Getting The Picture (25 page)

You should have seen the relief on Robyn's face when I handed over her file of dirty little stories. She'd only written about all of us, Lizzie. Even Brenda. ‘Did you read this?' she asked, and I shook my head, although of course I had. The one about Susan Reed at the circus made me laugh out loud, although I wouldn't like you to have seen what she said about Susan and the elephants.

It was the way she clutched the file to her as if it was another layer of protection she needed that made me lie.

‘Want to see my secret?' I asked her then. I think I wanted her to know she wasn't alone in her shame. I took out one of my photographs from the envelope and handed it to her.

‘Did he make you do this?' she said. She was touching the edge with her fingertips as if she didn't want to hold it at all, and I couldn't blame her. Luckily it wasn't the one where I was showing my whole back. Just peering a bit over my bad shoulder.

‘No.' It would have been easier to say yes, but I thought she deserved the truth. ‘I liked it.'

She blinked twice. ‘I liked writing the stories too,' she said, before straightening up. It was just how George did it. ‘You won't tell Mum, will you?'

‘Not if you don't tell her about me.' We should have shaken hands or something but we just nodded at each other, woman to woman.

‘Is this what you wrote to Granddad about?' she said. ‘He never opened your letter, you know. He just looked at the file and told me to get rid of it, so I gave it to Steve.'

‘And the letter?' George and I had never mentioned it but it always felt as if it was there, hanging between us.

‘I had a quick look and then I threw it away,' she said, and I saw her cheeks go pink as she tried not to look at me. ‘Do you want me to get rid of them for you too?' She gestured towards the envelope but I shook my head.

‘Not today,' I said.

I didn't say anything about the letters to the mystery Mo I've got at the bottom of my wardrobe. I'll take them to the recycling units they have at the library and let Mo rest in peace.

She hugged me then, so tight she took my breath away. ‘You should get a tattoo,' she said. ‘It would suit you.'

How she makes me laugh. I nearly told her about you and Southend then, but I thought I'd gone far enough for one day.

‘Just don't be ashamed,' I said. ‘Whatever you do, never let anyone make you feel ashamed of it.'

Now, Lizzie, let's think about you. You need a break. Let's say blow the lot of them and take ourselves off to Bournemouth as we'd planned. We'll stay in a hotel. A posh one where they turn back the sheets and give us little smelly soaps wrapped in tissue paper. We'll smile at all the grumpy teenagers like Robyn who other old ladies cross the street to avoid, and we'll eat mint choc ice creams with chocolate sprinkles, and take as long as we want getting around the mini golf. If anyone says anything nasty to us, we'll just snarl at them.

And every evening we'll go out dancing. Even if it's just to watch. Although I think we might take a few turns together, you and me.

Yours aye,

Flo

193.
email from nell baker to angie griffiths

Hey Angie,

Well, that's another mystery solved. Robyn's just shown me the file I saw in Martin's room. It's full of silly stories about the Pilgrims, even one about Dad dressing up in army uniform and spanking the ladies.

‘Did you think it was funny?' I asked her, but she just shook her head.

She said Martin made her do it.

We went out into the garden, built a bonfire and burned them all. Along with the original of that letter I scanned in for you.

‘How did you get the file back?' I asked Robyn.

‘Someone gave it to me,' she said, as if that was enough. I wanted to ask about the letters but I wasn't sure how I could do that without telling her about Mum. So I left it. And we both stoked the bonfire with big sticks, each getting rid of our demons. She's still out there, but I've come in to get things ready for you.

We shall see you later on tonight. We have lots to catch up on. Mark may pop around. Just warning you. He's taking up cooking. Nice to have a man around the kitchen again.

Nell

194.
answer phone message from angela griffiths to claude bichourie

Claude, it's Angela. I'm sorry I didn't reply to your last letter but I was on the airplane when I suddenly realised I don't love you enough. I wanted to fly straight back to Paris and tell you because I don't want a financial arrangement, or a business arrangement, or any kind of arrangement between us anymore. I tried to get off the plane but they threatened to arrest me, and so here I am in England, at the airport, about to get into a taxi. I just want to be honest and straight with everyone. I want to take that risk now.

I'm on my way to see my father at last. For our child's sake.

195.
answer phone message from angela griffiths to nell baker

Nell, it's me. I'm at the airport. Where is everyone? I'm going to see my father now. Wish me luck. And Nell, I love you. I'm sorry.

196.
letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

Dear Lizzie,

What a difference a week makes.

There I was with George yesterday when who should walk in but the French daughter. She'd come straight from the airport apparently with her suitcases and everything. I got up right away to leave them alone, of course, and I'd been in my room about an hour when there was a knock at the door. It was only her. She's the spit of Robyn, albeit with better clothes. The French know how to do seams. I read about it once.

‘My father says you've been very kind to him,' she said. And I don't know why, I'm still surprised at myself, but I found myself blubbering about how it was my fault he ended up in the hospital. I told her all about the photographs, and how I liked having them done, but then Martin ended up being so different from how he seemed, and how I showed them to Robyn too, just so she knew she wasn't alone, and how there was this box of letters to someone called Mo in his room too.

She sat down on my bed, and put her head in her hands. I thought, Flo, you are a silly old moo, you've only gone and upset someone else, but when she looked up she was laughing. Trying to hide it, but I could still see she was smiling.

‘Dad hasn't seen any photographs of you,' she said. ‘It was a photograph of one of my mother's friends that Martin showed him.'

‘Your mother and her friend nude?'

And then she did laugh. She put her hand up to her mouth when she did and I was trying to think who else there was who did that gesture. ‘No,' she said. ‘Just my mother's friend. My father seemed to think it would upset us if we knew.'

‘And that was enough to put him in the hospital?'

‘Are you ever too old to cry over love, Florence?' she asked then. I thought it was a strange comment but as George would say, she's almost French now.

‘He stole it,' I said. ‘I stole things from your dad's room once too.'

She looked a bit puzzled, and then nodded. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘Martin took a lot of precious things once, but he can't get at them anymore.' She's got this slight accent when she speaks, so it makes sense that she wears matching shoes and bags, you know, like the colonel's wife used to. She was foreign too, wasn't she? I kept pulling my skirt down. At least I was wearing the floral and false pearls so I could hold my own.

And then she asked me if I wanted her to get rid of the letters to the mystery Mo for me so I told her I'd already recycled them at the library. That's when I noticed the way she kept folding her hands over her stomach.

‘George is going to have another grandchild,' I said, and she blushed. Suddenly she didn't seem so French and haughty, but more like Robyn. I wanted to give her a big hug and tell her it was going to be all right.

‘He is,' she said. ‘I've just told him, so he's busy trying to adjust right now. Although, it wasn't as hard as I thought it might be.'

‘It never is,' I said. ‘Not when you finally get down to it.'

It was later when I went up to Martin's empty bedroom, just to say good-bye, that I had a thought. I almost ran down to Brenda's room, nearly knocking Annabel over on my way. ‘Sexy lady,' she called after me. ‘Beautiful saucy virgin.' I was so excited I felt like hugging her too but I was in too much of a rush.

‘Brenda,' I said, ‘when is the next resident moving in?'

She barely looked up from the desk. ‘Not for another month,' she said.

So, Lizzie, what do you think? You could stay in Martin's room here for a month. It'll be better than Bournemouth. We will have peace when we want, and I'm sure we can persuade Steve to take us dancing. Maybe George could come too and just watch.

It'll be a fresh start. And we'll do ourselves some planning to see whether we can't sort out some way of getting Cora out of the house and you back with Laurie where you belong. We could even have ourselves a committee. George is awfully good at organizing, you'll see.

Yours aye,

Flo

Something Old

Six months later, George and Mrs. Oliver sat in silence on the garden bench, ignoring the two small boys who peered over the wall. The couple were watching a bird peck at an empty coconut shell. The bird soon gave up, although the shell kept swinging for a long time afterward.

‘Infinity,' George said, and laughed.

‘What are you going on about now, George?' Mrs. Oliver said, shifting closer to him. It was still too cold really to be sitting outside, but it was the first day of the year that the sun had some warmth in it. She put her face up, letting her body remember that life did come back. Green shoots that must be daffodil leaves were pushing up on the bank in front of them. It would be some time before the flowers came, but they would. Maybe even the cornflowers Martin planted last year. One day soon the garden would be full of colour. How could she still be surprised by this every year?

‘We were sitting here once when Martin asked me what I thought about infinity,' George said.

‘What did you tell him?'

‘I didn't. Wish I had now. I'd tell him that I didn't believe in infinity. That's why it's important to make the most of the time you have now.'

She was about to say something about all the things you could wish you'd said, but changed her mind. ‘Poor Martin,' she said, and George nodded.

‘Do you ever, you know, talking about wishes and stuff, feel guilty about what we're doing for Maureen's sake?' Florence's voice sounded strained, even to herself, and she didn't look at him. ‘I just need to ask you before the ceremony, particularly if we're thinking about Martin. You understand that, don't you?'

He stared up at the sky for a moment, before taking her hand. They relapsed into silence, and, from many years of practice with Graham, she tried to let that be enough.

Something New

Her baby was beautiful. Angela couldn't stop staring, touching, kissing. She counted his fingers, and his toes, his eyes, his ears, his knees. God, she wanted to eat him. To pop into her mouth the fist he kept waving in the air. It was hard to leave him alone.

A miracle.

And so much hair. A tuft of dark hair that she teased into a Mohawk and then into a unicorn's horn and then brushed down across his forehead. She lifted up his shirt, and blew a raspberry on his tummy.

Skin as soft as silk. And his smell. She traced a finger around the fontanel on the crown of his head, feeling how close she was to pressing right down to his inside. This gap would close up soon, Nell had told her. His skull would grow across and seal it, but now, for this minute, he was all hers. He'd no defences. Maybe when he was older, she'd tell him about his real father, and his grandmother and grandfather, and how a sweetheart shot sometimes yielded the best results, but not until he was much older. And maybe not even then.

‘You're Mummy's darling,' she said. She blew another raspberry against his skin, just so she could hear him laugh. She wished Maureen had been able to hear it.

‘Herr-hum.'

Angela looked up. Nell and Robyn were standing at the doorway, smiling at her.

‘Nearly ready?' Nell asked.

Angela took in Nell's silk dress. She knew instantly that Nell had chosen it with Mark in mind by the way it showed off her figure. God, Nell had changed. She was even walking with a wiggle nowadays. And Robyn had stopped looking like something out of a horror movie. The white dress they'd chosen together was several hundred steps up from the black t-shirts Robyn normally insisted on. Angela looked at her watch.

‘I haven't started to dress,' she wailed. ‘I've been too busy.'

‘Auntie Angie,' Robyn complained. ‘You've been up here for nearly an hour. Claude's already rung twice. He's at the church and he's worried you won't turn up.'

‘But the baby,' Angela said, but Robyn had already scooped him up.

‘I'm taking my cousin. Mum said you were always hopeless when there were men around,' she said.

‘She's right, Angie,' Nell said. ‘We'll wait for you downstairs.'

Angela gave up. It used to be bad enough standing her ground when it was just Nell, but she couldn't compete against two of them. She watched her son carried out of the room, and then turned to the mirror.

Besides, she had to admit she got a bit of a shock when she saw Nell standing there looking so good. She had some serious work to do before she was ready to go to the church.

Something Borrowed

James, Mark, and Steve were squashed up in the same pew.

They kept taking nervous glances at each other, saying nothing, not even when, in her role as usher, Lizzie Corn shuffled over to bring Angie's Frenchman to join them. They moved along the bench to give him room.