Getting The Picture (4 page)

26.
answer phone message from george griffiths to angie griffiths

Hello Angie,

This is your father speaking at four thirty on Saturday afternoon. I am most distressed. Robyn stopped by and she has had her tongue pierced. Apparently Nell knows, which renders me even more speechless. I told her to go to the bathroom and take it out straightaway, but she informed me she couldn't for fear of infection.

In addition, I have no idea why Robyn came. Even when we talked about her progress at school, she had little to say. And the silly way she dresses makes the other residents feel uncomfortable. I cannot imagine why Nell lets her get away with it. I know Nell would welcome your advice, particularly as you are doing so well and I am sure she looks up to you. Apart from this, I am as well as can be expected.

This has been your father.

27.
letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

Hello Mo,

Well, I said I would tell you about Robyn when I had some news. She came today to visit George and I made sure I had the chance to talk to her after. She was a bit upset, to tell you the truth. Things hadn't gone too well with her grandfather and she was hunting around the reception looking for tissues. I took her into the garden for a bit and we sat on the bench near the apple tree until she felt better. I could feel the packet of seeds I'd taken from George's room in my pocket. I like to carry them around with me.

I think you'd like her, Mo. In fact, I'm sure you would. She's got a bit of your fire about her, once you get past the prickles. But then you had those too, didn't you? I could never get it right with you. You were always leaving before you even arrived. Like you were just waiting for me to do something wrong so you could tell me you were skipping out.

But hark at me. I always did get it wrong, didn't I, angel? Anyway, let me try to describe Robyn in a way that will satisfy you. She's about your height, tall enough to look into my eyes, and she looks direct. I'll say that for her. She meets life head-on. Her hair is all over the place, though. And dyed crow-black. She's got a white face, looks as if she's ill but it's only makeup and when she laughs, Mo, she puts her hand up to her mouth as if she's trying to hold the laughter in to keep it for herself.

I talked to her about art and poetry because I guessed not many others would think to do that. I didn't mention you, of course, but it felt right it should be me passing on the names of some of your precious nature poets. Clare, Thoreau, Whitman.

You see they're engraved on my heart. She said she wanted to go and live on a farm up in Scotland. Her dad's Scottish apparently. ‘I'd be on my own,' she said. ‘I want to live really simply and naturally. Get back to nature.'

‘How interesting,' I lied. Then I asked if she wouldn't be lonely. ‘Oh no,' she said. ‘I'm used to that.'

When she picked up her bag, I noticed it had this sign painted on it in big pink letters. I Hate Life.

‘You don't really,' I asked her. I wanted to scoop her up and look after her forevermore. It was just like I always felt with you. But then, just like you used to, she surprised me.

‘No,' she said, putting her hand up to her mouth again in that way of hers. ‘But it pisses the teachers off.'

See what I mean? Apart from the language, she's got a spark about her that you can't help but warm to. I went to see her off from reception and as I was coming back, I saw George sitting in the lounge reading the paper. I stood and stared at him. I'm not ashamed to say I could feel my blood rise up then. He has no idea how much he has.

I have to do something, Mo. I can't sit back and let him bully them all like this. Not our girls.

M

28.
email from nell baker to angie griffiths

Hey Angie

I can't believe you're finally coming over. Dad'll be pleased as he'll be able to complain firsthand about Robyn's piercings. I did wonder what he'd think about it but he hasn't said anything to me. Mind you, he seemed to help her the other day. She hasn't said anything, but when she came back from visiting him — of course I had to make her — she'd only been to the library to get out some books of poetry. I asked if they were a school thing but she said no, and when I looked at them I saw they were all the poets Mum liked.

Do you remember Dad ever reading anything apart from the business pages and his accountancy journals? I've been racking my brains but I guess he must have taken more notice of Mum than we gave him credit for. She loved poetry so much, didn't she? I picked up one of the books last night when she'd gone to bed, and it made me cry.

Oh, Angie, it will be so nice to have you here. You haven't been back since the funeral, and that was nearly three years ago. I'd love to talk about Mum. You were always so much closer to her when we were growing up. Do you think she was ever really happy? I don't know why but when I was thinking about her last night, I thought perhaps she wasn't. Of course you disappearing made her unhappy but I mean before that too. She was never quite there, was she? She'd always be looking out of the window as if she could see something out there we couldn't.

Was that what made you go? The way she always kept us close, worrying if we were safe or not. It's a mistake I'm not going to make with Robyn anyway. She needs to make up her own mind about things, even if her decisions don't always seem like the most sensible ones.

29.
letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

Dear Mo,

I had another little visit from Robyn yesterday. I was in the lounge when she walked into reception. I thought she was visiting George, but she was looking around a bit nervous like and then when she spotted me, she came straight over to where I was sitting.

She didn't bother to say hello. ‘Those poems were OK,' she said, and I could see her bag was bulging with library books. ‘Tell me more.'

I guess it's just her manner to be gruff so I racked my brains. I told her all the other names I could remember from our conversations and the books I used to see you reading later in the park. She wrote it all down in this little notebook she has, as serious as could be. I said she should look at the paintings of Turner. ‘See how he does light,' I told her. I was thinking about how we used to watch the sky from the studio window, and I got you that book of Turner's watercolours as a present. We used to pore over it together until you told me that this was the kind of photographs I should take. Maybe I should have listened to you because then you might have stayed with me and everything would have been different, but I loved my photography. It wasn't bad to me, Mo. Nothing bad about a woman's body.

The other thing I told her to read was Thomas Hardy. See, I've never forgotten coming back to the studio one day when I'd arranged to meet you there. I always liked to make an excuse to be out when you came so I could find you waiting for me. This time, you were sitting in the chair by the window and I thought I'd surprise you so I took my shoes off and started to creep across the floor. I stopped when I saw that you were crying, but not before I had time to notice the book on your knee.
The Mayor of Casterbridge
. I read it after when you'd gone back to George, and I wept too. But not as much as you did. I never told you I'd found you like that, Mo. I just crept back out and came back five minutes later, all bustling and shouting. It annoyed you, I expect, but at least you didn't have any tears left in your eyes and you never mentioned the crying. I didn't ask, because I didn't want you to tell me it wasn't just about the book.

Anyway, young Robyn looks as if she's got lots of crying left inside her and if there's one thing I've learned from women over the years, it's that they need to get it out somehow. She didn't see George. I asked if she was going to and she looked a bit sheepish and said maybe next time.

Perhaps I shouldn't have felt so pleased about that. I couldn't stop smiling even when Mrs. Oliver came over and propositioned me. Don't get jealous, Mo. We're too old for all that in here. You and I, though, we will never get too old. I suppose we have that, at least.

M

30.
letter from george griffiths to brenda lewis

Dear Mrs. Lewis,

While I am certainly appreciative of your attempts to entertain us, I wonder if you thought last night's speaker was totally appropriate for the audience. The Welsh voice in flow is indeed a wonderful thing, but thirty minutes of dubious rugby songs from the milkman left much to be desired. I am only grateful Catherine Francis misunderstood several of the words and thought they were religious chants.

In addition, I cannot have been the only one woken up early this morning by Annabel Armstrong chanting a refrain from one of the more unsuitable songs from last night. It seems we have become a laughingstock.

Some people, I am afraid, do not understand common civility and it is a shame when we let them into our homes. If you would like me to take over the running of the social events, I would be happy to oblige.

Yours sincerely,

George Griffiths

31.
letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

Dear Lizzie,

Well, I did it! Exactly as you suggested!

Remember how Graham always said you were a bad influence on me? Oh, I laughed and laughed when I read in your letter about asking Martin to take my picture. I know you just meant it as a bit of fun but I was feeling mischievous. After all, I'm seventy-nine, what have I got to lose? I told myself that if he looked horrified, I was just going to pretend I was joking. I got him when he was in one of those armchairs in the sitting room. They have low seats, those ones, so I knew he wouldn't be able to get out fast. He was looking happy too, otherwise I might have lost my nerve. I kept reminding myself how he said I looked beautiful.

‘Martin Morris,' I said, ‘will you take some of your photos of me?' You should have seen his face. He stopped smiling and looked as if he'd been hit by a tankful smack in the chops, but then he got weaselly. I remember that look from my Graham. I could see him thinking. What's in it for me here? ‘You're very lovely,' he said, but mechanical, not like when he complimented me before. His eyes were all screwed up and he wasn't really looking at me, which was a shame because I'd got dressed up. I'd put on some makeup and had my hair done nicely by one of the Tuesday hairdressing girls, and I was wearing that flowery dress too. You know that one I wore when we went to the bandstand at Margate the last time we were there and you said it made me look slim. Helen Elliott always gets a bit bilious anyway but she gave me such a glare when I came into the sitting room that I knew I was looking good.

‘You're very lovely.' That's all he said. I smiled back at him but I was a bit disappointed. It didn't have the same impact second time around, and I thought he'll have to do better than that if he's to get me relaxed enough for some proper sweetheart photos. I was regretting it more than a bit, I don't mind telling you, and I was all set to have a laugh about it when he surprised me.

‘So what do I get in exchange?' he said, and he winked.

I knew he'd wake us up. I feel like Prince Charming has cut down the thorns and some colour has come back into our lives. As you know there's nothing I like better than some banter.

‘That depends,' I told him. ‘I'm a respectable woman.'

He smiled at that in a way that, between you and me, made my cheeks go hot. And then he said he'd got some kind of plan and he wanted an intelligent woman to help him. He didn't want to tell me about it straightaway but, Lizzie, don't you fear, I'll write to you the minute I know everything. I need to catch the mail with this now anyway.

This is better than Blackpool, my darling girl. For once I don't feel jealous of you with your family and all the excitement over Laurie's new man. I agree that a diamond earring is worrying on a man and the name is very odd. Troy. But Susan Reed says that lots of people meet in supermarkets. Her niece works in one and apparently in the evenings, the frozen food aisle is always busy with men and women getting more excited than they should over broccoli. You have to look for the ones getting single portions, apparently.

I wonder what Graham and Frank would have made of that. And what did you say Troy was? A massager? I didn't know men could do that.

Oh, but what do you think Martin has in mind? ‘I'm a respectable woman,' that's what I told him. ‘Are you?' he said straight off. ‘You look like a bit of a minx to me.' And he raised an eyebrow. Remember how your Frank used to do that and how you told me once it always gave you a bit of a tingle. I don't mind telling you that although I laughed and laughed, I got a bit of a tingle too. A minx. Me. If only Graham could have heard him. Well, I suppose it was a good job Graham didn't hear him really but I feel twenty-two all over again. It's just like you and me at the Palace ballroom and all the fun we had there. They say you're only as old as you feel and Martin's quite a bit younger than anyone else in here.

‘My husband was an army boxer,' I told him. I know it's a lie but Graham had the physique for it, didn't he? I'm sure he could have boxed if he wanted.

‘Yes, but he's not here, is he?' Martin said. ‘It's just you and me and I don't think you'll be giving me a bloody nose.'

Just you and me! I wonder what's in those envelopes, though. The ones the home help told us about that were never sent. I like a man with a secret, mind.

Yours aye,

Flo

P.S. I think Laurie might be wrong about Ireland being too expensive. Susan Reed has a second cousin living there so she's going to look into coach tours for us. I know you said you would never do another after Blackpool but we can make sure we get one with proper toilets this time. And seats downstairs.