Sharon, like Rhonwen months before, had been busy making clothes to welcome her husband home. She wore a two-piece suit cut from brocade curtains bought at a jumble sale. The buttons were not a good match, coming from an old coat. Her high-heeled shoes were too large but had been a bargain at a second-hand shop. A substitute for stockings, made with powder mixed with water and painted on with a sponge, made her legs a bright orange. She had drawn the seams with an eyebrow pencil, but unfortunately they were crooked. Pancake make-up stopped visibly at the neck of the suit and her hair was frizzy with a bad perm. But somehow, Cecily thought later, her appearance didn’t matter. You remembered the warmth of her and the affection she showered on Johnny and the girls and everyone who came near.
‘There’s something very special about your Sharon,’ she whispered to Johnny. ‘She makes you feel happy for having met her. She appears to be fluffy, helpless, hopeless and lovely but she has the rare gift of spreading happiness. You are very lucky to have her.’
Johnny laughed. ‘She’s helpless all right. You should see the cake she made to welcome me home. Burnt to a crisp, but I’ll eat it if it kills me! I adore her and the girls. They make me feel important and clever and all the other things I am not.’
Danny came back but didn’t call straightaway. Cecily knew of his return from Willie, who told her Danny was going back to his job delivering the Royal Mail for a while, but was excited by the ideas Willie had expressed for extending their business.
‘I wonder if Zachariah Daniels will lend us his donkey and cart?’ Willie said one morning. ‘There’s a lot of second-hand timber for sale and if we buy it, we’ll need something to bring it home.’
With a laugh, Cecily reminded him that the elderly donkey was hardly reliable. She gave him the address of the man from whom Phil used to borrow a horse and cart. ‘You can use the stable to store it if you want to,’ she offered. ‘There’s little enough stock we’ve got to put in it!’
She heard them later, talking in the stable and, curious to see Danny, who had been the love of her life for so many years, she opened the door and called, ‘Tea, anyone?’
Danny was thinner than when she had seen him last, his dark eyes set deeper in the lean face. He was still without his earring and somehow that was a disappointment, the lack of the piratical air, something she had hoped to see returned. His curling hair was short and streaked with grey and she realized with a shock that he was no longer a boy she had been visualizing in her memory but a man of forty-two, two years older than herself. It reminded her of how life was passing and how little time she had to revive the business and give them an income on which they could comfortably live. Sadly, she began to doubt it was possible. Van had ruined everything for her. If that had been her intention, she had succeeded remarkably well. Again she wondered why and was startled out of her reverie to hear Danny ask if the tea was for today or tomorrow.
As she handed out the cups, she looked at Danny, who was enquiring about Phil, his face showing animation and interest. He hadn’t really changed but he’d lost the magic that had separated him from all the other eligible men so many years ago. Now, he was just Danny Preston, Willie’s partner and a past love.
Her musings saddened her and she was even more thankful than usual when Peter returned, thoughtful, reliable and utterly dear. Whatever happened to her she would never regret the years she had spent with him. She told him of Danny’s visit with Willie.
‘That was nice. Did you see any changes in him?’
No sign of jealousy. Wise as well as wonderful Peter.
‘He’s changed but so have we all, except you, my lovely Peter. You are as constant as the dawn and as welcome.’
There was one more surprise that summer. Jack Simmons walked into the shop. Jack, who had sold cheap vegetables on the corner and whom they had believed was dead, was safe and sound, having been released from a prisoner-of-war camp. He turned up one morning when Cecily and Ada were filling the shop window with apples and a few spotty pears brought to them by a farmer.
‘Jack?’ Cecily stared at him in disbelief. ‘Jack Simmons? Is that really you? Or are you a younger brother?’
‘I likes the younger bit, that I do!’ Jack laughed, delighted at her surprise. ‘Yes, it’s me. Thought you’d seen the last of me, did you? Seems the few letters I wrote after I’d been reported killed didn’t get through, so everyone thought I was a goner. My wife and kids too. They were bombed out, see. Gone off they have and I can’t find them nowhere. They’d have given up hope of me coming back this ages. I’ve searched and searched but I can’t find ’em. I’ve tried the Citizens Advice Bureau and the War Department, they can’t trace them, either. I haven’t given up, mind.’
‘I’m sorry, Jack. We didn’t know or we’d have helped, kept in touch with them, but they just went, after the bombing and we had no way of tracing them. I’m so sorry.’
‘I’ve come about the shop next door. Want to rent it, do you? Got an idea for making a bit of money, like. Need it for living in and for a base while I’m searching for the wife and kids.’
He was invited in for the inevitable cup of tea and told them of his plans to start selling second-hand items.
‘Just as long as you aren’t setting up in competition with us again,’ Ada teased.
‘No, it’s clothes, furniture, old brass and kitchen utensils, anything people don’t want any more. I’ll get a horse and cart or perhaps a van and I’ll go “Totting”. That’s what they calls it in some parts. Can I have the shop, then? It’s empty and you don’t seem to have need of it. What’s happened to all the stock you used to carry? Surely more than rationing is the reason for the shop being this empty?’
Cecily glanced at Ada then said, ‘It’s a long story. Maybe we’ll tell you one day.’
They agreed a rent and Jack began filling the place rather untidily with odds and ends of furniture and rails of clothes and he put out notices inviting people to step inside and browse. Cecily and Ada gave him some of their old dance dresses that were too small for their now fuller figures, and in material unsuitable for Sharon’s nimble fingers to make into dresses for Victoria, Debora and Leonora.
With some men’s suits, he arranged a window display of a couple dancing, which made passers-by stop, smile and with more and more frequency go inside. He bought a horse called Whizzer and an old cart, both of which he kept in the Owens’ stable. He went around calling for unwanted junk. He also brought back books on antiques and began studying with great interest.
On Sundays, the sisters learned, he went to Swansea on the train and wandered about following the faintest of leads, looking for his family, who had moved after their house had been destroyed, without leaving an address with anyone they had known. He didn’t blame them. He mentally prepared himself not to blame his wife – if – when he found her and she had a new husband. He had been reported killed.
Week after week he searched but found no trace of her. He wondered whether her name was no longer Simmons and that was why she was so hard to find. Meanwhile, the business grew and he felt assured that at least he would be able to offer her a home and a wage once she had returned to him.
Cecily was sitting by the fire in the room behind the shop when Beryl told her the latest news of Van. Cecily jumped up and stared out of the window, through the shop to the street. It was raining, and the chill and the dark gloom of the day seemed apposite. What Beryl told her was so wrong, a defiant disregard for her feelings and yet more contempt for convention. Peter left his chair and stood beside her, his arm on her shoulders.
‘Van is getting married in November?’ she repeated. ‘With bridesmaids and everything? How can she?’
‘That’s what she’s telling us.’ Beryl and Bertie sat on the edge of their chairs, looking very unhappy.
Of all the things Van had done to her, Cecily thought, this was the worst. That two dear friends like Beryl and Bertie should be sitting on the edge of their seats feeling ill at ease with her. She wen
t to them and put a hand on theirs.
‘We’re all thrilled, of course, that she’s marrying Edwin. It’s what Peter and I have dreamed of, but how can they have such a wedding? How can Edwin agree to such a mockery? Dressed in white? And in church? What vicar will perform the ceremony? Is she going to carry baby Richard down the aisle wrapped in tulle?’
‘She wants me to carry him,’ Beryl whispered.
‘And Peter and me? Does she want us there?’
‘Of course,’ Beryl said quickly – too quickly.
‘No “of course” about it! I’m only her mother,’ she said sadly. ‘She wouldn’t have invited me to see my grandson christened if you two dear friends hadn’t insisted.’ She gripped their hands tighter. ‘And this invitation, I suspect that too is yours and not Van’s idea.’ She was shaking her head in dismay.
‘Apparently there are quite a few unusual weddings these days,’ Bertie said. ‘Men coming home to find an unexplained child has been added to the family.’
‘The others aren’t my concern. This is Van, my daughter, and I cannot support her in this blatant, arrogant farce.’
Ada sat listening to the exchanges and she spoke now, quietly but with a firmness that surprised Cecily. ‘No matter who the invitation comes from, Cecily, you are going. Even if Peter and I have to drag you there.’
‘I don’t think I can.’
‘You are going! There’ll be plenty of talk. A gift this’ll be for the gossips but it will be far worse for her if you aren’t there. And, when the gossip dies down, as it will, it will still be better for people to remember you there, giving her your support. Showing a strong line is what families do best and we are a family, don’t forget that.’
‘Ada’s right, my dear,’ Peter said in his quiet way.
‘I think so too, Cecily, love,’ Beryl agreed.
‘All right, I – we’ll all go. But only to the church. I’m not sitting through the reception like an unwanted skeleton at the feast!’
‘The reception is at the hotel and the meal will be perfect,’ Bertie said. But on that, no one could change Cecily’s mind.
When Beryl and Bertie had gone, Peter fell asleep, as he often did these days, tired by the worry of Van’s latest defiance. Cecily carried the tea cups to the back kitchen and Ada followed.
Cecily opened the back door and looked out through the sweeping rain, across the dark yard to the stables, where Peter’s illness had begun after Phil’s insane attack on him. When Ada spoke to her she was afraid to turn around to answer her for fear the raw hurt would show. Although it had not been Ada who had harmed Peter, it was her knowing Phil was unbalanced and refusing to do anything about it that lingered in Cecily’s mind. Ada spoke to her again and this time she turned but still didn’t look at her. ‘Sorry, love, what did you say?’ She closed the door and looked out through the rain-washed window, misted with the warmth within and the chill without.
‘I said we’d better look in our depleted wardrobes to find something we can have altered to wear at the wedding.’
‘One of our old dance dresses, if we haven’t given all the most suitable to Jack Simmons. Dress up and paint on the smiles, eh?’
The November weather was typical. Sea mists or heavy fog seemed to be the only variation. The cold, dank air affected Peter badly and when the day of Van and Edwin’s wedding drew near, it seemed unlikely he would be well enough to go.
‘You and Ada must go,’ he urged when, on the day, Cecily refused to go without him. ‘I’ll sit here by the fire and hear all about it when you come back.’
‘I’ll miss having you beside me, love.’
‘I won’t have Phil either,’ Ada reminded her, unaware of the spark in her sister’s eyes and the shake of Peter’s grey head to stop Cecily retorting with anger. She went on, ‘We’ll have a taxi there and back. It won’t seem so bad then. Better than us waiting like lost souls for someone to remember to send a car for us.’
The wedding was to be held not in the little church where both Cecily and Ada were married but at the imposing building, high above the town, with its view over the streets and beyond, to the wide expanse of the sea. They arrived early and went into the church, sitting at the back and turning occasionally to watch for the arrival of the various guests.
Both sisters had dressed in blue. Cecily’s dress was of mid-blue lace over a darker blue satin. Her hat was full-brimmed with a band of the same material made into a bow with the ends hanging down her back. Her handbag and shoes were old but had been dyed to match the dress and decorated by the addition of some diamante earrings fixed to the sides. She carried a coat over her arm, determined to freeze solid before she would put it on.
Ada’s dress was a simple style over which she wore an edge-to-edge coat. Unlike Cecily, she would not defy the cold damp weather although there were many, like Cecily, who did. It was easier, in a time of clothes rationing, to buy a dress than to buy a new coat plus all that went with it. A shabby coat could not be worn for a wedding as important as this one.
Cecily saw Edwin was already there and he raised a hand and blew her a kiss. Then he walked up the aisle, his footsteps hollow in the almost empty place.
‘Come, Auntie Cecily and Auntie Ada, you can’t sit back here among the stragglers.’ His tall, heavily built figure stood waiting for them to rise, refusing to accept their protests that they were happiest where they were, and he led them to a place in the second row.
He had changed, Cecily thought. Still big and rather fleshy like his father, especially around the jaw, but there was a greater confidence in him, a purposeful thrust of the jaw. The uniform he wore altered his appearance too, making him no longer the quiet boy who had been Van’s constant companion, but a man of importance. She saw from the insignia that he was now a colonel.
Ada wriggled in her seat and turned to look through the rapidly filling pews towards the door. ‘It’s full,’ she told Cecily. ‘Look, every seat taken. I’ve never seen so many people!’
‘Some to cheer, most to gossip,’ Cecily remarked. She didn’t turn around.
The procession was breathtakingly beautiful. First the vicar in his traditional robes and carrying a prayer book, then Van. She was dressed in a billowing white gown which floated about her like a sweet-scented cloud, giving Cecily the impression it was all a dream. Her veil reached her chin but was delicate enough to reveal her face in secret loveliness. Her train spread out behind her and was watched over by no fewer than eight bridesmaids. Two were in differing shades of blue, two in greens, two in creamy yellows and the smallest, being Claire, Willie and Annette’s daughter, and one of Johnny Fowler’s stepdaughters, in pink.
‘A rainbow wedding! Oh, Cecily, how beautiful.’ Ada was already wiping tears from her eyes and Cecily fought not to do the same.
‘It’s amazing what can be done with some old muslin,’ they heard someone murmur.
Another whispered, ‘It wasn’t new, mind, that dress of Myfanwy’s. Cut down from Beryl Richards’ own it was.’
None of the practical investigations about how the difficulties of rationing had been overcome could prevent Cecily from being entranced at the sight. Even when she heard another guest wonder how Van had persuaded the church to marry her, an unmarried mother, in such style, and the remark that the service was a mockery, she could only marvel at her daughter’s audacity and style.
She hardly heard a word of the service. She just stared at the beautiful woman who was her daughter, and marvelled at it all. The choir sang while the bride and groom went into the vestry to sign the register and Cecily was called to join them, still feeling that the whole thing was a dream. It was unbelievable, entrancing. The colourful spectacle was a tonic, not only for her but for the people who watched either inside the church or standing in groups around the sombre tombstones and on the street. For them all it was a promise that austerity was over, that ahead lay only joy.
If only Peter were here to see it. That thought kept running through her mind at
every new wonder: as the children smiled, as they posed for photographs, as the happy couple kissed to a chorus of giggles from the youngsters.
Walking out of the church, she was sure she spoke to many but she saw none. It was just a sea of faces and her eyes took in only the stunningly beautiful bride and her tall, handsome husband, and the procession of bridesmaids in their fairy-like dresses. Beryl came and handed her the baby and she stood looking down at his round little face, long lashes like fans on his cheeks as he slept through it all.
‘If only Peter were here.’ This time she said the words aloud and it was Gareth who answered her, gaunt, grey-faced and looking much older but with a sparkle in his eyes as he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Is Peter ill again?’
‘Gareth! When did you come home?’
‘I heard about the wedding and I thought I’d make the effort to come.’
‘But how are you? How is Marged? We thought she’d be here.’
‘Marged and her new husband are fine.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, Marged married an engineer she met a year ago. They were married in France. Nothing but weddings these days, just like at the beginning of the war.’
‘Oh, Gareth, it’s lovely to have you back. You’re the last. Even Jack Simmons turned up although we thought he’d been killed. Now everything’s perfect.’
He hugged her and the baby, who stirred and opened his dark blue eyes in reproach at the disturbance like an old man, then settled back to sleep.
‘He’s wonderful, isn’t he, Gareth?’
‘Takes after his grandmother.’
‘Now there’s a thought, me a grandmother!’
Jennifer came and took the baby and Cecily walked back with Gareth to find Marged and her husband, and Ada, and Gareth’s mother.
‘About Peter, is it the same trouble you wrote to me about?’ Gareth asked.
‘Yes. He thought it best to stay at home, but I’m sorry he missed all this.’ She waved an arm, encompassing all the smartly dressed men and women. The clothes varied from the very out of date to the new, the blatantly altered and ill-fitting to the immaculate and fashionable.
Paint on the Smiles Page 25