Paint on the Smiles (3 page)

And Ada’s marriage to Phil, which had been so happy until he had been caught with the proceeds of a robbery, and through it all there was Danny Preston and their on-off love affair ruined by his unreasonable jealousy.

Peter had come into their lives soon after the death of their father when they were just starting to build up the business and coping with their grief and the troubles that followed. He was the understanding, uncritical, reliable friend they had needed.

Phil’s arrest was a humiliation for both Ada and Cecily, less so for herself but an extra agony all the same, to be endured while people gleefully spoke of them as the ugly sisters – the ugliness not a factual description, more an opinion of their unsavoury characters.

During Phil’s trial, Cecily and Ada had seen him shrink from the lively, optimistic, lighthearted man into a shell of skin and bone. The colour went from his cheeks and the laughter drained from his eyes. His appearance altered as the trial continued until, at the end, where he was given a custodial sentence, he was an old man without a sign of the fun-loving, cheeky character Ada had married.

He had remained unmoved and apparently unaware as his counsel asked that ninety-eight cases be taken into account. It had been explained to him that it was wiser to face them all now, rather than come out of prison and face another trial and sentence if further evidence had come to light. Two charges he had denied.

Ada had comforted her mother-in-law, who refused to believe it, even when Phil himself told her it was true. She was particularly shocked at the stories of violence against three people who had caught him on their premises and had suffered injuries as he made his escape.

Bringing her mind back to the present on the summer beach, feeling the warmth of the sun, hearing the laughter of children, she smiled at her sister encouragingly as though she had shared her melancholy thoughts.

Van was in front walking with Peter as they made their way up to the restaurant on a rocky headland where windows looked out over the sea. They ate crab salad and fresh fruit and drank a bottle of wine, which, as they rarely drank, made both girls a little sleepy. Van, to her chagrin, was given lemonade.

‘I feel as if we’ve had a holiday,’ Ada said, lazily stretching. ‘Thank you, Peter, for a lovely day.’

‘Perfect,’ Cecily agreed. She looked at her daughter. ‘Don’t you agree, Van, lovey?’

‘Yes. It’s the sort of day my friends have often.’ The censure in her voice was the only cloud.

Peter walked them back to the car as families were packing up to go home. The donkeys were gathered ready to be taken back to their field and an evening meal. Shutters were going up on stalls on the sand and the balloon seller had fallen asleep against a wall. The midget cars were still doing a good trade and the shops selling fish and chips had queues outside as hunger drove the people from the beach.

Cecily looked back as she drove away from the car park to see Peter still waving. He appeared to her then to be a lonely figure, standing in the lengthening shadow of the trees. She turned the car in a circle and called to him, ‘Come for lunch on Sunday?’ He happily agreed.

‘He loves you too,’ Van sulked. ‘There’s Danny, Gareth, Peter
and
my father. They all love you and you still aren’t married.’

‘Hush, girl,’ Ada admonished.

Since parting from his wife in 1935, Danny Preston had continued to live in the house next to Gladys Davies, near Willie and Annette. Although he hadn’t wanted a child, knowing he had a daughter, now almost three, distressed him dreadfully. He had tried repeatedly to see her but Jessie’s mother refused to let him in.

‘The divorce agreement doesn’t include you seeing little Danielle,’ the sharp-faced woman insisted. ‘Go away or I’ll call the police.’

‘But she’s my daughter.’

‘You’ve never behaved like a husband so how can you know how to be a father?’

‘I pay for her, don’t I? And generously too. More than the courts
decided was fair.’ He often resorted to anger in the hope he could bully her into letting him spend some time with his child but it never worked.

‘In fact,’ he admitted to Willie, ‘I think it only makes her more determined to keep me away.’

‘Give it time, Danny. Jessie might relent as Danielle grows up. At least paying as you promised you’ll keep some sort of contact.’

‘Unless Jessie marries again.’

‘Plenty of time to worry about that when there’s cause. No hint of another man so far.’ Willie put down the heavy plane he was using and patted Danny’s shoulder. ‘Come and have a cup of tea with Annette, then we’ll try this new window for size.’

Danny was a postman and Willie still worked at Owen’s shop, but with Annette dealing with the office work, their own business was flourishing. Both men worked well with their hands and could tackle every aspect of house repairs. When they weren’t working on the pieces of furniture for which they had a steady list of customers, they were kept busy with small repairs. They filled every moment and apart from the hours spent in his room, where he felt the loneliness of his bachelor existence, Danny was as content as Willie.

He put down his tools and followed Willie to where Annette was making bread. She put it to rise near the fireplace and smiled a welcome. Her plump arms were floury and there were smears of flour on her rosy cheeks. Willie felt a lump in his throat as he looked at her from the doorway. She made him so utterly happy. He still marvelled at his good fortune.

Her eyes and nose wrinkled as she blew him a kiss. ‘Ready for a cuppa, are you, boys?’ She gestured to the black, highly polished oven range, where a white tea towel covered some freshly baked Welsh cakes. ‘Saw you coming so the tea’s ready to pour – help yourselves.’

‘Thanks, love,’ Willie said, reaching for the plate.

‘Welsh cake for Victor?’ a small voice asked.

‘Hello, Niblo.’ Danny smiled as Willie picked up his son, asked if he’d been good and rewarded him with a cake.

When tea was poured and the two men were sitting one on each side of the oven range – ‘Like Toby jugs,’ Annette often said – Willie made an announcement.

‘We are all going on holiday,’ he said. He picked up Victor and, ignoring the butter which transferred itself from the boy’s hands to his own face and hair, went on, ‘All of us, Danny as well. What d’you think of that, then?’

‘A holiday?’ Annette frowned.

‘Yes, we’re all going to a place in west Wales, for a whole week. It’s a proper hotel near the beach where Victor can bathe every day and learn to swim.’

‘But are you sure? Will the sisters give you the time off? And will it be all right to leave the house for a week?’

‘Can I please have another Welsh cake?’ Victor asked.

He was given another cake by Willie, who explained, ‘We’ve all worked hard these past years and I think it’s time we had a reward. Danny, you will come, won’t you? We’ll have a great time. I’ve already asked the sisters and they’ve agreed. All we have to do is pack the car and go.’

‘When?’ Annette asked. She looked around her urgently as if already deciding what to pack and what she must do before they left. ‘How soon will we be back home?’

Willie and Danny laughed so loudly that Victor ran to his mother, startled by the sudden noise. ‘We’ll stay a whole week and the house will be here when we get back.’

‘Things are looking bleak,’ Willie said when he and Danny were back working on the replacement window. ‘All this talk of war. Damn me, we ought to get away and have some fun while we still can.’

All through 1938 there had been regular war scares and the town was preparing for the worst. From lectures by the St John’s Ambulance and gas mask drill to discussions about insurance in case of bombing, all the talk was about the imminence of war against Germany.

Back in May, war manoeuvres had taken place, with the army, navy and air force testing the strength of the town’s defences. Searchlights lit up the night skies, a hundred planes flew over, Avro Anson and Hawker fighters displaying their ability to defend the country from attack. And a thousand new planes had been ordered for the RAF. There were appeals for volunteers for the fire brigade, air raid wardens and ambulance drivers. Both men and women over forty were asked to come forward for training.

‘They say Hitler will attack as soon as he’s got the harvests in and that’s why I decided we should have a holiday; it might be our last chance for a year, or longer. The last one went on for four years, remember.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Danny said. ‘Who knows where we’ll all be this time next year.’

That evening when Victor was sleeping, Annette began to write out a shopping list for the following day.

‘I’ll need a few more clothes for Victor,’ she said to Willie, ‘in case I can’t get any washed.’

‘Buy whatever you need.’ He leaned over the table, the first thing he had made, and squeezed her arm. ‘Annette, my lovely girl. We can afford it. Go on, treat yourself to something nice as well. Right?’

She blushed, her eyes glowing in the low light in a way that made Willie’s heart lurch with happiness. ‘I’d better not buy a dress, Willie. It might not fit me for long.’ she added shyly. ‘We’re going to have another child. Isn’t that wonderful?’

For an answer he picked her up and ran around the room with her in his arms. ‘My lovely, clever Annette,’ he said, then kissed her soundly.

The following morning when her daily tasks were done and a stew was cooking on the hob, Annette set off, with Victor in his pushchair, to the shops. In the department store where her mother worked, she met Beryl and Bertie Richards. She had known them all her life and called them auntie and uncle.

She knew how much Bertie had helped Willie when, as a young man without family to back him up, he had been in danger of drifting into a life without prospects or hope of making a place for himself. She had often tried to thank them and now, filled with the excitement of a new baby and the prospect of a first holiday away from home, she stopped them.

‘Hello, Auntie Beryl, Uncle Bertie. Are you busy for half an hour? Could you come and have a cup of tea with Victor and me?’

Bertie frowned. ‘Nothing wrong, is there? You look a bit worried.’

‘I’m so happy I could burst!’ Annette laughed. ‘I would just like a chat, if you have time.’

Annette waited until they were seated in a cafe and had been served with teacakes toasted and liberally spread with butter, and a pot of tea. She told them first about the new baby and the holiday then she became more serious.

‘I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate the way you helped Willie, Uncle Bertie. He was only an errand boy for the sisters, not related in any way. Yet you helped, advised and set him on his way, showed him he could make something of himself. I’m so grateful and, well, I love you both.’ She smiled, feeling self-conscious now she had said her piece. It had sounded wrong, too formal. She was surprised to see how touched Bertie was by her words.

‘My dear girl,’ he said. ‘Helping Willie was the most worthwhile thing
I ever did. And, d’you know, I didn’t do that much. He’d have grown up and away from the limitations of his childhood without any help from me, you can be sure of that. I can’t have you thinking I’m responsible for his success – it was all his own effort. Remarkable man, your William Morgan.’ He patted her head and Victor’s as though they were both children. ‘He’s a lucky one too.’

‘Why did you help him? What could you see in him that made you believe he was worth the helping?’

‘My dear, he was alone. His family had left him to shift for himself. I wanted to be sure he had a reason to get up in the mornings. And another thing. I’ve been very fortunate in this life. Very lucky. It isn’t a bad thing to pass on your luck, share it by helping someone else who needs a bit of a bunk up the ladder. And, before you say it, I’m not religious, trying to make my place in heaven! I just think it isn’t a bad thing to say thank you to life.’

When they left the cafe, Annette kissed them both and went on her way, looking very thoughtful. She was carrying a parcel of new baby clothes which Beryl had insisted on buying. She was thinking about Bertie’s words and wondered whether his philosophy of helping someone to say thank you would work for her, too.

She caught the bus but didn’t go home. Instead she headed for the beach. It was a pleasant day; a gentle breeze cooled the warmth of the sun and made walking from the bus to Foxhole Street a pleasure.

Victor, having eaten more cake than the adults, dozed in the folding chair. Annette hummed as she walked, slightly nervously, to her intended encounter, with Bertie’s words running through her head. Repaying life for her good fortune. It was more sensible every time she repeated it.

She knew where Jessie Preston lived, with her mother just a few doors away from where she had lived with Danny. Leaving the pushchair with its sleeping passenger at the gate, within sight, she knocked on the door.

‘Jessie,’ she said. ‘I want to talk to you. It’s about a holiday Willie is planning,’ she added hurriedly as the red-haired girl began to close the door. ‘It’s all paid, a little treat for you and Danielle. A week in west Wales, it’s near the beach. It sounds lovely. Will you come? I’ve taken the liberty of booking a room for you. It won’t cost you anything; accommodation and food, all paid. You can get there by train easily.’

So far Jessie hadn’t said a word and Annette felt her words drying up.

Still wearing a suspicious frown, Jessie opened the door wider and invited Annette in. Collecting the pushchair with its sleeping passenger,
she stepped inside. Jessie’s daughter was sitting at a small desk, chalking on a framed slate. Annette smiled and was rewarded with a wave.

‘I can imagine what it’s like, back to sharing everything with your mam, no real home of your own, living through and through, with your mother making the decisions. I just thought you’d enjoy a week away, just you and Danielle. Here’s the address.’ She took out the card and waited while Jessie copied out the details.

‘You’re sure this isn’t some scheme of Danny’s?’