Paint on the Smiles Page 3

  ‘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?’

  ‘Danny knows nothing about this,’ Annette assured her, fingers crossed against the part truth.

  ‘All right. I’d be a fool not to, wouldn’t I?’ She sat on the edge of the table. She hadn’t invited Annette to sit. ‘You’re right, I do need to get away, be my own person for a little while. Thank you. Can I ask why? Sorry for me, are you?’

  ‘How could I be sorry for someone with such a beautiful daughter?’ She smiled at the dark-haired girl watching them solemnly. ‘I just think that when life is good to you – as it’s been to me – it’s nice to pass on some of your good fortune. But you won’t tell anyone, will you?’ She spoke earnestly. ‘I mean, passing on good luck isn’t so people will tell me how generous I am. People knowing would spoil it.’ She handed her a ten shilling note, part of the money Willie had given her to buy what she needed for the holiday. ‘This is for the train fare.’

  Victor
began to rouse and Annette wanted him out of there. She promised him an ice cream if he stayed in the chair a little longer. She hurried him away, hoping he wouldn’t mention the visit to Willie, or worse, to Danny.

  They called to see Peter Marshall but he wasn’t there so she caught the bus home. There were letters to write, and postal orders to send. She didn’t know what she’d do if the hotel had no other vacancies!

  Phil Spencer looked an old man. His hair, always thin, was cut very short and was a yellowish grey. The yellow was caused by the cigarettes he now smoked. He spent most of his day, apart from work and exercise, in the small cell shared with another burglar and, although the man wanted to compare notes and share knowledge and past errors, Phil refused to discuss his criminal ‘career’. All he wanted was to get out and see if Ada meant her promise to be there waiting for him.

  Yet as the time approached, he was frightened. Prison had been a completely new world and he’d had to learn its rules and esoteric laws. Returning to the old world, facing people who had been friends, noticing changes that had happened while he’d been away, would again be entering a strange world, its rules needing to be relearned. The prospect kept him awake at night. When he had hit the guard, he’d felt shame but also a relief that the day he went out had been delayed.

  There was a letter on his bunk from Ada and as usual he stared at it without opening it for a long time. Afraid to read that she was leaving him, saying goodbye. As his fingers touched the envelope flap, his eyes blurred with panic and he couldn’t read the words for several minutes. It was only when he had skimmed through it, and found nothing but concern and love, that he would settle and absorb every precious word.

  The routine of each day was a torment. They would see an eye through the peephole, then the key would turn in the heavy lock and they were allowed the artificial freedom of walking down the catwalk with the night soil, all in a line, trying not to look at the filth they carried. They shuffled along at a regimented speed between the cell wall and the wire mesh covering the open area between the cells and those opposite. The walls were brick, painted with so many coats of paint over the years the joins hardly showed.

  Even in the exercise yard there was nothing to see but bricks, and his mind often wandered to pretend he could see people on the other side, going about their normal, perhaps boring, lives. Passers-by were so used to the gaunt buildings with the high, windowless walls they hardly noticed them and certainly never gave much thought to the men inside.

  He knew he would never forget the smell. It permeated his clothes and oozed from his skin, a part of him forever. How could he go back to Ada, his sweet-scented wife, and share a bed with her, touch her, kiss her, make love, smelling like this? There were times when, if the wire hadn’t prevented it, he would have jumped, hoping to end the painful sojourn in death. The railway line wasn’t far away; perhaps, when he was released, he could end his life there?

  He fiddled with the most recent letter, thinking of Willie and his family going on holiday. If he got out with his mind intact he would never want to go away. He was lost in the agony of his situation, staring at the wall, behind which was that other world. His thoughts became distorted, with fact and imagination becoming confused.

  Ada was huge and he was small, then Willie was shouting at him for upsetting the sisters, then he was down in a well, the water rising and Cecily looking over the top and laughing. Voices all around him were chanting ‘worthless, worthless’ and he was agreeing with them when the man sharing the cell shook him awake and he hit out at him, just as he had when the guard had done something similar. His companion sat him on the edge of the bunk and, wiping blood from his face, urged him to calm down.

  When he heard the small metallic sound that told him the eye was there, he watched and waited for the rattle of the key and jerked his troubled mind back to the present to eat yet another prison meal.

  Chapter Two

  CECILY AND ADA had asked their cousin Johnny Fowler to help them while Willie was on holiday. He was unemployed apart from an occasional evening on the taxi and was delighted to be asked. He still looked the same gangling youth who, eight years before, had helped carry their father’s coffin and walked ahead of the funeral cortege, Cecily thought. His thin brown hair was still plastered down and sticking out in a stiff fringe over his ears, refusing to follow the contours of his bony dome.

  ‘It’s stuck there like a piece of badly woven cloth,’ she whispered to her sister. ‘Poor dab, you’d think someone would tell him.’

  ‘Best if he goes to Gareth for a decent haircut. He’d give him a bit of style if anyone can,’ Ada suggested. ‘Gareth is good with difficult hair.’

  Cecily felt the remnants of regret at the mention of Gareth Price-Jones. If she had been honest and told him that Van was her daughter, they might be together now. They had been happy days: building the business, dancing and planning her wedding. She stopped then, remembering Van’s unkind remark that only unhappy people looked back and said the past was good. Nonsense, of course, but.…

  ‘I said we should suggest it,’ Ada said, obviously not for the first time.

  ‘Suggest what?’

  ‘Suggest that Johnny goes to Gareth for a decent haircut.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good idea, but how do we tell him he looks a sight?’

  Johnny came in from the beach deliveries, having called into the fish market on the way home. He smelled strongly of fish although he had only carried the wooden boxes.

  ‘We’ll make you a cup of tea before you go out again, while you wash your hands.’

  ‘It’s not my hands that stink of fish,’ he groaned. ‘It’s leaked all over my coat, and there’s me going out this evening straight from work!’ His Adam’s apple wobbled in indignation.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Ada asked.

  ‘To Cardiff to see a show. Taking a girl I am and now I’ll have to meet her stinking of fish!’

  ‘Tell you what, Johnny, there’s an old coat of Dadda’s in the wardrobe and we’ll treat you to a smart haircut at Gareth’s.’

  ‘It was as easy as that,’ she told Cecily later.

  They persuaded him to leave before the shop closed, insisting they could manage for the last hour, and watched him stride up the hill to the main road, his long skinny legs looking more spider-like than ever in the too-tight trousers and the too-large coat. It was raining and they were glad to close the shop. The rain darkened the buildings, bringing them closer and making the night oppressive, and they were glad to block out the dull, chilly evening.

  ‘Imagine those people still working at the beach.’ Cecily shuddered. ‘They stay open for as long as there’s a chance of a customer. Lucky we went last week with Peter, there might not be many more days left for bathing this summer.’

  Waldo arrived at 7.30. He’d been asked to call by the sisters, who had a plan to put to him. He looked ill. Waxy faced, but with spots of high colour on his cheeks that made the pale skin even more alarming. Fatigue showed in his eyes but he seemed cheerful and full of enthusiasm, as always.

  ‘We want to buy the shop next door,’ Cecily told him. ‘We can’t carry the stock we’re selling in large enough quantities to get the best price. Everything goes so fast we even have to collect from the wholesalers on the way to make deliveries sometimes.’

  ‘An extra few rooms would make it easier, specially as you advise us to carry greater stock,’ Ada added. ‘What d’you think?’

  Waldo looked doubtful. ‘I can see the sense in what you’re saying, but there are other points to consider. Everything goes up. Rates, heating, insurance, and why pay to hold stock that the wholesalers will hold for you for nothing? Use the stable, leave the van outside if necessary; that will cost nothing extra.’

  ‘We thought of renting out the top floor to cover the extra expenses,’ Cecily explained.

  ‘More responsibility, and you two have enough already. Phil will be home soon, Ada, and he’ll need more of your time, not less.
And you, Cecily, will be on your own, with Van. No, I think you should expand but not like this. If you open another, separate, shop, get someone to run it as a business, then if there’s a war you’ll be in a stronger position.’

  ‘You really think we’ll fight against Germany again?’

  ‘Hitler became chancellor as far back as 1933. He announced the intention of destroying or driving away all the Jewish people and developing a one-party system and no one attempted to stop him when he became dictator in 1934. Earlier this year he took control of the army and still no one tried to hold him back. He’s all set to take on the rest of Europe and his country is behind him. His promises are impressive and his people look upon him almost as the finest leader they had ever had. I can’t see anything less than full-scale war stopping him now.’

  It was a long speech for Waldo, and Cecily found it distressing, not because of the contents but for the way Waldo had to keep stopping to take a breath. She hardly heard what he actually said.

  ‘Won’t Chamberlain talk him round?’ Ada asked.

  ‘Maybe, for a time, but don’t underestimate the danger. Yes, I think you should invest in a second shop, diversify if you can. This business is bound to suffer.’

  The sisters were gloomy as they made tea and offered Waldo some of his favourite cakes. Then Waldo seemed to cheer up and asked, ‘And how is young Van? Where does she fit into your plans?’

  ‘Van is fine. She and Edwin planned to play tennis this evening but the weather changed that to table tennis,’ Ada told him.

  ‘She doesn’t want to stay on at school,’ Cecily said. ‘We’ve tried to persuade her. She was wrong to take a place at the grammar school if she had no intention of staying. There were others wanting her place, girls who’d make better use of it.’