‘I don’t think she ever had what you might call long hair,’ he said then. ‘Or at least not after the children were born. Maureen was never one for thinking about her looks. She preferred to be practical.’
Well, I wanted to say, the Mo I knew cared about how she looked right enough, but I bit my tongue. It’s a wonder there’s any left these days.
But then I realised a haircut wasn’t going to be enough to get this girl of ours back home where she belongs. Somehow, if she’s like you, I think it will take more than just a bit of jealousy. So I have been hatching a better plan to bring her back. Something that she won’t be able to say no to.
And when she’s here, I can get her. She will be the final piece of the jigsaw that brings all our fragments together.
‘Do you believe in infinity, George?’ I asked him. He doesn’t like a question without a factual yes or no answer, but I wanted to know what he thought. Because the hope that you and I will be together in the end is the only thing that keeps me going and I needed to hear it from him.
‘Not now, Martin,’ he said, as if I were a child. He wanted to get back to talking about Nell, and whether I thought she’d think less of him, worrying about a woman’s haircut. But I do. I believe in infinity. I just wish it would come sooner.
M
126. note from robyn baker to martin morris
Dear Martin,
You know I can’t come in and do a poetry reading to the Pilgrims, and especially not when you’ve got my other poems and stories still. Please don’t do this to me. I wish you were dead. Or I was. I’m not sure how much more I can take.
Robyn
127. note from brenda lewis to steve jenkins (attached to 124)
Here are George’s committee notes I was telling you about. Is there nothing you can do to head this off before it goes any further? Maybe take George to the pub or find something else that will use up his energy. Helen Elliott came to see me this afternoon, annoyed at not being included. She thought I’d set it up and it was official. I have a bad feeling about this. I suppose if the worse comes to the worst, we could always say we couldn’t read the handwriting.
Bren
128. note from florence oliver to lizzie corn
Dear Lizzie,
It was good to catch up on all your news in your last letter. What a lot has been going on. I think it’s very positive of Laurie to take that attitude about Amy’s teacher calling her in to talk about Troy because there are many mothers who might be devastated. Still, as you are always telling me, mothers know best. And if Laurie isn’t worried about Amy taking up massaging, then I wouldn’t worry at all if I were you. Does Laurie know who it was who alerted the school about Troy?
And fancy Brian being picked to do a philosophy course. At his age too. I think it would boggle my mind now to just to think about all those ideas. To think of him being gifted and talented. Is that what you call it? I must get it right when I tell Susan Reed because she tends to get a bit competitive where children are concerned. I suppose he gets a bit overexcited because he’s so clever. They do say that intelligent children are the naughtiest. Young Sophi often gets a glint in her eye and I know she’s dreaming up trouble. The other day she filled Keith’s teacup twice and forgot George altogether. I told her later I knew she’d done it on purpose, but she just winked at me.
Now Lizzie, I would like to tell you about the photography session because I know you and how you will have been thinking the worst. It wasn’t at all what I expected. I walked up and down the corridor outside Martin’s room a fair few times before knocking on his door, I can tell you. But then, I did that thing you taught me of locking my knees together and deep breathing, and I walked straight in.
I’d been planning all the things I was going to say. I’d even made a note of jokes I could make, but Martin didn’t even turn around, so I just stood there. He’d got his camera hung around his neck and he was fiddling with the lens. I coughed, and he still didn’t look up. Just nodded his head towards where I could see he’d got a chair from the kitchen and placed it in the middle of the room. There was a sheet draped over the back. Also, something I couldn’t work out at first, but then I got it. One of Brenda’s aprons. And a dish towel and a mixing bowl from the kitchen. My first thought was how he’d catch it when Matron found him stealing all these things, but my second was about where I was going to get undressed. IF I did. Third, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get dressed up as a cook. I’d been expecting something glam. Not cooking.
And that’s when I knew I couldn’t do it. ‘You can take a picture of me,’ I said, ‘but you’ll not get me to take my clothes off.’
He looked up then, almost startled.
‘Florence,’ he said, as if he had to remind himself who I was, although, as you know, he normally calls me Mrs. Oliver.
I could feel my hands clench into fists at my side.
‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to take it, make it quick. If you really do have film in your camera, that is.’
He went even more ghostlike than usual. It was the first time I’d been in his room. It’s so small that it’s hard for him to take a step back, but he did. Although his shoulders brushed the wall, he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Stay right there,’ he said. ‘Don’t move.’
So I just kept on standing there. When I let my hands relax, he said no. I was to clench them again and I was to look at him, just as I’d been doing before. Like I didn’t really like him very much. That gave me a shock, because it was as if he was mind reading. I didn’t like him much at that moment. I was full of angry feelings. So I glared at him. I thought if he was Graham standing in front of me now, this is how I’d be staring at him. Like an insect I could just tread on. He wouldn’t know what had hit him because I’d never let him treat me now like he used to. And through all this, Martin snip-snapped away. Once he told me to look over his shoulder, another time down at the ground, but mostly I just looked straight into the lens. I didn’t exactly forget it was Martin on the other side, but I stopped caring. He kept up this chatter about how well I was doing, how good the photographs would be, although when he put the camera down and said that was enough, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted just to keep standing there, glowering.
‘Is that it?’ I asked. My fingers were aching from how I’d been clenching them so I flexed them a bit. I didn’t know what I wanted him to say. Except it wasn’t just that I was beautiful anymore. No, I wanted him to say I was powerful, an Amazon, someone who mattered. All Woman. Do you know, Lizzie, I do believe if he’d have asked me, I could have even roared right then.
‘Do you always want more?’ he asked. And he did that arching eyebrow thing that made me laugh and it broke the moment, which was a relief really. I thought about how he’d called me a minx right at the beginning and what a shock it had given me. So he put the camera up and took another photo of me laughing, and then he said if I wanted I could undo a few buttons on my dress, and I thought, well, yes, maybe I could. First off, I just showed one shoulder, pulling my bra strap down and I took the pins out of my hair. He took a photograph of me like that.
‘I bet you’ve got a beautiful back,’ he said then. And I thought no one in my life has ever commented on my back. I wasn’t sure anyone had even looked at it. So I turned around and let my dress slip down so he could see it. My heart was beating because I was facing the door, and I prayed no one would come in because what on earth would they think we were up to.
‘Will you let me?’ Martin said, and I didn’t know what he was asking at first, but then I realised he wanted me to undo my bra strap. I nodded. I wanted to cry, and I knew I would if I looked around. But he did it ever so gently. He only fumbled a little bit. Graham never bothered to undo it, you know. He’d only pull it up, but Martin obviously knew what he was doing. I still didn’t take my bra off completely, or my dress, although I thought if he touched my skin, I might pop.
‘Beautiful,’ Martin said. I heard him move away,
so I straightened up and let the dress fall down a little bit more although not below my waist. I heard the camera click.
‘Florence,’ Martin called. ‘Will you look over your shoulder at me? Make me the happiest man alive.’
So I tried, but my rheumatism was playing up and besides, I felt all shy, as if we were waking up in bed together, like the first morning with Graham on our honeymoon. When I still loved him. Before I was frightened of him. And it became all mixed up. It was so sweet, so tender in Martin’s room, just as it had been in that B&B with Graham that I forgot what a stupid old fool I was. And how someone like your Troy would laugh at me if he saw what we were doing. It was just me and Martin together. And do you know, at that moment, I was one of them at last, Lizzie. I was one of them proper women I used to look at in Graham’s magazines.
I went back to my room after we’d finished, and just lay on my bed until supper time. I’d been so many different sorts of women in Martin’s room. All the Florences I had no idea were hidden inside of me had come out to have a gander. It was strange, Lizzie, because that’s exactly what it felt like, as if it was me who was doing the looking, not Martin. And yet, he was taking the pictures of me, wasn’t he?
I didn’t even feel ashamed of having taken my dress half off in front of a man who wasn’t my husband. Or a doctor. If anything, it was the first shots when I’d been fully dressed and staring that disturbed me the most. Because that was the real me. And when he saw me, he didn’t turn away, Lizzie. Not even a little bit.
Am I making any sense? I’m not even sure what happened in Martin’s room myself. But I do know I’ve been clutching your little white handkerchief so hard since, it’s a wonder it’s still in one piece. And here is another funny thing. After we’d finished, Martin said something to me that I didn’t take in at the time. It was only when I was back in my room that I realised how he’d said how lucky I was being born a woman.
I suppose we have to wait now for the photographs to come, but I don’t know if I even want to see them. It was enough to have them taken.
Anyway, enough of silly old me. Flirty Flo, you’ll be saying. Let me know about the school, won’t you, and although we haven’t always seen eye to eye, wish Laurie well. However brave she’s being it must be difficult. She’s lucky to have you.
Yours aye,
Flo
129. email from nell baker to angie griffiths
Hello Angie,
It’s your newly shorn sister here. So I finally had my appointment with Dad’s hairdresser and even if I say it myself, it’s not too bad. Even Robyn has given it the seal of approval. You would have laughed at Dad. He only waited outside with Martin while I was being done. They set up these chairs outside the room, and the two of them sat there until I was finished. Mrs. Oliver came too. The three of them have formed quite a little clique. Can you imagine Dad with friends? I can’t tell you the relief of not having him on my back the whole time, but I do wonder what Mum would have made of it. Don’t tell me you never imagined what it would have been like to have had a normal family because I know you used to lie at school too, and pretend we had people around on Sundays and stuff because I looked in your books. I don’t think I ever told you how I wrote an essay once about how we’d been on holiday with another family. ‘Every evening we ate and played together’, as if that was something marvellous. But then the teacher put it up on the wall, so before parents’ night I had to find a way of creeping into the classroom and tearing it down so Mum wouldn’t see it. I never knew whether Mrs. Clifford had mentioned it to her.
But now Dad has more of a social life than me. They’ve even set up a committee which will apparently suit him just fine. ‘Have you got a file?’ I asked him as a joke. You know what he had always been like with his files, but apparently Mrs. Oliver has bested him here. She’s the committee secretary and has got TWO files. If she wasn’t so keen on Martin, I might say she and Dad could get together and open their own filing cabinet. It’s a thought.
Will try to attach a photograph of the hair anyway. I need your opinion before I hit the streets of Bedford with confidence. Mark says it’s OK, but he would. He’s always hanging around me at work now wanting to talk about cooking. I tease him that it’s food porn.
Nell
130. answer phone message from george griffiths to angie griffiths
Hello Angie,
This is your father speaking to you. Or speaking to your machine. Thank you for your card of a French apple tart with your note on the back about your mother’s cooking. I wanted to tell you that we both knew it was you who ate that whole date and walnut loaf one day after school. She couldn’t stop laughing when she told me, but we pretended we thought someone might have crept into the house to steal it to see if you would own up. Even when Nell had nightmares about the phantom cake thief, you still said nothing. You always were such a stubborn child. And so hungry. Mind you, poor Nell was always having nightmares. If it wasn’t a cake thief, it was a playground spy or a Christmas-tree robber. We even had to get rid of the big trees we used to have every year because of that last one.
At least I was able to do something nice for her the other day. She had her hair cut by one of the girls who comes here, and I must say she looks beautiful. I can’t claim all the credit because it was Martin’s idea. He thought Nell needed cheering up, but that she’d prefer the idea to come from me. I will never get to grips with the fairer sex, but it seems to have done the trick.
Martin said that one of the helpers here, Steve, thought she looked the cat’s meow, not that this is anything to boast about.
Steve isn’t really quite the thing. I’m not sure why Mrs. Oliver and Martin give him the time of day. I am trying to get his police records at the moment. Do you have contacts? I had hopes for Nell with a policeman she seemed to be friendly with, but Martin tells me I was mistaken.
Anyway, if you want your hair cut, I will be pleased to arrange it. I think even you with your Parisian standards would be satisfied with young Chrissie’s work.
Angie, I forgot to say it is six minutes past two on Thursday afternoon and this has been your father.
131. email from nell baker to angie griffiths
Dad said I looked beautiful??? Holy moly.
132. note from claude bichourie to angie griffiths
Angela,
I cannot understand your note at all, or why you are angry with me. Am I not always telling you how beautiful you are? And what do you mean you had some photographs taken? But this is a good thing, no? Particularly if I am understanding rightly what you mean by a sweetheart shot. You are a wicked beautiful girl, and I am the luckiest man in Paris.
I will be with you tomorrow night.
133. email from nell baker to angie griffiths
No, I don’t remember Mum ever having photographs taken at all. It doesn’t sound exactly like the kind of thing she would do, does it? I seem to remember she hated posing for the camera more than anything.
But here’s a strange thing. After I read your email, I went to look at the few photographs we’ve got of Mum and one of them has gone. I can’t find it anywhere.
I suppose Robyn might have got it. After James left us, I found this box full of photographs of him at the back of a cupboard. Not whole photographs, but bits of his face she’d cut out of other pictures. I didn’t say anything because I thought she’d grow out of it. I’ll ask her when she comes back but she’s very sensitive at the moment. She burst out crying yesterday just because I said there was an old woman outside work trying to get across the road and the cars wouldn’t stop for her. I felt awful.
Why don’t you just ask Dad whether Mum ever went to a photographer?
He’s changed a lot recently. He’s almost normal.
Kiss to tadpole. Will you tell Dad about him or her too? It’s killing me keeping it a secret.
134. letter from martin morris to robyn baker
Dear Robyn,
Your very dramatic letter touched me treme
ndously. Please don’t worry any longer about me coming to your house for our reading sessions, enjoyable as they have been. I will write to your mother immediately and tell her how the kind of thing you are writing has been too much for me. She will be puzzled but will soon understand what I mean when I show her your work.
Also put your little mind at rest regarding the poetry reading here. It is hard to stand up in public and say your own words at the best of times. So I will save you the trouble. How about if I read them out myself? You won’t need to be there, but I will make sure you get all of the glory.
However shy they may claim to be, there is nothing worse for an artist not to get the recognition they deserve. Trust me on that one. I don’t intend for that to happen to you. What a pity you don’t have your father to protect you. I imagine that he would have known what to do in a situation like this.
Yours,
Martin
135. email from nell baker to angie griffiths
There’s something wrong with Robyn. I’m worried sick. It’s not just her being a teenager anymore, but when she looks at me her eyes seem dead and I can’t get her to talk at all. I hate to say it, Angie, but it reminds me of when you and Mum weren’t getting on at the end. That’s why I’m writing now. Tell me what would have helped. Please, Angie, tell me what I’m doing wrong and how I can make things better.
136. letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn
Dear Lizzie,
How upsetting for you to be blamed like this. Does Laurie have any actual grounds for suspecting you of being the one who went to the school about Troy? She must at least let you tell your side of the story so you can prove her wrong.
Getting The Picture Page 14
