Paint on the Smiles

by Grace Thompson

  Annette gave the children tissue paper, which she had cut into rose-petal pieces for them to throw over the happy couple. There were two cars, hers and Peter’s, to provide transport for the guests. The children’s clothes were obviously home made and cut from other garments. It was garish and cheap and Cecily’s heart went out to them. She was glad they had done what they could to make Johnny and Sharon’s day special.

  She kissed the bride, surprised at the thickness of the make-up Sharon used and wondered suspiciously if she was in fact older than the thirty-five years she admitted to.

  The journey back to the shop was a poor imitation of the procession when Ada and Phil were married. Willie had helped to wash and polish the cart which Phil occasionally borrowed and with streamers added made from old lace curtains, the newlyweds and the three little attendants set off in style, waved off by a crowd of well-wishers.

  Family and friends went back to a meal of Spam and Duchess potatoes with a variety of vegetables, mainly from tins. The cake was small and only a sponge, but it had two layers and was decorated with icing sugar scrounged by Dorothy in exchange for some tea and added to the meagre spread.

  The guests included Peter, who spent a lot of time helping Cecily attend to the diners. He was by now fifty-six and balding but to Cecily he seemed not to have changed at all. Johnny talked to him for a while about what he planned to do when he was out of the khaki uniform he had worn for his wedding. Dorothy and Owen presented the couple with a pair of pillowcases stored since before the war. Gareth was fortunate enough to have leave and he and Rhonwen brought a box filled with rare items like soap, a torch complete with batteries, shaving cream, a few cups and saucers, a beautifully polished copper kettle and an embroidered tablecloth.

  ‘These are a few things we spared from our cupboards. Now this is your real present.’ She gave the excited couple a table lamp with a shade representing a thatched cottage. ‘I painted it myself,’ Rhonwen told them. ‘Everything we buy is so plain, I hope you like it.’

  Willie and Annette gave them a pair of towels for which they had to part with some clothing coupons and for which she queued for an hour. There were gifts of money, which Sharon immediately gave to Johnny to put in their savings.

  ‘I don’t want to risk spending it unwisely,’ Sharon said. ‘You’re in charge of our expenses now, Johnny.’

  The guests stayed long after the meal was finished and at ten o’clock no one showed any sign of leaving.

  ‘What will we do for food?’ Ada whispered. ‘They’re all starving again and there’s no more bread on the loaf!’

  ‘I’ve got two loaves at home and there’s a tin of Spam and some pickle,’ Dorothy offered. ‘I’ll fetch them, shall I?’

  ‘Let me go,’ Cecily said, but Ada insisted that she should do it. ‘Tired you are and it’s a long walk but not worth getting the car out.’

  She whispered to Phil, explaining where she was going and at once he said, loudly, ‘Why you? Why can’t Cecily go?’

  ‘I offered. I don’t mind, really I don’t.’

  ‘Then I’ll go with you.’

  She laughed. ‘Get up and you’ll never get your chair back! No, stay and enjoy the fire, love.’ She threw him a kiss as she went downstairs, with Dorothy’s key, to collect her coat.

  It was cold outside, the kind of chilliness that seemed to get inside the forehead and make ice in the blood. She hesitated about going back and taking the car – an extravagance but tempting. She put a scarf tighter around her neck, pulling it as low as possible over her face, holding the ends across her mouth. She hurried to 7 Snipe Street, holding Dorothy’s key in her hand.

  As she turned the corner, away from the vicinity of the docks and the blast of cold air coming from the sea, she slowed down, thankful for the slight relief. She was passing some tall, abandoned houses that had been slightly damaged by air raids but which appeared to be sound. At least, no attempt had been made to demolish them. She stopped to rearrange the scarf and became aware of cracking sounds. Looking up curiously, she felt something falling around her and touching her shoulders. She used her torch. Glass. It looked like broken glass. What could be happening?

  She heard the sound of approaching planes and forgot the glass, thinking about the possibility of a raid. What should she do if the siren sounded – run on to Dorothy’s and shelter under her table or run back to the wedding party? There wouldn’t be room for them all in the cellar and she chuckled at the vision of them finding places under the stairs and other likely places in the old house.

  She stood against the abandoned house, still undecided. Phil would worry if she were out alone in a raid. He might come looking for her. Best she went back. Ignoring the call of a man across the road wishing her good night, listening to the increasingly loud drone of the approaching planes, trying to decide from which direction they were coming, she was unaware of a group of young girls who passed on the opposite side of the road.

  The throbbing engines were above her and an added sound began that terrified her, glass cracking like gunshots, the rumbling of falling masonry, the screams from the girls walking past. Then a thundering noise that seemed to go on forever. There was a raid yet no siren had sounded; the neglect outraged her and made her forget momentarily her vulnerability out in the open with not even a sandbag wall to protect her. Still she dithered about whether to go to Dorothy’s or back home, stumbling a few steps this way and a few steps that way. Before she had finally decided she had to go home, the rumbling increased and the wall against which she was crouched moved and dust fell across her. She wasn’t hurt. She would get up and walk away as soon as she had calmed her breathing. The sounds eased and stopped, then in the lull she heard them begin again, breaking glass and the gentle tinkling as the pieces landed somewhere nearby at first. Then more sounds as walls within the building weakened; a sound like water dripping, increasing into a flood. The falling water sound grew louder and suddenly became a roar and everything went dark and silent. The silence was as terrifying as the darkness. She knew she was deaf, the sounds were so completely shut off from her. She tried to move then and found she could not. She was frozen with fear. She listened but had no idea for how long, and gradually her hearing returned. There was a clatter as the last of the loosened bricks tried but failed to resist the pull of gravity.

  Another long time passed and she managed to stand, her legs shaking and trembling so she had to take hold of some of the masonry to steady herself. ‘I’ve got to get home,’ she murmured aloud. ‘My husband, he’ll be that worried. Came out for bread I did.’

  ‘Hang on, love, better worried than widowed so don’t make any sudden moves or this lot might land right on top of us.’ It was the man who had just come out of the public house nearby.

  ‘I have to get home, my husband will be worried.’ Ada looked around at the pieces of brick and mortar that surrounded her, dust filling her mouth and nose and making her cough. Slowly her eyes became adjusted to the gloom, which was exacerbated by the increasing dust.

  The man who had spoken to her held her arm and she grasped his hand. From the faint smell of fish emanating from his sleeve, he was a seaman, probably from the fishing boats that still worked from the quieter part of the docks.

  ‘You’re one of the Owen sisters!’ the voice said in surprise. ‘What are you doing out at this time of night?’

  ‘I was going to fetch something.’ She frowned in confusion. ‘I can’t remember what. Shops will be closed before I get there now.’ She closed her eyes and rubbed her sleeve around her nose and mouth to clear the filthy dust. ‘Why didn’t the siren sound?’ she asked.

  ‘Siren? There hasn’t been an air raid, missus. This old building decided it’s had enough and just collapsed.’

  ‘Just move slowly and we’ll be safely away from it in no time,’ a second voice called and she crouched down and felt a strong desire to go to sleep and dream away the events of the past minutes. But sleep was a long way off; she was wide awake a
nd wondering if Phil was somewhere near and whether he was hurt, and why they were there.

  With the two men guiding her, she moved with cautious care and when she saw the light of a couple of torches approaching she was convinced it was Phil looking for her. She called and, as disappointment came, she began to weep, silently, with hardly a sound. Someone tried to wrap her in a blanket, ‘For the shock,’ they explained. She pushed them away, assured them she was all right and insisted she was going home. Again she went in the wrong direction. As she turned, confused and looking for Phil, and the men protested and tried to persuade her to wait for the ambulance, the rest of the walls fell and this time window glass was a chord of musical delicacy heralding the roar of more falling masonry. It was only a few seconds before she lost consciousness.

  At the shop, the Owen family waited with increasing anxiety. Cecily stood beside Peter, glad of his strength. He began to plan their search ready for the moment when they decided they couldn’t wait any longer. Phil walked up and down in the confined space of the room behind the shop, groaning to himself. He was carrying Willie’s dog, comforting the animal as though it shared the worry of his missing wife.

  ‘She’ll be all right – she’s met someone and staying for a chat.’ Cecily repeated the words more to convince herself than the others.

  ‘Perhaps there’s been an air raid and we didn’t hear the siren?’ Dorothy suggested. ‘She’ll be sheltering at my house. There’s the Anderson shelter.’

  ‘Or under the stairs,’ Owen added.

  Cecily and Peter shared a brief look of amusement. That was the pantry, a magnet to Owen, raid or not. She felt a pang of remorse for thinking spiteful thoughts at such a time.

  Rhonwen was kneeling on the floor with Marged, playing snakes and ladders with Victor and Johnny’s new stepdaughters. Cecily saw Gareth watching them affectionately. ‘We’re very happy, Cecily,’ he said. ‘I’m so lucky.’

  ‘That’s easy to see.’ Peter smiled. He sensed Gareth’s need to talk and he moved so Cecily stood closer to him.

  ‘I’m so glad, Gareth, love.’ Cecily laughed softly. ‘I don’t think you’d have been so content with me. Just as well your mother stopped you marrying me, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Mam didn’t stop—’ He grinned and Cecily thought how boyish he still looked, with his straight hair and rather large ears and the shy expression in his sparkling light brown eyes. ‘All right,’ he admitted. ‘I did listen to Mam.’ He looked nervously at Peter before telling her, ‘I still love you, you know. Not in the way I love Rhonwen, but there’s still a strong affection. There’s fun we used to have at the dances, eh? That’s why I can ask you something.’

  ‘Anything,’ Cecily said at once.

  ‘I’m going back tomorrow and I think we’re in for some … big trouble … if you know what I mean. If … if I don’t get back, will you see that Rhonwen and Marged are all right?’ He hushed the automatic protests about to come from Cecily and Peter. ‘There’s the shop, and if you keep an eye on it, just to see that the manager is doing his job properly, they’ll be all right financially. Rhonwen’s an innocent and someone could easily diddle her out of everything. Just keep an eye, if I’m not here to look after her, will you?’

  Cecily kissed him affectionately and said, ‘I promise.’

  Gareth moved away from Cecily and winked at Peter. ‘You can budge up again now.’ Peter laughed and moved to Cecily’s side. He placed an arm on her shoulder and she held his hand.

  ‘Time we started looking for Ada,’ Phil said in a wavering voice. He pointed to the clock which showed them she had been out for more than an hour and a half. He went out into the street, running, calling her name. Before anyone else had reached the shop door, he was out of sight.

  ‘Best we wait here for him to bring her back. She’s sure to be at Dorothy’s. Then,’ Gareth added slowly, ‘if she isn’t there, we’ll do what Peter suggests and go in different directions until we find her.’

  ‘Of course she’s at my house,’ Dorothy said confidently. She gave Cecily a hug. ‘Don’t worry, Cecily, your Ada will be all right.’

  Cecily thought those were the first kind, sympathetic words from Dorothy for years and shivered at the thought they might be an augury of all the kind, sympathetic words to come.

  They stood in the porch watching for Phil’s return. All the wedding party were there, none wanting to go until they had news of Ada. Peter stood beside Cecily, his large hand holding hers. When Phil reappeared, his voice reached them before he came in sight. ‘She’s not there! She’s not there!’

  Fears that she had been knocked over or attacked by someone hoping there was money in the bag she carried swelled and reassurances were no longer heard. Willie rang the hospital but they hadn’t heard of an accident nor had they admitted anyone resembling Willie’s description of Ada.

  From then on, through the darkness, they went to search the streets. Willie left Annette and Sharon to look after the children. Peter and Cecily were instructed to wait at the shop for when Ada came back. ‘And that,’ Cecily tearfully told Peter, ‘is the hardest of all.’

  Sharon wanted to help with the search. ‘She’s my family now,’ she argued. ‘The girls are sleeping and Annette is here.’ But Johnny looked at her ridiculously unsuitable shoes with their satin-covered, high heels and decided his wife would be a liability on the streets.

  ‘Make some tea,’ he suggested. ‘That’ll be really helpful.’

  Those looking for Ada came and went continuously, Phil running, his eyes wide with fear at each failure to find his wife. Several saw the fallen ruin of the building under which Ada had been buried, and saw the men clearing the rubble without a thought of Ada being involved. Barriers were in place keeping people away from the workmen and they accepted that without question. Still they wondered whether there had been an air raid without any of them hearing the siren.

  ‘That or an unexploded bomb,’ Willie decided.

  At three in the morning Johnny regretfully had to leave. ‘I have to be back in camp soon – it’s the six o’clock train or I’m in trouble.’

  Cecily hugged him and Sharon. ‘Sorry your day has been spoilt with this worry. We wanted it to be perfect for you both.’

  The bridal couple thanked her for all she had done and Sharon promised to ring later to be told that Ada was safe. ‘As I’m sure she will be,’ Johnny added.

  The little family walked up the hill to the main road and off to the rooms Johnny had found for them. Sharon, who still wore the high-heeled shoes, carried Leonora, Johnny carried Debora, and Victoria, who was only six, was holding her mother’s skirt and walking behind. The children were still in their bridesmaid dresses but Sharon had changed into a red satin dress in her bedroom, which was now cluttered cheerfully with oddments of the wedding ceremony and its aftermath.

  Gareth also had to return to his unit but Rhonwen offered to stay.

  ‘No.’ Cecily smiled stiffly, her face unwilling to give up the frown of dread that had begun when Phil had returned from the first fruitless search. ‘Go on, you, and see Gareth off properly. Good luck, Gareth, love. And Rhonwen, come and see us often while he’s away. And come if you’ve any problems we can help with. Me, Ada, Peter and Phil, and Willie as well, we’re always here, remember.’

  Gareth gestured his thanks with a nod and, with his arms around his wife and stepdaughter, went home. Cecily shivered as they turned for one last wave. ‘It’s almost as if he’s saying goodbye,’ she whispered to Peter.

  He put a reassuring arm around her. ‘He’ll be back, and you won’t feel so sad when Ada is found.’

  Ada became aware of a draught of air. Dust-carrying air that cooled her face, chilled it and eventually roused her to realization of where she was. The dust tickled her nose and she tried to move her head to ease it and found she could not. She shouted with shock as her hair was pulled against the restriction. Her voice wasn’t loud but had enough force to send eddies of brick dust floating up over her f
ace.

  Light began to shine through the gap via which the cool air came, and she could see motes of brick dust sparkling in the early sunshine. She ached terribly, especially her legs, but when she tried to move them to ease her discomfort, they were held by something painful, like broken brick, she surmised, then she went back to sleep again. She woke after only a few minutes and thought of the people who had helped her the first time and wondered vaguely if they were all right or whether they too had been covered in rubble as she had. She wriggled a little and debris shifted noisily. She had to get back to Phil. He’d be so worried.

  There were no sounds coming through the gap in broken timber and rubble. Just her thoughts, which seemed to her to have been spoken aloud, the silence was so intense. She thought she had better call, but dust filled her mouth when she tried and it was such an effort. Someone would come: Phil would be searching for her, and Cecily. They wouldn’t be long. She was unaware of the men carefully moving aside the bricks, not realizing she was suffering from deafness – the reason for the eerie silence. She wondered if there was anything in telepathy. If she thought about him deeply, calling to him where she lay, would Phil hear her? She concentrated on him, visualizing his face, thinking his name over and over, but sleep caught her and she drifted into a dream of a warm place, a soft, silky bed and a soothing drink gliding down her throat, easing away the dust.