Paint on the Smiles

by Grace Thompson

  ‘Gladys is right. You put yourself first every time and that’s why you get it wrong every time.’

  ‘You have to think about how circumstances will affect you,’ Danny protested. ‘Everyone does that.’

  ‘But you never work through to the point where you can consider anyone else. Too quick to condemn you are. If you thought for someone else you wouldn’t keep digging holes for yourself to fall into, one after another.’

  Danny grinned at the picture Willie created, of scrambling out of one hole only to fall into another. ‘Damn me, you make me sound like a demented rabbit!’

  ‘Worse, Danny. Rabbits rarely end up alone and that’s what’ll happen to you.’ He rubbed fiercely at the wood he was sanding. ‘Caring is what it’s about. Whatever Annette does, I’m her man and I’ll never let her down, and she knows it.’

  He pointed across the road to the Spencers’ white cottage. ‘See Ada and Phil? He hasn’t brought her much happiness, has he? But would she think of leaving him? Damn it all, man, you want your arse kicked till your teeth rattle!’ He walked off in unaccustomed anger, which showed in his swift, long-legged gait and in the head, lowered to his chest, and the arms rigidly held at waist height with balled fists.

  ‘Annette,’ he called. ‘I need a kiss, a cuddle and a cup of tea – in that order.’

  Peter Marshall came frequently to see Cecily and Ada. They were tempted not to go out, even to the whist drives that had been a recent pleasure, or to the training sessions which went on with increasing urgency, preparing for the raids which must surely come. They both pretended it was not because of the half-whispered remarks, or the refusal of some husbands to allow their wives to attend a class held by them. Peter made them face the truth. ‘You’re allowing yourselves to back down and that will never do,’ he said. ‘Come on, we’ll all four of us go to the whist tonight.’

  Ada was surprised when Phil showed enthusiasm for the idea and for a while they went regularly. But Phil lacked concentration and frequently messed up a game with careless play and Ada backed out of going. Cecily, now she had faced her friends, continued to go regularly with Peter as her partner. There were several Wednesday afternoon dances where tea was served and patrons had the choice of dancing to records or playing whist. Gradually Cecily learned to ignore the remarks about her past from the few ill-mannered people who refused to allow the talk to die down, and enjoy the afternoons with Peter and their friends.

  Ada’s life became a routine of shop to house, and house to shop, with little besides. Phil followed her around and spent most of his time staring into space with only an occasional game of patience to alleviate his irritating stillness. When he did move, he would frequently look behind him as if trying to catch someone creeping up on him. He would turn a corner or go through a door then bob back again, suddenly, as if trying to surprise an imaginary follower. Ada gave up asking what he was doing; his replies were vague and often referred to something she had said hours before.

  When Cecily spoke of his odd behaviour and tried to express her concern, Ada reminded her of her unwillingness to help when he was still well enough to be helped. However unreasonable, Ada blamed her sister, at least in part, for Phil’s continuing illness.

  In more lucid moments, Phil encouraged her anger towards her sister, insisting insidiously that Cecily thought of her as an assistant and not a partner who could make decisions. Defiantly, Ada employed a boy to help, without discussing it with Cecily, in readiness for when Willie had to leave them.

  The business at the beach was long finished for the summer and with so many of the beaches barricaded off from public use with rolls of barbed wire and mined areas, there was general concern that the summer visitors on whom so many businesses depended would not come the following year. The brave words that it would all be over by Christmas were no longer believed, even by the most optimistic.

  Thanks to Willie, other sections of their trade grew. He had sought out owners and captains of seagoing ships and once they increased their stocks to accommodate the new lines, they had attracted some very useful extra business from the docks. The crews of ships, and the dock workers that serviced them, needed food and other stores, and the cooks dealt with Owen’s shop in increasing numbers due to Willie’s hard advertising and the shop’s convenient position not far from the dock gates.

  The premises next door, which Cecily had bought but never opened, was packed from floor to ceiling with stores. Orders went out in the van driven by Willie, or one of the sisters, although Willie didn’t like them going to the docks now there were sentries and armed guards to satisfy; their dedication and thoroughness was a reminder of the danger of being found in the wrong place.

  Relations were still strained between Van and her mother, but one day she came to talk to Cecily and invited Willie and Ada to listen to what she had to say.

  ‘As it’s all in the family now, don’t you think it would be a good idea for us to deal with these large shipping orders and contracts at Watkins’?’ she said when they were all sitting in the room behind the shop one Wednesday afternoon. Before they could discuss this surprising idea, the shop bell gave its tinkling warning and Peter walked in.

  Cecily told him what had been suggested.

  ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it, Peter?’ Van said enthusiastically. ‘Mam and Auntie Ada would have less to do and it would still be in the family.’

  ‘But you’d have to employ extra staff, wouldn’t you? That would be a mistake, with everything covered satisfactorily as it is at present. You’re likely to lose your manager soon with the call-up underway, and if you manage to find the staff you’ll be increasing your costs and your mother and Ada would have time on their hands here. Another thing is that with the shop next door, the stock is easily available. No, Van, the work being divided between the two stores works perfectly. A change would be too costly.’

  ‘Peter’s right,’ Cecily said. ‘It sounds fine but there’d be an excess of people here and a shortage up there. Besides, it’s Willie who found the extra business for us. I don’t think he’d like us giving it away.’

  ‘Willie could come and work at Watkins’.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Willie was adamant. ‘I don’t want a change and besides, they need a man here, specially now with the risk of bombing and God knows what else. No, the sisters are my responsibility. I’m staying here.’

  ‘Well, forget the girl you employ to replace me. That’s one less.’

  ‘There isn’t one. Annette comes in if it’s very busy, but other than that we manage.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like Owen, I suppose?’

  There was a chorus of dissent.

  The talk went backwards and forwards, mainly between Cecily and Van but with the others adding their comments, and although the young girl was competent in putting her case forward, and Cecily was proud of her skill in debate, they all agreed that things were best left as they were.

  When the sisters were alone, apart from the silent Phil, who sifted through the hot ashes and appeared to be counting those of a certain size, Ada had a change of heart.

  ‘D’you know, Cecily, the more I think of it, the more I’m convinced it would be for the best for Phil and me.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘I’d be able to stay home a bit more if there were fewer rushes to get out the big orders. We are short handed at times even though we didn’t admit it. And Phil is so much better at home.’ She glanced at her husband, kneeling on the rag rug in front of the fire. ‘He talks more and even goes into the workshop and looks at the machines and thumbs through the old order books. I really think that if we were home more of the time he might break out of this strange mood and start taking an interest in something again.’

  ‘All right, I’ll talk it over with—’ She almost said Waldo, who was no longer there to advise. ‘I’ll talk to Peter, and Willie again.’

  ‘Oh, you will, will you?’ Ada said quietly. ‘What’s happened to us? Why can’t we ever make a decision
, just you and me?’

  ‘Oh, don’t go on, Ada love. I know you think I’m overbearing and forceful. Don’t start again. You and I have always talked things through with others, like Waldo and Bertie and Peter, haven’t we? And you must discuss things with Phil too. It’s how we come to a good decision, throwing ideas to and fro.’

  ‘Go on then. Get Peter on the phone. Ring him and tell him you want to discuss our business affairs with him. Not us, but you!’

  ‘Ada!’

  ‘All right, I do see you need to talk to someone else besides me but it shouldn’t be so obvious that you want him to tell you what you want to hear.’

  ‘He made his comments on the facts Van gave us. I’m not asking him to agree with me and tell you you’re wrong!’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  Ada stood up, reached for their coats and offered a hand to help Phil up off the floor. His face was bright red from the heat, his eyes bland but remarkably blue against the bright skin. ‘I wish I had just some responsibilities here,’ Ada said. ‘You make all the decisions and I’m just good old Ada. “There’s lucky Cecily is to have good old Ada to help her.” That’s what people say!’

  And those words are Phil’s and not yours, Cecily thought sadly, but she didn’t say it aloud.

  She went to the shop door and waved them off, filled with melancholy, then reached for the phone.

  ‘I know it’s the wrong thing to do, and I agree with all your reasons for refusing,’ she told Peter, ‘but I’m sick of confrontations with Ada. I want to do as she asks, just this once.’

  ‘I have a strong feeling that this is a serious mistake, Cecily,’ he warned.

  ‘I’m sure too, but I’m so tired of fighting.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’ve always tried to please too many people. Van, Ada, your father, and Danny, of course. Why not please yourself over this and say no? I believe it could land you in a lot of trouble.’

  ‘I am pleasing myself,’ she lied. ‘I’ll hand over all the big contracts we’ve worked so hard to get. Let Van deal with them and enjoy the extra freedom.’

  Chapter Six

  THE AIR RAID sirens went frequently during the winter months of 1940 but no bombs fell. People began to hover at the entrances of shelters, much to the consternation of the wardens, looking up at the sky instead of huddling in the cold comfort of Anderson shelters or the larger, concrete street shelters with their entrances protected by walls of sand bags. Rationing began, but to many the war was still unreal. When the first air raid happened, people were devastated with shock.

  It was after the shop had closed and Ada and Phil were just leaving, having stayed for a meal. Willie too had stayed late but as the siren began its wailing warning, he left.

  ‘Annette has the children to look after, best I get straight there,’ he explained, pulling on his coat. ‘It’s probably another false alarm but you never know.’ He went out and tried to start the car, which spluttered futilely and coughed its refusal to budge. He thought about going back and asking Ada for a lift but decided against it. She’d probably stay with Cecily until the all clear. He slammed the car door and set off to walk. Using the back lanes it wouldn’t take long.

  In the shop Cecily recommended that Ada and Phil should stay but Phil was restless.

  ‘I can be home in five minutes,’ Ada assured her. ‘The streets will be empty.’ Then she remembered that Van was with Beryl and Bertie and unless the neighbours climbed the wall and used the cellar, Cecily would be on her own. ‘No, you’re right.’ She handed Phil a flask to fill with tea. ‘Best we stay.’

  They carried a tray of tea and biscuits, which Cecily took from the shop and took precious moments to note in the relevant book in her meticulous way, and went down the cellar.

  Willie was aware of the sound of planes first, as he ran along the dark lanes between the houses. Then he saw searchlights sweep the sky attempting to pinpoint the enemy. Guns boomed and the war was suddenly real. The bombs, when they came whistling down, seemed to be aimed at the docks, but he knew that didn’t ensure Annette’s and the children’s safety. He ran as fast as he could, ignoring the shouts of wardens telling him to take cover, looking up at intervals to try and follow the battle going on above him. Searchlights and the small explosions and traces of smoke and flares lit the scene and at times was as bright as day. So much for the blackout, he thought as he cut across a field, taking the shortest possible route home.

  The battle in the sky followed him. A plane flew across his path followed by another, smaller fighter. The crump of a bomb filled the air with a roar like nothing he had imagined, as it landed only streets away from the open ground over which he was running. The blast lifted him off his feet and he was stopped abruptly and painfully against a tree. He was winded and terrified at the strength of it. It was as if an impatient hand had swept him out of its way and thrown him hard against the tree. He regained his feet and recovered his breath and ran on.

  Unbelievably, houses were falling like children’s bricks as he reached the streets again. The night was filled with loud cracks as window glass shattered and rumbling as walls collapsed. Fires had already broken out and were illustrating the horrifying scene, growing with alarming speed. The horror of it filled his mind with wild imaginings and intensified with every passing moment.

  Buildings blazed and the crackling increased in volume. His ears were filled with the roar as greedy flames engulfed everything in their path. Bricks clattered, slates winged through the dust-filled air. People and animals bolted past him, crying, screaming; he was crying too, and calling for Annette. He was trapped in a nightmare of terror and confusion but he didn’t stop to help. All he could think of was Annette, Victor and Claire.

  A small spaniel darted across his path and he fell headlong. The demented creature was trapped by him and it crouched against a wall, panting, its eyes wide, its whole body trembling. Willie picked it up, pushed it under his coat and ran on.

  Stumbling over debris, his mind stupidly identifying broken pieces of wood as window frames, door panels, troughing and fence posts as he swerved around them in a zigzag path to get to his family.

  He talked to the dog, telling it not to be afraid, that he was safe now, that the bombs were falling somewhere else, far away. He saw a plane making odd, jerking sounds coming across his path, the engine labouring. The plane dropped lower and lower and he saw with amazing clarity a parachute released and come floating down, beautiful in the glow of the fires. Then he cried as it touched a burning house and was enveloped in flames.

  He was still crying as he opened the door of the Anderson shelter he and Danny had built, half underground, in his back garden. He fell into Annette’s arms and she soothed him as he had soothed the dog.

  ‘I found him,’ he sobbed. ‘I couldn’t leave him, he was all alone.’

  The morning following the raid was a scene as strange as any Cecily could have imagined. She had already checked that Van and the others were unhurt, but when Peter came, they walked up to see the damage to Waldo’s store and make sure Van was coping.

  In the streets people were walking about, silently looking at the devastation. Children followed their parents searching among fallen masonry for shrapnel and whooping with delight when they found a piece large enough to stand in a bedroom as a trophy.

  Numerous dead cats and dogs were found and men were already sweeping away the rubble, clearing paths and disposing of the sad sight. In the square, almost a hundred pigeons had died, apparently of fright, and were also swiftly taken away.

  Waldo Watkins’s store had been damaged. Workmen were boarding up the huge space where glass had shattered. Women were out on the pavements, brushing away the evidence of the night, chatting cheerfully to disguise their fear and shock. Cecily and Peter went into the store and found Van there, organizing the staff who were cleaning up the dust that had blown through the broken windows and preparing to get ready for business.

  Although she was only seventeen, she
expected to be obeyed and was having a little trouble making the team do what she wanted, her voice raised and her hands on her hips. ‘A proper little scold,’ Peter said with a chuckle.

  ‘We’d better leave her to it,’ Cecily said. ‘She doesn’t need our help to sort them out, does she?’

  Owen was there, sitting on the stairs, idly holding a bucket and mop, apparently content to sit while others did the first and worst stage of the clearing up.

  ‘He intends to wait then give the floors the final impressive wipe to universal applause,’ Peter whispered.

  Owen dropped the bucket and stood when he saw them watching. ‘Mam’s all right,’ he reported. ‘And she said to tell you Annette’s all right too.’

  ‘You were hurrying to tell us and stop us worrying, were you, Owen? There’s kind.’

  ‘Yes. As soon as I’m not needed here,’ he said, slowly reaching for the abandoned bucket.

  ‘Willie came first thing to tell us just that,’ she said angrily. ‘So now you won’t have to bother yourself, will you? Go back to your sitting down, you lazy, useless creature!’

  ‘What?’ he said in amazement.

  ‘You heard!’

  Picking their way through broken glass, pools of water and soggy cardboard, they stepped warily past ruined and drunken displays. The floor was littered with smashed bottles and jars, the contents of which were unrecognizable. They gave off a weird mixture of smells: sweet, sour, pleasant and foul. As they left the shop Van was still shouting at her staff and Cecily was gratified to hear her start on Owen.

  The day was slow to start. Few came shopping during the morning as most were clearing up either their own mess or helping others. Ada and Phil were still there, having decided to wait until the roads were clear before driving back home.

  ‘We’re so relieved you and your family are unharmed, Willie,’ Cecily said when he returned to the shop. ‘Running through all that, it’s a miracle you are safe. Luckily, none of us is harmed and the only damage here is a broken slate on the back kitchen roof.’