Paint on the Smiles

by Grace Thompson

  She put her head on one side. ‘Willie, you never used to boss me around.’

  He smiled, told her she was the most beautiful wife in the world and set off for the shop.

  At the end of his first day he reported to Cecily that all was definitely not well.

  ‘There isn’t much on offer at the wholesalers but Ada is refusing to buy anything,’ he complained. ‘Things are so desperately scarce that she could sell whatever she can get. But no, she seems to get more satisfaction from emptying yet another shelf and putting up a board to hide the gap. She washes the shelves and does the windows every Monday regular, and boasts that the shop was never so clean. They’ve stopped selling fresh fish altogether, as Phil can’t bear the smell, so that order has gone completely, although I might manage to get it back.’

  ‘I’m so worried, Willie. Every time I try to explain to Ada about widening her stock, she jumps into a rage and looks to Phil for support against me. He says I’ve given her responsibility and should trust her to do what’s best. The truth is, I don’t trust her. I suppose I never have.’

  He patted her shoulder in a comforting way. ‘Get this damned war over then we’ll start again, but it’ll be harder than before – restrictions won’t vanish overnight. And there isn’t as much fresh ground to cover as when you took over from your father.’

  ‘It’s all there for us. We’re using Watkins’ for the big contracts so they’re safe. It’ll all come back. All the beach trade too, and the shipping orders. I deal with them through Van’s store so they’ll come back once Van no longer needs me at Watkins’.’

  ‘It’s hard to imagine it,’ Willie said, ‘the men and women coming home, food rationing just a memory, goods coming from abroad to fill the shops. It will all happen, but I’m afraid it won’t be for a while. Perhaps this time next year we’ll see encouraging signs.’

  ‘However long it takes, we’ll get the shop going again.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I just wish Ada hadn’t lost so many of our day-to-day customers. Small people, small orders are what we started with and they’re still our mainstay, or would be if she hadn’t lost them!’

  ‘Van will return the big contracts, will she?’

  ‘Of course.’ Cecily laughed. ‘If I want to handle them, that is. It’s all in the family, isn’t it, and it doesn’t really matter whether they’re dealt with in our shop or hers.’

  ‘Will you stay at Watkins’ when Van is twenty-one? Have you thought of a manager for her?’

  ‘Plenty of time for that – 1945 is when she’ll be celebrating. Besides, being twenty-one doesn’t change anything. She just takes over the business officially. And what’s the point of looking for a manager now with all the young men in the forces? No, it’s the end of the war that will start things moving. Then we’ll sort everything out and I’ll come back to where I belong.’

  ‘Best for you too,’ Willie said firmly.

  Christmas 1943 drew near without any prospect of the conflict being brought to an end and for Cecily and Ada, the occasion offered only the promise of a few days’ rest and quiet. Peter was the only extra person they had invited. They anticipated this restful oasis in their lives with pleasure, but in fact the house was constantly filled with callers and they had little time to relax.

  Although they expected no one else, extra food had been stocked, just in case. Peter brought cakes, pasties, a loaf and some tinned meat, bottles of beer and some sherry, again, just in case. ‘Anything you don’t need we can give to Horse and his wife so they too can enjoy Christmas,’ he said.

  Gareth was home on leave and he called with Rhonwen and Marged – who was now twenty-five, and in the Wrens. Willie brought his family, plus the dog he had rescued during an air raid, and Danny, who looked very strange with short hair and without his earring.

  ‘He arrived just as Annette and I were leaving,’ Willie explained. ‘I told him you’d be pleased to see them. Jessie and Danielle are with him.’ He looked at her to see if there was a sign of dismay, but she covered her surprise well.

  Cecily hugged Victor and Claire and picked up baby William as some sort of defence as she walked through the shop to greet Danny and his family. She almost hid behind the baby as she said, ‘Danny. There’s lovely to see you.’ She turned to the small, red-headed woman at his side, who was hesitating to enter. ‘Jessie! Welcome. Come in, all of you.’ Still hugging the baby, she led them into the living room. She was trembling. How could Willie be so insensitive?

  Once inside, leaving coats draped over the counters, it was obvious the room behind the shop was too small. Peter went through to the back kitchen to fill kettles for the inevitable cups of tea, allowing her time to greet them all.

  ‘Come on, all of you,’ Cecily said brightly, ‘I think we’ll go upstairs to the big sitting room or we’ll fall over each other.’ She ran upstairs, leading the procession of visitors, and put a match to the fire, and fussed over it for a while, glad of the excuse to avoid looking at Danny. When she did, he came over and kissed her lightly on her cheek and at once did the same to Ada.

  ‘A Happy Christmas,’ he said. ‘You’re both looking lovely.’

  Peter forgot about tea as Ada and Phil opened the drinks cupboard and took up bottles of port, sherry and lemonade, Willie produced a couple of flagons of beer and Cecily searched for sufficient glasses for them all. Since the bombing, they had packed away their best glasses and china in the cellar and were using cheaper ones. She apologized for them as she handed round drinks and snacks. She was still on edge at Danny’s unexpected appearance, his wife watching her, trying to understand, perhaps, what it was her husband saw in the agitated woman.

  When everyone was supplied with a drink and some games found for the children, she sat and allowed the talk to flow around her. It was easier than she might have thought. Danny still got to her and she supposed he always would but the occasion, with so many people present, was quite pleasant. Her heart calmed to its normal beat and the initial tension faded away. Danny and Willie had plenty to discuss, being friends and business partners, and the children were an easy distraction when things went quiet.

  Rhonwen and Gareth were obviously very happy and Cecily felt momentarily bleak at the reminder that she might have married Gareth if his mother and Dorothy hadn’t interfered. But there was no jealousy, only regret that she was alone and everyone else part of a couple.

  ‘Where’s Phil?’ Ada asked as she added more precious fuel to the fire.

  ‘He won’t be far – he’s looking for more drink, I expect.’

  ‘I’d better go and find him. We’ll need more coal and logs brought up.’ She went downstairs, leaving the chattering group and calling to her husband.

  He was outside. She found him in the back lane standing looking up at the sky, his arms around Zachariah’s donkey, singing softly in duet with Horse, who was heard but not seen.

  ‘Phil, love? Why aren’t you staying with our visitors? All friends we are and wanting you with us.’

  He went on singing for a while, using the correct words to the carol, in company with the irreverent Horse, who was making up his own, then looking at her as if seeing her there for the first time. ‘’Ell of a quiet night. Makes you wonder what’s waiting for us up there. It can’t last, you know, not this quiet.’

  ‘Nothing lasts, Phil, love. But we can enjoy the peace while it’s here, can’t we? Come on now, come and sit beside me. Not complete without you beside me am I?’ She eased his arms away from the donkey and ignoring the strong scent of the animal on his newly knitted jumper, walked him back into the stable, locking the door behind them. Horse’s loud voice was a background murmur in the still night air and, for once, he sang the correct words to ‘God Bless Ye Merry Gentlemen’ in his sometimes melodious voice.

  They paused a while and listened. It was dark and stars shone like pinholes in velvet. He seemed in no hurry to go inside but she coaxed him through the door, pulled the blackout curtains across and shivered. ‘Come by the fire,
you must be frozen, standing out there talking to a donkey.’

  ‘Not much coal left,’ he said inconsequentially. ‘Five hundredweight to last more than a month. Wasteful it is to light the fire upstairs.’

  ‘You’re right, love, but it’s Christmas. Perhaps you could go out on the cart and buy some more logs? Good at finding wood you are. Remember last year, how you found enough to see us through the winter? Great help that was.’ Talking to him all the way, she led him upstairs to rejoin the others.

  ‘Willie,’ she said briskly, ‘out of that chair. Let Phil have a warm.’ She settled Phil in the seat near the hearth and set about helping Cecily to refill glasses and find more food.

  It was while Cecily was downstairs collecting a few more bottles of cider they’d just remembered that more visitors arrived. Johnny Fowler, looking thinner and more bony than ever, came with his bride-to-be and her three daughters. Cecily kissed them all and ushered them into the ever widening circle around the roaring fire.

  Sharon was over-made up. Her hair was fluffy and badly bleached, her clothes were too tight, her figure was one that made all the men sit up. But she was delightful and soon a friend to them all. The first impression, of an overdressed, vain young woman lacking in taste, faded at once in the warmth of her personality.

  Her three daughters, all fair and very alike, were soon playing happily with Victor, Claire and Danielle. Victoria was six, Debora five and Leonora only four. Johnny was so proud of them his face shone in a constant smile.

  The room was large and the fire made smaller by placing fire bricks at each side of the grate so less coal was needed to fill it. The fire was not really large enough to heat the room but the crowd added their warmth and soon cheeks were rosy, people spread further away from the hearth and the room became pleasantly warm and filled with chatter and laughter.

  Marged sat on the floor and involved herself contentedly with the children. Cecily smiled affectionately at her, thinking how little the years had changed her. She was still a giggling, childlike young woman, for whom every day was a joy. Peter played the piano and they sang some of their favourite carols, and even moved the rugs back and danced for a while to tunes they knew so well.

  By the time they had relaxed into that stupor following too much heat and a surfeit of food and drink, Cecily no longer felt ill at ease with Jessie. Annette knew her well and included Cecily in their conversations. Danny seemed content to sit next to Willie, leaning over occasionally to help him with food, or an empty glass, and Cecily felt a growing joy, aware that at last she was over him. Silently she thanked Willie for inviting him, even though she had wanted to curse him when they had first arrived. She supposed that her mother’s words, delivered by Paul Gregory, had helped too.

  ‘Sharon and I will be married next April,’ Johnny announced after a whispered consultation with his fiancée. ‘We hope you’ll all come. It’ll be a small, wartime wedding, not as grand as we’d like but—’

  ‘It will be at the register office,’ Sharon apologized, ‘and no proper reception, but we want you all to be there. You will come?’

  ‘Try and stop us!’ Cecily said and, after a brief consultation with Ada, added, ‘And we’d like to hold the reception here.’

  The news of the wedding and the discussion following delayed the departures and it was almost two o’clock before the party ended. A little drunk, decidedly merry, they all trooped through the shop, giggled their way into their coats and, carrying the children between them, went off up the hill, still talking, laughing and bursting into occasional song.

  Peter kissed Cecily and Ada and thanked them for one of the happiest Christmases he could remember.

  Phil was the only one not to enjoy the impromptu party. For most of the evening he had sat in a chair near the fire, staring at Cecily with ill-disguised dislike.

  ‘So much for our quiet couple of days,’ Cecily said with a laugh, as all but Peter had disappeared from sight. ‘And tomorrow we’ve got Bertie, Beryl and Melanie, and, who knows, even Van might favour us with a visit!’

  ‘Pity she chose to stay with Beryl and Bertie,’ Ada said. ‘I don’t know how she can, not after telling us she’s going to marry Paul Gregory.’

  ‘He didn’t get leave anyway. Thank goodness for small mercies.’

  ‘Perhaps he did and is staying with our mam. After all, she’s been his unofficial stepmother for years and there’s bound to be a strong bond between them.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she get in touch?’ Cecily wondered. ‘Why can’t she face us?’

  ‘She must hate us for reminding her of the past and the way she let us down.’

  When Peter left after helping to clear the dishes, Cecily no longer felt tired. She sat down and thought about the surprisingly enjoyable evening. With Danny and Jessie and the wedding plans of Johnny and Sharon, Gareth and Rhonwen so obviously happy, the experience of having the house filled with children’s laughter and of how glad she was to have Peter always there to support her, it had been memorable indeed.

  She made a cup of tea and settled down to write some letters. There was no point writing to Gareth and Johnny, who had shared the evening with them, but she did anyway. They would soon be back amid the horrors of death and destruction and a reminder of the happy evening would be welcome. She wrote her usual weekly letter to Edwin too, and sat, looking at the envelope, wondering how and where he was. She hadn’t seen him since Paul had given Van his ring and had no idea how he felt about it. She described the seasonal events including their Christmas evening but didn’t mention Van at all.

  Chapter Nine

  IN MARCH 1944 another savings scheme was announced, this time to assist the soldier. The target was £250,000 and Cecily, with many other volunteers, went out collecting on an extra evening, trying to encourage new savers as well as chivvy the regulars into contributing more.

  There was a weariness on the faces as people went about their tasks, and a shabbiness about the town. The bomb damage had been cleared but the gaps in the once-neat terraces were a constant reminder of past horror and grief, and the possibility of more. Queues formed outside every shop as more and more food items came under the heading of luxuries and as soon as news came of a delivery, women would stop what they were doing and run to join the line of patient shoppers. Beside food, items like shaving soap and razor blades were enough to encourage people to wait for hours, enjoying the chatter and sharing the complaints, strangers for a brief while becoming friends.

  Van’s twentieth birthday was in April and Cecily and Ada spent a lot of time considering how best to celebrate it. They planned a family party and invited all the family members who were able to come. Everyone would contribute at this time of shortages and even neighbours who weren’t invited offered a few small additions to the food being gathered for the tea party.

  Uncle Ben, who sang in the choir and who, when he spoke, boomed so loudly the china in the cabinet rattled, hadn’t been in touch with them since the revelation of Waldo being Van’s father, and the reading of the will. His second wife, Auntie Maggie, strongly disapproved of Cecily, whom she considered to be a shame on the family, and she took pleasure in talking about it to make sure no one thought she would forgive. In this she was supported by Dorothy, who had always considered the Owen shop should belong to her son, Owen-Owen, named-for-his-grandfather. Invitations were sent out to them and, although no reply came, Cecily and Ada hoped they would come and end the disagreement.

  Lists were made of who was invited, and what food they could provide, and on the Sunday before the party Van went out early in the afternoon and ignored their request for her to go over the list to make sure no one had been left out. She told them to go ahead with the party but that she wouldn’t be there.

  They argued, demanded to know what she would be doing that prevented her attending her own birthday party but she was vague. ‘I have already made arrangements for a celebration,’ she said airily. ‘I might be seeing Paul if he manages to get leave.’r />
  ‘Van,’ Cecily asked quietly. ‘If you know Paul Gregory, you must know where your grandmother is.’

  ‘I do know, but she won’t have anything to do with us. I’ve tried but it’s no good. She will not agree, so forget it – there’s no chance of her offering you a reconciliation.’

  ‘A reconciliation? For what? We didn’t do anything. It’s us who have to forgive her for running off and leaving us without an explanation.’

  ‘Maybe she sees it differently. Maybe Granddad knew more than he told you. Either way, she won’t consider meeting me or any of us,’ she lied. ‘It’s probably your fault, Mam, you causing all the embarrassment and shaming the family by having me, don’t you think?’

  Cecily reacted to the cruel remark by walking away sadly, wondering if her daughter would ever return to the loving, affectionate person she had once been. Surely the truth would be faced and dealt with soon?

  ‘I suspect she is in touch with Mam,’ Ada said. ‘I also suspect that what she has just said is rubbish, invented to offend you. She’s got some growing up to do, our Myfanwy! But what can we do about finding Mam? The only address we have for Paul is his army address. Knowing she’s in Cardiff isn’t enough to find her and I don’t think Van will help us, do you?’’

  ‘Surely Van wouldn’t lie to us about something like this?’

  ‘Oh yes she would,’ Phil said. He began laughing uncontrollably. ‘This is something your Myfanwy would just love. Hates you she does, Cecily. And if she can find a way to hurt you she’ll take it!’

  ‘Stop it, Phil,’ Ada said. ‘You’re talking rubbish. Forget it, Cecily,’ she added in a whisper. ‘Poor Phil, he gets very confused at times.’

  It was embarrassing but they rang, called and wrote to cancel the invitations, and instead put the tinned and dried food aside for a different celebration.

  In April, a week after Van’s twentieth birthday, Johnny Fowler came home to marry his Sharon. She wore a dress made from muslin onto which she had painstakingly sewn beads of blue. Ric-Rac braid decorated the hem and neckline and the effect, although hardly smart, enhanced her figure and smiling face and made her a beautiful bride. Her daughters followed her as she came out of the register office with Johnny, and stood near her with bunches of flowers in their hands, while Willie took photographs. His clumsiness with the camera was ignored; no one offered to help as he held the camera awkwardly between chest, chin and injured arm. This was something he was determined to do himself. The bridal group waited patiently, smiling, until he succeeded in gripping the camera securely with the shortened arm while his strong hand took several pictures for their album.