Getting The Picture (16 page)

I suppose Mahad kept me on because, even on my worst days, I didn't miss a morning. Every two weeks he would force me to clear out my empty bottles into boxes he'd take to the dump. He wouldn't say anything, just sat in his car and hooted his horn until I brought them down. I was lucky to find someone who would make no judgments, not even as, slowly, my life closed down into the four walls of my studio, the routine of the shop downstairs, and the days I got to watch you.

So it hurts to find that, while I was suffering all this, you were cooking away without a care in the world. I thought when I came here that I was going to find out things that would colour in the gaps so I could go to my end finally able to take you in my arms and the years we'd missed out on would just dissolve. But I've found the opposite. Even George was busy taking other women shopping while you were stuffing my own daughter with food. It doesn't seem fair to me.

Mahad means goodness, you know. He told me that once, when the two of us were sitting behind the counter of that newsagent, sipping that sweet tea he loved. ‘English builder's tea,' he said once. ‘The blood that ran through the veins of the empire, and now mine. Not yours, though. You have something more evil in yours, I think.' We were watching the rain fall on the street outside, a few people rushing past under their umbrellas, and no one coming in. I suppose his parents hoped for something different when they called their son ‘goodness', but they'd been right in their way. Who are any of us to say what was good and what was... not good. Sometimes just surviving is enough.

Marta, the Polish girl next door, is leaving. ‘She's going back home,' the boys said. ‘And good riddance.' But I'll miss her. There are times at night when I can coincide my breathing exactly to match her sobs. It's things like that which can make you less lonely. I'm just sorry she didn't see it that way when I told her but there was no need for her to look so frightened. What is it about our country that has made her so frightened of everyone?

Cakes, eh? Let them eat cake. And I suppose you thought that was the solution to everything. Your own particular brand of goodness. It was never going to be enough, Mo. Not when you were starving yourself.

M

115.
answer phone message from george griffiths to angie griffiths

Dear Angie, this is your father speaking. I was just wondering if you remembered the cake your mother made you for your ninth birthday. It was in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. You had seen a picture of Paris in one of those art magazines your mother was always buying, and couldn't stop going on about it. Her cake was a work of love. She spent all night on the icing, even though I told her several times not to bother. I have often wondered if this is what gave you the idea of going to Paris. Anyway, it's late now. I have got out of bed to ring you and the hall floorboards are cold even against my slippers. Perhaps we could forget I rang, but I couldn't stop thinking about that cake. I know relationships between your mother and yourself were strained at the end, but I hope you think about the good things she did for you too sometimes. This is your father who loves you.

116.
email from nell baker to angie griffiths

Well, I did my Pilgrim House talk, Angie, but I was terrible. I stuttered, and stammered, and couldn't remember anything, so I just ran through some of the recipes you'd written down for me. I even talked about faggots and gravy. Can you imagine? To cap it all, I ended up crying because I don't cook good food for Robyn, like Mum did for us. Everyone was kind after, but Dad kept staring at me. I'll probably get a report soon about how I could have improved my talk.

Mark came back home with us later to help carry the stuff I'd taken. He stood in the kitchen while Robyn went on and on about how good I was. I tried to give him some money as a thank-you for helping me, but he just laughed. Said I should take him out for lunch one time. As if I could. Imagine what people at work would say if I went out with the security guard. Dad seems to think he's a policeman so I haven't corrected him. At least he'll think that's a proper job.

‘Your mum sounded lovely,' Mark said.

‘She just did what all mum's did then,' I replied. ‘It's different now.' But then Robyn surprised me. ‘Mum's got a great job,' she said. ‘I'm really proud of her.'

I wanted Mark to go away then so I could ask Robyn if that was true. Even when she was younger, it was always James and her going off into huddles talking together about his job and houses and the environment, while I just felt guilty juggling my boring old work with looking after her.

But then Mark started asking me about what I did tucked away in my cubicle, and why trend forecasting mattered, and how we did it. So I told him. Even though he kept asking questions, by the time I eventually got to bed I was kicking myself. I hadn't let him get a word in edgewise.

It was because I hadn't talked to anyone properly for so long. I wish I could be a bit more mysterious like you. I'm going to let Dad's hairdresser do my hair. Be a girl for once. Where's the harm in that?

117.
letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

Dear Lizzie,

There's no fool like an old fool. I am going to take a step over to the dark side and I'm not sure if I'll be able to get back. Having these photographs taken doesn't seem like fun anymore, but somehow I can't say no, Lizzie. It's as if I'd be saying no to the part of me that has never had the chance to shine.

I will let you know how it goes, but I shan't send you a copy. I don't even want to see them myself.

Write to me about what we'll do in Bournemouth. Tell me about the games of cards we'll play, the teas we'll have. Tell me about the cakes.

Don't shun me after. I don't know why I feel the need to say this to you, but I do.

Flo

118.
letter from martin morris to robyn baker

Dear Robyn,

Thanks for your note advising me that you intend to tell your mother about the way I apparently ‘prowl round your house' and yes, if you really want our meetings to stop and for me to give you your stories back, then I will bow to your request. But there are certain things you might like to consider first.

In my ‘prowlings' one day, I came across a small box on a shelf in the basement. It was behind your school files, and at the bottom of a shoebox full of old paints and craft materials. I am always interested in secrets, but imagine my surprise when I looked inside and found photographs of your father along with some poems about how much you miss him. I took the liberty of slipping one in my pocket. The last thing I would want is for your mother to find it and get upset.

As for Mrs. Oliver's tattoo, I have no idea where you got that information from. I have to admire your rich imagination. I am just a humble photographer. I record events, rather than make them up.

I will come to your home on Monday as usual, and you can let me know what you would like me to do.

Yours sincerely,

Martin

119.
letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

Dear Mo,

I will be sad when my escapades into Nell's life are over. She is quite different from you. You were such a little homebody, weren't you? All tidy rooms and sparkling windows. Remember when you painted your front room that bright yellow. I was walking past your house one night when I looked up and saw you standing there. I could have gone over and knocked on the window, but I didn't. I just watched you. The way you put your hand up to the wall and stroked it. And then you came over to the window and I couldn't breathe, thinking that at last you would see me and come out. You didn't, though. Someone must have come into the room because you turned your head away from me as you shut the curtains. First one half of you was cut off from me, and then the other. It was like losing a limb. In fact, it was several days at least before I could summon up the energy to come back to your street.

Anyway, I have gathered enough information about Nell for now. Robyn has taken to going up to sit in her bedroom and leaves me to it so I have had lots of opportunities for research. I have acquired another photograph of you and one of Angie. Thanks to a lesson from the librarian about using the computer, I have even read Nell's emails to her sister. I am surprised she uses no password, but at least I now know how she finds her father difficult and has no idea she is falling in love herself. You, dear, she talks about surprisingly little; but both girls discuss me. I am, apparently, a lifesaver. Although it seems Nell feels she has little life to save.

So I shall leave my visits for a while. I won't tell Robyn my decision because I need her to keep alert. If she is any bit of the girl I hope she is, then I expect developments soon. If anything, I am disappointed she has put up with my behaviour for so long.

Meanwhile I have plans for this afternoon. It is time for a special photography session I have planned for a while. I need to prepare myself. My model, I anticipate, will need more help than I am used to giving in order to produce a pleasing effect.

M

120.
answer phone message from george griffiths to angie griffiths

Hello Angie,

It is very quiet here. I don't know where everyone is. I'm just ringing because I still can't stop thinking about your mother's cooking. It's just that I didn't really tell her enough how much I appreciated her. And then Nell gave this talk and it was as if your mother was standing up in front of me, saying ‘Look at me, look at everything I did for you', and I was ashamed. Do you think she resented how I took her for granted? You knew her better than all of us. Please tell me a little about your mother. I should like to know her better.

Your father

121.
letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

Dear Lizzie,

No, you were right to tell me off. I have got so wound up in myself recently that I forget about you, and what a good friend you are.

But then you do something like send me that pretty white cotton handkerchief, and I know that you understand me completely. It was a gentle gift. That's the best word I can think of for it. I hold it up to my face, and I feel soothed. It even smells of lavender, and can I trace a touch of pinewood in there too?

In the big house, when I was working in service, the cook used to brew up a potion we'd decant into bottles to use on the linen before ironing. It was a mixture of lavender and rose petals, and I used to dream what it would be like to sleep on those sheets. I'd beg to be allowed to press them. Once I took a white sheet and wound it around me, around and around. I shut my eyes and for the first time, since leaving home, I felt secure. But of course, I couldn't stay swaddled like that forever, and a couple of months after, I met Graham. Briefly, in his uniform and the way everyone thought him such a good catch, he made me feel as safe.

And now you send me just the right thing to soothe me. Something for a lady, you wrote. I cried when I read that. Thank you, Lizzie.

I shall tell you how the photography session went in my next letter. Not just now, if you don't mind. In the meantime, will you write me a long newsy letter with details of all your family? Reading the classics together sounds very nice, but for a free spirit, Troy seems very dictatorial.

Yours aye,

Flo

122.
email from nell baker to angie griffiths

Hi Angie,

How is it going with tadpole? I hope you are keeping good care of him or her. I'm a bit worried about my baby, to be honest. Robyn's looking a little peaky, and after years of trying to get her to do schoolwork, now that's all she does. She even said that maybe she'd outgrown the marvellous Martin the other day. Said she couldn't see the point of him coming around anymore. ‘Well,' I told her, ‘he's the person I hold responsible for all your recent flourishing.' Then she ran out of the room, banging the door behind her. I know it's just a teenage thing because I remember us doing it. Or me, anyway. You and Mum didn't really argue, did you? I used to be so jealous of that. I know she could be a pain, always wanting to know what we were up to, but I miss it now. I wish someone would just ask me sometimes what I thought I was doing and get cross with me like she used to. Because they cared.

Nell

123.
note from george griffiths to brenda lewis (attached to 124)

Dear Brenda,

Please find enclosed the first minutes of The Pilgrim House Residents Committee.

Yours sincerely,

George Griffiths,

Chair

124.
minutes of the pilgrims residents committee

Present
George Griffiths (GG), Martin Morris (MM), Florence Oliver (FO)

Apologies
Annabel Armstrong (in absentia)

1. Minutes of previous meeting.

This is normally when the minutes of the last meeting held would be read out and approved but because this is the first one, GG discussed protocol at length and told us that this is something we should do in the future.

2. Thefts.

GG stated that although the robberies at Pilgrim House had abated lately, it was still something that should be kept an eye on. Both MM and FL said they thought it might just have been a phase. GG said they should try to have it happen to them and see how they feel.

3. Use of tea and coffee

GG said he was disappointed that residents hadn't been filling in the chart he had prepared for tea and coffee usage. FO said she wasn't sure she was tall enough to reach it, and MM said there wasn't often a pen in the kitchen and he wasn't going to go looking for one when all he wanted was a quick cuppa. GG is going to fix a pen to the chart by means of tape and string. FO said she liked having Keith Crosbie around the place, and MM said he bet she did. GG called the meeting to order.

4. Talks.