‘Not really. The Phil I married, the cheerful, cheeky, double-dealing printer, who cheated while he laughed and dared you to prove his dishonesty, he died in that prison. Since they locked him up he hasn’t been the same man. He knew he was taking risks when he stole and cheated to buy things for me that I didn’t want or need, but he wasn’t prepared for the punishment. Taking risks was the “fun” part for Phil. Being ready for the consequences is another side of it and Phil hadn’t reached that level of maturity.’
They left the Fowlers to walk home. It was a clear night, chilly, but they were well wrapped against the night air. They passed the house where Danny still lived with Jessie. Cecily didn’t even glance at the house but voices reached them clearly and she recognized the now-strident shouts of Jessie arguing with the lower, pacifying tones of Danny, who, it seemed, was neglectful of her. They were both human enough to slow down and listen.
‘Willie and Annette! They’re your family, Danny Preston! They always have been. Never us, me and your daughter! Hours you spend with them. Apart from sleeping here you’re never with us!’
‘And why do I stay away? Ask yourself that,’ Danny retorted. ‘Damn me, what a Christmas this has been. Dread coming home I do, all this nagging. It’s peace I go to Willie’s for, Jessie. And you damn well know it!’
The sisters looked at each other and they crouched down and tiptoed past for fear of being seen.
‘We’ve been luckier than some,’ Ada said. They linked arms and walked on.
When they opened the door, the telephone was ringing in unison with the shop bell. It was Gareth. ‘Cecily, there’s a dance on New Year’s Eve, want to come? Ada too, of course.’
‘Gareth, I’d love to.’ She discussed it briefly with Ada, who declined, having decided to spend the occasion with Waldo’s widow, Melanie.
It was with almost girlish excitement that Cecily dressed in her one reasonably smart dress and sat waiting for Gareth to call for her.
That first Christmas since the end of the war was frenzied in its celebrations.
The dance hall was full. The conversations, the greetings between friends, filled the air with the feeling of a new beginning. Many old friends were taking the opportunity to see the New Year in with music, laughter and gaiety. The company was cheerful and full of optimism.
Dancing was not easy. Apart from the slow foxtrot and the waltz it was next to impossible as the floor was crowded and so many were determined to jitterbug their way through the livelier tunes. People filled the balcony looking down on those brave enough to try and dance, feet tapping to the rhythms that visiting Americans had made so popular.
Gareth and Cecily ignored the crush, laughed at the collisions, and stayed on the floor for every dance, improvising where they were met with strange new steps. She thought with momentary sadness that this was one occasion when Phil Spencer couldn’t be accused of selling extra tickets to fill his own pocket. He was locked away and would never again see a litho printer or a letter press. At twenty minutes to twelve, Gareth suggested they leave. ‘Let’s make our way to the town hall square and join the crowds there to listen for the chimes,’ he said.
‘I should go back to Ada, she might be on her own. I don’t think she’d have spent the whole evening with Melanie.’
‘We’ll go to see her as soon as the chimes end.’ Gareth promised, then persuaded her to leave the crowded hall. She managed to get to the cloakroom and collect her winter coat and matching hat. She had difficulty finding Gareth again but he was standing at the door, calling, waving. He took her hand and they walked with an increasing trickle of people heading towards the town centre and the big clock.
‘I think this coming year could be a special one for many reasons,’ Gareth said as they strolled along the well-lit streets to where a huge crowd had gathered to watch the clock signal the end of 1945. ‘For us, I mean,’ he said. ‘We’ve been through a lot since the time our wedding was cancelled. Perhaps now, being older and a great deal wiser and on my part a lot more understanding, we could start again. Who knows, we could reach a time when a wedding wouldn’t be unthinkable.’
‘It’s too soon,’ Cecily protested.
‘Oh, I’m not thinking of now, or next month. But perhaps this New Year will be the last we celebrate as two separate people, eh?’
She tightened her grip on his hand, her only reply, but he smiled and bent down to lightly touch her lips with his own.
‘Happy New Year, love,’ he whispered.
The promise, half made, half agreed, lightened their mood further and they began to dance along the pavement with Gareth singing. Soon others joined in and the crowd swayed to the tunes they sang with enthusiasm.
Over the heads of the crowd, Gareth saw the tall figure of Edwin standing beside Van under the brightly decorated Christmas tree.
Gareth danced Cecily over to join them, making a path for them without complaints.
‘Fancy spotting you two in all this crush,’ Gareth said, as he and Edwin shared a conspiratorial wink.
Cecily looked at her daughter and said brightly, ‘A very happy 1946, lovey,’ as though there had been nothing more than a momentary disagreement between them.
She moved to kiss Van’s cheek and was relieved when Van didn’t move away. Then as the chimes rang out and the crowd cheered, she was brought to tears as Van kissed her lips and hugged her. Then, disobeying her husband’s wishes by only a minute, she said in a tight voice, ‘Mam, I’m sorry. Revenge doesn’t mean anything in the end, only regret and guilt. A Happy New Year.’
She hugged her mother again then moved to stand beside Edwin as he said, ‘There’s someone else here waiting for a hug.’ From behind him a small, nervous woman stepped out. ‘Come on, Auntie Kitty, give ’em both a hug.’
‘Mam!’ Cecily held her mother’s small body against one side, Van against the other. Over their shoulders, Gareth and Edwin nodded approval and they winked to each other again, before wrapping their loving arms around the three sobbing women.
By the Same Author
Time to Move On
The Runaway
Facing the World
Gull Island
Goodbye to Dreams
Copyright
© Grace Thompson 2011
First published in Great Britain 2011
This edition 2012
ISBN 978 0 7090 9969 7 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9970 3 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9971 0 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9238 4 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Grace Thompson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Paint on the Smiles Page 28