Paint on the Smiles (19 page)

‘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.

I
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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.’

‘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.

Annette gave the children tissue paper, which she had cut into rose-petal pieces for them to throw over the happy couple. There were two cars, hers and Peter’s, to provide transport for the guests. The children’s clothes were obviously home made and cut from other garments. It was garish and cheap and Cecily’s heart went out to them. She was glad they had done what they could to make Johnny and Sharon’s day special.

She kissed the bride, surprised at the thickness of the make-up Sharon used and wondered suspiciously if she was in fact older than the thirty-five years she admitted to.

The journey back to the shop was a poor imitation of the procession when Ada and Phil were married. Willie had helped to wash and polish the cart which Phil occasionally borrowed and with streamers added made from old lace curtains, the newlyweds and the three little attendants set off in style, waved off by a crowd of well-wishers.

Family and friends went back to a meal of Spam and Duchess potatoes with a variety of vegetables, mainly from tins. The cake was small and only a sponge, but it had two layers and was decorated with icing sugar scrounged by Dorothy in exchange for some tea and added to the meagre spread.

The guests included Peter, who spent a lot of time helping Cecily attend to the diners. He was by now fifty-six and balding but to Cecily he seemed not to have changed at all. Johnny talked to him for a while about what he planned to do when he was out of the khaki uniform he had worn for his wedding. Dorothy and Owen presented the couple with a
pair of pillowcases stored since before the war. Gareth was fortunate enough to have leave and he and Rhonwen brought a box filled with rare items like soap, a torch complete with batteries, shaving cream, a few cups and saucers, a beautifully polished copper kettle and an embroidered tablecloth.

‘These are a few things we spared from our cupboards. Now this is your real present.’ She gave the excited couple a table lamp with a shade representing a thatched cottage. ‘I painted it myself,’ Rhonwen told them. ‘Everything we buy is so plain, I hope you like it.’

Willie and Annette gave them a pair of towels for which they had to part with some clothing coupons and for which she queued for an hour. There were gifts of money, which Sharon immediately gave to Johnny to put in their savings.

‘I don’t want to risk spending it unwisely,’ Sharon said. ‘You’re in charge of our expenses now, Johnny.’

The guests stayed long after the meal was finished and at ten o’clock no one showed any sign of leaving.

‘What will we do for food?’ Ada whispered. ‘They’re all starving again and there’s no more bread on the loaf!’

‘I’ve got two loaves at home and there’s a tin of Spam and some pickle,’ Dorothy offered. ‘I’ll fetch them, shall I?’

‘Let me go,’ Cecily said, but Ada insisted that she should do it. ‘Tired you are and it’s a long walk but not worth getting the car out.’

She whispered to Phil, explaining where she was going and at once he said, loudly, ‘Why you? Why can’t Cecily go?’

‘I offered. I don’t mind, really I don’t.’

‘Then I’ll go with you.’

She laughed. ‘Get up and you’ll never get your chair back! No, stay and enjoy the fire, love.’ She threw him a kiss as she went downstairs, with Dorothy’s key, to collect her coat.

It was cold outside, the kind of chilliness that seemed to get inside the forehead and make ice in the blood. She hesitated about going back and taking the car – an extravagance but tempting. She put a scarf tighter around her neck, pulling it as low as possible over her face, holding the ends across her mouth. She hurried to 7 Snipe Street, holding Dorothy’s key in her hand.

As she turned the corner, away from the vicinity of the docks and the blast of cold air coming from the sea, she slowed down, thankful for the slight relief. She was passing some tall, abandoned houses that had been
slightly damaged by air raids but which appeared to be sound. At least, no attempt had been made to demolish them. She stopped to rearrange the scarf and became aware of cracking sounds. Looking up curiously, she felt something falling around her and touching her shoulders. She used her torch. Glass. It looked like broken glass. What could be happening?

She heard the sound of approaching planes and forgot the glass, thinking about the possibility of a raid. What should she do if the siren sounded – run on to Dorothy’s and shelter under her table or run back to the wedding party? There wouldn’t be room for them all in the cellar and she chuckled at the vision of them finding places under the stairs and other likely places in the old house.

She stood against the abandoned house, still undecided. Phil would worry if she were out alone in a raid. He might come looking for her. Best she went back. Ignoring the call of a man across the road wishing her good night, listening to the increasingly loud drone of the approaching planes, trying to decide from which direction they were coming, she was unaware of a group of young girls who passed on the opposite side of the road.

The throbbing engines were above her and an added sound began that terrified her, glass cracking like gunshots, the rumbling of falling masonry, the screams from the girls walking past. Then a thundering noise that seemed to go on forever. There was a raid yet no siren had sounded; the neglect outraged her and made her forget momentarily her vulnerability out in the open with not even a sandbag wall to protect her. Still she dithered about whether to go to Dorothy’s or back home, stumbling a few steps this way and a few steps that way. Before she had finally decided she had to go home, the rumbling increased and the wall against which she was crouched moved and dust fell across her. She wasn’t hurt. She would get up and walk away as soon as she had calmed her breathing. The sounds eased and stopped, then in the lull she heard them begin again, breaking glass and the gentle tinkling as the pieces landed somewhere nearby at first. Then more sounds as walls within the building weakened; a sound like water dripping, increasing into a flood. The falling water sound grew louder and suddenly became a roar and everything went dark and silent. The silence was as terrifying as the darkness. She knew she was deaf, the sounds were so completely shut off from her. She tried to move then and found she could not. She was frozen with fear. She listened but had no idea for how long, and gradually her hearing
returned. There was a clatter as the last of the loosened bricks tried but failed to resist the pull of gravity.

Another long time passed and she managed to stand, her legs shaking and trembling so she had to take hold of some of the masonry to steady herself. ‘I’ve got to get home,’ she murmured aloud. ‘My husband, he’ll be that worried. Came out for bread I did.’

‘Hang on, love, better worried than widowed so don’t make any sudden moves or this lot might land right on top of us.’ It was the man who had just come out of the public house nearby.

‘I have to get home, my husband will be worried.’ Ada looked around at the pieces of brick and mortar that surrounded her, dust filling her mouth and nose and making her cough. Slowly her eyes became adjusted to the gloom, which was exacerbated by the increasing dust.

The man who had spoken to her held her arm and she grasped his hand. From the faint smell of fish emanating from his sleeve, he was a seaman, probably from the fishing boats that still worked from the quieter part of the docks.

‘You’re one of the Owen sisters!’ the voice said in surprise. ‘What are you doing out at this time of night?’

‘I was going to fetch something.’ She frowned in confusion. ‘I can’t remember what. Shops will be closed before I get there now.’ She closed her eyes and rubbed her sleeve around her nose and mouth to clear the filthy dust. ‘Why didn’t the siren sound?’ she asked.

‘Siren? There hasn’t been an air raid, missus. This old building decided it’s had enough and just collapsed.’

‘Just move slowly and we’ll be safely away from it in no time,’ a second voice called and she crouched down and felt a strong desire to go to sleep and dream away the events of the past minutes. But sleep was a long way off; she was wide awake and wondering if Phil was somewhere near and whether he was hurt, and why they were there.

With the two men guiding her, she moved with cautious care and when she saw the light of a couple of torches approaching she was convinced it was Phil looking for her. She called and, as disappointment came, she began to weep, silently, with hardly a sound. Someone tried to wrap her in a blanket, ‘For the shock,’ they explained. She pushed them away, assured them she was all right and insisted she was going home. Again she went in the wrong direction. As she turned, confused and looking for Phil, and the men protested and tried to persuade her to wait for the ambulance, the rest of the walls fell and this time window glass was a
chord of musical delicacy heralding the roar of more falling masonry. It was only a few seconds before she lost consciousness.