Life Drawing for Beginners (7 page)

Jackie looked unconvinced, her head slowly shaking from side to side.

“Imagine them in their underwear,” Audrey went on desperately, aware of time ticking by. Would they all have given up and gone home by the time she persuaded Jackie to return with her—if that ever happened? “Imagine them in long johns—or maybe bloomers, you know those ones with elastic and…frilly ends.”

“I really don’t—”

“And think of what you can treat yourself to, with the money,” Audrey said. The money might do it.

“I was hoping to get my son a Wii for Christmas,” Jackie admitted. “But I honestly don’t think I can go through with it.”

Audrey felt a flicker of hope—not that she had the slightest notion what a wee was. “There you go, he’d be thrilled with that—​they’re all going mad for them now.”
Please
, she begged silently,
please
. “Tell you what,” she said, “give it ten minutes. If you still hate it after that I’ll let you go home, I promise.”

And eventually, finally, Jackie was coaxed back down the corridor and into the room, where the group sat in their horseshoe positions, pages taped and ready—and where the clock on the wall read eight minutes to eight.

Audrey introduced Jackie quietly and without ceremony, aware that the girl remained extremely reluctant, that the slightest glitch might still cause her to bolt in fright. She indicated a chair off to the side. “You can leave your things there,” she said in an undertone, “and then I’ll tell you what to do.”

Acutely conscious, as she plugged in the fan heater she’d brought along, as she positioned a second chair facing the horseshoe of tables and covered it with a dark blue sarong, as Jackie crouched to unlace her runners and peel off her socks, that every eye in the room was trained on the girl.
Don’t look at her
, she begged silently,
not yet
.

“We’ll start with a series of short poses,” she told them, keeping Jackie at the periphery of her gaze, aware of the dressing gown being slowly opened. “Two or three minutes at the most, just to warm us up.”

The dressing gown slid from Jackie’s shoulders and she bundled it quickly onto the chair. “Right Jackie, if you could come and sit over here please,” Audrey said calmly, praying silently.

Her model walked slowly to the chair that faced the horseshoe of tables, not looking towards the students, not looking anywhere but down at the seat of the chair, hands held awkwardly in front of her. Audrey noted the small breasts, the rosy pink of the nipples, the full bush of dark pubic hair.

“Good girl,” Audrey murmured. “The worst bit is over. Trust me, it gets easier from now on.”

Jackie still looked sick. “What do I have to do?”

Audrey positioned her on the chair. Jackie sat as instructed, eyes downcast.

Audrey turned back to the class, feeling the tension of the evening beginning at last to slither out of her. Finally, they were ready to begin.

“Right, everyone,” she said, “the first of our short poses. Remember we’re just trying to get the overall shape of the body here, don’t worry too much about detail. Note the position of the limbs, the angle of the head, the line the torso makes.”

“So what about the big protest?” Meg asked.

Irene regarded the plate of biscuits but made no move to take one. “What protest?”

“Two people,” Fiona told her, “with placards, out the front.”

“Oh yes, I saw them but I took no notice. What were they protesting about?”

“Us,” Meg said. “This class. They don’t approve. I had to rescue Zarek.” Turning to him, on her left. “Didn’t I?”

“Please?”

“The angry people outside, before the class. I had to take you away.”

“Oh yes; I was not understanding what they say.”

“Hear that, Jackie?” Irene asked. “You’re causing a scandal.”

Jackie, back in her dressing gown, smiled shyly. “Oh dear.”

Audrey listened to her students and sipped her tea. All seemed to be well, halfway through the first class. They were chatting, they were getting on.

Or rather, most of them were chatting. She wondered where James had gone. Out for a cigarette maybe. Pity if he smoked though, very off-putting. She’d been pleased to see his nice head of hair when the woolly hat had come off—not that baldness was necessarily a bad thing, of course. Look at Yul Brynner, or Telly Savalas. Well, maybe not Telly Savalas, bless him.

And the height of Irene’s heels again tonight: How did she walk in those shoes? They made her almost as tall as Meg, who was in flats, and who seemed far too busy making eyes at Zarek to notice what Irene had on her feet. Maybe there would be a fling after all.

What was that saying about boys not making passes at girls who wore glasses? Not that Meg struck Audrey as the type who waited for a man to make a pass—and anyway, glasses were so trendy now, more like a fashion accessory than a passion killer. And Meg’s pair was certainly striking: Audrey approved of the purple frames.

And despite her age, it had to be acknowledged that Irene looked good in a short skirt. Look at those slim legs, those shapely calves. Audrey would have loved to wear minis when she was younger, but at twelve she’d decided that her substantial knees were best hidden from public view, and she’d turned to color by way of compensation.

She took a second custard cream from the plate by her elbow and dipped it into her cup. So far so good, after the shakiest of starts.

“The princess climbed back onto her pony and galloped over the mountain, just in time to put out the forest fire—”

“How?”

“What d’you mean, how?”

“She had no water. You have to have water to put out a fire.”

James thought quickly. “Oh, I forgot to mention the magic well she found at the top of the mountain.”

“But if there was a well how could there be a fire?”

“I can’t understand it,” he said sadly, “and neither could the princess. But anyway the magic well had a hose attached, and she squirted it at the fire and put it out in no time at all. Then she married the prince and lived happily ever after.”

“With her pony.”

“Yes, with her pony. Now, make sure you brush your teeth and go straight to bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Night-night, poppy. Big hug.”

“Night, Dad.”

James hung up and got out of the car. He’d kill for a cup of tea, but the princess and her pony had probably put an end to that.

“So you enjoyed the Pilates.”

Jackie took the plate of leftover chicken from the microwave. “I sure did: It was excellent.”

“That’s good; and you had the walk to and from the college too. Plenty of exercise.”

“I’ll be as fit as a fiddle in no time.” She filled a cup with tea.

“Eoin was asking again if Charlie can come to play after school,” her mother said.

Jackie added milk to her cup. “Those two really seem to have hit it off—he’s always talking about her.”

“You should have her around.”

“I will, as soon as I meet the parents.”

She brought her cup and plate into the sitting room and sat next to her father on the couch, pretending to watch a documentary about Irish murders while she replayed the events of the last couple of hours in her head.

When she’d passed the protesting couple at the door of the college—“no filth”: God, that was
her
—she’d looked straight ahead and kept going, and thankfully they hadn’t attempted to talk to her. Walking into Room 6 and seeing no sign of Audrey, her nervousness had increased. What was she supposed to do, where should she change?

No, not change, undress. Strip. Get naked. Whatever way you put it, it sounded horribly sleazy.

There were three people already in the room, two women and a man, standing over by the window. They’d glanced around when she’d entered, but Jackie had been careful not to catch anyone’s eye. These were the people who were going to be looking at her nude body in a few minutes. She couldn’t possibly have a conversation with any of them now.

She’d perched on the chair nearest the door, her rucksack clutched to her chest, the knot in her stomach growing steadily tighter as the minutes had ticked by. Where the hell was Audrey, why wasn’t she here, telling Jackie what to do, putting her at her ease?

Finally, she hadn’t been able to bear it any longer. She’d gotten to her feet abruptly, her chair scraping loudly on the tiles, aware of heads turning towards her again. She’d fled from the room and stood outside the door, searching the corridor for Audrey, but still seeing no sign of her.

She’d considered bolting, just walking out quickly past the front desk and making her escape. She’d stood there biting her lip, her whole body tense. It had been so tempting.

But she couldn’t let Audrey down, not at this late stage, even if the thought of what she had to do was becoming more daunting with every second that passed. Anyway, knowing her luck, she’d be sure to meet Audrey as she tried to leave. She’d turned and walked quickly past the open classroom door and farther down the corridor, willing her nerve not to desert her as she spotted a sign for toilets ahead.

She’d hurried into the nearest cubicle and removed her clothes with trembling hands, her sense of dread increasing with each garment she stuffed into the rucksack. When everything apart from shoes and socks was off, she’d wrapped the dressing gown around her and belted it tightly, and stood quaking by the bank of sinks.

By the time her phone rang a few minutes later she’d been on the point of getting dressed again, having decided that she couldn’t, just couldn’t, go through with it. She’d waited for Audrey to walk in, bracing herself for the other woman’s disappointment, or even anger. Of course she’d be angry, with Jackie letting her down at the very last minute.

But Audrey hadn’t been angry, she’d been kind and understanding—and however she managed it, she’d persuaded Jackie to give it a go. And Jackie had given it a go. She’d felt the fear and done it anyway, or whatever that expression was—and it hadn’t been half as awful as she’d imagined.

It had taken a while to get over the mortification of it, of course; she hadn’t relaxed immediately. For the first couple of poses she’d sat rigidly, acutely conscious of them all staring at her, terribly aware of the imperfections they could clearly see. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor in front of her, frightened to look anywhere else in case she caught someone’s eye.

But as the minutes passed and everyone just scratched on the pages with their pencils, and asked Audrey questions about shading and lines, and nobody seemed particularly interested in Jackie, apart from how to get the shape of her hip or the curve of her breast right, she realized that being naked was no big deal in an art class. And slowly, very slowly, she began to relax.

The ice had been well and truly broken at break, when they’d all been so nice and friendly, joking about the protesting couple, apologizing to Jackie for their pathetic efforts to capture her on paper, and generally including her as part of the group.

And by the end of the class, she’d decided that one of the people she’d been so terrified of was in fact absolutely gorgeous.

All in all, the most interesting evening she’d had in a long time. She took another mouthful of chicken and glanced at her father, and decided that sharing her euphoria with him might not be the best idea in the world.

For the fourth night in a row, Dolly occupied the bottom of Audrey’s bed, lying on a nest of newspapers that crumpled loudly anytime she moved. The room smelled, in no particular order, of Audrey’s patchouli bath oil, bleach, and dog urine. Audrey lay awake and listened to the rapid breathing of the bed’s other occupant.

She’d failed miserably to get Dolly to remain in the kitchen overnight—some figure of authority she’d turned out to be. And once in the bedroom, Dolly persisted in trying to clamber onto the bed until Audrey gave in and lifted her up, which meant that the duvet’s days were numbered—newspaper could only provide limited protection against an enthusiastic canine bladder. Newspapers on the kitchen floor were similarly ineffective, Dolly preferring to leave her calling card on whatever tiles she could find each day.

And everything was chewed, from the kitchen table legs to the log basket to the handles on the floor-level cabinet doors to the blind cords. Nothing was safe—when it came to putting something between her teeth, Dolly didn’t discriminate. What on earth was Audrey to do, how was she to stop the house from mini demolition?

She didn’t think she’d last till the vet returned on Saturday. Much as she resisted the idea, it looked like she might have to return to the pet shop and seek the cranky man’s advice. He surely couldn’t object to someone looking for help with an animal he’d sold—wasn’t it his duty to provide after-sales service if it was needed? Audrey would be all politeness and civility if it killed her, she’d make it impossible for him to brush her off.

She turned her thoughts to the first life drawing class, and gave thanks again that it had turned out well in the end. Her five students had seemed happy enough, and thankfully Jackie had gotten over her inhibitions and promised to come back.

“My parents think I’m at Pilates,” she’d confessed to Audrey at the break. “They’d go mad if they knew about this.”

Still living with her parents at twenty-four, and the mother of a child. No mention of the boy’s father—and if her son was old enough to know that he wanted a wee, whatever that was, Jackie must surely have been young when she’d had him.

None of Audrey’s business. She turned over, trying to ignore the pins and needles in her left foot, on which a small and blessedly sleeping animal was positioned.

I
rene picked her way across the graveled surface in front of the garage. Heels were a curse sometimes, but it would take more than a bit of gravel to make her give them up. She pushed open the office door and there he was standing at the desk, writing something on a sheet of paper. He raised his head as she walked in.

“Hello,” Irene said, ignoring the girl who sat behind the desk. “I believe you have a car for me.”

“It’s out the back,” he told her, and led the way through the workshop and out the rear door. Irene’s car sat in the concrete yard with several others. She crouched and examined the paintwork.

“That’s great,” she said. “It’s perfect.” She ran a finger along the metal. “I can’t feel a thing.”

“That’s the idea,” he said. “Even rush jobs are done well here.”

She straightened up and took a €50 note from inside her jacket. “I appreciate it,” she said, folding the money and slipping it into the breast pocket of his overalls. “Where do I pay the bill?”

“Office,” he said. “They have the keys. Thanks for that.”

“No problem.” She began to turn away, and stopped, as if something had just occurred to her. She reached into her bag and pulled out a card. “If you ever want a trial session,” she said, handing it to him. “Costs nothing, doesn’t tie you to anything, you don’t have to join up.”

He took the card and read it. “Personal trainer,” he said, and she saw the different way he looked at her.

“That’s right.”

“Weights and stuff, is it?”

“Exactly.” She held eye contact for just long enough before turning away. “Thanks again.”

She wondered how long it would take him.

“I’ll have…”—the girl played with a strand of her hair as she studied the menu behind Zarek’s head. Her fingernails were long and purple, with silver stars in the center of each—“…a chicken mega burger—or, no, a cheeseburger.” She frowned. “Or will I? I can’t decide.” She looked directly at Zarek, twirling her hair around her index finger. “Help me out here,” she said.

Zarek had never tasted as much as a chip in the café. Being surrounded by the smell of hot fat from the minute he walked in effectively killed his appetite, not that he’d ever been drawn towards fast food. “The chicken is good,” he said.

She held his gaze, her hips thrust forward to push against the counter. “Is that what you like?”

A snort from the table behind her, where two of her friends sat.

“Is good,” Zarek repeated, keeping his expression neutral. He was well used to the flirtations, accustomed to the young girls who did their best to tease and tantalize.

“Where are you from?” she asked, all pretense of wanting food suddenly gone.

“Poland,” he told her, taking a cloth and wiping the counter that was perfectly clean. Her scent, much too sweet, trailed across to him.

She twirled her hair lazily. “You got a girlfriend?”

Zarek was ready. “Yes,” he said, injecting what he hoped was the right amount of regret into his voice. “In Poland I have fiancée.”

Her hand dropped abruptly, and for an instant Zarek felt ashamed of the lie. But what else could he do, to avoid the blatant propositions? Wasn’t an imaginary fiancée kinder than admitting that he simply wasn’t interested?

She turned without another word and swayed her way back through the tables, followed by her friends, who completely ignored Zarek as they got up and left. He waited until the door had closed before coming out from behind the counter and clearing their table of shredded napkins and chewing gum wrappers.

Michael looked up as the shop door opened. Oddly, the sight of them caused him no surprise, and he realized that he’d been expecting them to return. He put down his pen and folded his arms and waited.

They were dressed in precisely the same clothing as before. The sleeves of her black top were pushed to the elbows, her jeans so tight he wondered how she got them on and off. The boy stood beside her, his hand in hers, brown trousers several sizes too big, legs rolled up at the bottom, scuffed canvas shoes beneath. He gazed solemnly at Michael, a thumb stuck into his mouth. His hair had been clumsily cut. His face was unnaturally pale.

They approached the counter, the boy moving closer to his mother. A half-full black plastic sack dangled from her free hand.

“Sorry,” she said. “I know you don’t want us, but we got nowhere else to go, I swear.”

Close up, he could see that her chin was pitted with small red marks, and near one corner of her mouth was a cold sore that he didn’t remember from their last visit. Her dark blonde hair was pulled tightly off her face.

Michael shook his head. “I told you to stay away.”

“I know you don’t want nothin’ to do with us.” She spoke rapidly, in a low voice that Michael had to strain to hear. He winced at the flatness of her vowels, her dropped
th
’s, her deplorable grammar.

“You don’t believe what I told you,” she said, “but it’s true, I swear to God.”

Michael’s eyes flickered to the boy, who stared impassively back.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said. “You don’t know me, you never seen me before, but I’m not lyin’, I swear.”

The shop door opened then, and immediately she stepped to one side, pulling the child with her, and stood silently, her gaze on a stand of bird food. The customer looked inquiringly in her direction, and Michael said shortly, “She’s not buying anything.”

As soon as the man had left Michael turned back to her.

“You have to go. This has to stop.”

“It’s not for me,” she said. “I’m not lookin’ for nothin’ for me, it’s jus’ for him.”

Michael glanced again at the boy who was clutching the end of her top, a dark smudge under each eye, a long thin whitish stain running down the front of his sweater.

“I know you haven’t got no proof,” she said, “but I’m askin’ you to believe me, because it’s the truth.”

“Why should I?” Michael demanded. “You’re a drug dealer, you told me yourself. Truth means nothing to your sort.”

She shook her head. “I’m not dealin’ anymore—I gave that up, I
told
you, I gave it up for the child. And he is who I say, you can do any kind of test you—”

“Why don’t you go back to your family?” Michael cut in. “Why are you bothering me? Go back to them: You’re a stranger to me.”

Her expression hardened. “No way,” she said. “My father…if you knew what he done to me…I can’t say it here.”

She was tiny, hardly five feet tall, and scrawny with it. Was she twenty? Michael was no good at putting an age on females. His daughter was twenty-four, but there was a world of difference between Valerie and this girl who stood before him.

“It’s jus’ for the child,” she said then. “If you could jus’ take him in, jus’ for a while till I get meself sorted—”

“Take him in?”

“Only at night, jus’ to sleep,” she said. “It would only be—”

Michael looked at her in disbelief. “You’re asking me to take your son into my house? You’d hand your son over to a stranger?”

“You’re not a stranger—you’re his grandfather,” she shot back, her voice rising, a flush spreading across her pale cheeks. “You’re all we got. I wouldn’t ask only I’m desperate.” Her eyes filled suddenly with tears, and she brushed roughly at them with her sleeve. “Please,” she said. “I’m beggin’ you. I got nowhere else to turn, we been put out, we’re on the street, this is all we got—”

She was willing to let her child off with a strange man, someone who’d shown them the door already, someone who’d ordered her off his property. She must indeed be desperate—that much, at least, must be true. Assuming he
was
her child, and not some ragamuffin she’d commandeered to gain sympathy.

“Can he talk?” Michael asked then.

She frowned, blinking away more tears. “’Course he can talk, he’s not stupid.” A thumb swiping quickly under each eye, a loud sniff.

Michael came out from behind the counter. “I can’t possibly take him,” he said brusquely.

She narrowed her eyes at him, defiant now. “Why not?”

“Because,” Michael replied through gritted teeth, “you could have some cockeyed scheme up your sleeve. You could say I kidnapped him, or abused him in some way. You could be planning to go running to some lawyer and tell all sorts of lies about me, just to try and get your hands on some of my money.”

Her head began shaking slowly from side to side. “God,” she breathed, “the way your mind works. I wasn’t thinkin’ nothin’ like that. I’m jus’ tryin’ to keep him off the streets, that’s all.”

“Sorry,” Michael said, crossing to the door. “It’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”

“Look,” she said rapidly, “I jus’ want—”

He opened the door. “Out,” he said. “There’s nothing for you here. Don’t bother coming back, the answer will be the same.”

Her face crumpled, the color rising in it once more, tears welling again. “He’ll have to sleep rough,” she said desperately, “or I’ll have to go back to dealin’, I got no choice if you won’t help.”

“He’s not my problem, and you’re not either. It’s nothing to do with me.” He held the door open and waited for them to walk out.

“But he
is
your problem, he’s your
grandchild
—”

She reached for his arm but Michael pulled it out of her reach. He took his phone from his trouser pocket and began jabbing at buttons.

“
Jesus
,” she cried then, “you’re some
bastard
.” She swept through the doorway, tears running unchecked down her face, the black plastic bag bumping against Michael’s knee as she passed, the little boy trotting to keep up with her. Michael watched them hurrying down the street—and as he turned to go back inside he narrowly avoided a collision with a woman approaching from the opposite direction.

She looked uncertainly at him as he moved out of her way, and he knew she’d witnessed at least some of what had just happened. He nodded curtly at her and held the door open while she walked inside.

“I was just…” She stopped. “This might not be…”

“What do you want?” Michael attempted to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“I bought a little dog from you last week,” she said, “on Saturday. You lent me a carrier, I brought it back on Monday.”

He waited. Probably looking to give back the damn pup, not what she wanted after all. Fat chance.

“It’s just,” she said, fiddling with her hair, smoothing her skirt, making him almost twitch with impatience—“well, to be honest, she’s a bit…unruly, and I just—”

“I’m not taking her back,” Michael said. “No returns.”

She looked shocked. “I don’t want to give her
back
, for goodness’ sake—I just wondered if you, um, might have some…I don’t know, advice about how I could manage her a bit better, that’s all.”

“You want some advice,” Michael said evenly.

“Just a few pointers. I’ve never had a—”

“Get a book,” he cut in. “Go to the library, or go to a bookshop and pick up a book. That’s my advice.”

He turned on his heel and walked back to the counter, and by the time he’d resumed his place behind it she’d vanished. He slumped on his stool and rubbed his face.

He’d done the right thing. She was an addict, she couldn’t be trusted. They weren’t his problem. He’d done the right thing.

After a while he opened his newspaper and returned to the crossword, but for the life of him he couldn’t make sense of a single clue.

Audrey banged the frying pan onto the cooker. The
nerve
of the man, the absolute
cheek
. She had a good mind to go straight back to that shop and give him a piece of her mind. How
dare
he take that tone with her, how
dare
he think he could treat people like that and get away with it.

She sloshed olive oil onto the pan and pulled open the fridge, her blood still boiling, nearly an hour after the encounter. And that poor girl, rushing out in
floods
—he’d obviously upset her too, and a young child with her. Audrey tore the plastic from a half pound of sausages and stabbed them with a fork and flung them on the pan. Such an
ignoramus
.

She yanked the lid off a tin of beans and upended it into a saucepan. She couldn’t for the life of her understand how he stayed in business. Surely no right-thinking people would willingly shop there? She wondered if there was anywhere she could lodge a formal complaint. There must be someplace consumers could go to report rogue traders, or whatever you’d call him.

She shook the pan and the sausages hopped. When they were brown all over she lifted a plate from the dresser and opened the oven door and pulled out the tray of chips. She tossed them onto the plate and plonked the sausages beside them, and splashed the beans on top.

She took her plate and brought it out to the garden and sank onto the garden seat. She was
not
going to let him ruin the rest of her day. She’d get a little bottle of wine to have with her dinner, even though she never normally had a drink during the week. But this was an exception, this she needed.

She left her plate on the seat and went back inside—and in the thirty-four seconds it took to open the wine, pour it into a glass, and return to the garden, Dolly managed to dispatch one and a half sausages and an impressive amount of beans.