The staff stood about in small groups and anxious faces. A ship without its captain, Cecily thought as they greeted her with lips stiff and refusing to smile, eyes that did not meet hers.
‘Is it true?’ she whispered to Tomos Small, the manager, whose father had been on the docks when her father had died. She held her breath for that last moment of faint hope, until he nodded.
‘And Mrs Watkins? Is she at home?’
‘Yes, Miss Owen. She sent word to me and through me to others and now she’s home. She particularly asked that you were told, miss. I sent Owen as he’s related, like. I’m sure Mrs Watkins would be glad to see you, miss.’
It wasn’t far to walk back down to collect the car, but irritated by the delay, she wanted to walk, run, depend on her own self to get there and see her friend. She nodded to the staff, muttered a few words of sympathy and went outside. Willie was standing at the kerb, his flat cap in his hand, the other on the door of the car.
‘Thought you might need a lift,’ he said. ‘Terrible sorry I am about this. Dreadful shame. I know what a good friend he’s been to you and Miss Ada.’
‘Thank you, Willie.’ She cried then, at his thoughtfulness at turning up at the right moment. ‘Waldo has been a good friend, yes. And so have you,’ she sobbed. She got in and he drove in silence to Melanie’s house.
It was a large house, set on a corner and painted white. It was unusual in that there was no garden wall or hedge, but flowerbeds and green lawns running from the house to the pavement. The green grass was a splendid setting and the slope rising from the road gave the house an elevation which added to its impressive appearance. Today, although dawn had broken and the sky was bright with the promise of a sunny day, the blinds were still drawn.
As she stepped from the car and walked up the drive, Cecily saw there were lots of people inside the house. Through the open front door she could see them standing in small groups and from the kitchen a woman appeared carrying a tray of teas. Melanie saw her and came to meet her, looking smaller and somehow frail, shrunken both in size and personality by the tragedy.
Cecily clung to her friend and their tears flowed, each silently grieving for Waldo, who had added so much to both their lives.
‘I knew he was ill,’ Melanie said when they had recovered a little. ‘But somehow you refuse to accept what the doctors tell you. Death and illness are what happens to other people, not to this kind and loving man who made my life one long pleasure.’ She gave a deep sigh then added quietly, ‘He told me you are mentioned in his will and to arrange a reading when we are all together.’
‘I’ll do whatever you want of me. Would you like me to sleep here for a few nights?’
‘Thank you, my dear, but there’s no need. The servants will still be here. Such a pity we never managed to have a child; it would have been such a comfort now.’
‘You have a hundred friends. I doubt if Waldo ever made an enemy.’ Cecily smiled. ‘Come on, I don’t know about you, love, but I’m sinking for a cuppa.’
‘Stupid, really,’ Melanie mused, ‘how we drink tea as if it somehow solves the problem by dilution.’
‘If only it were that simple to drown sorrow,’ Cecily said, guiding Melanie to where a cup of tea was offered.
The funeral was a very large one and the main road was closed by it. Everyone who could find a place beside the kerb on that cold, wet day stood and lined the route. Others stood at open windows and in doorways and shared in the farewell to a favourite citizen. The cars made a procession that stretched out of sight in both directions and seemed to go on forever.
Afterwards the house was full to overflowing with mourners and it was late in the day, with the family and close friends still there, when the solicitor called Melanie, Ada, Cecily and Van to join the widow to hear the contents of Waldo’s will. Cecily was anxious, watching Melanie for signs of stress as she ushered her sister and daughter in front of her into the silent lounge.
There were seven people present and Cecily found a seat near the door and waited for Mr Grainger to begin. He looked thinner and older, but his eyes were as sharp as when h
e had read the will of her father, Owen-Owen, almost ten years before.
The will began with the bulk of his estate being left to his wife, Melanie. For her there were the properties, the shares and most of his fortune. The second largest amount, to the surprise of everyone present, with the exception of Melanie, was left to Van. The shop was hers with enough money for it to be run for her until she gained control, at the age of twenty-one.
‘Myfanwy will need a capable manager and someone to guide her and help her to fully understand the way a large grocery store is run.’ In this the will continued, “I know my dear wife, Melanie, will willingly and lovingly assist Myfanwy Owen in every way”.’
Then came the announcement Cecily had dreaded. She felt Ada’s hand reach for hers and grip it tightly as Mr Grainger spoke into the silence that was almost a hum.
‘The will goes on “Myfanwy is my daughter. Mine and Cecily Owen’s and I am proud to be able to tell of this at last, even though I won’t be present to receive the congratulations of you all. I wish her every joy and happiness as my successor at Waldo Watkins’ store”.’
Mr Grainger coughed and looked down at the papers in front of him, troubled and tense. Melanie smiled across at Cecily and blew a kiss, a comforting and reassuring gesture that made Cecily want to cry.
It was Van who spoke first. She turned to stare at her mother, a glance then at Melanie who was sitting, pale-faced, near the fireplace, watching her, then back to an equally pale Cecily. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she spat out at her mother. ‘My father living in the same town and you didn’t tell me!’
‘The decision was mine and mine alone.’ Cecily was surprised at how calm she sounded. She was not looking at Van, but at Melanie, who had not moved a muscle, apart from the smile for Cecily, as the announcement had been made. ‘It was my decision, Van, mine, not yours. It was my wish that you were not told, but Waldo obviously decided differently. I don’t want you or anyone to think that this news alters in any way the character of Waldo. He was a fine, honourable man who offered his friends nothing but love and kindness.’
‘A fine pair you were!’ Van glared at the sisters. ‘Bringing me up pretending my mother was a stranger, that you’d taken pity on me, an orphaned child. And all the time my father was there, in my life, but unknown to me.’ She turned to look at Melanie. ‘Did you know?’
‘Not until two weeks ago. Waldo told me when he knew he wouldn’t live long enough to hand over the shop when you reached twenty-one, as he had hoped. Only when he was sure I knew and understood did he write that in his will.’
In some ways this was as great a shock to Cecily than the announcement. There hadn’t been the slightest sign in Melanie that she knew. Nothing had changed in the relationship; she had been as affectionate and loving as always.
She turned to look at Van, distress on her lovely face, her breathing heavy and uneven. If she had known Waldo had planned to reveal this, she would have spoken to her daughter, prepared her. But then, what was a good way of learning something like this?
Numbly they listened to the remainder of the bequests and when Mr Grainger closed his file, Cecily stood beside Melanie, still afraid the gentle woman would show the disgust and contempt that she deserved. But Melanie hugged her and said only, ‘We must talk, my dear.’
Van, standing at the back of the room, who Cecily began hesitantly to approach, stormed to the door and shouted, ‘I hate you! All of you!’ Cecily tried to run after her but Melanie held her back.
‘Let her go, my dear. She needs to be alone to digest all this. Come on, let’s go back and face the others. It has to be done.’ She put an arm around Cecily and Ada, and walked back to where the remaining guests were waiting to hear the remainder of Waldo’s last will and testament with curiosity and anticipation of some gossip to share.
Cecily pulled herself free and ran outside after Van. She found her standing outside the door, calm and coldly composed.
‘Don’t worry, Mother. I’m going to see Edwin and I’ll be home at ten. Don’t worry, I’m not suicidal or anything, I just want to talk to Edwin.’
‘But Van, lovey, I need you with me at this moment. We need each other.’
‘I don’t need you! I want you out of my life! You can spend the next few years wondering how I’ll pay you back, because I will. You’ll regret the way you’ve treated me. Now I’m going to find Edwin. Don’t make a scene, I’m not a hysterical child! I want him to know before someone else tells him. You can understand that, can’t you, after a lifetime of secrets?’
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No. I don’t need my hand held. I’m not a child and I want to tell him myself.’
‘And you’ll be all right?’
‘I’m all right. Tell Auntie Melanie that I’m sorry I shouted.’ She turned and walked away.
Dorothy had obviously learned that Van had inherited the shop. As Cecily re-entered the house, her sister-in-law’s loud voice was heard to say, ‘My Owen will have the Owens’ shop now, of course. Eldest son of the eldest son. Owen-Owen he’s called, named for his grandfather. It’s his by right and Waldo obviously understood this.’
No one answered her, except Owen, who shushed her and whispered, ‘Mam, I don’t want the shop! I want to keep my job at Watkins’ and if you upset them I’ll be kicked out!’
Everyone finally went home, leaving Cecily and Melanie sitting next to each other, the departures a sea of blurred faces, the parting comments unheard, though automatically answered. When they were alone, Melanie said to Cecily, ‘Tell me about it, dear.’
‘It wasn’t an affair. He was – I know this sounds stupid, but he wasn’t really unfaithful to you. It was a momentary thing. A weakness at a time when I was vulnerable and he was caring and kind.’
‘It was after you’d cancelled your wedding to Danny, wasn’t it?’
‘I came to talk to you, as I’d always done when I was upset or worried or needed guidance. Danny had just made it clear that once we were married he’d expect me to give up dancing and we’d move from the shop to live in a couple of rented rooms which he could afford to pay for, and I’d have to settle down to what he called normal married life. I laughed. I honestly thought he was joking. He wasn’t. We argued and, as you know, I called off the wedding even though the banns had been called. I was distraught.
‘I came here but you were out and he comforted me. Then things got out of hand. It was so sudden we were both taken unawares and the comforting and the being comforted went out of control. It was my fault, I expected too much of him and, well, that brief encounter resulted in my becoming a mother. It was my fault, Melanie. He never stopped loving you for a moment.’
‘That was how he told it to me, but he took all the blame on himself,’ Melanie said softly.
‘From the moment it happened, all his concern was for you. A few months later, when I knew I was carrying his child, we talked and I agreed to go away and invent a story about a friend. There was never a suggestion that I had an abortion, nor did he ever suggest I might have her adopted.’
‘So, now everyone knows. At least, your Dorothy knows, and that’s much the same thing!’
Cecily frowned. ‘Why did he do it, d’you think? It seems cruel on both of us, as well as a hurtful shock for Van.’
‘He must have thought we could cope with a sixteen-year-old scandal. As for Van, she has a life ahead of her and now it’s without secrets, clean and pure and with no possibility of unpleasant surprises.’
‘He was probably right. Unpleasant, but best dealt with and put aside.’
‘He’d thought it out and his decision was for the best. I believe that. He always made the right decisions.’
‘I’ll send Van to talk to you as soon as she’s calmed down, Melanie.’
‘No, dear. Don’t send her. Tell her I’d love her to come. There are many things to discuss.’ She smiled then. ‘Just think, I’m a sort of mother at last.’
‘More than that. Friend, mothe
r and loving aunt, all rolled into one. Van is very lucky.’
The major effect of the news breaking that Van was Waldo’s child was Van leaving the shop and going to work at Watkins’ store to begin learning about the running of her inheritance. The other main change was that Danny, distressed by the notoriety and the widespread gossip, also left the shop and returned to live in the room next door to Gladys Davies.
That good lady told him he was a fool. ‘There’s a lot of character and strength in a woman who decides to bring up her child without a husband,’ she said. ‘She knew she’d have to face disapproval and a lot of unkindness if the truth came out, yet she took the chance. Now it has come out sixteen years on and she’s facing the world with a defiance that forbids many from openly criticizing her. She’s a brave and remarkable woman who deserves the support of her friends. If you can’t see that, Danny Preston, you’re a fool and she’s better off without you!’
Danny was speechless under the onslaught of her angry words. His anger rose too, but as he began to look pompous and tell her he wasn’t the man to be associated with such an affair, she called him a hypocrite and worse.
‘Where have you been staying these past weeks? In your own bed, were you? Hardly whiter than white. You’re thinking about yourself, as usual, not her. Afraid of people calling you names instead of standing up for her. People calling you names never does no harm, not to a strong person it doesn’t!’
Danny told her to ‘Shut up, woman’ but he was ashamed of leaving Cecily to face her critics alone. He was a hypocrite and worse, he admitted to Willie as they worked on a hall table for Bertie Richards.
‘Too late now, it is, to go back. I always do the wrong thing, Willie. Every time. Why is that, d’you think?’
Paint on the Smiles Page 11