‘You could send it to him,’ I said.
But she just shook her head. ‘Too much trouble,’ she said. ‘I just like thinking about living in a tree.’
‘People not nature,’ I reminded her. ‘When are you going to do another story?’
She’s started to ask why didn’t I want her talking about her poetry to George. She’s too softhearted, I reckon, but I need to build up the relationship between her and me first. What we need is something we can do together, something George has no idea about but that will let me get to her mum too. I reckon the best route to Nell is through her daughter. Mums and daughters, eh? You should know, love.
And now I have to go to make it up to Florence Oliver. I was a bit short with her earlier on account of her going on and on about some pen pal’s family, and now I’m feeling remorseful. She just needs to be a bit more pushy with George if she’s going to have an impact on him. We need a bit of luck. Don’t fancy waving your magic dust our way, do you, love?
M
66. postcard from florence oliver to lizzie corn
Dear Lizzie,
I thought you might like this photograph of Princess Di’s grave for your Royal collection. I hope you don’t already have it. Just to let you know your ‘Plan’ has worked. I’ll say no more now, but wish me luck.
Flo
67. email from nell baker to angie griffiths
Nope, of course I won’t tell Dad about the baby. What do you think I am, stupid? But what do you mean you haven’t decided what to do? Surely you’re going to have it. Can I call you?
68. answer phone message from antoine dupert’s studio to angie griffiths
Madame Griffiths, this is Antoine’s studio. Antoine has asked me to tell you that the photographs from your session are waiting for collection. Would you like us to send them to you? In which case, I would be grateful if you could call us with your address, which seems to be missing from our records.
69. note from robyn baker to martin morris (left at pilgrim house)
Dear Martin,
I came to see you today, but Steve said you were in your room and I only had a few minutes in between lessons. Anyway, I wanted you to be the first to know because, guess what! I had a letter from Open magazine saying they want to publish one of my poems. It’s one about a skylark. I got the idea from those paintings you told me about.
I know it’s nature and you don’t like that, but they said they wanted to see more too. Mum’s going to be well pleased. I’ve put a copy in the envelope if you feel like reading it. I asked Steve to give this to you and I also made him promise not to tell Granddad as you said. When do you think I can? I know he told you that he didn’t want to see me, but I’d love him to know I can do something good. I’ll take out my piercing if you think that would help. Do you?
Rob
70. answer phone message from george griffiths to angie griffiths
Hello Angie, or should I say Angie’s machine. We’re developing quite a relationship here, the machine and I. It’s two thirty on Friday, and I fear I ring with some distressing news.
I have found the culprit for the petty thieving I have been enduring and it has come as a shock to me, as it will to you, that it is a family member. None other than Robyn. I looked out of the window of the sitting room earlier and saw her leaving Pilgrim House. However, when I went down to see whether she had left me a message, there was nothing and apparently she had not asked for me. Obviously I went straight to my room to carry out a thorough check and noted that two of the books on my windowsill had been knocked over. In addition, the book you gave me last Christmas, The Dummy’s Guide to Investment, is missing. I have always presumed that the book was your idea of a joke, but kept it for sentimental reasons.
Obviously this book can be of no interest to her, so her hooliganism can only be a cry for help. I want Robyn to know that I know, and thus give her the chance to confess. I have always prided myself on being a fair-minded person, and am willing to let bygones be bygones.
It is quiet here today. Two of our residents, Catherine Francis and Helen Elliott, have taken to going out shopping together. I hope this will not be the start of cliques forming. I remember from work that female friendships could often end in tears as women have a natural tendency to become unstable and fall out with each other. However, it seems that the other residents have been asking for me to spend more time with them. Nell told me this, and to be honest it has come at just the right time. I will start to plan and form friendships in an orderly manner.
In fact, I have been thinking for some time that a Residents Committee could be just what is needed here, particularly as there have been many mishaps recently on the administration front. I have often found that firm structures and rules are the best way to maintain the peace we all so much deserve.
Your mother would often let a whole afternoon go by because she had become engrossed with a novel or a book of poems. When I retired, we established a rota of set mealtimes, fixed domestic duties, and leisure time. You, of course, were in France by then, but I think even your mother would admit that things in the house ran more smoothly when we followed my patterns. Sometimes she would be too tired to read in the evening and consequently, less plagued by the worries that could so often beset her.
Anyway, I will keep you informed of events.
Your father
71. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths
Dear Mo,
When I was living on my own, I used to have your photograph out all the time. Now I can only put it up sometimes but I like to look at it when I write to you. Your hands are so tightly fisted by your sides that you look as if you want to punch me. Perhaps you did. ‘Take my photo,’ you said that day in the studio. ‘But you’ll not get me to take my clothes off.’
I wasn’t used to a challenge like that. Most women who came to the studio were desperate to see themselves through someone else’s eyes, even mine, and if they had to strip off, then so much the better. But you both wanted it and were scared of it. Were you frightened you might never be able to stop? I put my finger out then, do you remember, and I just touched your cheekbone. It was as if I was wiping away a tear, but you weren’t crying, Mo. Not then anyw- oh blow, there’s someone at the door.
*.
I’m back again. You’ll never guess who that was. George. He’s never come to my room before. I only just had time to slip your photograph back in the box before he walked in. He stood there for a moment. My heart was thumping in case he’d seen you, but he didn’t. He must have seen the other pictures I’d piled on top of you, though.
‘Not a thing you forget,’ he said, standing there as cool as a cucumber. ‘The sight of a naked woman.’
‘No,’ I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. We carried on saying nothing like that until he asked if I wanted to go for a walk with him. ‘With you?’ I asked. I thought for a minute he knew something, and this was going to be our big confrontation. At last. Remember that letter I put through your letterbox, Mo? For the week after, I’d jump every time someone came to the door. I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t come to me, but I feared it might be him too. Fear and longing. The same feelings I think you had in the studio.
‘Yes,’ he replied, slowly now, as if I wasn’t quite getting the message. Which of course I wasn’t. ‘A walk, with me.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘But give me a bit of time to get ready first.’
‘I’ll be downstairs in half an hour,’ he said, and then he left without another word. Not even good-bye.
I’ve got five minutes left before I should go. I just want to finish this letter and then I need to think. The mountain has come to me and I have to play this one right. It’s like when Frank Bradley came to the studio that day and told me to come in with him on the magazine operation or stop altogether. I didn’t hold my nerve then, but I will now. Wish me luck.
M
72. letter from nell baker to martin morris
Dear Mr
. Morris,
Robyn has told me how much you helped her with her poem. We are very proud of her recent success, but I had no idea she has been pestering you for help. She has assured me that you have encouraged her visits but please let me know if she is being an inconvenience.
With best wishes, and thanks again,
Nell
73. email from nell baker to angie griffiths
God forbid, poor Robyn should actually be allowed to have something good happen to her for the first time in years. I can’t believe Dad’s been saying she stole from him. As if she would. What on earth would he have that she might want? His athlete’s foot cream? After your last email, I asked her straight out and it turns out she was visiting another resident at Pilgrim House who’s been helping her with poetry. She’d wanted to thank him.
Anyway, it proves Brenda Lewis was right with her theory that nothing was ever taken from Dad in the first place. He must have been imagining things. Robyn doesn’t even want him to know about her poem being published now, and I’m inclined to agree. We are pretty practiced at keeping family secrets, after all. She says he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to see her too. That’s why she’s been talking to Martin.
Strange about this Martin Morris, though. Do you think I should be worried he’s taking such an interest? I’ve written to him just to let him know I know about him and Robyn. Best to have it out in the open.
I’ve just been up to her room and she’s ripped Dad’s schedule off the wall. Instead she’s put up a photograph of a baby fox blinking out from its hole. I guess that’s what she feels like and I don’t really feel like sticking up for Dad this time. I took the bits of the schedule, though. I didn’t want to see them just thrown away.
Where are you by the way? Are you ever at home? You can’t be out having fun anymore at least. Not now you’re pregnant!
74. letter from martin morris to nell baker
Dear Nell,
It has been my pleasure to spend time with Robyn so please don’t apologise. She must make you very proud. I have been interested in poetry for a long time, and it is especially heartening to find a young person nowadays who appreciates my old favourites and doesn’t find them – and me – too boring. She mentioned that you often quoted from some of the poems we have been looking at. She even thought you might have told her my own particular favourite line, ‘Love lies beyond the tomb, the earth, which fades like dew! I love the fond, the faithful and the true’. If you ever had time to join me for a cup of tea and a talk about poetry, it would make me very happy, but I understand that family visits come first, and, of course, your father may not want to share the pleasure of your company.
Yours,
Martin
75. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths
Dear Mo,
I’ve just written to Nell. It was so strange. I wanted to ask if she remembered coming to my studio when she was a little girl. She must have only been about three or four. Remember how you made me take all the pictures down from everywhere and put them in a cupboard. It took hours. You brushed her hair, and sat her on the stool but you wouldn’t let me take her photograph. I loved to see you brush her hair, the comfort you gave her, the love. Many years later, I watched you both walking down the street. She was a teenager by then, too old to touch really, but I saw you just lift your hand and touch her hair at the back. I don’t think she even noticed, or if you wanted her to. You held your fingers a few inches from her head and then, I’ll never forget this, you put your hand up to your face and shut your eyes. You were inhaling your daughter.
It doesn’t look as if anyone has brushed Nell’s hair or loved her like that for years. But don’t you fear, if I couldn’t save you, I’ll save her.
M
76. email from nell baker to angie griffiths
Me again. Just to say how wrong can you be? I got a letter from that old man at Pilgrim House. You know, the one Robyn had been talking about poetry with, and he’s only invited me to have tea with him.
His letter made me shiver because he quoted that line Mum always used to go on about, you know, the one about loving going on after you’ve died. Hah, I wish James had listened to that being-true-and-faithful bit. Anyway, this Martin made me cry, saying I should be proud of Robyn. I can’t remember the last time anyone told me that. And to think I told Dad to make friends with him. What have I let this Martin in for?
I think I’m going to accept his invitation to tea. Just him and me, away from Pilgrim House. Dad doesn’t need to know. You could be right about Robyn looking for a father figure but she knows she can see James whenever she wants. It’s her decision, and neither of us have put any pressure on her either way.
And about the other thing, I’m glad you’ve decided to have the baby. You’re not alone and you can always come here. Anytime. We can make arrangements when you’re over. It’s not too late for us to be a family, surely. Robyn would love it. In his defence, Dad asked her to go to tea the other day but I said she didn’t have to if she didn’t want to, so she said no. I told her I was proud of her. Perhaps I should start saying it a bit more often.
77. letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn
Dear Lizzie,
Well, you can release your breath and uncross your fingers. George and I had our meeting and that’s all it was. A business meeting. He’d even drawn up an agenda. Point number one was ‘Explain that investments can go up as well as down’. It felt like the time I had to go in and see the bank manager after Graham died and he asked me if I knew how a credit card worked. Admittedly Graham never liked me to shop, but who did the manager think had been balancing the books for years? Rather well too it seems, according to this manager. ‘Do you know how much money your husband has left you?’ he asked, and I got a little satisfaction from seeing his face when I told him the exact amount down to the last penny.
Remember that investment club we started on the army base when the men were away on the German tour? We made a fair packet, and it taught me a lot.
Anyway, I was a good girl and played dumb with George. I couldn’t quite manage the ‘you’re so clever’ line, but I sat still while he went through points two to ten, pretended I’d never heard of an ISA or compound interest. Trouble is, for no reason at all, I got this picture of George pleasing himself on a bed of pound notes, and that was it. I thought I was going to burst with giggles. Daft of me. He looked a bit cross and put away his file. Did I tell you about his file? He’s got this black clipboard, with a pencil taped to a piece of string. He does make me think of Graham. He was always tying ballpoints to the phone, or to the calendar in the kitchen because he thought I would hide them to spite him. Well, I did, but it’s in the same way I take things from George’s room. Some men need to worry about the small things, otherwise who knows what they’ll get it into their heads to start accusing you of.
So to cut a long story short, George has left me to have a think. He’s written out some notes and I’m to come back to him. He’s got it a bit wrong because I’d be leaving myself open on the futures front with the plan he’s given me, so I’ll have to come up with a way of not letting on about that, but at least we managed to spend some time together without me losing my temper at him too much and there’s another meeting planned. Martin will be pleased about that.
The only time he seemed human was when he mentioned Robyn towards the end. Apparently she’s refusing to come to tea with him, but I said I was sure I’d seen her around. He went a bit blustery then and said he had to go. Teenagers are always awkward.
And now I’m off to read the financial pages again. Slowly slowly catches tiger, or is it lamb. I can’t remember.
Yours aye,
Flo
78. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths
Dear Mo,
Silly old fool that I am, I was enjoying keeping you waiting until I told you what went on with George. But then I thought hang on a minute, who am I kidding? If I don’t speak to you, then you’re
not exactly going to come chasing after me.
And now it’s your husband knocking on my door.
I thought he was joking when he said we could go for a walk because it was raining brass monkeys out there, but it turned out he meant it. He was actually tapping his fingers on the reception desk by the time I got down, his coat all buttoned up and his scarf neatly wrapped around his neck. He gave my getup a bit of a look. I’ve taken to wearing tracksuits because elasticized waists are a godsend now my fingers aren’t too clever, but I could tell he thought it was letting the side down.
We set off around the garden. I could see Brenda Lewis looking out at us from her window so I started talking lively-like because I thought that on the whole it might do me good if it came out I was friendly with George. The others would be relieved I was taking him off their backs. Keith Crosbie in particular is always threatening to deck him, although when Keith’s with Beth and they’re Bethandkeith, it’s all smiles and let’s keep everything lovely for Beth, so I don’t think George realises.
‘So,’ I started, but then I couldn’t think of anything to say and I just nodded a few times. He looked at me a bit strangely though, so I had to go on. I’ve learned to talk about children and families with the other residents, but I didn’t want to go there. Not with him. ‘I didn’t always want to take photographs of women, you know,’ I lied. I was going to say I wanted to be an accountant like him, or something that would make him feel easy, but then the words kept tumbling out. It was nerves, of course. There I was walking around the garden with your husband, and all I knew was that I shouldn’t mention you.
‘I can understand that,’ he said. ‘It must have been a strange profession.’
That got to me, but I managed to keep my temper. ‘No,’ I repeated, ‘I wanted to be a dancer.’
Getting The Picture Page 8
