Life Class

by Allan, Gilli

  Well aware that it was a part of the body that men – poor things – had no conscious control over, Dory was still surprised. Had she thought about it in advance, she’d have assumed that posing naked in front of a room full of strangers would have a depressing effect on the male genitalia. Not that she was bothered; she’d probably seen more cocks than most people here had eaten hot dinners, so why should this one’s twitchings give her problems? It was what men did with it that caused the trouble. She just happened to be one of the professionals who had to deal with the fall-out. But men, sex, and the day job were off the agenda today. In her personal life, it could be that men and sex were off the agenda full-time. She gave herself a mental shake. Get on with what you’re here for.

  Now, glancing at his face, Dory saw the model was looking at her. No. Not just looking, staring. Look at the rest of the figure, she told herself. Her gaze swept over his reclining form, identifying the patterns and shapes; her hand tentatively followed across the paper, attempting to reproduce the angle of the head, the slope of the shoulder, the splay of hand on thigh. It was then she noticed his reproductive paraphernalia was on the move again. Drawing from life was hard enough without this added distraction.

  Dory had known she’d find the class challenging. The reality was even harder than she’d suspected and the model was in on the conspiracy to defeat her. She wished she could have caught her sister’s eye to share the joke, but even if they’d had an unobstructed view of one another, Fran was behind the model. Dory looked around – no one else had her grandstand view. The tutor was standing at an easel just a metre or so away, dark brows drawn together as he worked on his own drawing. Not much tutoring going on, Dory reflected. From his angle, even if he was unaware of the life model’s disconcerting stare, he must have noticed the waxing and waning of his genitalia. But what could he have done about it?

  Typical of her to have been the sole latecomer, and then find her new drawing pad was so tightly sealed in its crisp plastic wrapping that it gave new meaning to the word ‘rustle’ as she tried to extract it. Typical too that she should find herself in this full-frontal position. All the other students – some standing at easels, others, like her, straddled over low benches called donkeys – had arranged themselves in a semi-circle behind, or to the sides of the mattress on which the model reclined.

  She’d only had a moment, after making her apologetic late entrance, to exchange a quick smile of recognition with Fran, before a man left his easel and, with an audible sigh, approached her. For a split second she felt she recognised him, but immediately discounted the idea. There was no one amongst her acquaintance with shaggy, dark hair like that, no one with a close-cropped dark beard. After pointedly looking at his watch, the man moved his own easel to one side then dragged one of the low benches forward to take its place.

  ‘Use this donkey,’ he’d said, giving her no alternative. ‘Here’s a board. You’ve got paper? I’ve asked everyone for an accurate drawing. Pencil.’ Thankful to be able to settle quickly, and with minimal added disruption to the rest of the class, she was not about to object to her view of the model, even if she’d known it would give her extra problems. ‘Don’t get bogged down with detail.’ Again the tutor checked his watch. ‘Forty minutes left.’ With no time to feel intimidated, she just had to put pencil to that first virgin sheet of paper and start.

  Apart from her sister, there was no one in the class she knew. She was on her own in this private struggle. Story of my life at the moment, she reflected, wondering why she was even doing this. She had recently made a resolution not to allow others to organise her life for her, and yet here she was, doing something her sister had pushed her into. Typical of Fran to come up with an idea that she thought was good, then steamroller it through.

  It was early summer, and the two of them had been on the common, taking the Chihuahuas out for their exercise when Fran first came up with the idea.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Dory had objected. ‘I’m only here on a flying visit. I’ve not even made up my mind about leaving London. It’s a bit soon to be signing me up for adult education classes!’

  ‘You have made up your mind about moving back. You know you have. It’ll be great. You and me, babes …’ Fran squeezed her arm. ‘And if you are interested in doing the life class, you can’t afford to wait for official enrolment. There’s a waiting list. We all re-enrol directly through Sandy, our teacher, before the end of the summer term. I’ll sign you on as well. You’ll adore Sandy. She’s a real sweetie.’

  ‘However nice she is, you’re jumping the gun a bit.’

  Dory had been staying at her sister’s. There’d been another funeral to go to – one of the few reasons the family all got together these days – and suddenly it had seemed like a turning point, a time to reassess her life. The money from the split with Malcolm might not yet be in her bank account, but the amount had been grudgingly agreed. What was there to keep her in London? But this walk was the first time she’d articulated the thought, and Fran had run with it.

  ‘If you want to sign on for a class, particularly the life class, you might as well make the decision now,’ Fran persisted. ‘And you know what they say. You have to get back on the horse.’ A couple of helmeted women began to rise up above the edge of the plateau, as if emerging up through a stage trapdoor. Then, in a surreal coincidence, their mounts appeared. The horses crossed the path sedately. Their riders, elegantly imperious in full riding gear, scarcely glanced at the sisters, who’d stopped to let them pass. Fran’s dogs began to yap.

  ‘Hush, Nelson, hush, Jimbo!’ She threw a rubber bone in the opposite direction and the dogs raced off, disappearing into a dense forest of grass in frantic pursuit of the jingling toy.

  Dory angled her head towards the retreating riders. ‘Did you clock the kit?’

  ‘Part of the attraction, an expensive uniform that sets you apart … and being elevated above the hoi polloi. There’s no alternative but to peer down your nose.’

  It was a typically chippy Fran response, Dory noted. She looked about her. The common offered views in every direction.

  ‘Hey, do you remember that time we picnicked up here? There was a gang of us, plus our mums. I must have been seven or eight. So you were around ten. I’m sure it was near here. We clambered down that bank.’

  ‘Nearly thirty years ago!’ Fran smiled in recollection of the adventure. ‘And we climbed into the garden of the witch’s house. Where was it?’ The sisters strolled over to the edge of the hill. Beyond the steep slope, diagonally slashed by the bridle path the riders had just ascended, there was nothing to see but the densely wooded slopes. The two women looked out over the tree canopy to the hills beyond.

  ‘In amongst those trees somewhere,’ Dory said. ‘And do you remember …’

  ‘Meeting that strange boy?’

  ‘We were the strangers. We’d invaded his garden.’

  Fran didn’t argue, but when she spoke again it was to revert to the previous subject. ‘You have to get back out there and start socialising again. You’ll never meet anyone otherwise.’

  ‘Fran, is persuading me to join this class a matchmaking ploy?’

  ‘I just want you to rejoin the world. You’re not to sit at home and mope. The life class happens to be something I really enjoy. Let’s do it together. It’s been such a long time since we did anything with each other. It’ll be fun.’

  ‘For you, maybe. You’ve kept it up since your college days.’

  ‘You always loved doing art, you know you did. You were so disappointed when you had to give it up after GCSEs.’

  Ironic, Dory thought. I wonder who pushed me towards science? No point in rehashing the past. Her sister always had a different memory of their shared history.

  ‘Enjoying art at school a very long time ago is not the same thing as having talent,’ Dory persisted. ‘And I’ve not done any since, unlike you.’

  Fran made a dismissive gesture. ‘People do it because they want to, not
necessarily because they’re talented. But you’re right, I’d be lying if I said it’s just the art I go for. It’s the whole social thing that makes it fun.’

  ‘Exactly. You’ve all been doing it for years. I’d feel like an interloper barging my way into an established club of like-minded people.’

  ‘We’re hardly all like-minded! There’s a completely mixed bag. And some real characters. An old ad-man, an aromatherapist, a retired psychologist, an ex-diplomat turned antiques dealer, a millionaire –’

  ‘You are trying to fix me up!’

  ‘I’m not. In fact, the majority of the class are women. And Michael the millionaire is married!’ Fran retorted. ‘But I worry about you. You seem intent on living like a hermit for the foreseeable.’

  ‘I’ve not been well, remember?’ Dory shook her head. ‘And as for men …!’

  ‘You can’t nurse a broken heart forever.’

  ‘I’m not, Fran, believe me. I’m well rid of the bastard and not interested in a replacement. All that dating palaver just makes me feel tired and old.’

  ‘That’s crap!’ Fran said crossly. ‘You’re younger than me. I’m the one who’s nearly … Age is all to do with attitude of mind. If you see yourself as old then that’s how men will see you. Look at Kylie, she’s older than us. Not to mention Madonna, who’s even older still.’

  ‘Who are you trying to convince?’ Clearly the subject had touched a nerve.

  ‘It’s never too late. Even for starting a family. Our mother –’

  ‘That was circumstance.’

  ‘These days it’s a lifestyle choice. There’re loads of women our age or older planning their first babies!’

  A baby? A chill breath lifted the hairs over her body. ‘Sounds a bit mechanical. Is it a boyfriend you’re trying to fix me up with, or a genetically healthy stud to impregnate me?’ Dory’s laugh masked the shiver. ‘Why bother with a relationship at all? A turkey baster could do the job! If I was keen to have babies don’t you think I’d’ve done something about it before now?’

  ‘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.