Paint on the Smiles (28 page)

‘A rainbow wedding! Oh, Cecily, how beautiful.’ Ada was already wiping tears from her eyes and Cecily fought not to do the same.

‘It’s amazing what can be done with some old muslin,’ they heard someone murmur.

Another whispered, ‘It wasn’t new, mind, that dress of Myfanwy’s. Cut down from Beryl Richards’ own it was.’

None of the practical investigations about how the difficulties of rationing had been overcome could prevent Cecily from being entranced at the sight. Even when she heard another guest wonder how Van had persuaded the church to marry her, an unmarried mother, in such style, and the remark that the service was a mockery, she could only marvel at her daughter’s audacity and style.

She hardly heard a word of the service. She just stared at the beautiful woman who was her daughter, and marvelled at it all. The choir sang while the bride and groom went into the vestry to sign the register and Cecily was called to join them, still feeling that the whole thing was a dream. It was unbelievable, entrancing. The colourful spectacle was a tonic, not only for her but for the people who watched either inside the church or standing in groups around the sombre tombstones and on the street. For them all it was a promise that austerity was over, that ahead lay only joy.

If only Peter were here to see it. That thought kept running through her mind at every new wonder: as the children smiled, as they posed for photographs, as the happy couple kissed to a chorus of giggles from the youngsters.

Walking out of the church, she was sure she spoke to many but she saw none. It was just a sea of faces and her eyes took in only the stunningly beautiful bride and her tall, handsome husband, and the procession of bridesmaids in their fairy-like dresses. Beryl came and handed her the baby and she stood looking down at his round little face, long lashes like fans on his cheeks as he slept through it all.

‘If only Peter were here.’ This time she said the words aloud and it was Gareth who answered her, gaunt, grey-faced and looking much older but with a sparkle in his eyes as he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Is Peter ill again?’

‘Gareth! When did you come home?’

‘I heard about the wedding and I thought I’d make the effort to come.’

‘But how are you? How is Marged? We thought she’d be here.’

‘Marged and her new husband are fine.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, Marged married an engineer she met a year ago. They were married in France. Nothing but weddings these days, just like at the beginning of the war.’

‘Oh, Gareth, it’s lovely to have you back. You’re the last. Even Jack Simmons turned up although we thought he’d been killed. Now everything’s perfect.’

He hugged her and the baby, who stirred and opened his dark blue eyes in reproach at the disturbance like an old man, then settled back to sleep.

‘He’s wonderful, isn’t he, Gareth?’

‘Takes after his grandmother.’

‘Now there’s a thought, me a grandmother!’

Jennifer came and took the baby and Cecily walked back with Gareth to find Marged and her husband, and Ada, and Gareth’s mother.

‘About Peter, is it the same trouble you wrote to me about?’ Gareth asked.

‘Yes. He thought it best to stay at home, but I’m sorry he missed all this.’ She waved an arm, encompassing all the smartly dressed men and women. The clothes varied from the very out of date to the new, the blatantly altered and ill-fitting to the immaculate and fashionable.

The rainbow colours of the wedding group had separated and spread their brightness among the crowd. Uncle Ben was there in a greasy waistcoat with his wife. Maggie’s hat had a hint of mildew around the brim. Johnny Fowler’s wife was overdressed but making friends wherever she went, her suit conspicuously like a man’s suit, cut and refashioned.

‘It’s exactly what was needed to show that war is really done and we can go back to enjoying ourselves,’ Cecily said. ‘Gareth, love, you know how sorry we are about Rhonwen. But we’re so glad you survived to come home safe and sound.’

As the wedding party returned to the cars to be transported to Bertie’s hotel for the wedding breakfast, Cecily and Ada held back. Gareth tried to usher them into one of the waiting cars but Cecily shook her head.

‘No, I won’t be going. I have to get back to Peter. I’m never happy leaving him when he’s like this.’

‘We’ll all come back with you and show him our finery.’ Marged appeared at Gareth’s side with a young man she introduced as ‘Martin, my husband’.

In the bustle of hurried introductions, Cecily saw only a pair of laughing eyes in a bearded face before being pulled away.

‘Come on, let’s walk,’ Gareth said. ‘They’ll catch up with us later. You all right to walk, Mam?’ he asked.

So they stood and watched as the guests departed in the procession of cars and the well-wishers, the gossips and the downright nosy had moved away, until they were the only ones left. Then they began to walk down the steep hill towards the town centre.

‘We should have ordered a taxi,’ Cecily said, looking back at Mrs Price-Jones in her ancient fur and the black dress beneath it. She looked cold.

‘Not for me,’ the old lady insisted. ‘I needed some fresh air. God help us, the smell of mothballs nearly did for me! Everyone must have dressed from trunks in their attics!’ The laughter was needed and the small group strolled on home.

‘Will you come in and see Peter, and stay for a bite to eat?’ Ada suggested. ‘We’ve got a small tin of salmon we’ve been hoarding this ages.’

The chattering party pushed through the shop door, the bell tinkling its welcome, and Cecily called to Peter. She stopped while they put their coats over the counters and was surprised when Peter didn’t appear in the doorway to greet them. She called again. ‘Peter, my love, we’re back and it was beautiful. You should have ….’ She stopped, hands to her face as she saw Peter on the floor. He was unconscious, his face red and shiny, his breathing shallow, hardly visible.

Gareth ran in and knelt beside Cecily briefly, then shouted, ‘Ambulance! Quickly!’

Cecily lay beside her husband telling him how much she loved him while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

He didn’t regain consciousness in the ambulance or the hospital. He died with Cecily whispering to him, holding his hand, at four the following morning.

There were lights showing at the shop when she stepped out of the taxi and, to her surprise, Gareth and his mother were still there with Ada. Mrs Price-Jones it was who handed her a cup of tea to which brandy had been added, and she drank gratefully. Then, for the rest of that terrible day, she talked.

She talked about how she shouldn’t have gone to the wedding, how it seemed that Van had ill-wished her, from the moment she had learned about her illegitimacy, of how it was Ada’s fault for not having her crazy husband taken away sooner.

They all let her talk, accepting the accusations, and when she fell asleep it was Gareth who carried her upstairs and put her fully dressed into bed. It was Gareth who took away Peter’s pyjamas, which had been placed, waiting for him, on his pillow.

Gareth’s mother’s reaction was a revelation. She had always been such a difficult lady, keeping her son close and refusing to allow him to make decisions or friends of his own, but today she had been concerned, helpful and filled with pity for Cecily in her grief. Ada wondered whether it was the gentle persuasions of their cousin, Rhonwen, who for a while had been her daughter-in-law that had changed her into the kinder person she now was.

Grief hit Cecily anew when she woke and memory returned. The realization of what had happened slowly filled her mind. She relived the previous day, seeing herself walking away from Peter, laughing and joking, to face the embarrassment of seeing her daughter married, and knowing Van hadn’t invited her, didn’t want her there. The beautiful wedding, the walk home, no haste. Then the moment when she walked in to tell Peter all about it, and all that had followed.

She stayed in bed, not moving, just staring at the ceiling and trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. Her hand strayed across the cold sheets to search for his warmth and when he was not there she began to cry, a wailing cry, calling his name, pleading for him to come back to her.

The day was a nightmare, with people calling to offer their condolences from all parts of the town. The people who worked at the beach came and dozens of customers from his garage and workshop. People for whom he had done work and refused payment came for a final farewell. Uncle Ben and Auntie Maggie called briefly, quoted what they hoped were comforting words from hymns, sang a line or two and departed after promising to sing at the funeral.

Other members of the family came too including Johnny Fowler and his family, and finally, in the middle of the afternoon, when Cecily had given up hope of them appearing, Van and Edwin, who had cancelled their honeymoon to stay for the funeral. Van was pale and subdued and said little as she stood beside Edwin. They didn’t stay long and Cecily could see that Van was anxious to leave.

Later that day Van managed to slip away from Edwin to catch the Cardiff train. Gran had to be told.

Edwin saw her leave, wondering, not for the first time, where his wife went on such occasions. This time he determined to find out. What or who could be so important that on the day following their wedding and the death of her stepfather she had to leave the family and go?

She made no attempt to check she was not being followed and as she stepped onto the train, she didn’t see Edwin get into the final carriage. The corridor led no further so he felt it unlikely she would see him. Keeping her in sight as she walked swiftly out of the station was no problem either. She led him along bomb-damaged streets to the poorer area where, at a house shored up on one side where a landmine had demolished the rest of the row, she stopped. It wasn’t until Kitty Owen answered the door that he stepped forward and confronted her.

‘Van! How long have you known where Auntie Kitty lives?’ he demanded. He was unaware of the startled shout from the lady he had called Auntie all his life.

‘You’d better come inside,’ Van replied quietly.

Edwin’s anger frightened her. She had rarely heard him raise his voice and now he was marching up and down the small room, threatening to crack the weakened walls with his rage.

‘How
could
you, Van? What has she been telling you?’ he demanded of Kitty, who sat as far into an armchair as she could squeeze, wondering how the quiet boy she remembered had turned into this outraged man.

‘Only what I’d guessed,’ she said, ‘that Cecily and Ada haven’t forgiven me and wouldn’t welcome me back into their lives.’

Edwin turned again to Van, bending his powerful body in an arch so he could stare into her face and allow the full vent of his anger to show. ‘I see.
You
decided that for them, did you? Well I can tell you, Auntie Kitty, that Van was the one to invent such unforgiveness. Van’s mother is not the sort to harbour grudges and resentment against anyone for years on end. Only her daughter is capable of that!’

Kitty scuttled out to the dilapidated back kitchen to make tea and allow Edwin’s anger to subside. She was confused. What if Van had exaggerated Cecily and Ada’s resentment? Did it mean she might see them again? Her hands shook as she filled the kettle from the solitary tap on a stand pipe against the outside wall. When she went back into the room, Edwin was still glowering at Van, who sat, shaking, on a chair.

‘I’ve made Van promise to end this disgraceful situation, Auntie Kitty, and face up to her lies before the year is out.’

‘Thank you, Edwin,’ Kitty said tearfully. The inadequate remark was all she could manage.

‘You’ve lived here all alone since Paul and his father died?’

‘I manage all right,’ she said, as he looked around the damaged walls and the cracked window pane.

Before they left, Edwin promised to start enquiries about getting the dangerously weakened house repaired or for Kitty to be rehoused. ‘Something Van should have done,’ he reminded his still-shocked wife.

‘Thank you, Edwin,’ Kitty said again.

He was silent on the return journey but before he went into the house he held her firmly and told her she had to tell her mother what she had been doing. ‘You have to face your devils, Van, or you’ll never be free of them.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You have to,’ was his final word.

Peter’s funeral had been almost as large as Waldo’s. It had held up the traffic, for it seemed half the town was there to pay their respects to the quiet, kindly man. A number of people came back after the service and crowded into the room above the shop for refreshments. When all but the interested parties had gone, Mr Grainger, now in his eighties, began to explain the bequests in Peter’s will.

He began by telling them that the money in his account, after everything was settled, was for his darling wife who had made him so very happy. Next was the house, which he had rented to Johnny and Sharon. ‘The house is to go to Cecily, but with the hope that she will allow the Fowlers to remain there for as long as they wish.’

‘Of course,’ Cecily agreed at once. She smiled at Johnny, who showed his relief by returning her smile.

‘The garage is to be shared ownership,’ Mr Grainger went on. ‘Peter wishes that you, Cecily, and Johnny Fowler share that responsibility. He believes that Johnny’s enthusiasm and your sound business sense will be a perfect partnership.’

Cecily blew a kiss at Johnny. ‘I’m so glad Peter thought of that. It’s what I’d want anyway.’

‘The cafe at the Pleasure Beach is for Cecily in the hope she will keep it and spend a few afternoons there during the summer and enjoy being a part of the happy season.’

The rest of the will contained little of interest, except a sum of money for Willie and Annette. His gold watch was also for Willie, to replace the one he had ‘lost’ during Phil’s house-breaking period.

‘For young Victor after your time,’ Cecily suggested.