Paint on the Smiles (21 page)

‘What does it matter? It’s hers now, hers and Johnny’s, and I hope they’ll be happy here.’ He gave her a hug. A scream from the kitchen preceded by a crash made him add, with a chuckle, ‘And what are a few plates between friends?’

There was an air of gaiety about the town, as if everyone was waiting for some stupendous event. Cecily felt it in the urgency of preparations already underway for the entertainments for the summer season. These began earlier than usual and Willie’s children came into the shop one day with their dog, who had won first prize for the waggiest tail, in the novelty dog show in the park. Claire wore the rosette in her hair and her face glowed almost the same colour, with pride.

The local papers were filled with small but cheerful announcements. Boating was to be allowed on Sundays at last, to the disapproval of some but the delight of many. Susanna Foster and Nelson Eddy entertained audiences with their performances in
Phantom of the Opera
. Everything that wasn’t bad news was celebrated. No one seemed worried by the fact that coal ration was reduced, or that food rationing was very tight, testing the ingenuity of mothers to feed their families. The women were convinced it would be the last year of the war; the end of Hitler and his armies were talked about and cheered in public houses and joked about in the music halls. Only in the secret silence of the night did people fear that the conflict would go on forever, that their menfolk would never return.

Rumours about a Second Front, to bring the war back to Europe and wipe out the German army in a great, triumphant effort was partly the reason for the surge of optimism. There was a vibration in the air telling the exhausted population that something stupendous was about to happen and tensions ran high and showed in exaggerated laughter and enthusiasm for anything that was pleasurable.

Competitions for singing and dancing, best window displays, best uses of garden space, window boxes, anything that was asked of people was met with a willingness to take part and do their best. People were already frantically busy with war work, shopping, finding food, making do and mending items that years before were fit only for dusters or the scrap heap.

Women turned sheets sides to middle to make then last a while longer. Men were unaware of tails being cut off their shirts to make new collars. Husband’s suits were made over to provide costumes for their wives. Flour sacks were bleached and sewn to make tablecloths to sell in aid of the Red Cross. There was no spare time. Everyone was busy from the moment they woke until they put out the light to sleep.

Cecily still spent every working day at Watkins’ store with Van, helping her, teaching her the intricacies of the complex business, while a succession of assistants came, learned enough to be useful then left to join the forces. She presumed Van was grateful for her generous help, but never heard her say so. Van spoke to her mother as little as possible, and even when Cecily asked her a direct question she seemed unwilling to reply. Hurt, puzzled, Cecily said nothing. Only to Peter did she talk of her dismay. There was still the continuing mystery of where Van went on her afternoons off. Several people reported seeing her at the railway station and she presumed she was going to Cardiff, but Van said nothing about where she went, or indeed whether Cardiff was her destination. Cecily tried to ignore it all and concentrated on her work, with the fading hope that one day her daughter’s attitude towards her would change.

Beside the work at Watkins’ there were other things on Cecily’s mind. She was bound, out of loyalty, to help Van, while desperately wanting to get back her own business. She was worried about the neglect, which was worsening now, as Phil insisted on closing for the odd hour during the day when he felt Ada needed a rest. How she longed for this war to end, so she could find a manager for Van and return to Owen’s where she belonged.

C
ECILY WOKE ONE
morning early in June 1944 and was aware of a strangeness. Something was different. She listened and realized there was a low murmuring that could only be voices, yet couldn’t be. It was too vast a sound to be workmen on their way down the hill to the docks and there was no accompanying clatter of boots. She woke Peter who was snoring gently beside her and he reached out an arm.

‘Sleep, love, it’s early yet.’

‘Listen,’ she whispered. ‘What’s that sound? It isn’t people. What can it be?’

He listened, became curious and walked to the front room and looked out. ‘Good God, help us!’ he gasped. ‘Come and look at this!’

Cecily joined him and stared down in utter disbelief into the street far below them. It was full of soldiers. Helmeted heads like a sea of bobbing, netted globes, stretching as far as they could see.

‘It’s started,’ Peter breathed. ‘God help them all.’

‘Tea,’ Cecily decided. She called Ada and Phil, who, sleeping at the back of the house, had not been disturbed. She hurried downstairs, dressed in slacks and a thick jumper. She and Ada handed out cups of tea to those within reach and along the road other doors were opened and similar comfort offered. The men drank gratefully and surreptitiously, hiding their luxury from the sergeants who paraded up and down the narrow gap at the crown of the road.

When Cecily struggled up to Watkins’ stores via the back lanes, she saw the NAAFI van pull up and the occupants were handing out tea and a cake or some bread to each man.

Throughout the men waited, conversation desultory and low. Apart from the supply of food handed out at intervals, they didn’t move, but sat or stood, waiting for orders to embark on the ships waiting for them in the docks and the lanes beyond.

Van spoke to her mother, a rare occasion. ‘Paul is out there somewhere,’ she said. ‘Frightening when you know they won’t all get back.’

‘Paul Gregory’s a survivor, he’ll be back.’ Cecily didn’t intend the words to sound so sharp. She didn’t like the man but didn’t wish him to be among those who wouldn’t return. ‘Don’t fret, lovey,’ she said more softly. ‘Paul’s a trained soldier and stands a better chance than some of these poor boys. You’ll see, Paul will be back. Survival is what they’re taught.’

‘Survival is only second to doing what they’re told, regardless!’

The long lines of men filling the streets in the small seaside town began to move during the late evening. The efficiency of the enormous undertaking was remarkable. The shuffling feet going past the shop would increase for a while, then stop, the movement repeated throughout the day as more and more were packed into the area. Then, throughout the night, the mass of men gradually depleted and no more came. By morning they would all be gone. Cecily watched from her bedroom with heartaching sadness, thinking of the thousands of men and boys and the multiplicity of loved ones that would be affected by this night and the horror-filled days to follow it.

She was glad of Peter’s presence, of his strong arms around her and the warmth of him as he stood behind her, watching as the last trickle of men and machinery disappeared, leaving only an echo of their quiet voices and shuffling feet. Already ghosts.

‘I’m so glad you are here, Peter,’ she said softly, weeping with the sombreness of what they had witnessed.

News came slowly at first and it was bad, but during the weeks following the mass exodus heading for the invasion beaches of France, it improved. No letters came from either Gareth or Johnny and it had been weeks since they heard news of Edwin, who they believed was still in North Africa. In common with thousands of others, they watched with dread as postboys with their pillbox hats delivered telegrams to the bereaved. Paul did get a letter to Van, in which he told her not to worry, but little else besides.

When Cecily and Van were working in the office of Watkins’ one Wednesday morning a few weeks after the mass embarkation, an assistant came in and told them Miss Van was wanted on the shop floor. ‘A soldier,’ she explained, ‘to see Miss Van.’

Van gave a cry of joy and ran out of the office, down the stairs, without even glancing to see who it was through the window overlooking the floor. She stared in surprise and barely disguised disappointment at her visitor.

‘Edwin! But where have you come from? I thought you were in North Africa – does your mother know – I mean – Oh, Edwin, it’s so lovely to see you safe and well!’

His expression changed then and a scowl replaced the smile. ‘I’m sound in mind and body and that’s more than you are, Myfanwy!’

‘What d’you mean? Oh, come on, let’s go to the office. Mam’s there and she’s seen you, look!’ She pointed up to where Cecily was waving excitedly. She called one of the girls and asked her for a tray of tea. Taking Edwin’s arm, she led him up to the office.

Before they reached the door, he held her back. ‘What’s this rot about you marrying some sergeant called Paul Gregory?’

‘You’ve heard then? Isn’t it exciting?’

‘It isn’t exciting or wonderful and it isn’t going to happen.’ He pulled her to him and glared down at her. Van had forgotten, or had perhaps never really been aware of, how large he was. Broader, taller and, she guessed, very much stronger than Paul. His eyes contained fires of fury; dark and smouldering with rage. ‘You’re mine, Van. You always were and no tinpot little sergeant with a reputation for womanizing is going to change that!’

‘Of course he’s attractive to women,’ she defended, trying to struggle free of his powerful arms, to get away from that unblinking stare. She felt her defences weakening as the familiar face moved closer to her own. ‘I wouldn’t want a man who wasn’t attractive, would I?’ For an answer he reached for her hand and removed Paul’s ring. ‘Edwin, you can’t—’

‘You are mine, and whether other women find me attractive or not doesn’t matter a jot.’

A kiss hovered in the air between them and she wanted to get away, to think about how she felt, remind herself of Paul, relive
his
kisses, remember how she wanted
him
.

Edwin wouldn’t release her. His lips moved agonizingly closer and he whispered, ‘Van, you’re a fool. I know you did this simply to annoy your mother.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘Well? Didn’t you?’ Does she like this Paul Gregory? Did she welcome him with open arms?’

‘No, she disliked him, but—’

‘So, you were delighted, as usual, at the opportunity of upsetting her and that was that. It wasn’t a grand passion that made you encourage him, just your spiteful, childish anger because you’re illegitimate. Forget the loving childhood you had, forget how well you’ve been cared for, just remember the worst of it, the secret. Admit it, Van, you’re so mixed up and angry with your mother for keeping her secret about who you really are, you’ve spent hours dreaming of some revenge. Admit it!’

All the time he was pressing her closer so all she could see were his eyes and the smooth cheek, and the dark brows meeting above the nose in a frown of disapproval. Closer still and there were only the eyes, then the lips of the full mouth, soft, tempting and suddenly so very dear to her. She gave a little squeal as their lips met. Then she was floating, no longer earthbound, but ethereal, a phantom made of gossamer thread, aware of nothing except herself and Edwin, clinging to each other, together as one.

Cecily had run to the door and had her hand on the handle to pull it open and greet Edwin but she stopped on hearing their voices raised in anger. She heard his accusation that Van had encouraged Paul to revenge herself on the mother who had denied her, and she moved away, tears of distress flowing down her cheeks. She opened the side window looking out over the street, leaning out over the sill in an attempt to block out the voices outside the door. She wished the traffic was denser so she couldn’t hear the words still coming through the thin door and she covered her ears with her hands to block them.

Why hadn’t she handled the situation differently? If only she had told Van she was her mother as soon as she had been old enough to understand. But as for the rest, about how she had turned to Waldo for comfort when she and Danny had parted, how could that have been explained to a child? What could she have done to make the child less resentful?

She removed her hands from her ears and the voices had stopped. When she opened the door, the short passage and stairs were empty. She repaired her make-up and went down to the shop floor. There was no sign of Van or Edwin. She went to the cellars but apart from two young boys packing dried peas, there was no one.

‘Where’s Miss Van?’ she asked an assistant.

‘She went out, Mrs Marshall, with that soldier.’

Cecily thanked her and returned to the office.

Van was led by Edwin, who held her hand and pulled her along like a reluctant child, through the main road and down the hill parallel to the one on which Owen’s shop stood, and along the road past the docks to his parents’ house. It had withstood the bombing with only the loss of a few slates. She noticed how bright the gardens were with the huge border of summer flowers behind the inevitable plot of vegetables, which Beryl hated so much. She saw that the door had been newly painted and was stupidly aware of the way the paint had run across the glass in a slipshod way. Passing it several times a day she hadn’t noticed how badly it had been painted, yet it was glaringly obvious today, when everything seemed so clear. The distraction calmed her and when Edwin closed the door behind them she took off her coat and hung it in the hall cupboard, instead of putting it on a chair and leaving it for the maid to attend to.

Edwin led her into the lounge and then left her, calling to see that the house was as empty as it seemed. When he returned, she was sitting beside the empty grate in which Beryl usually arranged a display of flowers. He came to her and lifted her up to stand in front of him, then enfolded her in his arms and lowered his head for their kiss. It was slow and loving, warm and so natural that she felt no alarm when he began to undress her.

She was vaguely surprised to see how brown he was, but too enchanted with the thrill of the moment to consider the deserts of North Africa. He loved her, tenderly, all the hurt and fury gone from his deep brown eyes, his gentle fingers and firm body a delight that filled a long awaited need in her that she only just realized was there.

They spent the rest of the day just talking, sitting close to each other on the velvet settee, relaxed and completely content.

Van was conscious of her dishevelled appearance and it was Edwin who combed her hair when they heard his parents at the door. She was flushed and they both looked utterly happy. Possibly Bertie, and certainly Beryl, guessed at least a part of how the young couple had spent their day. They hugged their son and Bertie said, ‘Edwin, we’re so relieved you’re safe. We were afraid you might be out there.’ He pointed vaguely in the direction of France. ‘Such a relief to know you aren’t.’

They asked a lot of questions, the first being when do you go back, and that was the only one he was able to answer. Edwin couldn’t explain that he was on his way to Scotland for a top-secret meeting, but said, ‘I have two days only.’

Van stood to leave. ‘I’ll get back to the shop.’

‘I’ll go with you, to see Auntie Cecily and Auntie Ada. We’ll be out today, Mum, but tomorrow you and Dad and I will have the morning together.’

‘Van as well?’ Beryl smiled at the girl who was as close as a daughter, but her eyes darted to see that the engagement ring belonging to Paul was still on her finger, replaced only moments earlier. ‘You’ll have the morning off, won’t you, dear, to see Edwin before he goes back?’

‘I’m sure Mam won’t mind if I mitch for the morning.’ She looked at Edwin for agreement.

‘Of course Van as well. That needn’t be said. Part of our family she is and always will be.’ He was looking at Van, making sure she understood the message underlying the words.

Beryl had sensed the undercurrent as soon as she stepped into the room. Something was going on and with Van engaged to that sergeant, she was curious and excited to know what it was.

‘Dinner at seven, Van, dear,’ she reminded her. ‘Don’t let Edwin forget.’

The shop was locked and silent, of course. Van had forgotten it was half-day closing. Hand in hand they walked. First through the town, pausing for a while to watch the attempts of bomb disposal experts checking the site of an unexploded bomb that had been reported that day, long after the latest raid. Then on, through the lanes towards the old village.

They wandered far from the houses, following the stream out into the fields where children played. They passed the deep craters of a landmine which had missed the docks by more than two miles, perhaps jettisoned by a pilot anxious to get home after narrow escapes from the battery of guns protecting the coast. Rabbits hopped in the fresh raw earth and there were already burrows appearing near the top of the crater where turf overhung like a protective porch for their front door.

Birds sang in the summer air, carefree and unaffected by the nights of destruction. Dippers walked through the shallow but turbulent stream and a heron flew with its lazy flapping flight across their path. It seemed so far away from the war that it was impossible to imagine the harsh sound of the siren disturbing the peace and tranquillity, or the fierce life and death battles taking place in France.

They spoke very little, just walked through the tall grasses, stopping occasionally to admire some of the wild flowers which added a thousand hues to the meadow. Corn was ripening in the fields beyond, adding its
own rich colour, the gold patched here and there with the gaudy red of poppies.

They approached the houses of the village and were brought abruptly out of their dream and back to reminders of the war they both wanted to forget. The cottage gardens were full of cabbages and carrots and beans, where there had once been an abundance of flowers, victims of the Dig For Victory campaign. The buildings were in desperate need of repair, many with boarded-up windows and all with the criss-cross tape or net stuck to the glass to prevent broken panes from flying about and causing more damage.