Paint on the Smiles

by Grace Thompson

  ‘I wonder if Peter’s here?’ Cecily shouted over the roar of the cloudburst.

  ‘We’ll never find him in this. If he’s got any sense he’s already on his way home.’ Her hands were slippery with the rain as she gripped the sleeve of Cecily’s dress for fear of the crowd separating them. ‘Stay close. Remember, I didn’t bring any money and you’ve got the return bus tickets!’

  ‘Let’s give Peter a try,’ Cecily said. ‘There’s no chance of us getting a bus for ages – the queues will be around the funfair and back again.’

  Pushed and jostled, they made their way down the path and along the prom where the offer of shelter had attracted hundreds, who stood blocking the way, looking with smugness at those still struggling up from the sand.

  ‘It’s like a battlefield,’ Ada gasped, pointing at the beach. There were mounds everywhere, abandoned clothes, deckchairs toppled over as people ran past. The rain was making patterns in the sand and, at the water’s edge, barely visible through the heavy storm, a boat was emptying its final passengers, who were searching wildly for the rest of their families, ignoring the rain, hoping to see a waved hand to guide them. The boat was hastily dragged up onto the sand and was lost to sight as the downpour increased in intensity.

  Lightning flashed and thunder growled across the sky and screams echoed through the building. Pushing determinedly through the almost solid mass of people, Cecily dragged Ada behind her and pushed her way through to the green stall near the cricket ground.

  Peter was there, in oilskins, trying desperately to fix the wooden shutters onto the front of his stall. He stared in disbelief as he recognized the two women, then put down the last of the shutters and ushered them inside, handing them some towels. ‘Dry yourselves and I’ll make some tea.’

  He busied himself while they made a vain attempt to dry themselves. They were wearing thin dresses and their skin was wrinkled with the soaking they had suffered but neither was upset. ‘Summer rain won’t hurt us,’ Ada said with a laugh, when Peter showed concern.

  ‘A cup of tea and we’ll be fine,’ Cecily added, but both were shivering as he handed them their cups and they drank gratefully.

  ‘Where did you leave the car?’ he asked.

  ‘We didn’t drive – we thought it better to rely on the buses.’

  ‘I don’t think this crowd will get clear before late evening,’ Peter warned. ‘I think you’d better come home with me to dry out.’

  It took more than an hour to get away from the beach. Traffic was snarled up, with everyone determined to move at once, and with cars stalling and refusing to budge and rain still pelting down, the roads were chaos. There was a blanket in the back of Peter’s car and the sisters cwtched up together under its welcome warmth.

  He eventually stopped in the middle of a terrace where, on a more normal day, there would be a view over the docks, he told them. On that day they couldn’t see further than the neighbouring houses.

  He told them to wait, then after opening his door, returned with an umbrella and hurried them into the house. Putting a match to the fire, he ran upstairs for more towels. ‘Sorry I haven’t any spare clothes, unless you’d like trousers and a jumper in my size.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ada said. ‘Our dresses are thin and will soon dry.’

  ‘We’ll look as though we were knitted,’ Cecily said, ‘so wrinkled we’ll be, us as well as our clothes.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Peter asked as he knelt to coax the fire to blaze. Cecily thought he might be a bit ill-at-ease with them there and decided he would prefer to keep busy.

  ‘We’re starving,’ she groaned dramatically. ‘We didn’t have any lunch – only a boiled sweet.’

  ‘A sweet for lunch? I can do better than that.’

  They sat listening to Peter moving about in his kitchen and he soon reappeared with two beautifully presented omelettes each on a tray covered with an embroidered cloth.

  ‘Who does the handiwork?’ Ada asked. ‘That’s something we’ve often wanted to learn but we haven’t had the time.’

  ‘Or the skill,’ Cecily admitted. ‘This is a pleasant room. You look after yourself well, Peter. I can just imagine how hopeless Dadda would have been without us.’ In spite of the smile, she was feeling a deep sorrow for this kindly man, who spent so much of his time alone.

  ‘My wife. She’s been dead twelve years now. You cope because … life goes on.’

  Once they had eaten and were warmed by the now-cheerful fire, they sat and talked in their normal relaxed way. The brief unease Peter had shown was gone.

  ‘Your husband is home, isn’t he, Ada? Tell him I wish him well.’ Cecily glanced anxiously towards her sister. Ada still hadn’t returned to the Spencers’ home and refused to discuss Phil’s plight and Cecily was afraid Peter’s comment would spoil the visit, but Ada answered without hesitation.

  ‘Yes. The time had passed, at last.’

  ‘Has he decided what he’ll do?’

  ‘I don’t know. He never allowed me to visit, he won’t talk to me even now and his mother doesn’t tell me much. All the enthusiasm and optimism have gone. He could always make me laugh but it won’t be like that any more. I hope he’ll try to revive his printing business, though; it’s all he knows. He’ll cope, if people give him a chance.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can to put business his way.’

  It was nine o’clock when they stood up to leave. Peter supplied them with woollen jumpers which hung on them like sacks, and insisted on driving them home.

  ‘We’ll look like a scarecrows’ convention! What will your neighbours think?’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll see us.’ He pointed to the window, where the rain was again falling.

  The roads were still partially blocked with many broken-down vehicles including a bus full of passengers, so it was almost ten before they got back to the shop.

  ‘Will you come in?’ Cecily invited.

  Peter shook his head. ‘I’ll call for my jumpers another day.’

  ‘Any time,’ Cecily said impulsively. ‘Call any time you have time to spare for us.’ She paused as she was about to run for the porch. ‘Peter? How long have we known you?’

  ‘Eight years last January,’ he said at once.

  ‘I remember. It was after Dadda died and we bullied you into opening your cafe early.’

  He smiled. ‘A businesswoman through and through. Don’t let anyone underestimate you, Cecily. You have a fine mind for business and a real talent for getting the best out of people. Don’t let anyone persuade you to think otherwise.’

  She wondered about his words that night. Was he telling her to keep away from Danny, who loved her but wanted to change her? That he was not the one with whom she’d find happiness? She knew that already. She’s known it years ago but it didn’t stop her wanting him. Seeing him and hearing him as he worked on the stable repairs was a daily reminder of that.

  Weeks passed and still Ada hadn’t returned to the Spencer home. Each time she called, Mrs Spencer would open the door and shake her head and insist it was too soon for her to see him.

  Peter came to lunch one day, bringing an order for some posters for Phil to print – Ada told him about Phil’s refusal to see her and when they had discussed possible reasons, he suggested in his quiet way that maybe the statement purporting to come from Phil might be Mrs Spencer’s own wishes and not Phil’s at all. On the following day, Cecily persuaded her to go to the cottage, ignore the entreaties of her mother-in-law, and walk in.

  Cecily waited in the car out of sight, hoping that the decision was the right one. When Ada hadn’t reappeared in half an hour, she left the car and walked back to the shop.

  Seeing her husband properly for the first time since the trial, Ada was shocked at how small he looked. The clothes he wore were too large, hanging on him as though they had been given to him by mistake. She watched as his mother put out the meal she had prepared for him. He sat in the chair, which had been empty for all the lonely
months, staring as though dazzled by the generously filled plate, the white cloth and the shining cutlery. He didn’t eat until his mother put the cutlery into his hands.

  He was subdued, slightly bewildered and his skin was ashen. Ada chatted cheerfully for the pair of them, feeling like an outsider and wondering if she would ever see again the perky, lively man she had married.

  Phil said very little, seeming to want only to wander around the house and the workshop and relearn everything that had once been so familiar. Ada followed him. He noticed even the smallest changes, like the clock which had gone from the kitchen and was tucked in a drawer, having refused to stop chiming once it had been wound. And the table, which had been recovered with fresh American cloth with a pattern of roses.

  The workshop was changed too. The machines were heavily greased and covered with cloth. The window blinds long ago broken had been replaced by curtains.

  ‘They’ll have to go,’ he said in his quiet voice. ‘Too dangerous with machinery about.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ada said. ‘There’s stupid we were not to think of that.’

  Phil lifted the covers and touched the machines, felt the blade of the guillotine, stroked the letter press and the litho printer. He examined them closely, for signs of rust or damage, she presumed. His pale and unusually clean fingers stroked them like pets.

  ‘They’ll need a bit of work but they aren’t too bad. They could run again, I suppose.’

  ‘Willie’s been in a few times to check them and grease them,’ she told him.

  ‘If they do run—’ He turned to Ada, his eyes haunted ‘—who’ll give me work now?’

  ‘Plenty of people,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve already got orders waiting for you. Waldo wants you to print his Christmas offers and posters for the new season’s jams. Peter Marshall has work for you and there’ll be others once they know you’re back in business.’

  ‘That won’t keep us all.’

  ‘There’s the shop and the business is growing. We’re thinking of opening a second shop. I haven’t told you that, Phil, I kept it as a surprise. We’ve been doing well, so you don’t have to worry about money for a while yet.’

  Mrs Spencer had been following them, just staring at her son, not speaking. Her eyes were red with tears but now she said, forcing a smile, ‘They’ve been good to me, Phil. Every week without fail I’ve had a visit and some money as well as a box of groceries. Brought by Willie Morgan every Saturday night.’ She looked at Phil, who was staring at her, and she had to turn away to hide her tears. ‘Marvellous they’ve been.’

  ‘Go and make us a cup of tea, Mam,’ Ada said, seeing how upset she was. ‘Sinking for a cuppa I am, all this talking I’ve been doing. Not giving Phil a chance, am I, Phil, love?’

  Phil seemed not to hear her. He was staring at the machines, wondering where he would find the strength to rouse them into life. He felt so weak and old.

  Ada returned to live at the cottage and she drove herself to work every day but it was three weeks before he opened his arms to her and three more weeks before he shared her bed.

  Her routine had returned to the way it had been before Phil’s imprisonment and Cecily suffered agonies of misery at the emptiness of the shop premises with only herself and Van there.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe the difference one person makes,’ she said to Waldo when he called with Melanie one evening in late September. ‘I suppose it’s because we’re such good friends as well as sisters.’ She smiled across at Ada who sat with Phil near the roaring fire. Phil was constantly chilled, his face was pinched and pale, his shoulders drooped listlessly and his eyes were dull and lacking any spark of enthusiasm. She wondered how Ada could stand it.

  ‘Sorry, but there’s no chance of my coming back here,’ Ada said, patting Phil’s skeletal hand. ‘Not now I’ve got my Phil back home. But,’ she asked hesitantly, ‘I’ve been wondering, couldn’t we find work for Phil with us? We’re opening another shop when we find a suitable premises – we’ll need extra staff then and he doesn’t feel up to restarting the printing business just yet.’

  Waldo flashed a warning shake of his head to Cecily, who took a deep breath and said, ‘Ada, love, don’t you think you and I should discuss this on our own first? I mean, we always have, haven’t we? And we can’t talk about Phil as though he isn’t here, listening to all the nice things we’re saying about him, now can we?’

  ‘You don’t think it’s a good idea!’ Ada’s voice startled them by its sharpness. ‘I knew that would be your answer!’

  ‘I haven’t given an answer. I don’t make decisions. I want us to discuss it together, go over the ins and outs of it, decide where we could use Phil and if there’s a place to offer him. We always decide together.’

  ‘Do we?’ Ada’s lip curled unattractively. ‘Like the way we discussed employing a girl to clean? First I knew about her was when she appeared in the kitchen. And the decision to change our wholesaler? And give a discount on accounts that are cleared each month? When you want to change my mind for me, that’s when we discuss things! Cecily, I’m sick of being your skivvy.’

  ‘My what?’ Cecily stood up in alarm, hurt and bewildered at the sudden outburst. ‘My skivvy? How can you think such a stupid thing? We’ve worked together since we were twelve and still at school. Together. Always together.’

  ‘I’m tired of people telling me I’m the dim one, playing follow-my-leader. This is important to me. I want my husband to work with us. It’s a threesome we are now, not a twosome any more.’

  Waldo and Melanie were holding hands, heads down, unable to leave but wishing they were a long way away.

  Ada fell silent, her fingers pulling at her handkerchief, looking briefly at Phil who was staring impassively into the fire. Cecily looked at Phil too and saw the hint of a satisfied smile.

  ‘Phil?’ she questioned. ‘Has all this come from you?’

  He stood up and smiled at his wife. ‘Sort it between you! Come on, Ada, Mam will be waiting for us. Time we went home.’ He stood while Ada helped him with his coat and, without another word, walked through the shop and stood by the door.

  ‘See you tomorrow, love,’ Cecily called as Ada fastened her coat and put an arm through Phil’s. There was no reply and the bell tinkled with unnecessary merriment as the door closed behind them.

  ‘That,’ Cecily said in a trembling voice, ‘was the first quarrel we’ve ever had.’

  ‘And orchestrated by Phil if I’m any judge,’ muttered Waldo.

  ‘She knew she was wrong to ask and knew she was embarrassing you,’ Melanie said. ‘She’s torn between loyalty to you and to Phil. He put her up to it for sure. He needed to know she was strong for him against you. We shouldn’t begrudge him that, I suppose. He’s been through a terrible ordeal.’

  ‘Caused by himself,’ Waldo muttered.

  ‘But all those terrible things she said—’ Cecily looked at Waldo, who smiled reassuringly and offered comfort.

  ‘Oh, if you sat and thought for a moment or two I’m sure you could come up with a few complaints about Ada.’

  ‘Perhaps, but not enough to cause a scene like that.’

  ‘Before we go,’ Waldo said, picking up Melanie’s coat, ‘about the second shop. Melanie and I have discussed it and think it’s a good idea to hold off for a while, and this outburst makes me think even more that it’s the right decision.’

  ‘It’s the threat of war,’ Melanie said. ‘It seems likely that this Hitler will have to be stopped.’

  ‘Let’s wait and see what news Chamberlain brings back from his meeting with Herr Hitler,’ Cecily said. ‘A second shop would be a good thing, if there’s food rationing, for example. Our income would be cut drastically if we are limited on the food we sell.’ The friends parted, each to consider the possibilities.

  As 1938 slipped towards its end, and the promise of ‘peace for our time’ predicted by Chamberlain was no longer believable, people began to prepare for inevitable war. In December the
government told of the plan to spend £200,000 on air raid shelters. The population still hoped for peace but their thoughts were on stocking food against the possibility of war.

  For the sisters the second shop remained an idea, waiting for a decision on what kind of business it would be and where. The peace that was uneasy on a national front between government leaders was echoed in the shop between the sisters.

  No more was said about Phil working for them and in Ada rankled the belief that the decision not to open the second shop was based on Cecily’s unwillingness to accommodate Phil in his need to work, and nothing to do with Hitler at all. Phil was so subtle in the way he suggested it, Ada believed the opinion was her own.

  Christmas 1938 was the quietest Cecily remembered. Only Peter came to share the Christmas dinner, Van having been invited to share the Richards’ celebrations. She had been invited too but had used the excuse of Peter’s longstanding invitation to refuse. The usual family gathering in the large sitting room above the shop wasn’t even suggested; the remarks she overheard or were reported by so-called friends told Cecily that the ‘shameful Owen sisters’ were not suitable company at that time.

  It was Peter, too, who watched with her from the cliffs above the sandy beach as the New Year of 1939 began.

  He called for her at nine o’clock and they went first for a meal in a quiet hotel out of town. Then, instead of going back to the shop, they drove to the beach. It was cold as they stepped from the car and he had wrapped her in the blanket he kept on the back seat.

  ‘This is a funny place to watch the New Year begin,’ she said.

  ‘Different.’ He smiled in the darkness. ‘Sometimes it’s a good thing to stand alone and wait for something to begin. I remember on my birthdays as a child, standing here and looking out over the sea and imagining my life like a huge, empty blackboard, waiting for me to write something on it.’

  ‘I’ve always been filled with hope at New Year.’

  ‘I think this coming year will be full of unpleasant things. The writing on that blackboard won’t show much fun.’