Getting The Picture (23 page)

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 she 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 shouldn'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.'

This was all I needed so I straightened up, trying not to wince, and took his hand. ‘I will, George,' I said extra loudly so Brenda could hear me. I knew she was standing outside looking through the window, only half able to give us the ‘privacy' she went on about because she was enjoying the moment so much.

On the way home, I said George had wanted to see me again.

‘Of course he does, Martin,' she said. ‘You've been such friends. It's been very nice indeed to see you bonding.' And she wiped away a tear.

I must admit I felt like having a good weep myself. Imagine two old men, reaching their last years, and finally finding the friendship they never quite managed before in their lives. One a respectable accountant, and one a would-be pornographer. What on earth could they have in common? But that's the marvellous thing about preparing to die. It strips away all the useless bits, and lets us concentrate on what is really important. What's at our core.

I knew this would be a story Brenda would tell many times in the future, and she'd top it off by describing how she saw me and George squeezing hands at our farewell.

Because what on earth do me and George have in common, Mo? Yes, it's enough to make you weep.

M

182.
email from nell baker to angie griffiths

So let's get this straight. You found this letter in Mum's drawers about fifteen years ago and have never told me.

How could you, Angie? You had no right. And it's not just because she is my mother and Dad is my father too, and whatever sham this letter makes our family is my sham too, but because you are my sister.

It hurt so much when you disappeared without giving a reason. Don't you know how much it would have helped to know what was going on? That it wasn't just my little sister doing one of her huffy fits.

If you'd have told me the truth then, I could have done something. We could have gone to see Mum and Dad and sorted it out together. We could have done a very un-Griffiths thing and had it out in the open. And then none of us would have had to live under its shadow for the rest of our lives.

And now you say casually you don't know who the father of your baby is. Get real, Angie. Take a long hard look at yourself. You can't just drift in and out of all our lives anymore as if you don't matter. You do.

183.
note from claude bichourie to angie griffiths

Dear Angie,

My lawyers have informed me that you have returned my last maintenance cheque and told them that you will be returning to England with no known address at present.

I am writing to you through them because you have not been replying to my last notes, and I want to warn you that I am not prepared to lose my child without a battle. Or you. Do you really imagine I will believe in a fairy tale about you meeting a photographer and this being his child?

We may have started with a business arrangement, Angie, and if we have to end with one, that will make me sad, but not as sad as no arrangement at all.

I expect you to make contact with my office at least.

184.
letter from martin morris to mo griffiths