Life Drawing for Beginners Read online

  “Yes, a box,” she replied evenly. “I’ll need some kind of container to bring her home in.” Probably charge her for that too.

  He closed his newspaper without another word and disappeared through the rear door. Audrey was quite sure she was being overcharged—surely they gave mongrels away for nothing at any cats’ and dogs’ home—but what could she do? She’d fallen for this dog, and no other one would do. And by the looks of it, she’d be doing the poor animal a charity by rescuing her from this obnoxious man.

  A minute went by. Audrey scanned the nearby shelves and saw tins of pet food and bird feeders and bags of peanuts and cat and dog toys. Maybe he liked animals more than humans, maybe that’s why he worked in a pet shop. She selected a single can of puppy food—just enough to do her until she got to the supermarket—and brought it to the counter.

  She returned to the little dog, who set up a fresh burst of yapping at her approach. She lifted the carrier, which was surprisingly light, and held it up so she and the dog were eye-to-eye. “You’re coming home with me,” Audrey told her. “I’m taking you away from that horrible grumpy man.”

  “I haven’t got a box.”

  Audrey whirled, almost dropping her load. Had he heard? He must have. Impossible to tell from his distant expression, which hadn’t changed since she’d arrived. Oh, what did she care whether he’d heard or not?

  “You can borrow the carrier,” he said shortly. “I’ll need it back on Monday.”

  “Thank you,” Audrey said coolly. “May I ask how old she is?”

  He shrugged. “Three months, give or take.”

  Give or take what? Another month? Audrey gritted her teeth and waited while he scanned the tin of puppy food and totaled her purchases.

  He took her money without comment. He’d probably never heard of “please” or “thank you,” but she made a point of thanking him clearly as he handed over her change. At least she could show him that one of them had manners.

  To her surprise he walked ahead of her and held the door open. She nodded stiffly at him as she left, vowing not to return unless it was absolutely necessary. Of course she had to bring back his carrier, that couldn’t be avoided, but she’d simply deposit it on the counter and leave before he had time to annoy her.

  The problem was, his was the only pet shop in Carrickbawn—​probably the sole reason for him still being in business​—so she wouldn’t have much choice if the supermarkets didn’t stock whatever she had to buy for her new pet.

  Not that she was at all sure what she had to buy. There’d never been a dog or a cat in the house when Audrey was growing up. Neither of her parents had relished the idea of an animal around the place. She’d bought the pup on impulse, and hadn’t the first notion of how to look after her. She’d have to get a book—or better still, visit the vet as soon as she could; surely he’d answer any questions she might have. She’d make an appointment first thing on Monday.

  In the meantime she had to come up with a name. She’d been considering “Bingo,” but that was when she’d assumed the pup was male, so she’d need to think again. Something nice and feminine; “Belle,” maybe, or “Daisy.”

  And Audrey would let her sleep in the kitchen; that alcove beside the stove would be perfect if the log basket was moved behind the back door. She’d have to get a little pet bed, one of those nice furry ones. And a leash for walks, and her own pet carrier. The vet might sell things like that, if the supermarkets didn’t.

  And a dish for food. Audrey could use her empty steak and kidney tin from last night until she got a proper one. Lots of things to think of, but where was the hurry? She raised the carrier until she and her new pet were eye-to-eye.

  “I’m Audrey,” she said, and the little dog yapped back.

  She lowered the carrier and turned onto her road, her good humor fully restored, humming “How Much Is That Doggy in the Window?”

  Fifty euro. It had been well worth it.

  —————

  Jackie had almost missed the ad. She would have missed it if she hadn’t gotten trapped behind the long-haired man, forced to wait while he dithered about watercolor pads until she was ready to scream. Twelve minutes already wasted out of her precious lunchtime hour, five of those spent rummaging through the paintbrush display, because the single assistant—one assistant, at the busiest time of the day—was too preoccupied behind the counter to help her.

  “Would you mind awfully?” Jackie’s boss had asked. “I need them for my class this evening, and I’ve got nobody else to ask.” And what could Jackie do but agree to call by the art supply shop in her lunch hour to buy the forgotten brushes? To be fair, she’d been given a fiver for her trouble—“the least I can do is buy your sandwich,” her boss had said, and Jackie had silently agreed—​but what good was that if she was left with no time to eat it?

  And as she’d stood silently fuming, the small card stuck to the shelf beside her had caught her eye. Wanted, she’d read, Model for adult life drawing class. No prior experience necessary. Build immaterial, but must be over eighteen. Tuesdays 7:30–9:30. Relaxed atmosphere.

  The handwriting was ridiculously round. All the i’s had a flower above them instead of a dot. A border of smiley faces marched around the card in various colors.

  Artist’s model. Paid work, presumably. Money for sitting still. Nice work if you could get it. Life drawing, though—wasn’t that taking your clothes off? And this was an evening class, which meant not just one artist but lots of them, all looking at her. And not proper artists either—anyone at all could enroll in an evening class.

  “Just these,” she’d said to the assistant when her turn had finally come. The brushes had been checked out and paid for, and then Jackie had stood aside while the woman behind her handed her purchases to the assistant.

  On the other hand, it was only two hours a week—and she could use the money, with Eoin’s heart set on a Wii for Christmas. How hard could it be, taking your clothes off and striking a pose? All you needed was a bit of nerve, take a deep breath and just do it.

  She’d walked back to the notice and read it again. Build immaterial—so you didn’t need the perfect figure, which in Jackie’s case was just as well. Tuesday evenings, she could manage that. Didn’t say where, but evening classes were usually held in the Senior College, weren’t they? She could tell her parents she’d enrolled in some other class, whatever else was on the same night.

  Might even be a bit of a laugh, sprawled out on a blanket or whatever, like some kind of Greek goddess. She’d found a pen in her bag and scribbled the mobile phone number onto her hand. She could find out how much it paid anyway. She wasn’t committing herself to anything just by asking.

  She’d bought her sandwich and gone back to the boutique, and plugged in the kettle in the little room behind the shop floor. While she waited for it to boil she’d called the number. The woman who answered had sounded nice.

  “I’m the teacher,” she’d said. “Let’s meet up, and you can ask me all about it. I’ll wear an orange scarf so you’ll recognize me. What about tomorrow? I’m free anytime after eleven.”

  “I work on Saturday, but I could meet you during my lunch hour,” Jackie had replied, so they’d arranged to meet at ten to twelve in the little café beside the post office, and here Jackie was, pushing open the door at nine minutes to twelve—and there was the teacher, orange scarf wrapped like a turban around her head, waving and smiling from her table by the wall.

  “I guessed it was you,” she said, standing up and reaching out her hand as Jackie walked over. “You looked as if you were meeting someone, but weren’t sure who. I’m Audrey, and thank you so much for coming.”

  She wasn’t someone you’d overlook, with bits of her hair tumbling out of the turban-scarf and her bright pink blouse and full green skirt. She was certainly colorful. But her hand was soft and plump, and her smile was genuine, and her voice was friendly and warm.

  “Now,” she was saying, picking up the menu,
“I fancy some cannelloni—what about you? My treat, of course.”

  Jackie smiled. She could take her clothes off, she was suddenly sure she could. She’d look on it as an adventure, something slightly risqué to laugh about later. I used to be an artist’s model, she’d say, watching people’s reactions.

  “Cannelloni sounds good,” she said.

  —————

  As the shop door opened, Michael Browne glanced up and saw a teenage girl holding a small child by the hand.

  “I’m closed,” he said, dumping the coin bags back into the drawer of the cash register and sliding it shut.

  “The door was open,” she replied, taking a few steps towards him. “I’m not here to buy nothin’, I jus’ want to talk to you.”

  Her accent was flat. Her grammar made him wince. He regarded her over his glasses. Maybe a bit older than a teenager, maybe twenty or twenty-one. Wearing the jeans they all wore, shapeless black top over it. Pale pinched face, looked like a square meal wouldn’t go amiss. Or a bath.

  “If it’s money you’re after,” he said, “you can forget it.” She didn’t look as if she was hiding any kind of weapon, but you couldn’t be too careful. She could have a syringe up her sleeve, or there could be an accomplice waiting outside.

  “I jus’ want to talk,” she repeated.

  “In that case, talk to me on Monday. I told you I’m closed.” In future he’d turn the key at five to six.

  She didn’t move. The child stood beside her, regarding Michael with enormous blank eyes. His red sweater was too small, and frayed at the waist.

  “I’m closed,” Michael repeated loudly. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Look,” she said, “I jus’ want to tell you somethin’.”

  Michael strode out from behind the counter. She barely came up to his shoulder. The child scuttled behind her.

  “What bit of ‘I’m closed’ do you not understand?” Michael asked angrily, folding his arms. “It’s six o’clock and I’ve been here all day, and whatever you want can wait till Monday. Now get lost before I call the police.”

  “You’re Ethan’s father,” she said rapidly, her pale eyes on his face.

  Michael stopped dead, his arms stiffening across his chest. He stared back at her, feeling the blood rushing from his face.

  “I had to come here,” she went on, the words falling over themselves now, as if his question had unleashed them. “I didn’t know where you lived, I jus’ knew this was your shop, Ethan told me. I waited till you were closin’ up.”

  “How dare you mention my son,” Michael said quietly, dropping his arms and moving towards her, conscious of the child making some kind of a whimpering sound behind her. “How dare you say his name to me.”

  She stepped backwards but continued to talk rapidly. “We were together,” she said, her eyes never leaving his face. “Me and Ethan. I saw you at the funeral.”

  Michael stopped, his heart hammering in his chest. Knowing, abruptly, what was coming next. “Don’t—”

  “He’s Ethan’s,” she said—and as the words left her mouth Michael strode past her and pulled the door open.

  “Get out,” he said, as calmly as he could manage, “before I call the police. Leave this shop now.”

  She stood her ground, an arm around the boy, who was burrowing into her side. “We need your help,” she said urgently. “Please—”

  “Get out,” Michael repeated, everything tightly clenched inside him. “Stop talking. Leave my shop now.”

  She advanced towards him, the child still clinging to her top. “Look,” she said, “I’m desperate, we got no place to go, we’re bein’ thrown out on—”

  “For the last time,” he said, “I’m asking you to leave.”

  “Please, I wouldn’t ask only—”

  “I’m counting to ten,” Michael said.

  “He’s your family,” she insisted, her voice beginning to tremble. “I was dealin’, but I stopped, for him.”

  “Congratulations,” Michael said. “One, two, three—”

  She looked at him in despair. “I’ve got nothin’, no money, no job, nothin’. If you won’t help us we’ll be out on the—”

  “Four, five, six—”

  “He’s your grandchild—don’t that mean nothin’ to you? Your grandchild livin’ rough.”

  “Seven, eight, nine—”

  She gave up then, pulling the boy past Michael and turning onto the street. Michael closed the door and locked it, and changed the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. He finished bagging the money and packed it into his rucksack and left through the back way, as he always did.

  There was no sign of them as he rounded the corner into the street, no sign of anyone behaving furtively as he deposited his takings in the bank chute. And not once on Michael’s way home, which took just over twenty minutes on foot, did he allow his dead son to cross his mind.

  But as soon as he opened the door of his house, Ethan came anyway.

  —————

  Irene knew by his breathing that he was awake. She took off her robe and slung it on the chair. She slid naked between the sheets and moved towards her husband, who wore boxer shorts, and who was turned away from her.

  She laid a hand on his side, just above the waistband of his boxers, feeling the rise and fall of his rib cage. She began stroking the warm skin gently, pulling her body closer until she could feel the heat from his. The scent she’d just dabbed onto her pulse points wafted around her—she knew he could smell it too.

  As her instep connected with the heel of his foot he turned onto his stomach, leaving her palm sitting in the middle of his back.

  After a few seconds she moved away from him and closed her eyes and waited for sleep. Before it arrived a wail sounded from outside the room. Irene stiffened. The sound came again, a long, high cry. Irene lay motionless.

  Her husband stirred. “Did I hear Emily?”

  “Think so.”

  He slid out of bed and left the room. Irene turned onto her side and pulled the duvet around her shoulders.

  Sunday

  As Audrey drifted awake she became aware of hot, quick breath on her face. She screamed and leapt out of bed—and her flailing left arm caught the little dog and sent her flying in the opposite direction with a startled yelp.

  “Oh—” Audrey scrambled back across the mattress and peered over the side of her generous double bed “—oh, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

  Her new pet looked none the worse for her abrupt departure from the pillow. She trotted back to the edge of the bed and Audrey scooped her up and settled back against the headboard, pulling the sheet around both of them.

  “You gave me the fright of my life,” she told the little animal. “I thought I was being attacked. Of course, if you’d slept in your own bed this would never have happened.”

  She’d lasted forty minutes the night before, determined to ignore the surprisingly loud whines that drifted up from the kitchen. To give in would be a disaster: Audrey’s years of experience in the classroom had taught her that. You had to establish who was boss from the start. She would be resolute, and the whining would eventually stop, and a lesson would have been learned.

  But the whining hadn’t stopped, the whining had shown no sign of stopping. Audrey had buried her head under a pillow, vowing to stick to her guns. The laundry basket was a perfectly adequate bed, and very comfortable with the old cushion in it. Really, you couldn’t get better.

  As the minutes ticked by, the noise from the kitchen seemed if anything to increase in pitch. In the face of such obvious distress, Audrey’s resolve had begun to weaken. She’s only a few weeks old, her inner softie had pointed out. She’s still a baby, probably not long separated from her mother. Maybe she had lots of brothers and sisters who all snuggled up together at night. No wonder she’s lonely now, all by herself in a strange dark room. How can you be so hard-hearted?

  Stop it, Audrey the teacher had commanded—but both Audreys had known
that the battle was lost, that it was only a matter of time before victory was declared by the smaller of the two warring factions. When her clock radio showed midnight, Audrey had finally admitted defeat. She’d gotten out of bed and padded wearily downstairs, hearing the whines turning to excited yaps as she’d approached the kitchen door.

  Scolding as she went—“You’re perfectly safe in this kitchen, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, I’m only up the stairs”—she’d hefted the laundry basket back to her room, the pup scampering delightedly around her feet.

  “This is only for tonight,” she’d warned, placing the basket in the corner of the room. “In you go.” She’d patted the cushion encouragingly, but the new arrival was trotting happily around, scrabbling at the duvet in an attempt to scale the bed, pushing her nose into Audrey’s bundle of folded clothes on the chair and sending them tumbling to the floor.

  “Come on now,” Audrey had ordered, “into your basket. Good dog. Good girl.” She’d crossed the room, scooped up the little dog, and placed her in the basket. “Stay,” she’d said firmly—​but the minute she’d turned towards the bed the pup had leapt onto the floor and padded after her, and Audrey had been too tired to argue.

  She scooped up the animal and placed her at the bottom of the bed. “No more whining,” she’d ordered, getting in herself and switching off the lamp, “and certainly no barking. And please try to keep to your end.”

  The pup had padded around the duvet, turning in circles until she’d settled herself squarely on Audrey’s feet, dropping her head onto her paws with a satisfied grunt.

  Audrey had listened to the tiny, rapid breaths coming out of the darkness, had felt the corresponding rise and fall within the little body at her feet. She’d had to admit that it was pleasant to have another presence in the room, even if a small hairy four-legged creature wouldn’t have been top of her list of bedroom companions.

  Still, for the first time in her life as an adult she wasn’t alone as she’d fallen asleep, which could only be a good thing. The laundry basket would be moved back to the kitchen first thing in the morning, and Audrey would be unrelenting the following night.