Getting The Picture

by Salway, Sarah;

  So, Angie, it’s four thirty-eight now and I would be grateful to hear from you. I know you are busy, of course, but this is your father. George Griffiths. Can you call him back? Call your father, I mean. Me. Good-bye.

  14. email from nell baker to angie griffiths

  I suppose I should thank you for the flowers, Angie, but honestly, how bloody tactless of you to send them to work. Now everyone thinks I’ve got some secret admirer. Even the work experience girl said ‘how nice’ as if it was all a bit of a joke, and the security guard keeps winking at me. What on earth has Dad been telling you? Why don’t you just pick up the phone and speak to him like a normal daughter instead of sending him all those postcards? Well, I guess I know the answer to that one. Dad’s not exactly a normal father, is he? But Angie, whatever happened between you and Mum must be over by now. I can’t always pick up your pieces.

  Your card that came with the flowers was the limit. I do not need to remember to breathe, thank you very much. Do you never think? What I need is some help with Dad, not expensive flowers or stupid advice. When can I tell him you are coming?

  15. letter from george griffiths to brenda lewis

  Dear Mrs. Lewis,

  Further to the unpleasant incident in the sitting room last night, I have drafted a timetable for watching television which I feel might create a more appropriate viewing pattern for us all.

  Although I appreciate that the fairer sex outweighs my own at Pilgrim House, I still do not see why we should be subjected to numerous repeats of so-called celebrities pretending to dance. The fact that the only other male resident does not apparently mind this rubbish does not, I believe, come into the equation.

  You will see I have divided the grid by the number of viewing hours in a day, and the number of residents. I have checked the radio times and worked out the average length of programs, and although it may be that we sometimes have to miss the start or end of certain shows, this seems to be a small price to pay for fairness.

  Yours sincerely,

  George Griffiths

  16. letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

  Dear Lizzie,

  Sit yourself down. I have news. Bit of excitement all around, I can tell you.

  Lady F (the one who gets the bus every Friday) asked Susan Reed how she knew about Martin’s photographs being in the magazines. Well, Susan’s sister, remember her, the one with the teeth and even more grandchildren than Susan, well, her sister has a home help and she told her, the home help told Susan’s sister, that she’d been packing up for someone who was coming here. Of course, Susan asked, ‘what’s he like?’ because she knew it must have been Martin. Well, you’ll never guess but he’s a pornographer. Yes, that’s right. We knew he was a photographer but not what sort. Apparently he’s got two whole boxes of photographs of nude women that he’s lugged here with him.

  Fancy someone like that saying I was beautiful. I know I should mind, but I don’t. Is that very bad of me?

  Helen Elliott says we should complain but she’s only saying that because she thinks it’s what Lady F wants to hear and so far, Lady F is giving him the benefit of the doubt. But the funny thing is that the home help said they weren’t bad photographs. Not like the nasty muck they have today. She said the women were very tastefully arranged and besides, most were in black-and-white, which we all agreed makes things better.

  And here is something else interesting. He also has a box of envelopes which are addressed and sealed but not sent. It makes you think, doesn’t it? Helen says that men never write letters so maybe he’s a little turned and Lady F thinks they are just empty envelopes, but the home help said she knows they had something in them, the home help does, because she felt them. She didn’t take one, though. No, home helps have to be honest about other people’s property.

  Anyway, Lizzie dear, it’s shaken us up a bit. He doesn’t look much like a pornographer, though. Not that I’d know, of course. At least he hasn’t palled up with that George Griffiths. You’ll never believe it but George’s latest thing is to go on and on about me stealing his things. Well, of course I do, Lizzie, but so would you under the circumstances. He makes everyone’s life here a misery.

  And this comes with many good wishes to you and your family. I was sorry to hear about Brian needing spectacles. Has Laurie thought about getting some made the next time Brian goes to see his father in Ireland? Graham and I got some lovely cut-glass tumblers there when we were on holiday once. Even Graham used to admit that the Irish are very good with glass and you know how fussy he could be. Maybe Ireland would be a nice place for our next trip, although the sea can get awful rough. I am sorry Laurie has heard bad things about Swanage, and beach parties all night might not exactly be what we’re after. I’m not sure I agree with her that teenagers seem to spoil things these days because of course they are only having a bit of fun. Perhaps we could go and join them, Lizzie. What do you think?

  Yours aye,

  Flo

  17. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

  Dear Mo,

  I shouldn’t have done it. I’m not daft. Of course I know I shouldn’t have done it, but it was only going to be the once.

  George was downstairs. I was on my way down myself to make a cup of tea when I heard him in the hallway, making some pronouncement about these pictures they have up on the walls in here. You know the sort. One is a box full of different knots, another is a whole lot of clay pipes with dates underneath. They’re supposed to stimulate us although it just makes me think we’re in the museum too. They’ll be pinning us up soon. Martin Morris 2008. I could hear Helen Elliott trying to get a word in edgeways but George wouldn’t let her.

  I hesitated at the landing just to catch my breath. But then I noticed I was leaning up against George’s door and before I knew it, I’d opened it and was taking a look inside.

  His room is much bigger than mine but I was told when I came that I had the smallest room in the house. It suits me just fine. And if mine is empty like a monk’s cell, his is just as tidy. Everything in order, shipshape and Bristol-fashion. Remember you saying that once and me laughing at you? I wonder now if it was because that’s how you had to be around him. You were always such a messy thing when you were with me. I was just thinking I couldn’t see you in this room when I spotted your photograph on the bookcase.

  Talk about a moth to a flame. I couldn’t let that go, could I? So I took a few steps inside but then I heard the door shut behind me so I knew I was done in. What could I say if he caught me inside?

  Still, I picked up your photograph. You were on some beach. Your hair, your glorious black hair, was tied up in a scarf but you were laughing. And I looked at your hands and they weren’t clenched but they were wide open as if you were about to catch a ball or something. Perhaps it was one of the children you were playing with? George was standing behind you and he was smiling too. But not at the camera. At you.

  I put it back quickly. I had been going to take it but it felt wrong now that George was in the shot too. I was hungry for something, though. Suddenly it seemed you were everywhere in the room now, and I needed to have a bit of you. I put my hand out and took the first thing I touched. It was a packet of seeds. I popped them in my pocket and left. My heart was thumping but when I got outside, I could hear George still droning on and on downstairs.

  But then I heard a noise and when I looked around, the door to the room opposite was just shutting. Annabel Armstrong. If it had to be anyone it was a good thing it was her. Her mind’s going so no one would believe her word over mine. I rushed back to my room, my heart beating, and then I sat on my bed and looked at the seeds. Cornflowers.

  I’ll plant them in the spring. And I’ll think of you when I do so. You laughing. I didn’t see too much of that. We should have laughed more. All the things they robbed us of.

  M

  18. note from george griffiths to florence oliver

  Dear Mrs. Oliver,

  I know you have been in my r
oom. When I came back on Thursday, I could distinctly smell your cologne and a picture had been knocked over. I have informed the authorities.

  George Griffiths

  19. letter from brenda lewis to nell baker

  Dear Nell,

  Thank you for your letter. I am sorry that your father has made claims about other residents to you, and I would indeed appreciate the opportunity for the two of us to work out a way of coming to an amicable solution. However, I am glad that you have managed to dissuade him from any unnecessary instigation of police proceedings.

  Please be assured that discretion is a given because, as you know, we put the well-being of our residents above all else. I shall look forward to seeing you on Thursday 26, at 2 p.m., while your father is away from Pilgrim House at his weekly chiropodist appointment.

  In the meantime, can I reassure you that no one goes into his room apart from my staff. I appreciate that you do not make any direct accusations of theft, but you will understand that every time your father has brought this matter up, we have carried out thorough checks and nothing of any substance has been missing.

  Yours sincerely,

  Brenda Lewis

  20. letter from mrs. fishwick, burton comprehensive school to nell baker Dear Ms. Baker,

  I have tried several times to call you so I would be grateful if you could ring to make an appointment to discuss Robyn’s progress at school. Her teachers have expressed a number of concerns, and it feels that now would be a good time to talk about the best way she can cope as she thinks about a university education. I have checked our school records and we do not have the details for Robyn’s father on file. I would be grateful if you could forward these to us if at all possible. We often find that it helps to have both parents present.

  I look forward to meeting with you, but in the meantime please do call with any immediate concerns you may have.

  Yours sincerely,

  Bette Fishwick

  21. email from nell baker to angie griffiths

  Angie,

  Why do you never answer your phone? Now I’ve got problems with Robyn. Apparently her teachers reckon she’s not ‘applying herself to her full abilities.’ Well, hello, who is? We’ve had to sign a contract with the school that she would work harder. Can you believe it? And it seems Dad’s been upsetting the other residents. Again.

  Knock, knock, this is your family calling. Dad needs you.

  Nell

  22. letter from claude bichourie to angie griffiths

  Chérie,

  They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend, so may this necklace decorate your neck where I would like to kiss you this weekend. Do not be cross with me for going away. You know I have to spend time with my family.

  You are so beautiful, Angela. I did not mean harm by saying you are looking more womanly than usual. It suits you. When you are by my side, I am the proudest man in Paris. I wish we could shout our love from the rooftops, but in the meantime, my diamonds will have to glitter for me.

  Claude

  23. note left on kitchen table from nell to robyn baker

  ROBYN,

  I HAVE HAD ENOUGH.

  1. TIDY YOUR ROOM.

  2. FINISH YOUR ENGLISH ESSAY.

  3. GO AND VISIT YOUR GRANDFATHER.

  IF I COME BACK FROM WORK AND YOU ARE STILL IN BED, I WILL BAN YOU FROM USING THE COMPUTER, TAKE AWAY YOUR MOBILE PHONE AND STOP YOUR CLOTHES ALLOWANCE FOR A MONTH. I MEAN IT. REMEMBER THAT CONTRACT WE MADE WITH THE SCHOOL. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE.

  24. answer phone message from antoine dupert to angie griffiths

  Angela,

  This is Antoine. However many times I might say I enjoyed our photographic session, it will never be enough. You are more than a natural model, you are a muse. I can’t wait to show you the photographs. They are beautiful. You are beautiful, but the photographs have taken on a life of their own. It’s as if the connection between you and me has created something uniquely new, something special, living, breathing. I think they might be the best piece of work I have done. Please come again. Even if nothing else happens between you and me, and how can I not hope for more of that, we owe it to the world to take more photographs together.

  Ring me.

  25. note from robyn baker

  scribbled on bottom of note 22.

  ROBYN

  I HAVE HAD ENOUGH.

  4. TIDY YOUR ROOM.

  5. FINISH YOUR ENGLISH ESSAY.

  6. GO AND VISIT YOUR GRANDFATHER.

  IF I COME BACK FROM WORK AND YOU ARE STILL IN BED, I WILL BAN YOU FROM USING THE COMPUTER, TAKE AWAY YOUR MOBILE PHONE AND STOP YOUR CLOTHES ALLOWANCE FOR A MONTH. I MEAN IT. REMEMBER THAT CONTRACT WE MADE WITH THE SCHOOL. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE.

  Chill, Mum. It’s the weekend. I’ll go and see Granddad later. Promise.

  Hey, did you know that if you hang over the bed and look at the mirror upside down you see your face as it’s going to be in fifty years’ time? If you’re lucky, and the wind changes, they’ll abduct me into the Pilgrims.

  Love ya,

  Robyn

  P.S. We need more milk. There wasn’t enough for my cereal this morning.

  26. answer phone message from george griffiths to angie griffiths

  Hello Angie,

  This is your father speaking at four thirty on Saturday afternoon. I am most distressed. Robyn stopped by and she has had her tongue pierced. Apparently Nell knows, which renders me even more speechless. I told her to go to the bathroom and take it out straightaway, but she informed me she couldn’t for fear of infection.

  In addition, I have no idea why Robyn came. Even when we talked about her progress at school, she had little to say. And the silly way she dresses makes the other residents feel uncomfortable. I cannot imagine why Nell lets her get away with it. I know Nell would welcome your advice, particularly as you are doing so well and I am sure she looks up to you. Apart from this, I am as well as can be expected.

  This has been your father.

  27. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

  Hello Mo,

  Well, I said I would tell you about Robyn when I had some news. She came today to visit George and I made sure I had the chance to talk to her after. She was a bit upset, to tell you the truth. Things hadn’t gone too well with her grandfather and she was hunting around the reception looking for tissues. I took her into the garden for a bit and we sat on the bench near the apple tree until she felt better. I could feel the packet of seeds I’d taken from George’s room in my pocket. I like to carry them around with me.

  I think you’d like her, Mo. In fact, I’m sure you would. She’s got a bit of your fire about her, once you get past the prickles. But then you had those too, didn’t you? I could never get it right with you. You were always leaving before you even arrived. Like you were just waiting for me to do something wrong so you could tell me you were skipping out.

  But hark at me. I always did get it wrong, didn’t I, angel? Anyway, let me try to describe Robyn in a way that will satisfy you. She’s about your height, tall enough to look into my eyes, and she looks direct. I’ll say that for her. She meets life head-on. Her hair is all over the place, though. And dyed crow-black. She’s got a white face, looks as if she’s ill but it’s only makeup and when she laughs, Mo, she puts her hand up to her mouth as if she’s trying to hold the laughter in to keep it for herself.

  I talked to her about art and poetry because I guessed not many others would think to do that. I didn’t mention you, of course, but it felt right it should be me passing on the names of some of your precious nature poets. Clare, Thoreau, Whitman.

  You see they’re engraved on my heart. She said she wanted to go and live on a farm up in Scotland. Her dad’s Scottish apparently. ‘I’d be on my own,’ she said. ‘I want to live really simply and naturally. Get back to nature.’

  ‘How interesting,’ I lied. Then I asked if she wouldn’t be lonely. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I’m used to that.’

  When sh
e picked up her bag, I noticed it had this sign painted on it in big pink letters. I Hate Life.

  ‘You don’t really,’ I asked her. I wanted to scoop her up and look after her forevermore. It was just like I always felt with you. But then, just like you used to, she surprised me.

  ‘No,’ she said, putting her hand up to her mouth again in that way of hers. ‘But it pisses the teachers off.’

  See what I mean? Apart from the language, she’s got a spark about her that you can’t help but warm to. I went to see her off from reception and as I was coming back, I saw George sitting in the lounge reading the paper. I stood and stared at him. I’m not ashamed to say I could feel my blood rise up then. He has no idea how much he has.

  I have to do something, Mo. I can’t sit back and let him bully them all like this. Not our girls.

  M

  28. email from nell baker to angie griffiths

  Hey Angie

  I can’t believe you’re finally coming over. Dad’ll be pleased as he’ll be able to complain firsthand about Robyn’s piercings. I did wonder what he’d think about it but he hasn’t said anything to me. Mind you, he seemed to help her the other day. She hasn’t said anything, but when she came back from visiting him — of course I had to make her — she’d only been to the library to get out some books of poetry. I asked if they were a school thing but she said no, and when I looked at them I saw they were all the poets Mum liked.

  Do you remember Dad ever reading anything apart from the business pages and his accountancy journals? I’ve been racking my brains but I guess he must have taken more notice of Mum than we gave him credit for. She loved poetry so much, didn’t she? I picked up one of the books last night when she’d gone to bed, and it made me cry.

  Oh, Angie, it will be so nice to have you here. You haven’t been back since the funeral, and that was nearly three years ago. I’d love to talk about Mum. You were always so much closer to her when we were growing up. Do you think she was ever really happy? I don’t know why but when I was thinking about her last night, I thought perhaps she wasn’t. Of course you disappearing made her unhappy but I mean before that too. She was never quite there, was she? She’d always be looking out of the window as if she could see something out there we couldn’t.