Getting The Picture by Sarah; Salway

for me to spend more time with them. Nell told me this, and to be honest it has come at just the right time. I will start to plan and form friendships in an orderly manner.
    In fact, I have been thinking for some time that a Residents Committee could be just what is needed here, particularly as there have been many mishaps recently on the administration front. I have often found that firm structures and rules are the best way to maintain the peace we all so much deserve.
    Your mother would often let a whole afternoon go by because she had become engrossed with a novel or a book of poems. When I retired, we established a rota of set mealtimes, fixed domestic duties, and leisure time. You, of course, were in France by then, but I think even your mother would admit that things in the house ran more smoothly when we followed my patterns. Sometimes she would be too tired to read in the evening and consequently, less plagued by the worries that could so often beset her.
    Anyway, I will keep you informed of events.
    Your father
    71. letter from martin morris to mo griffiths
    Dear Mo,
    When I was living on my own, I used to have your photograph out all the time. Now I can only put it up sometimes but I like to look at it when I write to you. Your hands are so tightly fisted by your sides that you look as if you want to punch me. Perhaps you did. ‘Take my photo,’ you said that day in the studio. ‘But you’ll not get me to take my clothes off.’
    I wasn’t used to a challenge like that. Most women who came to the studio were desperate to see themselves through someone else’s eyes, even mine, and if they had to strip off, then so much the better. But you both wanted it and were scared of it. Were you frightened you might never be able to stop? I put my finger out then, do you remember, and I just touched your cheekbone. It was as if I was wiping away a tear, but you weren’t crying, Mo. Not then anyw- oh blow, there’s someone at the door.
    *.
    I’m back again. You’ll never guess who that was. George. He’s never come to my room before. I only just had time to slip your photograph back in the box before he walked in. He stood there for a moment. My heart was thumping in case he’d seen you, but he didn’t. He must have seen the other pictures I’d piled on top of you, though.
    â€˜Not a thing you forget,’ he said, standing there as cool as a cucumber. ‘The sight of a naked woman.’
    â€˜No,’ I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. We carried on saying nothing like that until he asked if I wanted to go for a walk with him. ‘With you?’ I asked. I thought for a minute he knew something, and this was going to be our big confrontation. At last. Remember that letter I put through your letterbox, Mo? For the week after, I’d jump every time someone came to the door. I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t come to me, but I feared it might be him too. Fear and longing. The same feelings I think you had in the studio.
    â€˜Yes,’ he replied, slowly now, as if I wasn’t quite getting the message. Which of course I wasn’t. ‘A walk, with me.’
    â€˜I suppose so,’ I said. ‘But give me a bit of time to get ready first.’
    â€˜I’ll be downstairs in half an hour,’ he said, and then he left without another word. Not even good-bye.
    I’ve got five minutes left before I should go. I just want to finish this letter and then I need to think. The mountain has come to me and I have to play this one right. It’s like when Frank Bradley came to the studio that day and told me to come in with him on the magazine operation or stop altogether. I didn’t hold my nerve then, but I will now. Wish me luck.
    M
    72. letter from nell baker to martin morris
    Dear Mr. Morris,
    Robyn has told me how much you helped her with her poem. We are very proud of her recent success, but I had no idea she