Life Class (32 page)

He still stared, still seemed to be trying to engage with her eyes, to force her to acknowledge complicity in what was happening. Fran’s hand was shaking. The line she was putting down wobbled and died on the page. The ink was absorbed back into the stick. She no longer saw her drawing. What was his name? Somewhere deep inside her, a tremble began. Dermot? Dermot what? They’d been talking about him at coffee. Michael had said something about him being Irish. She hadn’t really been listening. Brian! Dermot Brian. DB. Oh no! Oh fuck! Oh shitting fuck! The twig fell. Her hand flailed stupidly, as if she thought she could catch it. Instead, her hand knocked into the jam jar of water. It toppled with a clatter, spilling water into the palette and over the table. Pink water slopped through the slats and puddled onto the floor, splashing Liz.

‘Oh God! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Oh God!’ Fran stepped back abruptly, knocking into a chair behind her. It shunted against another table with a resounding bang.

‘It’s OK. It was only a splash. I never wear anything good for art class,’ Liz said, brushing unconcernedly at her jeans’ hem. Fran hardly heard her reassurance. She’d turned away wildly. Finding her route to the door barred by an obstacle course of chairs, tables, and easels, she began heaving them aside, unwilling to divert around them. Her head was buzzing. Have to get away. Now! Numb to the amount of noise and disruption she was causing, she dragged and pushed furniture out of her way. Chair and table legs locked together and squealed across the vinyl. An unused easel, with a large drawing board attached, toppled and fell. Fran did not stop to see what effect her violent exit had had on the class. All she knew was that she had to get out. She yanked open the door and ran along the corridor, down the stairs, through the reception hall, and pushed out through the double doors.

Chapter Thirty-two - Dory

Frozen, hand poised halfway to the paper, Dory watched her sister’s frantic, blundering exit. She flinched as the easel crashed to the floor with a reverberating clatter. What was up? It was an occupational hazard to knock over a jam jar. Everyone here had done it some time. Unless there was something else?

Only seconds passed. The model still sat in pose, his back to Dory, but the rest – all apart from Dom, who smirked annoyingly – appeared as gobsmacked as she was. Eyebrows were raised, looks were exchanged. A murmur of concerned conversation bubbled up. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’

‘Is she all right?’

‘What happened?’

‘Dory, dear, is Fran ill?’

Dory jumped up and pushed past Rachel with a muttered apology. She was across the room within moments but glanced back at Dermot before leaving the room. His expression was impassive, his genitals partially quiescent. Judging by her own experience with this model, it was a fair guess he’d had an erection only moments before. Was that what had upset Fran? It seemed an extreme overreaction given what she’d said on the subject. At this moment, the only certainty was that she’d been very distressed. The imperative was to get to her – the cause was a secondary concern.

Dory ran along the corridor towards the corner that opened to the stairwell. Too late, she heard rapid footfalls. She, and whoever was ascending the final flight, were on a collision course. In the inevitable mêlée of arms and legs, she experienced a sick lurch as her centre of gravity was displaced. A firm grip steadied her. Something dropped.

‘Hey, hey, hey! What’s going on?’

For a brief moment, she was only aware of strong arms around her, the touch of skin, of cotton and denim, warm breath on her face, the scent of a male. Looking up confirmed his identity.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I …’ She pushed Stefan away, more to catch her breath and regain control than a rejection of his assistance. His eyes narrowed and he stooped to pick up a file from the floor. Inconsequentially she noticed his rolled-back sleeves, his bare forearms.

‘No need for apology,’ he said. ‘My fault. There should be a keep-left policy on these stairs.’ He pushed the splayed papers back into the cardboard folder with the heel of his hand then looked up, a wry twist to his mouth. ‘To coin a phrase, we really must stop meeting like this. Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to …’

‘… Wasn’t looking where I was going.’ Already, Dory was sidestepping him and moving on. ‘Got to go. Sorry.’

He called after her. ‘What’s up?’

Halfway down the stairs, Dory turned. ‘Fran. Didn’t you see her?’

‘Caught a glimpse of someone in a hurry. Didn’t see who. What’s happened? Is she all right?’

‘She’s … I don’t know … she’s upset. I’ll find out.’

Outside the old school, Fran was nowhere in sight. Dory walked quickly towards the car parking area, looking for her sister’s car. She was in the driving seat, arms folded on the steering wheel, head slumped forward. The passenger door wouldn’t open so Dory tapped gently on the glass and saw the jolt of shock go through her. A suspicious eye peeked over her arm. Dory tapped again and smiled encouragingly. Her sister unlocked the car.

No more than five minutes later, Dory was returning to the art room to apologise to Stefan and to collect their belongings. On her way, she puzzled over Fran’s initial explanations. Garbled and confusing though it was, she’d gathered enough to realise that whatever was troubling her sister – real or imagined – was not going to be resolved with a few platitudinous reassurances.

‘I think I … we … better call it a day,’ she said quietly to Stefan. ‘Fran’s had … well, she’s upset. I can’t explain what’s happened. I don’t really understand myself.’ Dory turned away, beginning to pick up the palette and upturned jar from the slatted table beside Fran’s easel. ‘This is a mess.’ She made a face, examining fingers already stained pink. ‘And it’s all dripped through onto the floor. I’d better get some paper towels.’

Stefan laid a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll clear up, get the mop out. Don’t want any more run-ins with the cleaners. You concentrate on your sister. And Dory,’ he added, ‘I hope she’s OK.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Dory reassured Fran for the umpteenth time. ‘What’s one drawing out of the multitude I’ve produced since last September?’ The two were sitting in the window of a Starbucks in the local town – not their usual choice of venue but in the current emergency, the nearest. ‘I can always pick it up later,’ Dory continued.

‘The lesson will be over. The classroom locked.’

She sighed at her sister’s determination to see the worst. ‘OK. My drawing will probably still be there when we go back next week.’

‘I’m never going back. It would be too embarrassing.’

‘Of course you are. Don’t be silly. Now, when you’ve drunk your coffee, you can try to explain. No hurry,’ she added, as Fran began to shake her head.

‘I’m really, really sorry, Dory,’ Fran said again, making no move to pick up the mug. ‘You must think I’m
so
stupid.’

‘How can I think anything? I don’t understand, Fran. Whatever it is, it can’t
really
have anything to do with dodgy Dermot, can it? He’s such a sad little exhibitionist! Not unless you two were in a secret relationship? Bloody hell! The mind boggles.’ Dory smiled at the image she’d conjured. ‘It would be impossible to get intimate with the bloke. Can you imagine? He’d slither out of your grasp like a bar of soap.’ Fran had begun to weep again, but she shook her head, tears now mixed with snuffly giggles. ‘And have you noticed the miasma that follows him around?’ Dory persisted, pleased to see her sister’s returning sense of humour. ‘Yuck! Talk about old ashtrays! You were letting your imagination run away with you. I’ve never even spoken to him, have you?’

Fran straightened. ‘No. No, I haven’t. But he was staring at me … and he started to get a boner.’

‘You
had
been warned.’

‘But it got, you know,
really
erect!’

Dory was still baffled by this story, unconvinced that her bold and sassy sister should have been so upset, but she smiled encouragingly. ‘He obviously fancies you more than he fancied me.’

‘No.’ Fran was shaking her head again. ‘You see, he seemed to position himself deliberately. As if he’d selected me.’

‘Be flattered. That’s how he gets his kicks. He chose the prettiest woman to exhibit himself to.’ Fran gave another half-laugh, more like a cough. She didn’t argue, Dory noticed, with being the prettiest woman in class. ‘But I began to wonder if there was more to it. It’s hard to explain. You’re going to think me
such
a fool.’

Dory looked her sister in the eye. ‘Just
try
to explain.’

Fran drew in a long shuddering breath. ‘Do you remember me talking about Dan Brown?’

‘Who?’

‘My old boyfriend. We split up before I met Peter.’ Gradually, in fits and starts, the story began to come out. Dory’s jaw dropped.

‘So that’s what you’ve been doing. Emailing this Dan bloke! Where was it all heading? Did you plan to meet?’

‘No. I don’t know. A part of me wanted to meet him. I had this fantasy …’

‘You’re telling me!’

‘Oh, don’t be like that, Dory! I thought you were trying to be sympathetic.’

‘My sympathy is draining away,’ Dory said, crisply. ‘What about poor Peter? Had you thought how hurt he would be by all this?’

‘He wasn’t ever meant to know. It was exciting because it was secret.’

‘Because it was all in your head! As for keeping secrets, your obsession with the internet hasn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. He’s even raised the subject with me. He may not know what’s been going on, but he sure as hell knows
something
is!’

Fran had taken on her guilty schoolgirl expression, profoundly irritating Dory. This was more serious than that.

‘I still don’t get the connection with Dermot? What upset you?’

‘DB,’ Fran said.

‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.’

‘His initials are DB. Dermot Brian. Dan Brown.’

‘Same initials. So?’ Her continuing incomprehension must have shown in her expression. Fran looked momentarily exasperated, as if Dory should be keeping up.

‘When I initially decided to try to find Dan, the only way I could think of was through Friends Reunited or Facebook. But I had no joy.’ Fran explained. ‘Then I had a brainwave. I started sending emails to made-up addresses. One of the possibilities I came up with was db@. I sent multiple versions, adding all the server names I could think of.’ Wiping a finger under her wet, make-up smudged eyes, Fran looked up, then quickly away again. Dory’s horror must be showing on her face. ‘I got a reply to one of them saying I’d found him,’ she continued in a low voice. ‘
He
was my Dan Brown.’

‘Oh, Fran!’ Dory clutched her head in disbelief. ‘How could you be so …? The man could be anyone! From Donald … Buck to … Dionysus Barrenboim!’

There was an edge of hysteria to Fran’s answering giggle. ‘I
knew
that! I was cautious, but I thought it had to be him. He said he still has a photograph of me …’

‘Did you ever see this photo?’

A blush stained her sister’s cheeks. ‘No, no.’

‘You wanted it to be him so much you convinced yourself. Face facts, even if it is the same guy, he’s not going to be the young man you remember. He could be fat and …’ Dory sighed. ‘So what happened? What changed?’

‘It was exciting to begin with. But it was harmless. I wasn’t hurting anyone. It was
just
a flirtation. Then …’ She paused and drew breath. ‘He … began to make more explicit suggestions. He became demanding, pressurising me about when and where we were going to meet. I’ll admit I was tempted.’ Fran lowered her eyes to her hands. Ironic, Dory thought, that she was twisting her wedding band and engagement ring back and forth. ‘But I kept putting him off. Then he sent me the link to this appalling website.’ Her lips clamped tightly together.

‘Appalling in what way? If it’s paedophilia, you should report it.’

‘No. Nothing like that. He wouldn’t be interested in me, would he? But the images were so horrific.’ Fran had raised her head again. ‘I didn’t know you could get onto websites like that almost by accident, without some kind of subscription?’

‘Websites that are apparently free and make their money through advertising and pop-ups. Did you notice adverts? Other links?’

‘I suppose there were, for magazines and videos, as well as fetish clothes and sex toys.’

‘I get it. It’s an S&M site?’

‘Yes.’ Fran’s voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes sliding away from her sister’s as if she were responsible. ‘And he’s sent me more since then. I just want him to stop. I’ve told him. But he keeps on bombarding me with all this repulsive stuff.’

Dory drooped her head onto her hand and rubbed her forehead. She noticed, inconsequentially, that neither of them had drunk their coffee. Both had a tell-tale skim on the surface of the liquid.

‘Even though I don’t approve, I suppose I can imagine the buzz of virtual flirting with strangers. What I can’t understand is if it upsets you so much, why do you continue to talk to him? Why do you open the images he sends you?’

‘Because he won’t stop. And once the email is there in my inbox …’

‘There’s no rule that says you have to open every email. Do you read all your spam as well? The ones offering Nice Russian Girls or Penis Enlargement?’

‘Course not. Though I hardly ever get anything like that. But if there’s something from db, I have to know.’

‘Have you thought of blocking him?’

‘I don’t know how to do that. Anyway …’ Fran glanced away out of the window, unwilling, it seemed, to hold her gaze. ‘I’m frightened he knows where I live. That’s why I reacted like I did today.’ Her voice had grown wobbly again. ‘Suddenly there was this creep, staring at me, with a big hard-on, and his initials were DB. I just freaked.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Fran! How could it be the same bloke? The chances are miniscule. You know that really, don’t you? Dermot was the model on the first day of term
last year!
You weren’t already emailing DB then, were you?’

Fran shook her head.

‘For him, or even Dominic Barnes, for God’s sake, to be your mystery correspondent, would be a completely off-the-wall coincidence, like a plot device in a trashy novel!’