Getting The Picture (12 page)

But here I am getting carried away and losing the point of what I was telling you. ‘I was wondering if you ever thought of growing your hair,' I asked Mrs. Oliver. ‘It would look smashing pinned up.' She tut-tutted in that way she always does, but I noticed her hand going up to her hair after like a small furtive mouse. She's hardly a beauty, probably never has been, but I of all people should know that doesn't mean anything. That's why it's important to tell women they're beautiful. It's such a little thing, and you get this glow off them that feels like a candle you've lit yourself. Especially when they're not beautiful. The funny thing is that there are plenty of good-looking women you'd never look at twice because they don't believe it themselves. And plenty more you did more than look at because they thought themselves gorgeous. Think about your friend, Trisha. She wasn't exactly a conventional beauty, was she? And yet she had something.

Don't you be getting jealous again. I need to bolster Mrs. Oliver up, otherwise I know she'll never get to George and she has to if the plan is to work. ‘We should think about your photographs soon,' I said. Her cheeks went pink, which surprised me. Someone has made her feel bad, I thought, but I couldn't think who she would have told. ‘It wouldn't take much to make you into a sweetheart,' I lied.

She grimaced then. ‘Forget I ever said anything,' she said suddenly, standing up. ‘No fool like an old fool.'

Luckily, just then, Helen Elliott came out of the room, her hair a flurry of white cotton candy and spray.

‘You look like a film star,' I told her. ‘Beautiful.'

Of course, Helen's a bit stiff to do any actual flirting especially now she's so pally with Catherine, but when I turned back to Mrs. Oliver, I knew I'd timed it just right by the look she was giving me.

‘If we were to do something as stupid as have some photographs taken,' she said, ‘no one's to see them, or even to know about them.'

‘Anything you want,' I said. Her look was hungry, just like the one you had, Mo, that first day in my studio when I caught you staring at the photographs on my wall. It's what attracted you to me in the first place.

I knew I'd got her, just as I knew I'd got you that day. Only difference is I've learned my lesson. I'm not going to fall for Mrs. Oliver like I did for you. You only have one heart to give away.

Afterward, I went to see George. We've got so we just knock on each other's doors now without appointments or anything. It makes me laugh thinking how you would have jumped if I'd come around to your front door to call for George.

‘I was wondering if you wanted to look at some of my photographs,' I said as offhandedly as I could manage. He's hinted several times but I've put him off. Not just because I don't like the idea of it, but I couldn't take the risk of him finding yours. Even, maybe especially, because you're fully dressed. However many times I hide it away, it always seems to rise up to the surface.

He was going through the local newspaper, underlining things so hard I could see he was almost tearing the page. His latest thing is to find spelling and grammar mistakes in the stories and then he writes to the editor to complain. ‘Now?' he asked.

I suddenly felt tired. ‘Tomorrow,' I said. Although why that should be better than today, I'm sure I don't know. He looked excited.

‘I'd be very interested,' he said. ‘Particularly with what you have told me about that period of your life, which is so different from my own experiences. It'll be a useful insight.'

Insight indeed. He's like all the others and just wants an ogle at some naked flesh. I've never understood why men who admit that's what they like doing are somehow the suspect ones. Still, I'm going to spend the rest of this evening sorting out the photos I want him to see. I'm after the models who have a look of Mrs. Oliver about them. It's all to do with planting seeds, you see. ‘Does she remind you of someone?' I'll ask. And give him a few more clues until he thinks he's come up with the idea himself. Then I'll give him some ideas about how to talk to women. Perhaps which film stars he could compare them to.

M

90.
letter from george griffiths to brenda lewis

Dear Mrs. Lewis,

My daughter has suggested I take up some hobbies, so I have decided to organize a Residents Committee to help you with the arduous task of running Pilgrim House. There are many jobs we could take on, and it would be beneficial for residents to feel they were playing an active role in their own care.

Because I am, as you may be aware, the only resident here who has a management background, I would be willing to take on the major share of the organization involved, and I'd be grateful if we could have a meeting at your earliest convenience to discuss this further.

Yours sincerely,

George Griffiths

91.
answer phone message from george griffiths to angie Griffiths

Hello Angie,

This is your father speaking. Have you any hobbies? I ask because Nell is trying to persuade me that they are essential for my mental health. I have decided to play along with her so I am taking a close interest in the local paper and believe I can assist the editor in some improvements he could be making. In addition, I plan action closer to home. Do you remember when our neighbour in Boleyn Drive insisted on parking his car on the pavement, and my campaign, ably assisted by your mother on the administration side, resulted in the offending automobile being towed away by the police? Well, I expect such a victory happening here very soon, although not with parking, of course, as no resident has a car. However, haven't I always said that a principle is a principle. I just need to get the right team together. I hope you are well, this is George Griffiths.

Oh, by the way, if you are still there, I seem to have formed a friendship here with another resident. Your mother would have teased me as she always joked how I wasn't any good at the talking stakes, but it is healthy to form links with people you might not otherwise have come into contact with. It is more than I could have expected as I dwindle into old age and people seem to increasingly ignore our needs. It is a good job I have never seen the point of self-pity. Your father.

92.
letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

Dear Lizzie,

You could have bowled me over with a feather when I opened your letter and that old photograph of us fell out. Of course, Susan Reed got hold of it first. She has no idea about keeping some things private. Comes from that large family of hers, I should think. ‘Ooo,' she said, ‘and who's this?'

‘Me and my best friend,' I said. ‘And I'll thank you to keep your marmalade-covered mitts off it.'

But she didn't. It was just me and her and BethandKeith in the dining room. ‘Look at Lady Muck.' Susan waved our photograph in the air.

‘Let's see,' Beth said, taking the photograph carefully, just using the tips of her fingers on the edge so I couldn't really mind. ‘Oh, Florence,' she said then. ‘You were really glamorous.'

And then of course Keith had to have a look, and he nodded away so enthusiastically that Susan had to change her tone. ‘You looked good, Florence,' she admitted, but I could tell it cost her.

‘I won't deny I had some style,' I said. Because we did, didn't we, pet? Do you remember that time we wore trousers to learn to bicycle. We were the first they'd seen around the camp and people came out of their houses to look. How lucky was I that no one told Graham? I was going to mention about the trousers, but Beth had one of her coughing fits then and Keith was fetching her a glass of water, and Susan was rushing because she had a grandchild coming at nine, so there was no one left to tell.

But then, you will never guess what happened, not in a million sunsets. George came into the room and he took hold of the photograph too. ‘It's nice,' he said, staring at it. ‘Reminds me of someone, but I can't put a name to her. A film star of the old school, maybe, before all the vulgarity crept in.'

I felt like a teenager all over again and I couldn't think of anything to say. Just opened and shut my mouth like a goldfish. Then he handed it back to me. ‘No milk on the table as per usual,' he said. ‘It really is too bad. Where is that Steve?'

I knew Steve and Sophi would be kissing in the kitchen so when he said someone should do something about the way the meals were run, I nodded enthusiastically to distract him. Then, when he stopped talking for a moment, I made my escape. I took the photograph up to my room and slipped it into an envelope. Then I wrote a note to go with it saying, ‘This is how I want to look when you take your photographs.' I would have liked to have held on to it for a bit longer and think about us a bit more, but I knew I might change my mind, so I just shoved it under Martin's door.

Sophi has lent me her college prospectus. I'm not applying — not that much of a fool — but I like to read through it. You wouldn't guess how many subjects you can study, even Troy's massaging. I slept with it under my pillow last night. Sociology, biology, psychology, history. I wanted them all to come into my dreams. Perhaps I am an old fool.

I'm glad we're friends again. I don't like it when we argue. I could never abide tension of any kind, which is a bit of a joke when you think about Graham. Anyway, time for us to put our thinking caps on and plan Bournemouth. And I want you to tell me all about young Amy's fallen arches. No wonder Laurie doesn't want her doing sport at school, particularly when she gets teased already for being on the plump side.

Yours aye

Flo

93.
email from nell baker to angie griffiths

Martin is an absolute dear. Even Robyn says he's ‘OK', which is five steps up from ‘Whatever'.

He's teaching her to learn poems by heart because apparently you understand the rhythm better that way. I stand in the doorway and just listen to them sometimes. He's picked all of Mum's favourites, and it sends shivers down my spine hearing Robyn say them.

He spent a long time looking at your photograph the other day – the one of you underneath the Eiffel Tower looking up. He didn't say anything, just put his finger up as if he was going to touch your face.

‘When's her birthday?' he asked, which surprised me a bit. And when I told him, he turned the photograph on its side and squinted a bit. I suppose he's got a professional interest from when he used to take photographs himself.

94.
letter from martin morris to mo griffiths

Dear Mo,

You should have told me. Even if you wanted nothing to do with me, I had a right to know the child was mine. I could see the similarities the minute I picked up the photograph, and then the dates matched exactly. I saw her with you, of course, watched her grow up, but always at such a distance. And I always see better in photographs.

The trouble is I don't know what to do now. And I'm trying not to think less of you. Did George know? Does she know? Did you really feel you had a right to keep that secret from all of us?

Angie. I keep thinking of Angel, and how I used to call you that.

And what did you do to her that was so terrible she went running off to Paris and didn't come back for years? She keeps making excuses even now because I know George and Nell beg her to come home.

She found out about us, didn't she? Oh Mo. What a mess you made of everything. You must have longed for me to be by your side. My stomach hurts. I feel bits of body I'd forgotten I had. It's as if I'm transforming into something else. A father.

M

95.
email from nell baker to angie griffiths

What's the big interest in Martin? He only looked at your photograph carefully. Lots of men do that, and you've never made a big thing of it before.

I would say harmless is the best way to describe him, but I'll get Robyn to write a proper description for you if you want. Martin says she has a real gift for characterization. She won't let me see her pieces, of course, but what's new?

‘Have you been writing about me?' I asked her. I've never forgotten the time she told the teacher I wore big earrings and played football every Saturday, which was why James had to leave us. But she said that they'd been looking at the Pilgrims. ‘As if they are real people with real lives,' she said, ‘and not just a stereotype.' She's developed this way of staring at me that always makes me think she has her hands on her hips, although of course she never does.
Fine
, I wanted to say,
well, you go around and take real Dad real shopping every real Thursday like I do
. But I didn't. I just said ‘fine,' like I always do, but I thought she looked a bit hesitant. It's hard to know when to push and when to leave alone. She still won't see James. He's living with the landscape architect now. How come he can find a man, and I can't?

Angie, you're right. I need a real life. But where am I going to find one here in Bedford?

96.
letter from florence oliver to lizzie corn

Dearest Lizzie,

Well, that does sound grim. Why on earth did Troy think going out on a boat would be a treat? I can imagine how worried you were, particularly as Laurie must have told him about Brian's motion sickness. And fancy having to wear those big life jackets. I bet you did panic when the toggles on yours got stuck in the oars. No wonder Amy started crying. I would have done myself.

We are quiet here. Martin has a cold, which means he spends most of his time in his bedroom. You know what men are like with illness. The other day though, I was in the sitting room going through my notes from the Investment Committee when George walked in. I thought he was going to ignore me as per normal but he came over and looked at what I was doing. Of course, I tried to hide the minutes because he would have realised I knew what I was talking about, but he was more interested in how I was laying things out. Before I knew it I'd shown him my files and how I organized everything.