Life Drawing for Beginners (24 page)

I
rene tapped on the playschool door.

“Come in.”

She turned the handle and walked in. “Sorry I’m late,” she said—recognizing, as she spoke, the woman who sat beside Emily at one of the low tables on the other side of the big bright room.

The woman regarded Irene in mild astonishment. “Hi there. You’re here for Emily?”

Irene crossed to the table, her heels tapping softly on the lino or vinyl or whatever it was on the floor. “I’m her mother. Small world.”

Meg from the life drawing class was her daughter’s teacher. Showed how little they knew about each other, after three evenings spent together.

Emily looked up briefly before continuing with her jigsaw. “Where’s Pilar?” she asked sulkily.

Irene crossed the room and sat on the edge of the table beside her daughter. “You know Pilar’s not with us anymore,” she said. “Daddy told you. Come on, get your jacket.”

Emily didn’t budge.

“She’s almost finished,” Meg said. “Just another minute.”

Irene felt a twitch of annoyance. She sat and watched as Emily unhurriedly selected a wooden piece and tried to insert it into the wrong place—on purpose, she suspected.

“Emily,” she said, “it’s time to go, and Meg is waiting to close up. Go on, get your jacket.”

“Pilar always gets it for me,” Emily said, choosing a different jigsaw piece. “Or Daddy does.”

Before Irene could respond Meg rose and crossed swiftly to the row of plastic hooks and lifted off Emily’s yellow jacket. “Here we go,” she said brightly, holding it out to Irene.

Irene took the jacket without comment. Why couldn’t she mind her own business? “Come on,” she said, turning back to Emily, “time to go home.”

Emily picked another piece from the pile. “I’m not
finished
,” she said.

“I think Mummy is in a hurry, lovie,” Meg said.

“She’s not Mummy, she’s
Irene
,” Emily said. “I just have to finish the jigsaw.”

“No, you don’t.” Her patience spent, Irene grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “It’s time to go home now.”

Emily’s face crumpled as Irene maneuvered her arms into the yellow jacket, acutely conscious of the other woman watching silently. Let her think what she liked; Irene wasn’t about to be dictated to by a three-year-old.

She lifted a hand in farewell as she propelled her crying daughter to the door, and Meg smiled briefly in return.

“See you tomorrow, Emily,” she called.

Emily made no response, which gave Irene some small satisfaction.

The day was crawling by. Each time James looked at his watch he was frustrated all over again by how little time had passed since he’d last checked. Lunch had been hours ago surely, and yet here it was, not even three o’clock.

By half past three he’d had enough. He locked the door of the house he’d been showing and phoned the receptionist to say he was going home with a headache. It was the first time off he’d taken since he’d started the job ten weeks ago, so his conscience didn’t prick him unduly.

He drove to a shopping center on the outskirts of the town and whiled the time away getting a hot-towel shave and a haircut, which took all of half an hour, and buying what his grandmother would have called fripperies—biscotti in the little Italian delicatessen, a pair of sparkly green hair slides for Charlie, a milk jug with a row of fat smiling cats around the rim and a matching sugar bowl for Eunice, who refused to accept payment for her babysitting, and two pairs of black socks to add to the dozen he already had.

He arrived at Little Rascals ten minutes early and waited for Charlie to finish the butterfly collage she was working on, aware of the appraising glance of the manager, who hadn’t ever asked him about Charlie’s mother.

“Want to go for pizza?” he asked Charlie as they drove off.

Her face broke into a delighted grin. “Pizza? But it’s not Friday.”

“I know, but I thought we might have a special treat,” he told her, “just this once.”

“Yaaay.”

He couldn’t explain the restlessness he’d felt all day, the sense of impatience that had dogged him since he’d woken. He wanted to race through the day, he wanted the hours to flash by without taking a breath. By the time they finished their pizza it would be six, a quarter past when they got home.

He’d get Charlie cleaned and settled into pajamas and dressing gown, and while she was sitting in front of the telly he’d shower and change, and then it would be close to seven, not long to wait at all until Eunice arrived to babysit. And after that he’d kiss Charlie good night and get into the car and drive to Carrickbawn Senior College.

He enjoyed the drawing, that was it. He looked forward to the classes, he was glad he’d signed up for them. He found them relaxing, and a nice break from the weekly routine.

That was all there was to it.

From the minute they’d left the playschool Emily had been impossible. After lunch, which she’d refused to eat, Irene had dropped her into the shopping center crèche while she did her usual round of the boutiques and shoe shops. Within twenty minutes Irene’s name was being called over the center’s public address system.

“Sorry,” the crèche supervisor said when Irene returned, fuming. “She’s being very aggressive and upsetting the other children. We’re not prepared to look after her if she can’t play nicely.”

“What did she do?” Irene asked, regarding her daughter, who stood in the corner, red-faced and glowering.

The supervisor indicated another little girl who was sniffling on the lap of a second adult. “She bit that child, and was physically aggressive with several of the others, pinching, pulling hair, and so on.”

Irene approached Emily and crouched beside her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Emily mumbled. “I don’t like this place.”

“Well, they don’t like you either.” Irene marched her outside. “You’ll have to come around the shops with me. Don’t touch anything.”

“When is Pilar coming back?” Emily demanded.

Irene gritted her teeth as she steered Emily through the doors of a shoe shop. “Pilar is never coming back—you can forget about her. How could she come back to such a wicked girl?”

That evening Emily refused to eat dinner. She sat at the table regarding the mashed potato, sausage chunks, and little pool of baked beans Martin placed in front of her.

“Don’t want it.”

“You’re getting nothing else,” Irene warned, but Emily refused a single bite.

“I want Pilar.”

Irene threw an exasperated glance at Martin, but he was studying Emily thoughtfully, and Irene knew his sympathies lay wholly with his daughter.

“Pilar had to leave,” he said. “I told you she was very sad, but she had to go.”

Emily’s eyes filled with tears. “Was it because I was wicked?”

Martin shook his head, frowning. “Of course not, darling. Why on earth would you think that?”

Irene held her breath, but Emily didn’t mention their earlier conversation. “Can you ask her to come back?”

“I don’t think we can do that—but we’ll get someone else, just as nice,” he promised, pulling a tissue from the box on the sideboard and dabbing at her eyes. “Now, why don’t you have a little bit of sausage, just for me?”

And just for her father Emily began to eat her dinner, observed by her mother, who could do nothing right.

At quarter past seven Irene left them to it—Emily taking longer than usual to go to sleep, demanding a second story from Martin—and made her way to Carrickbawn Senior College. She parked the car and pulled out her mobile phone and dialed the number her mother had given her. She hoped the Spanish woman’s English was better than Pilar’s.

“Allo?”

“Hello—is that”—she checked the page—“Katerina?”

“Yes.” She pronounced it “jes.” “Who is this please?”

“My name is Irene Dillon. I was given your name by, er”—what had her mother said?—“someone who knows you.”

“Jes?”

“I’m looking for an au pair, and I believe—”

“Oh, sorry,” the voice said, “but I have new job, very sorry.”

“Thank you,” Irene said crisply, and hung up.

So much for that. Could immigrant workers really be that hard to come by? Irene seriously doubted it, but where were they all? Martin had made it clear that a new au pair wasn’t the route he wanted to take, so he was going to be no help at all. It was up to Irene to find one.

Maybe she could put it to the class this evening, maybe one of them would have some kind of a lead. Maybe Zarek would know someone; he must have immigrant friends.

So degrading, to have to rummage around like this for a maid. She slipped her phone back into her bag and opened the car door—and was startled to receive a broad smile from the antisocial Northern man, who’d just pulled up beside her.

“Lovely day,” he said, “isn’t it?”

The mechanic listened to the sound of his wife leaving for her art class. Her footsteps on the path, her car door opening and closing, the engine starting up, the car moving off. He waited until the sound had disappeared completely. Then he waited another five minutes before pulling out his phone.

When can we do it again?
he typed. Short and to the point, she wasn’t one for chitchat. She saw what she wanted and she went for it.

She was dynamite. The thought of her made him hard. He pressed
send
and off it went.

“I’m looking for an au pair,” Irene said. “Someone for a bit of housework and childminding. I was wondering if any of you know someone who might be interested.”

“Yes,” Zarek said immediately, grasping at his escape from the possibility of having Pilar as a co-worker. “My flat mate is looking for new job,” he told Irene. “Very nice person, very friendly. Loves the little childrens. Very good worker.”

“Sounds perfect. Would you happen to have her number?”

Zarek tore a corner off his page and scribbled Pilar’s name on it, and copied her number from his phone. Maybe he should phone Pilar during the break, tell her to expect a call. No—better not get her hopes up, just in case nothing came of it. Although Irene certainly sounded interested.

He handed the piece of paper to her. She glanced at it before putting it into her handbag.

“Thanks a lot,” she said. “Much obliged.”

The door opened and Audrey hurried in, looking flustered.

“So sorry,” she said, shrugging off her jacket. “I do hope I’m not late. My little dog escaped from the garden and I had to go looking for her.”

“Relax; it’s only two minutes past,” Irene told her.

“Oh, that’s a relief.” Audrey dumped her canvas bag on the table at the top of the room. “Anyone seen Jackie?”

“She’s on the way,” Fiona said. “I met her in the corridor when I was coming in.”

“Good.” Audrey pulled a cardboard tube from the bag. “While we’re waiting for her, I’ll show you what we’ll be doing tonight.”

“Have you find your dog?” Zarek asked.

Audrey smiled warmly at him as she eased the top off the tube. “Yes, I got her, she’d only gone as far as the next garden. She’s still a puppy, she’s very lively and curious.”

She reached into the tube and eased out a rolled-up sheet. “Now, I want you to look at this drawing and see what you notice.”

She unrolled the sheet and stuck a blob of Blu-Tack to each corner and attached it to the blackboard. Her students regarded the charcoal image in silence.

The female subject was nude and seated on a stool with her back to the artist, but she was turning from the waist to look over her shoulder. Her arms were raised, piling her hair onto her head, the curve and nipple of the near-side breast just visible. A towel was draped loosely at her hips, her buttocks rising from its folds. Her face was in three-quarter profile, her lips slightly parted in a half smile.

The rolled edge and claw feet of a bath were visible to the right of the figure. The impression was given of someone just about to step in—or maybe just out.

The proportions and perspective were perfect, the lines gracefully and confidently executed. There was a wonderfully sensual feel to the image.

“Tell me what you notice,” Audrey repeated when nobody spoke.

“It’s like a negative,” Meg said. “Like it’s reversed, or something.”

Audrey nodded. “Exactly right—”

Jackie entered just then, wearing her usual dressing gown and carrying her rucksack.
Sorry
, she mouthed at Audrey as she dropped the rucksack and began taking off her shoes. Audrey smiled at her briefly before turning back to the class.

“That’s exactly what it is, a drawing in reverse. It’s called a tonal study. What we do is cover the whole section first with pencil or charcoal”—she indicated the sheet—“and then we pick out the figure using our putty rubbers. It’s like you’re doing the opposite of what you normally do. You’re rubbing out the figure instead of drawing it.”

They were silent, their eyes still on the drawing. Jackie tucked her rucksack under a chair and undid the belt of her dressing gown.

“It’s a useful exercise,” Audrey went on. “The object is to pay attention to the tones and planes of the figure, to see where the light hits, and what shapes are created by it. Once Jackie is in position I’ll go through it in more detail.”

“Who did it?” Irene asked.

Audrey blushed a little. “I did, actually, at a life drawing course I attended last summer. In Tuscany,” she added.

“It’s great,” Fiona murmured, and the others chimed their agreement.

“You are very good artist,” Zarek said.

Audrey’s cheeks grew pinker. “Oh, well, thank you…anyway, that’s what we’ll be trying out tonight. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Jackie came to the center of the room and stood by the chair, looking questioningly at Audrey.

And the fourth life drawing class began.

Michael sat in the gathering dusk and remembered his wife laboring over the flower beds, easing up weeds or thinning seedlings or dead-heading flowers. Ruth had loved the garden; she was happiest when she was making things grow, or simply sitting on summer evenings where Michael sat now, surrounded by the scents and colors that she’d created.