Paint on the Smiles (2 page)

Cecily tried to interrupt but Van went on, ‘And Auntie Dorothy wasn’t lying, it’s true. Uncle Phil is a criminal and he did hurt one of the guards.’

Cecily rarely lost her temper with her difficult daughter, hoping that with tolerance on her part Van would outgrow her anger towards her, but now she stood up, dragged Van from her chair and pushed her to the door. ‘Go to your room and don’t come down until you’re ready to apologize to Auntie Ada. She doesn’t deserve your wicked, ill-informed opinions.’ She hadn’t raised her voice but her handling of Van was rough as she pushed her towards the stairs. She went back into the room, covered her face with her hands and fought against the sobs that threatened to tear her apart.

‘You shouldn’t have treated her like that,’ Ada said sadly. ‘These are my battles and it doesn’t help me if they cause other battles between you and Van.’

‘Go and see Mrs Spencer. If it’s true we’ll deal with it, both of us, but if it’s lies, I’ll make sure everyone knows the lies were created by Mrs Price-Jones – encouraged, no doubt, by our sister-in-law Dorothy.’

Ada shook her head. ‘I can’t face her now. I need to calm myself or I might upset her by insisting she tells me what’s going on. Wednesday, I’ll go Wednesday.’ She picked up the evening paper lying unread and turning to the relevant page said, ‘Let’s go to the pictures. Better than sitting here waiting for that stubborn daughter of yours to apologize.’

You’re right, we’ll be waiting forever.’

Ada called up the stairs and Van came down after a lot of coaxing, red-eyed and subdued, and held a hand of each sister as they walked to the picture house.

Wednesday was half-day closing but Cecily and Ada had nothing planned. Nothing more had been said about Ada talking to her mother-in-law about Phil’s attack on a guard. She had visited each lunchtime as usual, hoping to be told, but Mrs Spencer said nothing. So after closing the shop and eating a simple meal they went together to the cottage where Ada had lived with Phil and his mother until his imprisonment, after which Mrs Spencer had asked her to return to the shop and leave her alone. It was how she coped best, she assured a disappointed Ada.

Cecily didn’t go into the cottage but walked a little further to call on Willie’s wife and children. Willie had worked for them since he was fourteen years old and was an invaluable help. He had married Annette, the daughter of Cecily and Ada’s widowed sister-in-law Dorothy, and worked for them in any capacity in which he was needed. He was also building a reputation for making quality furniture. He was partnered by Danny, once Cecily’s fiancé but a man whose jealousy had ruined their lives. Danny lived near Willie and Annette but Cecily avoided looking in the direction of his house.

While Ada went into the Spencers’ cottage, Cecily stayed with Annette, admired the children, drank tea, then wandered back. Ada was still inside, the door was firmly closed and, unwilling to interrupt what she hoped was a valuable, open discussion, she wandered around the small, colourful garden.

Almost hidden by climbing flowers and shrubs, she saw the workshop where Phil had carried out his printing business. The door was locked but the key hung outside and, idly curious, she went inside. Everything was neatly arrayed even though the police had searched the place for stolen items he hadn’t yet managed to sell. Mrs Spencer’s work no doubt. She was a person who loved to have everything neat and tidy, straightening things, even when there was no real need. The tools and machines were clean and there were no oddments of paper, no cleaning cloths as there would have been when Phil worked there. The windows were shining; any cobwebs had been brushed away. Cecily felt sad looking at the abandoned room and wondered if it would ever resound to the noise of the machines again.

She went out into the garden but there was still no sign of Ada and the door remained closed. After overnight rain, the clouds were still low and the air was chilly. She stepped back into the workshop and picked up one of Phil’s order books. She saw their name in there, Owen’s Grocery and Fresh Fish Shop. It was an order for letterheads and leaflets to distribute around the stall holders and cafes near the Pleasure Beach.

There was a page in the book she was idly examining and it was smudged and difficult to read. She put on the electric light and noticed that the bulb cable didn’t hang straight. Mrs Spencer couldn’t have noticed that, she smiled to herself, or it would have been straightened. Or perhaps she couldn’t reach and had no one to ask for help. She knew nothing about electricity, the cottage was still lit by gas light, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a look in case it was just something in the way.

She climbed up onto the bench and stared at the ceiling rose, afraid to touch, then she saw something glinting between the rose and the ceiling. She moved the light bulb holder on its cable a little to one side and the object became clearly visible. It was a small earring. With a pencil she eased it out and then realized there was more.

She stepped down, frightened by the implications of what she had seen and waited for Ada. When her sister came out with her tearful mother-in-law, Cecily refused tea and pulled her sister away. ‘What’s the hurry?’ Ada demanded. ‘And don’t you want to hear about Phil?’

‘Of course I want to hear about Phil, but Ada, I’ve found some jewellery. Remember there were two offences to which Phil refused to plead guilty? Two robberies that he insisted he didn’t do?’

‘Yes, one of them our friends, Bertie and Beryl. I knew he wouldn’t have stolen from them.’

‘The other was Waldo and Melanie.’

‘So?’

‘I sheltered from the cold in Phil’s workroom and, I’m so sorry, Ada, love, but I think I’ve found the items that were stolen.’

‘Nonsense! Phil wouldn’t have taken anything from our friends. And the police searched the place. If they were there they would have been found. Someone must have put them there! Someone wanting to add to his sentence.’

When Ada had calmed down, they went back to the garden and, making sure Mrs Spencer was in the kitchen at the back of the house, slipped into the workshop. Together they eased out the jewellery that had been carefully and successfully hidden in a cavity in the ceiling behind the
light fitting and spread it on the work table. There was no doubt who the pieces belonged to; they each recognized several.

‘What do we do now?’ Ada whispered. ‘I can’t give it to the police. It would mean another trial and another sentence. I couldn’t cope with any more. I want him home.’

‘Hide it again, but not in here. Then we’ll think carefully about the best way of helping Phil.’

‘Thank you,’ Ada sobbed.

They took the jewellery home and found a place for it in the heavy old wardrobe in the room that had once been their parents’ and sat in silence, each wondering about the best way of dealing with the discovery. Days passed and the problem seemed insoluble. They couldn’t give it back to Beryl and Melanie without an explanation that they didn’t want to give, and it seemed that every time they passed the bedroom door there were vibrations of disapproval coming from the large, old wardrobe.

The following Sunday, they went to the beach to try to forget the situation, even if it was only for a short time. The weather had improved and the sun shone bright and strong as they set off.

The smell of hot, damp sand met their nostrils as they stepped from the car. They chose to ignore the whispered comments and mumblings from people who recognized them but were well aware of the latest gossip they had engendered. The summer of 1938 had been good so far, rainy days and dark clouds quickly forgotten, rumours of imminent war ignored, as memories were being made of this wonderful summer.

Cecily smiled as she took off her lightweight coat. ‘It’s a hot one. There’ll be more in the sea than on the prom today.’ She picked up the basket, which contained Van’s bathing costume, their sun hats and an inflatable beach ball.

‘I wish we’d brought our bathers,’ Ada sighed. ‘Lovely it would be to sink into the waves.’

‘Buy one,’ said Van. ‘It’s years since you two went into the tide.’

Above the sound of cars pulling into the car park, they could hear the whirring and clacking and whistling of the dozens of rides in the amusement park. Above the trees shielding the cars from the road, the top of the figure eight could be seen, the carriages pausing at the highest point before swooping down leaving the screams of its passengers in its wake.

‘Remember how we used to love that?’ Cecily said.

‘Yes, but the fun was not the ride but the excuse to cling to the boys,’ Ada said with a laugh.

‘I think that sort of thing is childish,’ Van said, slamming the car boot for emphasis. ‘I can’t understand how people can go on it and make such an exhibition of themselves.’

Ada shrugged. ‘That’s young people for you. Fourteen and already too old for fun.’

‘Nineteen thirty-eight isn’t fun though, is it?’ Cecily said as they walked towards the sand. ‘Everyone’s anxious about the future. Things were more relaxed when we were your age, Van.’

‘D’you realize how old we sound?’ Ada exclaimed when they were waiting to cross the road. ‘Talking like two old women we are and us not far past thirty.’

‘Most are married and settled with children an’ all,’ Van said critically. ‘Missed the boat you two did, for sure, and that’s why the past sounds so good – there was still hope for you then.’

The sisters stared at her in surprise.

‘I was talking to Edwin about it yesterday,’ Van went on. ‘He thinks that only unhappy people look back and say everything was better then.’

‘Oh, he does, does he?’ Cecily looked at her daughter, an eyebrow quirked questioningly. ‘And what else did he say about us?’

‘He says he loves you both but you aren’t fun any more.’

Crossing the busy road a reply was delayed, then, as they reached the wide pavement and the start of the stalls and shops, Peter Marshall called and waved. He had been waiting for them.

Peter had been a friend since they had first visited the traders to persuade them to buy from their shop, promising good prices and reliable service. He had been one of the first to become a customer and remained a friend.

‘Peter, love.’ Cecily smiled a greeting and asked, ‘Where can we buy bathers? Ada and I want to go into the sea.’

They chose simple identical costumes in red and bought white head-hugging caps to protect their hair. Walking through the established groups on the hot sand, they found a place where they could spread out their belongings and take possession for a few hours.

‘You’ll need this.’ Peter handed them a large towel and looked studiously at his book while the three of them took turns doing contortions under the towel, to emerge ready for the sea. He slipped off his shirt and trousers to reveal his woollen bathers of dark blue tied with a white cord.

Seeing him as an elderly man possibly a little overweight, Cecily was surprised to see how lean and fit he looked. His body was nothing like
his rather fleshy face but strong and surprisingly youthful. She felt shy taking his hand as they ran between the scattering of people towards the distant sea. Peter looked back and offered his other hand to Van.

‘Come on, Ada,’ he called. ‘Last one in is a cissy!’ He laughed and the mood was set for a happy afternoon.

Used to seeing Peter either in overalls as he worked in his garage or in a neat suit with a shirt and tie, Cecily hadn’t thought of him as anything else but a middle-aged man who spent most of his time in an office chair. A lovely, kindly man, a devoted friend but older than the rest of their friends. Now she saw a man who, although in his early fifties, was still young enough to enjoy a day out. She laughed then, beginning to see the day as one they would remember with pleasure.

They ran, stumbling on occasions as they wove in and out of families and their clutter. Strings of donkeys strolled across and barred their way, old men wandered aimlessly, selling balloons and flags, young men played football and were being shouted at by pot-bellied sunbathers. Then they were on the wet sand chasing the tide, which was as far out as it would go.

The air was cooler and they were glad to increase their speed to stay warm. The sand was a complicated pattern of ripples, hard ridges where water, warmed by the sun, was trapped, a treat for their feet. The subdued roar of people behind them faded to a hum as their feet touched the foaming surf. All this Cecily noticed as though for the first time. It was so long since they had enjoyed a day of simple pleasures like this.

Peter released their hands and, after running as far as he could, he threw himself into the frothy white waves. He surfaced and looked back for them. Van was the next to swim out to where he was treading water and jeering at the sisters’ hesitation. He and Van coaxed and teased and laughed together until Cecily and Ada sank with gasps of shock under the clear water.

Then they swam and raced, disappearing underwater to appear alongside unexpectedly, splashing each other like children.

‘Why haven’t we done this before?’ Ada gasped. ‘I’d forgotten what fun it is.’

‘Make sure you do it again, soon,’ Peter advised.

Peter took charge of that afternoon in July 1938. He organized a ball game after the swim, insisting it was important to get thoroughly warmed before getting dressed. They took turns to squirm about under the large towel to dress themselves, then, while they were combing
their hair, he said, ‘I own part shares in the Golden Schooner. We’ll eat there.’

Van was right about Ada and me, Cecily thought as they packed the wet clothes. Since the court appearance, she and Ada had built a wall around themselves and were crouching behind it, afraid of allowing anyone inside for fear of being hurt. Fun had been firmly locked out.

Such troubled lives they had led. First their mother leaving them, then their father being killed in an accident on a grain ship, then her planned marriage to Gareth Price-Jones cancelled when Dorothy had revealed that she was in fact Myfanwy’s mother. She knew the fault was hers in that instance. She should have told Van long before but she had been afraid of upsetting her – although finding out like she had was far, far worse.