Getting The Picture

by Salway, Sarah;

  Dad’s ankle is less swollen now, and he’s looking forward to seeing you. Robyn’s perked up too. She’s been seeing more of James, and Steve at Pilgrim House has taken her under his wing to help run this youth club of his. It gives me a bit more time. I’d like you to meet Mark.

  Nell

  167. answer phone from george griffiths to angie Griffiths

  Hello Angie,

  This is your father talking to your machine. Wretched ankle. It spoiled the whole evening for us, but Florence has been a saint. She says she has an ulterior mission to get me ready for dancing again, and I must say I might rather look forward to it.

  Mind you, I wonder what it would be like to go to Buenos Aires. It’s such a shame your mother never liked to travel, but we had some good holidays in Bethington, didn’t we?

  Actually, Angie, I never really liked it there. The sea was always so cold, and the only advantage I could see was that it was miles from anywhere. No one we knew had ever heard of it, but your mother said that was what she liked.

  I’m not speaking ill here, Angie. She was a marvellous mother. We were all so lucky.

  The doctor says I should be walking fine by the time you come. All I need is a bit of rest. Poor Martin is blaming himself. He has made a big speech about spending some time with me later this afternoon. He says he has something to show me.

  And this has been your father.

  168. letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

  Dear Lizzie,

  And you thought you had miseries. I wish my life was over.

  Why do I always persist in thinking I am the type of person good things can happen to? Didn’t Graham always tell me how I spoiled things?

  Martin has shown George those photographs he took of me.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ I asked him. I’d gone to take George a nice cup of tea because he can’t move far after his accident, and Martin was just coming out of the room. I’d not even seen the photographs yet but I must admit when he told me and I saw the envelope in his hand, I wanted to pull it from him and burn them all without looking. It felt so stupid. I tried to remember the shoot, but now I couldn’t think of that strong woman looking back at the camera. All I could think about was slipping off my blouse to show my back.

  What will George think of me?

  ‘I thought it might cheer him up,’ Martin said, ‘but he just wants to be left alone.’

  I went to go past Martin into George’s room, but Martin stopped me. ‘He particularly doesn’t want to see you,’ he said.

  I spilled the tea then. Left the cup on the floor and the liquid blooming into a stain on the carpet. I ran back here and lay down on the bed. I’ve only just managed to get up. I shall have to leave, of course. I can’t bear how Catherine and Helen will look at me. And Robyn and Nell too. Just as we were getting on so well. And I’ve no sons to buy expensive kitchen equipment and keep my place.

  George particularly didn’t want to see me. As if I’m shameful. But when Martin was taking the photographs, it didn’t feel like that, Lizzie. It didn’t feel dirty or stupid or anything bad. It felt like my last chance to prove that life was still worth living.

  Well, it’s not now.

  We shall have to go to Bournemouth and cry together. Two old women no one else wants.

  How did we mess everything up so? Perhaps we needed Graham and Frank to keep us in order more than we thought.

  It’s that which hurts more than nearly everything.

  Yours aye,

  Flo

  169. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

  Dear Mo,

  The last few months here, surrounded by memories of you, have been the happiest of my life and now with Angie coming, it looks set to get even happier. I should have trusted you all along. It’s as if you sent me here to find out about Angie, and give us a final chance to be together.

  And I appreciate that, angel.

  I just wish I could feel a bit more enthusiastic about it. I sit in my chair for hours at a time, not even getting the old photographs out. Not even writing to you properly on paper. Just in my mind. Telling you again and again everything that we’ve been through together. From the minute you walked into my studio and told me I wasn’t going to get your clothes off.

  I bet Florence is wishing she’d kept to that. You didn’t think I’d let her have George, did you? Everything would be working out perfectly if it wasn’t for all the fuss and attention George is getting with his stupid food. Somehow I wasn’t expecting that.

  M

  170. note from claude bichourie to angie griffiths

  Dear Angie,

  The lawyer has passed on your recent communication and, even despite your increasingly strange behaviour, I am at a loss to understand what is happening. Are you now saying this child is not mine? Do you have proof of this? You understand that these are not matters that can be treated purely emotionally, I hope.

  I will come to your flat this afternoon to discuss this with you. Please be there this time. You are no longer a child who can run away from difficult situations.

  Claude

  171. email from nell baker to angie griffiths

  Nope, your letter didn’t come this morning either, but I can’t go to Martin’s room and hunt around for some papers you say might be there. Who do you think I am? First Robyn gets caught stealing from him, and then me. People will really start to think we’ve gone mad. And what would I be looking for? Honestly, Angie, you will have to tell me more.

  172. note from florence oliver to george griffiths

  (attached to the file containing the residents committee minutes)

  Dear George,

  I know you don’t want to see me, and I can understand why, but I am a silly woman and not a bad one.

  I have never had pictures like that taken of me before. The only other person to see me naked was my husband. And that’s why, if you can imagine, I wanted to have it done once. Just to see what it felt like.

  Well, I know now.

  I am returning the minutes from the Residents Committee meetings. I am presuming you will no longer want me as secretary.

  Florence

  173. answer phone message from nell baker to angie griffiths

  OK, this one time I will do it. But you can’t keep hiding, Angie. You will have to explain everything soon.

  174. note from robin baker to steve jenkins

  Hey Steve,

  Granddad has asked me to let you have the minutes of the Residents Committee. He says he’s too tired to do it anymore, but he said to tell you, and I quote, ‘Mrs. Oliver has proved herself to be exceptional at organization.’ Coming from Granddad, that’s almost a declaration of love!

  Rob

  175. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

  Dear Mo,

  So it seems you are not the only member of your family who can’t leave me alone. I came back to my room this morning to find Nell here, looking anxious.

  ‘Are you waiting for me, dear?’ I asked, but I was trying to sneak a glance under the bed at the same time, to check nothing had been disturbed. You know what I am like about people snooping around me. It wasn’t the same as when I caught Robyn because that was all part of my plan.

  Nell nodded and I beckoned to her to sit on the chair. I took the bed, although this put me at a disadvantage as my feet didn’t touch the floor. I have taken to lying on the bed, my head propped up by pillows for hours, but this didn’t seem appropriate when there was someone else in the room.

  ‘So what is it?’ I asked, but she didn’t seem to have anything to say. I waited as patiently as I could. I even laced my fingers together in the way George does. The trouble with Nell is that every time I see her I think of the little girl having her hair brushed on my studio stool. Surely she must have some memory of me. I’m waiting for her to recognize me. To prove I did exist all those years ago.

  ‘I was wondering if you knew my mother,’ she said then. I was so shocked at how sh
e must have read my mind that I just stared at her open-mouthed.

  And that was when I should have told her everything. Should have talked about how she came to my studio with her mother one day many years ago. I should have asked her if she knew that her mother looked out of the window most evenings, half-knowing, half-hoping I would be there.

  But I didn’t. I just said, ‘And how could I?’

  To which, of course, she had no reply. She stood up, brushed her skirt from under her, and I wanted to call her back then, to tell her everything, because that’s exactly the gesture you used to make, but I couldn’t speak. I need to wait for Angie. She’s the one I need to tell all this to.

  It was only as Nell was going, I noticed the top of my box of letters to you was half-opened, but by then it was too late. At least, Angie will understand everything.

  M

  176. email from nell baker to angie griffiths

  Of course Martin never knew Mum. I asked him straight out. It was awful. He came back when I was in his room and because he thought I was looking for him, I had to listen to him explain how important we’ve all been for him. Even Robyn, he kept saying. He’s a good man, Angie. I can’t understand you at all. And yes, I’ve got a piece of his handwriting now, although it’s just an envelope with a woman’s name on it. Mo. You’re not expecting me to open his letter, are you?

  Time to stop these silly games, Angie. Mum was never frightened of anyone, let alone Martin. Just as Robyn isn’t. She’d tell me if she was. Although I was surprised to find a folder with Robyn’s name in Martin’s room. I didn’t have time to look inside and I would have taken that too if he hadn’t come back just then. It’s probably just some of her poems from when they were working together. I’ll ask her about it. She’s been back to dancing, did I tell you? Steve took his youth group, and Robyn joined them. The last thing I want is for you to fill her head with fanciful thoughts. Not now, when she’s really coming out of her shell.

  177. letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

  Dear Lizzie,

  And just when I thought my heart couldn’t break any more, George is back in the hospital. He was taken there last night, and no one will say what’s wrong.

  But I know.

  It’s my fault. I have shocked him to death with my photographs. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk to me, although I’ve heard he passed the file about the Residents Committee back to Brenda with a note saying he didn’t want to be involved anymore.

  And now his empty room is just as Annabel’s room was when she’d gone, but doubly so. I’m not sure if any of us realised how much Pilgrim House was about George. I’ve noticed we’ve all been filling in his charts with how many cups of tea we have. Even how many biscuits we’ve eaten. If only we’d done this before.

  ‘It’ll be his ankle,’ Susan said, staring at me as if that was my fault too because of the dancing. I can’t look at Martin. We all are keeping to ourselves as much as we can.

  So, Lizzie, if George stays in the hospital, there may indeed be a room for you here after all. But it’s not exactly how we would have wanted it, is it?

  Florence

  178. answer phone message from nell baker to angie Griffiths

  Hey Angie,

  I’ve just come back from the hospital and it’s going to be OK. Dad’s going to pull through. Oh, I’m sorry to be crying. It’s just such a relief. They told me to come home for some food and sleep. I didn’t want to, but the nurse promised he’d be fine. I’ll go back after lunch.

  Angie, stop this nonsense about Martin. Please. It’s not the right time.

  We need to talk about more important things like why you find it so difficult to come home and why you stopped talking to Mum. Whatever it was that happened, tell me about it.

  What on earth could be so bad for you here?

  Your letter has come, by the way. I’ll open it after I’ve had a bath. I’m exhausted. Dad looked so little lying there in the hospital bed. When Mum was ill at the end, I felt that her death finally gave her back to us. As if her last days were so bad and painful that they took all the good memories of her away, and it was only when she died that I didn’t need to feel guilty anymore.

  But it’s different with Dad. We’re only just getting to know him. I feel like Robyn must have felt when she used to stamp her feet and say ‘it’s not fair.’

  OK, long bath now and then I’ll read your letter. Promise.

  Nell

  179. letter from angie griffiths to nell baker (attached to letter 180) Dear Nell,

  This won’t be easy for you, but when you read this letter, you’ll see why I didn’t want to tell you about it by email. I’m sure that the M of this letter is Martin. In which case, it can’t be a coincidence that he turns up in Dad’s home and suddenly everything changes.

  I never spoke to Mum about it. What could I say? I think she knew I found the letter because she never chased me after I’d gone to Paris and made it clear I didn’t want to speak to her. I used to long for her to come after me at the beginning so she could give me a proper explanation for it all, but then I came to terms with the fact she was probably too ashamed. Of course, by then I’d met Claude and she didn’t have my address but even so, she had no right to keep something like this from me.

  I guess you can understand now why I didn’t want to come home. What would I have ever said to Dad? Although, sometimes I used to wonder if Dad was like how he was because of what happened. And me too. I’m not proud of who I’ve become.

  Because look at the date on the letter, Nell. What if it wasn’t just a brief affair Mum got caught up in, but something with lasting consequences? If you do the math, it matches completely with my birth date. Now you see why I had to go. Anyway, it feels good to share this now. And more important too now that I’ve got little tadpole inside me.

  And no, in answer to your earlier question, I’m not sure if it’s Claude’s or not. There might even be a strange photographer who has that honour. Well, they do say like mother, like daughter, don’t they? I must admit I’d always wondered what it would be like to have those sort of photos taken. Anyway, now you see why I want you to keep Martin away from Robyn and Dad. And stay away yourself.

  Love from your sister,

  Angie

  180. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths (dated 15 september 1974)

  Dear Mo,

  You make it sound almost easy.

  You think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore. It will cause too much pain for too many people. After all, parting won’t kill us, and we can be friends. You’ll have a special place in your heart for me.

  Really. Well, what about me? Don’t I get a say in all this?

  I love you, Mo. From the minute you came into my studio – and let’s remember that, it was you who walked into my life – I have known my North. It is wherever you are.

  Don’t think you can walk out on me like this. That it won’t kill us. That I’ll want to rest just in the ‘special place’ you keep for me, tucked away from everything good and clean. I’m not a dirty secret, or a memory you will take out sometimes and smile over.

  I will never stop loving you. You are me, and I am you. Apart from you, I am nothing, not even half. You are my sweetheart shot to my heart.

  I will follow you, Mo, wherever you go. Even years from now, you will look out of your window and see me there. You will go and pick up your mail and my letter will be waiting. You will open a magazine and see my photographs.

  Let’s talk about pain then, shall we?

  Come and see me. I deserve that at least. I will be in the studio all week.

  M

  181. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

  Dear Mo,

  George is in the hospital again and I have just been to see him.

  I didn’t mean to. It was just that I was hanging around reception when Brenda suddenly bundled me into her car saying she couldn’t bear how upset I was about George, so although she sho
uldn’t she’d take me to the hospital. I didn’t disagree because I thought I might enjoy the visit. Florence seems to think it’s his last few days on earth if her wailing and moaning is anything to go by, and if so, then I wanted to tell him about us.

  But then, halfway there I looked across at Brenda crouched over the wheel pushing the car to go even faster, and it struck me that if he went before me, then he would get to you first.

  It would be like the dancing. One false step, and I’d be back on the substitute’s bench.

  But I needn’t have worried. He wasn’t quite sitting up in bed, but he was awake enough to raise his hand when I walked in. There was a chair already drawn up, but no sign of Nell or Robyn. I looked around for a card from Angie, but there wasn’t anything. Not even a flower or a grape. Just bleeping machines in every corner.

  I sat down, and he nodded at me. He looked as if the oxygen had been sucked out of him till he was just a husk. It was hard to imagine how this man could ever have had the power to stop me getting what I wanted.

  ‘So how’s the ankle?’ I asked. ‘Brenda’s been at us about going against her advice with the dancing.’

  It seemed everyone had a different theory for George’s illness. Me, I thought he was just being bloody-minded. Now, it wasn’t just the fact of you and him getting together in heaven that was worrying me, but if he died and Angie came over for the funeral, then it would spoil the excitement of her picking me over him as her dad.

  ‘Bring me them,’ he asked as I got up to go. He had to gesture to me to lean right over him so I could hear. His voice was little more than a whisper.

  ‘Bring you what?’ I knew what he meant but I wanted him to beg.

  ‘Trisha’s sweetheart shots,’ he said, and then his head fell right back. He shut his eyes. ‘But please, please don’t tell anyone about me and her. Not Nell, or Angie.’