Life Class (7 page)

‘Like you said, I was suddenly caught up on this rollercoaster; despair followed by elation. I admit, at one point I nearly gave up. My first effort was rubbish.’

‘You shouldn’t take what the dictator said as fact.’

‘I could have done without being told off like a twelve year old, but he was right. Just changing to a different size piece of charcoal was a revelation. I’ll never be as good as you or the others, but it doesn’t matter. I know I can improve.’

‘Phew,’ Fran said, delighted at her sister’s unexpected enthusiasm. ‘I was worried I’d made a mistake, pushing you into it. Particularly given the new tutor is such a sour-faced martinet. And now I find out about Dermot and the wobbly wanger!’

Dory made a face. ‘He was just an added irritant … as if there were some kind of conspiracy going on.’

‘Perhaps you should have complained.’

‘No, I couldn’t.’

Fran was surprised. ‘You’re not embarrassed. You’ve got to be used to discussing men’s tackle?’

‘Only in a professional capacity with my colleagues.’

‘
Only in a professional capacity!
This is me you’re talking to. Don’t tell me you’ve never have a laugh at work. Come on, you must see some sights.’

‘Some of those sights are not very pleasant.’

At first, Fran thought she’d detected a twist to her sister’s mouth, an amused narrowing of the eyes. Now she felt put in her place by her reproving tone. ‘Lighten up, little sister!’ she said with a flash of irritation. ‘I’m aware there must be some sad cases. That’s not what I’m on about. Even funeral directors have to be able to have the odd laugh at work. I’m willing to bet you and your workmates do a bit of comparing and contrasting sometimes?’

‘It’s not just men who come to the clinic.’ But at last Dory had been provoked into a rueful smile. ‘But yes … inevitably there are the marrows and the acorns … and, before you ask, the occasional erection. Sometimes it’s hard to stay straight-faced.’

‘But not in front of the punters,’ Fran suggested with raised eyebrows.

Dory smiled. ‘The reason I didn’t mention it was more to do with me being a novice. Had I complained about
anything
– let alone Dermot’s inability to keep his parts in order – it might’ve seemed like I was making excuses.’

‘Let’s hope we don’t get him again. I wonder if our old teacher left a list of the models she usually uses … used.’ Her aggravation with the new set-up resurfaced. ‘I hate having my routine changed. I wonder what happened, why Sandy left? I much preferred her approach. There’s no comparison with this new bloke.’

‘Maybe it’s the new regime …’

‘Regime, exactly!’

‘Perhaps she was unwilling to teach a more basic, structured course? For me, the lesson was fascinating, despite the teacher’s charisma bypass. I can understand why some of you “old hands” are put out, but in his defence, it sounds like some of the admin wires have become crossed. What seems to have hacked him off was to find himself teaching a different level of ability to the one he was expecting.’

‘Still doesn’t give him the right to harangue anyone, let alone you.’

‘No. He’s obviously a bastard, like most men – apart from your lovely husband, of course. But I don’t need to like him to get something out of his class.’

‘What about the rest of us? No one’s going to put up with being treated worse than foundation students. Access course, for God’s sake! We’ve
all
got art degrees already.’ Usually, when Fran made this claim, there was no one who knew any better. She’d been living with her enhanced CV for so long she’d momentarily forgotten the person she was talking to knew the real story. To disguise a sudden flush, she raised her hand to her face, ostensibly to push away a non-existent lock of hair. Her eyes shifted to the retreating figure of the waitress who had just squeezed past the back of her sister’s chair. ‘Well, most of us …’

‘I
am
a beginner, so perhaps the more elementary approach is what I need.’

Relieved that Dory had apparently not noticed her revision of history, Fran further amended her claim. ‘I know I haven’t got a degree, but I was well on the way when I left to get married, so it’s a bit of a shock to be going back to square one. I’ve always kind of regretted dropping out of my art degree. Doing this class kind of salves my conscience and is a way of keeping my hand in. Though I’m not sure what for.’ She thought back to the lesson. ‘Hey, I couldn’t believe it when we were told we’d got to hang on to everything we do. It’s not worth keeping, even if I had the space.’

‘Come on. You’ve loads of space in that house, there are only two of …’

‘Excuse me! Three. Mel’s not left home!’ Fran interrupted, resenting the implication her daughter was no longer an integral part of the family unit.

‘But when she gets home she’ll be off to uni.’

‘
If
she can find one that’ll take her.’

‘I’m sure there’ll be no problem. Loads of kids go travelling before going to university.’

‘Only if it’s a proper, planned gap year and the offer of a place has simply been deferred. Her grades were too appalling for her first-choice university. I was the one phoning Clearing, but she turned her nose up at anywhere else.’

‘She could do retakes.’

‘Don’t you think we suggested that?’ Fran looked skyward and shook her head. The complex emotions of love, anger, and anxiety swelled in her throat.

‘Why Thailand?’ Dory asked quickly, as if sensing her welling emotions. Fran cleared her throat and reached for her glass of wine.

‘Kim and Flora had already arranged the trip and Mel just tagged along, using Mum’s inheritance money.’ She gave her sister a wobbly smile. ‘Honestly! I am still
so
cross with her.’ Fran cleared her throat.

‘What does Peter say?’

‘You know Peter, anything for a quiet life. As long as no one’s making a fuss he’s happy to go with the flow. Let’s change the subject; you didn’t find the lesson too exhausting?’

‘I’m fine.
Doing art
may be a novel experience and it’s definitely going to be a challenge, but maybe that’s what I need.’

‘I’m glad you got something out of it. You seem … you look so much better.’

It was true. Dory’s hair, which she’d had cut short when she’d started to lose it, had thickened and was glossy. Even the silver threads gave the blonde a rather attractive ash tone. Her hazel eyes, which had been suffused with a weary disengagement, as if everything was too much trouble, were now bright and interested. Her complexion was still pale but now that her weight had decreased, her face had lost its puffiness. She was even wearing a bit of make-up.

‘What was wrong with me last time we saw one another?’ asked Dory.

‘I’m not talking about last week. I mean last year, Mum’s funeral.’

‘I’d not long been diagnosed. I’m back to normal now, though I sometimes wonder if an element of the problem was mental. You know … mind, body, spirit? I just wasn’t happy.’

Was that a dig? ‘But I didn’t know the unhappy bit, did I? You didn’t tell me you weren’t being looked after.’

‘Malcolm wasn’t a monster, he
did
look after me. We just didn’t notice we’d fallen out of love with one another till I became unwell. I resented it then but now I feel almost sorry for him. It must be hard to find yourself in the role of carer for someone you’ve no affection for.’

‘But that’s just the point … he didn’t
care
for you. He’s a doctor, for God’s sake. But he carried on working, running the clinic, leaving you to fend for yourself.’

‘I wasn’t at death’s door. As far as he could tell it was either psychosomatic …’

‘He thought you were making it up?’

‘No. Well, perhaps he wondered if I was exaggerating, or being a bit of a hypochondriac, or I was suffering from one of those ME-type things, in which case there was nothing he
could
do. The only mainstream advice offered for ME sufferers is rest. There are plenty of alternative self-help therapies on the internet but of course they did sod all, as Malcolm predicted, and just made me feel more of a failure. It would have driven me nuts to have him fussing round me all the time. I wasn’t confined to bed. I didn’t need my pillows plumped. The clinic was our livelihood. It would’ve done neither of us any good if he’d allowed the business to run into the ground to give me gold-star nursing care.’

‘But he should’ve got another opinion, sent you off for tests. He was negligent, Dory, there’s no two ways around it.’ Fran was frustrated and puzzled by her sister’s attitude. The man had not only failed to diagnose her condition, but had seemed to lose all interest in her just because she was ill. And, to add insult to injury, had started an affair with a member of staff.

‘I’m not defending the bastard, he definitely could have been more proactive. But to be fair, he isn’t a generalist – even the GP didn’t pick it up. I was young for my thyroid to have packed up and there were so many seemingly unconnected symptoms. It wasn’t until I told him I was constantly cold and my hair was falling out that he put two and two together and did the blood test.’ Dory looked away, towards the pub’s kitchen door, as if signalling an end to this particular subject. ‘Where’s this famous food?’

Face on, no one would have realised the waitress had a bare midriff; it was hidden behind a voluminous, stained apron. But her back was turned to the sisters as she dealt with the next table and almost as if programmed, Fran began a mental mapping of the contours of exposed flesh on display.

‘Mel
is
keeping in touch with you and Peter, I hope?’ her sister asked.

Had Dory tuned in to what she was thinking, or had she also been reminded of Mel by the waitress’ bare midriff?

‘She doesn’t phone us.’ Waitressing? Did all girls waitress or do bar work at some point in their lives? Fran conjured an image of her daughter serving cocktails in a rustic, bamboo beach bar, overarched by palm trees and nothing dividing it from the glittering aquamarine sea but bleached sand. The waitress couldn’t have been less like Melanie. She was older and had a Mediterranean look, with her glossy dark hair and olive complexion, though there was no hint in her accent that she came from anywhere further south than Kent. Mel was not only still a teenager but was a pale-skinned blonde – a classic English rose – and even if she was carrying a bit of extra weight, it was puppy fat, and bound to disperse given time. The momentary glow of maternal pride transmuted into another pulse of anxiety.

Was it a benefit to stand out in a crowd? Could her youth, her long, fair hair, even her childish pudginess be an attraction to a certain type of man? Don’t even think about the skimpy clothes and belly button ring. Fran tried to suppress the complex mix of emotions which threatened to bubble up. Her expression must have mirrored her troubled thoughts.

‘But she is all right?’ Dory asked with a frown. ‘You
have
heard from her?’

‘She texts and emails, though not enough to stop me worrying. I just wish she hadn’t gone, she’s too young.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. What an adventure. I wish I’d done something like that at her age, but one minute, school, the next, microbiology at UCL.’

‘There are so many dangers, Dory.’

‘Girls are vulnerable, full stop. You can’t prevent them from growing up. If she’s not lost it already, she’s got to lose her virginity soon.’

‘What about pregnancy, the massive danger of STIs, AIDs, even … as
you
should well know! Not to mention getting caught up in drugs.’

‘You don’t have to travel to be exposed to all of that. She knows how to look after herself, doesn’t she? She has taken condoms?’

Why did Dory have to be so measured and reasonable all the time? ‘Condoms! How should I bloody know? It’s not a subject we talk about.’

Dory frowned. ‘But surely you’ve …’

‘It’s so easy for you to dish out advice, but what do you know?’ Fran interrupted. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re not an expert on South East Asia. I know that our girls
are
more vulnerable; the way some of them dress gives out the wrong signals. Western girls are dismissed as tarts and slags, fair game to be used and abused. She might be drugged, kidnapped, raped. She might even be murdered, for God’s sake! A lot of use it’ll be having condoms in her bag.’

That shut Dory up. Now she was nodding as if she sympathised, but still with that condescending know-it-all expression.

‘The trouble with women like you, I’m sorry to be blunt, you’ve no idea what it’s like to be a mother. Oh, you think you do …’ Fran ploughed on, ignoring the flinch in her sister’s face. ‘… but women who’ve not had children can’t comprehend the visceral connection between a mother and her child. No amount of condescending rationality can make the slightest dent in it. I daresay I’m being ridiculous …’

‘Of course you’re not.’

‘Making mountains out of molehills, but nothing you can say will stop me worrying about her. Apart from everything else, I just can’t get it out of my head that Mel’s in a part of the world which has suffered from coups, riots, terrorist bombs, earthquakes, a tsunami … Fran’s voice was cracking. She didn’t know whether she wanted to cry or shout. Talking to her sister reminded her how it had always been. She would get angry about something, seeing the world in black and white, for her or against her, while Dory remained coolly superior. It might be commendable to be objective, to rationally examine every angle, but there were times when Fran wanted support and agreement. Anything else looked like a challenge, felt like she was being put in the wrong.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dory said. She looked contrite and suddenly sad. ‘You’re right, I’m not a mother. How can I know what you’re going through?’

Chapter Nine - Stefan

This morning was his new start. In one hand he held a heavy knot of keys, with the other he pulled a battered pack of cigarettes from an inside pocket and tipped one into his mouth. He had parked in the furthest corner of Wyvern Mill, between a breezeblock outbuilding and a chain-link fence. Instead of heading for his new workshop, he walked over to the padlocked gate. He unlocked it and dragged the gate open; the shriek of the hinges fused in jarring cacophony with the scrape of the gate across the uneven ground.