Life Class (3 page)

‘Look, I’m paying you a compliment. Postponing pregnancy is the trend for intelligent, successful women. Career first, babies later. Not like me. Falling pregnant while still in education is what chavs do.’

‘Only if you’re an underage schoolgirl. How are Mel’s A-levels going, by the way?’

‘Not keen on the linkage between those two ideas!’

‘Sorry …’ Dory covered her face with her hands. ‘I didn’t mean … that came out wrong. You might still have been at art college when you got pregnant with Mel, but you were in a solid, supportive relationship with someone already well-established in his career.’

‘Solid, supportive? Well-established? Is that code for “years older than me”?’

‘That’s not what I mean. And Peter is the least chavvy person I know. Now, please, no more talk about having babies!’ To distract from her genuine aversion to the subject Dory clamped her knees together in a pantomime of horrified revulsion. ‘It’s making me go all funny.’

‘But you’re surely not ruling men out of your life altogether; what about sex?’

‘Sex?’ Dory looked up at the sky, bringing her finger to her lips in mock perplexity. ‘Hang on. I
think
I remember that. Bare skin? Hot? Sweaty? Writhing around a bit?’ She raised her eyebrows at her sister.

‘Oh, Dory!’ Fran shook her head with an exasperated laugh.

‘I’m not joking. A depressed sex drive was a symptom of my condition and the thin end of the wedge between Malcolm and me. Why resist the advances of a younger model when her indoors is not giving out in the bedroom stakes? The last few years, sex has been at the very bottom of my to-do list.’

Fran stared at her, as if about to take issue with her last statement, but then shrugged. ‘It may not be the most important aspect of life, Dory, but use it or lose it! I’m sure your libido will perk up once you’re living a more relaxed life in the country.’

‘Fran, I am not going to be hassled into making decisions. Before anything else,
if
I seriously intend to make a permanent move back here, I have to find myself somewhere to live and a job. While I’m here I could make enquiries at the hospital.’

‘The hospital?’ Clearly she’d astounded her sister. ‘You’re not thinking of going back to … not the same kind of work, Dory? Surely you can afford not to?’

‘How much do you think I’ve come away with, Fran? It ain’t millions! Even
if
I could afford to be a lady of leisure like you, it’s not what I want. I’ve already taken an extended break and I’m getting restless. I need to feel truly independent, not depend on the proceeds of the split from Malcolm.’

‘You told me you were thoroughly fed up with your job.’

‘True, but let’s face it, it’s all I know. I’d only look for something part-time to begin with.’

Fran shook her head. ‘For a moment there, I thought you were planning to bury yourself in the old nine to five routine. There’s so much more you could do with your life.’

‘What else have you got lined up for me?’

‘There are local action groups you could join. My committees are always looking for new members.’

‘Like Save our Skylarks or No to the Wind Farm? My idea of fun … not!’

Fran looked momentarily huffy. ‘If involving yourself in the community doesn’t appeal there are loads of other adult classes you could sign up for. Languages, music, photography … Or you could join a gym or a ramblers group … go Salsa dancing …’

A bubbling sensation started below Dory’s diaphragm.

‘Kayaking, clubbing … speed dating.’

‘Fran!’ she managed through the erupting giggles.

‘OK, perhaps not speed dating. All I’m saying is, there’s a whole world out there of things to do, places to see.’

‘So what about you, Mrs Dynamic? Apart from the art class, what fun things do you do with your life? As far as I can see it’s just walking the dogs and shopping.’

Fran looked away. ‘Come on, time to go, home time, chaps!’ Shrill barks came from a nearby copse and a snaking trail of disturbance ploughed towards them through the long grass. The dogs erupted from their tunnel of green. Fran bent to ruffle their feathery heads. ‘Where’s your bone, naughty boys?’ It was a few moments before she straightened. She shrugged, as if aware an answer was still awaited. ‘Me? I’m not independent, am I? I always have other people to consider. And it’s just got worse. I was just getting my life back after Mum died and Peter announced he’s taking early retirement. Soon
he’ll
be breathing down my neck from morning till night! You’re lucky, you’re a free agent. You can start from scratch and create an entirely new life for yourself. I envy you.’

At some point between then and now, a point Dory could not now recall, her objections to joining this class had been overridden. Like it or lump it, she was here in this alien environment, legs uncomfortably astride a wooden bench with an adjustable front flap – apparently called a donkey – grappling with a skill she had almost forgotten.

Subtle odours of graphite, of glue and paint and primer, permeated the atmosphere. And there was something else – a palpable tension, reminiscent of an exam room, every brain focused on a single, unified purpose. No one spoke, but now and then someone would sigh or mutter. Someone hummed tunelessly. Against the whir of a fan heater these subdued, human noises were counterpointed by the surprisingly loud tap and scratch of multiple pencils, the rattle and creak of drawing boards vibrating against easels. Something small hitting the floor was followed by a soft curse, a shuffle of movement, a grunt. The fumble through a bag of equipment was followed by the scrape of blade against wood.

As yet, she had drawn no more than a few squiggles to represent the face. From the tone and musculature of his body, the model looked no more than a fit forty, but the slack ‘been around a bit’ looks and the grey in his oily curls put him as older. Good body, shame about the face, she thought with an inward smile. Engaged now by the lines, puckers, and hollows of his face, she attempted to capture a likeness. Was it a good sign – an indication she’d relaxed – that she could now objectify enough to consider the attractiveness of this stranger, lying stark naked in front of her?

She looked up from her drawing again. In that instant his gaze reconnected with hers in the same challenging stare. Rats! Leave the eyes unfinished and go on. A moment ago she’d felt almost serene, involved in the process of drawing. Now she perceived how much there was still to do. Never mind his bits and pieces, had she even got the proportions right? The angle of his arm? The hand on his thigh? She noticed the yellow nicotine staining on his spread fingers, so close to … Oh no! Yet again his genitals had rearranged themselves. Was this what the tutor meant when he’d said not to get bogged down with detail? Did it matter?

She’d been a fool to let herself get corralled into this, to be persuaded that, with practice and determination, anyone could do it. Maybe, but there was a dispiriting process of trial and error to go through first. Earlier that morning she’d been looking forward to the class. Where had all that optimism and confidence come from? She’d even allowed herself to fantasise about a future career in the arts. How laughable was that? How ironic. And it was all Fran’s fault.

Her back was aching and the edges of the donkey were digging into her thighs. The pitted wooden surface between her splayed legs was thick with a drift of eraser crumbs. It felt like she’d been stooped forward for hours in this unfamiliar straddled position. Time must nearly be up, surely? The tutor’s voice cut through her thoughts.

‘Last few minutes. Dermot needs a stretch. He must be getting a bit stiff …’

Chapter Four - Fran

As they left the art room and made their way towards the stairwell, Fran pondered the tutor’s final remark. ‘After a coffee break I’ll explain about the course.’ Who needed explanations? With the exception of the three newcomers, they’d all done this class for years. Life drawing wasn’t complicated. All they needed was the location and the model. But the tutor was new too – a fact that had come as a disagreeable shock. She hoped he wasn’t going to start making changes! This was her favourite part of the week, and she had been looking forward to introducing Dory to an activity she loved. Despite being the eldest, it was a long time since she’d been able to take the lead in anything. For once
she
was the one with the inside knowledge, the experience, the expertise. She would enjoy being her sister’s guide and mentor.

A couple of teenage girls pushed past them, clattering down the stairs ahead. Shrill giggles drifted back.

‘The building was originally a secondary school. It’s used as an annexe to the college now. But wouldn’t you know it, they plan to pull it down and cover the site with houses. As if there aren’t enough swallowing up the countryside. There’s an online petition you can sign. So, how did you enjoy the first session?’

‘It was so hard, Fran! I nearly walked out.’

‘You’ve got to battle past your demons. Despair and elation. Happens to us all.’

‘It wasn’t just the technical difficulty. You wouldn’t have known it from your angle but …’ Dory stopped speaking. Her eyes refocused.

‘But what?’ Fran prompted.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Dory said, clearly changing her mind. ‘It can wait. What were you saying?’ Dermot, the life model, passed them, taking the stairs two at a time and leaving a nicotine trail in his wake.

Everyone in the building had apparently broken for coffee simultaneously. While the two of them waited at the end of the slow-moving queue, Fran scanned the packed canteen. Its mainly youthful customers were noisily clustered around islands of tables. The new teacher wasn’t here to experience the bedlam. He needed to be told that their coffee break had always been delayed to miss the eleven o’clock rush.

Already sitting around a huddle of tables were most of the people from the life drawing group. Fran had hoped that a striking new member of the class would have joined them. Failing to spot the long-haired youth, she began the introductions.

‘Bill, Rachel, Lennie, Joyce, Liz, Mary, Michael … This is my sister, Dory. She’s just moved back from London.’ Fran sat down next to Bill, dragging up another chair. Dory said hello and asked to be forgiven if she took a while to remember names. The to and fro of conversation was soon re-established.

‘This new model’s good, isn’t he?’ Rachel was saying. ‘Keeps wonderfully still … there’s terrific definition to the muscles.’

‘Looks to me like he waxes,’ Fran said. ‘And did you notice the sheen on his skin? Wouldn’t be surprised if he oils himself as well. What was he expecting, a photoshoot for a muscle man mag?’

Down the table, Michael was holding forth to those around him about a sailing trip in the Caribbean. Typical, Fran thought. Always has to go one better than the rest of us. Ignoring him, she turned to Bill. ‘What’s happened to Sandy? I was
so
disappointed they’ve lumbered us with a new tutor!’

‘Sandy was a dear girl,’ Bill said, to a chorus of general agreement. ‘But she didn’t really push us, did she?’

‘Hardly a girl! She must have been as … older than me.’

‘You’re all girls to me.’

‘Oh, thank you, darling.’ As usual, Bill looked the typical conservative country gent in a shirt and tie under a mustard sweater, his neatly trimmed iron-grey hair brushed back from his large, florid face.

‘I haven’t seen much evidence this guy’s any more dynamic,’ Fran continued. ‘And he’s surly with it. He pretty much left us to our own devices.’

‘Perhaps he was just giving us our heads to get a view of the general standard.’

‘Asking for an accurate pencil drawing isn’t what
I
call giving us our heads!’

Bill nodded. ‘But it was the first item on his programme.’

Fran felt her jaw drop. ‘Programme? He gave me something when I first arrived but I was too busy catching up to look at it. Left it upstairs.’

Bill pulled some folded papers from the back pocket of his jumbo cords and smoothed them out on the table with age-freckled hands. They were photocopied from a handwritten timetable.

‘But this looks like a really basic Foundation Course!’ She picked up the stapled pages, hardly able to believe what she was reading. ‘And it’s for the rest of the year, never mind the rest of the term! Most of us have already done all this!’ She looked around at the rest of the table to answering nods and shrugs. ‘We’re doing this class for fun, we don’t need to faff around with
An exploration of materials
or
Drawing the negative shapes.
Rachel, you studied at the Slade with art luminaries of the Sixties, for God’s sake!’

‘It seems such a long time ago,’ Rachel smiled wistfully. ‘I was one of the few who didn’t make a name for themselves.’

‘But you don’t need to be told that “Form does not exist without a balance of light and shade”.’ Fran was fond of Rachel. International fame as a painter might have eluded her, but she’d had modest local success. Like Bill, she was well beyond retirement age but looked more typically the artist. Today she was wearing a flowing garment in purple velvet, over baggy, tie-dye trousers. Her silvery hair, habitually rinsed with blonde, was held up in looping swirls with crocodile clips and slides. She still took the trouble to apply make-up to a face that had evidently once been beautiful.

‘He doesn’t know our backgrounds, Fran dear. Perhaps we ought to give him a break. This is his first day. He has to find his feet with us as much as we do with him.’

‘Exactly! So what’s the point of … whatever his name is … drawing this up,’ she waved the sheets, ‘
before
he’s assessed the class? Come on, guys, someone support me? Who’s going to join me in a class mutiny?’

Having sat silently since her introduction, Dory put her coffee down with a clunk. ‘Fran, we’re not all old hands! I
am
a novice. And if I survive beyond today I’m quite happy to be starting at …’

‘Don’t forget who’s in the majority here,’ Fran cut in. After all, what did she know? ‘Allowances have to be made for the newcomers, but we can’t have the tail wagging the dog. That’s not democracy!’ She turned away from her sister and looked around the canteen. ‘Does anyone know the new lad’s name? I thought he might have joined another table, but I can’t see him.’