Getting The Picture Read Free Page A

says Beth should just pull herself together.
    But that’s the problem of having a man around to care for you. You give in. We know all about that, don’t we, pet? Just think how many adventures we’ve had by ourselves since our husbands, God bless them, passed on. Take that time at the bingo in Portsmouth when that woman accused you of cheating after you called the Full House, and we had to run along the pier to get away from her. How we laughed. Well, we did when we were safely back in the B&B enjoying our Ovaltine. I just think about us being able to run anywhere now and I’m amazed. Seems like a different life. Still, mustn’t get gloomy. It must be time for us to start planning my next trip to you soon. Do let me know when Laurie thinks it convenient to spare you.
    We had a very interesting speaker here the other night. The young man’s mother, Joan, runs the corner shop and when Brenda was getting some bits and bobs in there, Joan was boasting how he’d just won some big essay-writing competition at his university. So he came in to talk to us about Virginia Woolf. It gave us all such a lovely nap and then when we woke up, Brenda made us a nice cup of tea.
    Anyway, this comes, as always, with many best wishes to you and your family. I hope your cold is better. A nasty thing, a cold is. You don’t go out without drying your hair, do you? That often brings on a cold and yours do seem to linger.
    Yours aye,
    Florence
    P.S. Naughty of Brian though to steal your stockings for his bandit costume. Did Laurie really not tell him off?
    5. note from florence oliver to george griffiths
    I have not touched your precious soap. Nor would I want to. If you tell Matron any more lies about me, I will call the police.
    6. note from george griffiths to nell baker
(left on reception desk at pilgrim house)
    Dear Nell,
    It is now 8.10 a.m. and I have been waiting for you at reception for the last ten minutes. When you finally arrive, you may find me in my room. You know the value I put on punctuality so I have to say I’m disappointed.
    Your father
    7. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths
    Dear Mo,
    Well, here I am, angel, a bit more settled in. I have the smallest room in the house but it suits me fine because I’m right up at the top, out of the way. If I stand in the middle of the room, I can touch two of the walls with both hands. And when I’m in my narrow monk’s bed, tucked away under the eaves, it’s possible to put my hand up and feel the ceiling. It’s a nook, a nest, a haven. It reminds me of my studio.
    I have a bed, a wardrobe, a chair, a little shelf and a washbasin. That’s all. That’s all I want. Nothing on the walls, nothing specially placed to ‘cheer the place up’. I’ve tucked my boxes of photographs away under my bed along with the box containing these letters. All safe. And no one comes into my room. I couldn’t bear to feel that someone might spy on me. It’s like the studio. Once I stopped the photography, only Mahad was allowed up the stairs and never through the door.
    I did a thorough search the first night before I went to sleep. I knew there’d be a sign of the room’s last occupant left somewhere. It took time because I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but then, just as I was about to give up, I found it. Tucked away at the back of one of the shelves in the little pine wardrobe, there was a toffee wrapper. All twisted and tied up in a knot. I picked it up by the very edge and put it in the bin. ‘Good-bye, Tom Pardoe,’ I said as I dropped it. He was a quiet man, apparently. Only here a couple of months before they moved him to the hospice, but it still felt like some kind of ceremony was needed to get rid of his presence.
    If this is going to be my last home, I want it uncluttered and clear. I want to be able to concentrate on what’s always mattered the most in my life. You and me.
    I have a