🌶️ Sue’s After Dark Diaries Episode 47

Apparently, I Was Supposed to Look

Reader Intro…

Morning, you lovely lot.

This week’s After Dark Diaries Episode 47 begins with Sharon deciding that apparently, I need a little more culture in my life.

Now, you’d think after all these years I’d have learned that whenever Sharon announces she’s had a good idea, the sensible thing to do is lock my apartment door and pretend I’m not home.

Unfortunately…

…I made the mistake of saying yes.

What followed was an evening I certainly wasn’t prepared for, involving a new experience, a rather unexpected blast from the past, and several moments when maintaining my dignity became considerably harder than it should have been.

By the time I got home, let’s just say I’d learned a few things about art, friendship and the importance of being properly prepared.

So, grab yourself a cuppa, put your feet up and join me for Sue’s After Dark Diaries Episode 47 – Apparently, I Was Supposed to Look.

Enjoy…

Sue 🌶️

Sharon Decides I Need Culture

It started with a knock at my apartment door.

Three quick bangs.

Pause.

Two more.

Sharon.

Nobody else knocks as though they’ve come to repossess the furniture.

I opened the door.

She was holding two takeaway coffees.

“I’ve had an idea.”

I accepted mine.

“Oh, dear.”

“Don’t ‘oh dear’ me.”

“The last time you had an idea, half a campsite thought my vibrator was an electric toothbrush.”

“That was Dan’s fault.”

“Roger wasn’t exactly innocent.”

She walked past me.

Apparently, we’d reached the stage in our friendship where invitations were unnecessary.

“I’ve decided you need more culture.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“What about you?”

“I’m coming too.”

“So we both need culture?”

“No. I’m supporting you.”

Charming.

She sat at the kitchen table.

“I’ve booked us an evening art session.”

That surprised me.

“Art?”

“Live art.”

I pictured easels.

Flowers.

Perhaps one of those bowls of fruit nobody actually keeps in their house.

“What do we draw?”

“Something from life.”

“Flowers?”

“Something natural.”

“Fruit?”

“Very natural.”

“Animals?”

She took a suspiciously long sip of coffee.

“Possibly.”

“What sort?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hope it’s not a horse.”

“Why?”

“Too many legs.”

“You’ve got two.”

“Yes, and I struggle drawing those.”

She smiled.

“Seven o’clock.”

“Do I bring anything?”

“An open mind.”

Then she left.

I looked at Benji.

He looked at me.

“It’s flowers.”

His expression suggested otherwise.

I Was Expecting Something With Petals

At quarter to seven, Sharon knocked again.

I’d changed into black trousers, a cream blouse and flats.

She looked me up and down.

“Ooh.”

“What?”

“Very arty.”

“I didn’t know what to wear.”

“It’s not a fashion show.”

“You told me to wear something nice.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

That was warning number two.

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at a converted studio behind a row of shops.

Inside were easels, drawing boards and around fifteen people.

Mostly women.

“Popular with the ladies.”

Sharon suddenly needed to adjust her handbag.

We collected charcoal and enormous sheets of paper.

I looked around.

“No flowers.”

“Not yet.”

“No fruit.”

“No.”

“Where’s the thing we’re drawing?”

“Probably getting ready.”

I frowned.

“How much preparation does a vase of lilies need?”

She coughed.

We sat down facing a raised platform.

Still nothing.

“Maybe it’s an animal.”

“Maybe.”

“A dog?”

“Could be.”

“A cat?”

“Possibly.”

“A rabbit?”

Sharon made a peculiar choking sound.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Before she could answer, a cheerful woman walked to the front.

“Good evening. I’m Helen. Welcome to our Wednesday life-drawing session.”

Lovely.

Then:

“If you’ve never drawn from a nude model before, please don’t worry.”

I froze.

Slowly…

…I turned towards Sharon.

She was studying her charcoal.

Very carefully.

“Nude?”

“What?”

“She said nude.”

“Did she?”

“Sharon.”

“Oh…”

“…yes.”

That Wasn’t What I Meant by Live

“You knew.”

“I knew there was a model.”

“A naked model?”

“There may have been some mention of nudity.”

“You told me live art!”

“It is live.”

“I thought you meant flowers!”

“I never said flowers.”

“You let me believe flowers.”

“I said natural.”

“So is a bloody daffodil!”

The woman in front turned around.

I smiled.

“Sorry.”

Sharon was biting the inside of her cheek.

“You did this deliberately.”

“You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

“Correct!”

“Exactly.”

Before I could decide whether charcoal could be used as a weapon, a side door opened.

A man walked out wearing a navy robe.

“Oh no.”

Sharon grinned.

“Oh yes.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’ve got all your art supplies.”

“It’s one piece of charcoal.”

“You’ve paid twelve pounds.”

“You paid twelve pounds.”

“Then I’m definitely getting my money’s worth.”

The model stepped onto the platform.

I looked around.

Nobody else seemed concerned.

Apparently, I was the only woman in the room who’d arrived expecting begonias.

Helen smiled.

“Whenever you’re ready, Simon.”

He reached for the belt of his robe.

I turned towards Sharon.

She was watching with the concentration of someone awaiting the National Lottery numbers.

The robe opened.

Then dropped.

There was a brief silence.

I blinked.

Sharon leaned towards me.

“Still want the flowers?”

I swallowed.

“Well…”

I looked back at the platform.

“…perhaps we should keep an open mind.”

Apparently, Looking Was Encouraged

Now…

…I’m a grown woman.

I spent years working as a masseuse.

I’ve seen plenty of male bodies.

Professionally, obviously.

But there’s an enormous difference between somebody lying beneath a towel…

…and somebody standing completely naked while you’re being encouraged to stare at him.

Nobody tells you where to look.

Shoulder?

Safe.

Knee?

Very safe.

Ear?

Perfect.

Unfortunately, Helen had other ideas.

“Take a moment to observe the whole body.”

Beside me, Sharon made a tiny noise.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You nearly did.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Very much.”

Simon turned sideways for his first pose.

I relaxed slightly.

Shoulders.

Broad.

Back.

Very nice.

Legs.

Also very nice.

Actually…

…he was in remarkably good shape.

And judging by what Mother Nature had given him to work with…

…she’d clearly been feeling generous that day.

I glanced at Sharon.

One eyebrow went up.

Mine followed.

No words required.

“Don’t draw what you think should be there,” Helen explained. “Draw what you actually see.”

Well…

…that seemed potentially dangerous.

I started with his shoulders.

My first attempt made him look like a wardrobe.

I rubbed it out.

Second attempt.

Wardrobe with an arm.

Sharon looked over.

“Is that him?”

“It’s early.”

“Did something happen to his neck?”

“Draw your own naked man.”

“I am.”

“Then concentrate on him.”

“Oh, I am.”

I looked at her.

She smiled sweetly.

Honestly…

…I should have stayed home.

Then He Turned His Head

Eventually, I began to relax.

Sort of.

If I concentrated on lines, ignored certain areas, and pretended I was drawing a complicated lamp, it wasn’t too bad.

Then Helen spoke.

“Simon, turn slightly towards the window, please.”

He moved.

His head turned.

My charcoal stopped.

No.

I looked again.

That nose.

The jaw.

That little crease beside his mouth.

Oh, for God’s sake.

Sharon noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve gone funny.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

“Shhh.”

“What is it?”

I leaned closer.

“I know him.”

Her eyes widened.

“You know him?”

“Keep your voice down!”

“How well?”

“Not like that.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“No!”

The woman in front turned around.

Again.

I smiled.

“Sorry.”

Sharon lowered her voice.

“Who is he?”

“Simon.”

“I know. Helen just said that.”

“I knew him about five years ago.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Nearly boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Wanted-to-be boyfriend?”

I hesitated.

Mistake.

Her face lit up.

“You fancied him.”

“We flirted.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“And you never…”

“No.”

Sharon looked at Simon.

Then at me.

Then back at Simon.

Slowly.

Thoroughly.

“Oh, Sue.”

“What?”

“That was a catastrophic error of judgement.”

“Draw.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Don’t.”

She picked up her charcoal.

Five years ago, I’d thought Simon was attractive.

Tonight…

…I was discovering I’d been working with incomplete information.

Five Years of Missing Important Information

I tried drawing.

Unfortunately, my brain had started going through old memories.

Simon in jeans.

Simon in shorts.

Simon sitting opposite me in the pub.

Simon squeezing past my chair once because the table behind us was too close.

I stopped.

Oh.

Good grief.

Had that been there?

Surely I’d have noticed.

Then I remembered a summer barbecue.

Simon had worn swimming shorts.

I’d spent half the afternoon talking to him.

Apparently…

…I’d been looking at entirely the wrong half.

“Sue.”

“What?”

“You’ve stopped drawing again.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“History.”

She followed my gaze.

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“How did you never notice?”

“I don’t know!”

“Was he wearing a sock?”

“Why would that help?”

“To disguise things.”

“With another lump?”

She thought about it.

“Good point.”

I looked at Simon again.

Perhaps he’d been particularly talented at arranging himself.

Maybe there was specialist underwear.

Something supportive.

Reinforced, perhaps.

Some kind of gentleman’s scaffolding.

“Sue.”

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

I snapped my eyes back to the paper.

“I am not.”

“You haven’t blinked for about thirty seconds.”

“I was studying proportions.”

She smiled.

“Of course you were.”

Then Helen appeared beside me.

“Excellent, Sue. Really look at what you’re drawing.”

Sharon bent forward.

Her shoulders shaking.

I was going to kill her.

Helen Wasn’t Helping

Helen studied my picture.

There was a pause.

“Try loosening your strokes.”

Beside me…

…Sharon made a tiny squeak.

I ignored her.

“Right.”

“And don’t be afraid of the body.”

“I’m not.”

“Really study what’s in front of you.”

Sharon coughed.

“Are you all right?” Helen asked.

“Fine.”

“Would you like some water?”

“No, thank you.”

Helen smiled.

“Remember, there are no embarrassing areas in life drawing.”

That did it.

Sharon bent forward, apparently fascinated by her shoelaces.

Helen walked away.

I waited.

Then whispered:

“If you laugh, I’m stabbing you with this charcoal.”

Sharon wiped her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No.”

She looked towards Simon.

“I’m really not.”

I tried drawing again.

Then another memory arrived.

Five years ago, Simon and I had once spent an evening sitting on a tiny sofa at a friend’s birthday party.

Very close together.

His leg had been pressed against mine.

At the time, I’d thought nothing of it.

Now…

…I had questions.

Lots of questions.

Where had everything been?

Was there some sort of folding mechanism?

“Sue.”

“What?”

“You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re mentally undressing him.”

I stared at her.

“Sharon…”

She looked towards the platform.

“Although technically, somebody’s already saved you the trouble.”

I laughed.

I couldn’t help it.

Even Helen looked over.

Then Things Got Worse

The first pose ended.

Simon stood.

I immediately became fascinated by the ceiling.

Lovely ceiling.

Very white.

No naked men whatsoever.

Helen announced a short break.

Perfect.

I could recover.

Then Simon moved the stool.

And sat down.

Facing us.

Directly.

I stared.

Then looked at Sharon.

“Oh, come on.”

She grinned.

“Excellent.”

“For what?”

“Perspective.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

I raised my drawing board slightly.

“There are moments in life when eye contact is important,” I whispered.

“Mmm.”

“This isn’t one of them.”

Helen called us back.

I tried looking at Simon’s face.

Unfortunately, that created a new problem.

What if he recognised me?

Five years is a long time.

My hair was different.

His was shorter.

Perhaps I could get away with it.

His eyes travelled around the room.

One person.

Another.

Closer.

I lowered my head.

“Sue.”

“Shhh.”

“He’s looking over here.”

“I know.”

“Look up.”

“No.”

“You’re supposed to draw him.”

“I’ve changed artistic direction.”

“To what?”

“Abstract.”

Sharon snorted.

I risked a glance.

Simon was looking directly at me.

Our eyes met.

He paused.

His eyebrows lifted.

Then the corner of his mouth curled into a tiny smile.

Oh, brilliant.

“He knows.”

Sharon looked delighted.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“That smile.”

“What smile?”

“The one saying, ‘Hello Sue. Remember me? Apparently not all of me.’”

Once He Knew, I Knew He Knew

Things became considerably more difficult after that.

Before Simon recognised me, I could pretend I was simply drawing an anonymous naked man.

Now…

…he knew I was looking.

And I knew he knew I was looking.

Which meant every time I looked…

…I wondered whether he knew where I was looking.

Honestly…

…art is exhausting.

I tried concentrating on his arm.

Safe.

Then his chest.

Still safe.

Then Helen told us to consider the whole composition.

Not safe.

I looked up.

Simon caught my eye again.

That tiny smile returned.

Oh, he was enjoying this.

Five years ago, I’d thought he was charming.

Apparently…

…he was also a sod.

Sharon leaned closer.

“He smiled again.”

“I know.”

“He likes you.”

“He’s sitting naked in front of fifteen women.”

“So?”

“I don’t think I’m currently his biggest concern.”

“He keeps looking at you.”

“He recognises me.”

“He’s flirting.”

“You cannot flirt naked.”

She considered this.

“Why not?”

“Because flirting is supposed to leave something to the imagination.”

Sharon glanced towards Simon.

“Fair point.”

“There isn’t much left to imagine, is there?”

“Not from this angle.”

She laughed so suddenly that Helen looked over.

“Everything all right?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Just discussing technique.”

Helen nodded approvingly.

“Wonderful.”

Sharon whispered:

“His or yours?”

I kicked her.

Hard.

Sharon Became Very Artistic

A little later, Sharon went quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

I looked across.

She was staring intensely at her paper.

“You all right?”

“Fine.”

“You’ve gone red.”

“I’m warm.”

“Central heating?”

She glared at me.

I leaned across to inspect her drawing.

Actually…

…it wasn’t bad.

Head.

Shoulders.

Chest.

Legs.

Then I reached the middle.

I stopped.

Looked at Simon.

Looked back at the drawing.

Then at Sharon.

“That’s optimistic.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been generous.”

“I am drawing what I see.”

“From where? Underneath the stool?”

She burst out laughing.

Unfortunately…

…Helen appeared at that exact moment.

She studied Sharon’s picture.

Looked at Simon.

Then back at the picture.

There was a pause.

“Well…”

Sharon went scarlet.

I pressed my lips together.

Helen pointed delicately with her pencil.

“You may have exaggerated one or two proportions.”

That was it.

I made a strangled noise.

Sharon kicked me.

“Perspective,” she muttered.

I leaned closer.

“From another postcode?”

“Shut up.”

Helen moved on.

Sharon glared at her drawing.

“I don’t think it’s that exaggerated.”

I looked at Simon.

Then at the picture.

“Darling, if that were accurate, he’d need planning permission.”

She covered her mouth.

And for the next two minutes…

…neither of us could draw anything.

Apparently, Firm Strokes Are Important

By the final pose, we’d lost all ability to behave like respectable women.

The problem wasn’t us.

Well…

…mostly.

It was Helen.

Every perfectly innocent artistic instruction sounded increasingly inappropriate.

“Pay attention to the natural curves.”

Sharon coughed.

“Notice where the body hangs.”

I stared at my paper.

“Don’t be afraid of firm strokes.”

I stopped drawing.

Sharon’s shoulders started shaking.

“Don’t.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You’re making me worse.”

“You’re already terrible.”

Helen continued.

“If something catches your eye, don’t avoid it.”

I put my charcoal down.

Sharon looked at me.

“What?”

“I need a minute.”

The woman in front turned around.

Again.

By now, she’d spent almost as much time watching us as Simon.

I smiled apologetically.

“Sorry.”

She leaned towards us.

“I’m glad it’s not just me.”

Then she turned back.

Sharon stared at me.

I stared at Sharon.

And that finished us.

Not loud laughter.

Worse.

The silent kind.

Eyes watering.

Shoulders shaking.

Unable to breathe.

Helen looked over.

“Everything okay?”

I nodded.

“Absolutely.”

Sharon wiped her eyes.

“Just struggling with the… artistic terminology.”

Helen smiled.

“It gets easier with practice.”

I looked at Sharon.

“Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“Your face has.”

She leaned closer.

“Same time next Wednesday?”

“Absolutely not.”

Although…

…I may have answered that slightly too quickly.

The Robe Returned

Finally…

“And that’s us finished for tonight.”

I’ve never put charcoal down so quickly.

Simon stood and reached for his robe.

I began packing.

Paper.

Charcoal.

Handbag.

Coat.

If I moved quickly enough, perhaps I could disappear before—

“Sue?”

Too late.

I closed my eyes.

Sharon whispered:

“Busted.”

I turned.

Simon was standing behind us.

Thankfully…

…fully robed.

“Simon.”

“I thought it was you.”

“Yes.”

“It’s been years.”

“About five.”

He smiled.

“First life-drawing class?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Your face when I took the robe off was a clue.”

“You saw that?”

“I think the people outside saw that.”

Wonderful.

I’d never leave my apartment again.

His eyes dropped towards my drawing.

“Can I see?”

“No.”

The answer came far too quickly.

He laughed.

“That bad?”

“Let’s just say I haven’t done you justice.”

Sharon looked at my drawing.

Then at Simon.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

I turned.

She smiled sweetly.

I was going to kill her.

Simon chuckled.

“I suppose I should be grateful.”

“For what?”

“You didn’t walk out.”

“I considered it.”

“I noticed.”

There was that smile again.

Five years later…

…and apparently some things hadn’t changed.

Sharon Shows Him Her Masterpiece

Then Sharon did something unforgivable.

“Would you like to see mine?”

“No,” I said.

Simon laughed.

“I’d love to.”

“Sharon.”

Too late.

She held it up.

I covered my face.

There was silence.

A rather long silence.

I peeked through my fingers.

Simon was studying it.

Then he looked down at himself.

Thankfully, through the robe.

Then back at the drawing.

Finally…

“You’ve been very generous.”

I snorted.

Sharon went crimson.

“I told you,” I whispered.

“Perspective.”

Simon smiled.

“I’m certainly not complaining.”

He looked at me.

“It really is lovely seeing you again.”

“You too.”

And strangely…

…it was.

Then he leaned slightly closer.

“Perhaps next time we meet, I’ll have some clothes on.”

“That would make conversation easier.”

“Possibly less interesting.”

Oh.

There it was.

The Simon I remembered.

Sharon’s eyes widened.

I ignored her.

“Goodnight, Simon.”

“Night, Sue.”

He walked away.

I waited until the door closed.

Then Sharon grabbed my arm.

“He was flirting!”

“No.”

“He absolutely was.”

“He was being friendly.”

“Naked men don’t tell women the next meeting might be less interesting with clothes on because they’re being friendly.”

I picked up my coat.

“Wine.”

She grabbed hers.

“Definitely wine.”

Roger Suffers a Blow to His Reputation

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in a wine bar.

Sharon took one sip.

Then sighed.

“Poor Roger.”

I nearly inhaled mine.

“What?”

“I used to think he was magnificent.”

“Oh, don’t.”

“Reliable.”

“Sharon.”

“Dependable.”

“People are eating.”

“Always ready and willing.”

The woman beside us glanced over.

I smiled apologetically.

Sharon lowered her voice.

“Until the battery goes.”

“There it is.”

She shook her head.

“Nothing ruins a moment faster.”

“I’m fairly certain several things do.”

“You’re nearly there…”

“Sharon.”

“…everything’s going wonderfully…”

“Please.”

“…then suddenly…”

She made a tiny dying noise.

“Brrr…rrr…”

I put my face in my hands.

“…nothing.”

“Charge him!”

“I do.”

“Clearly not.”

“I forget.”

“Then Roger isn’t unreliable. His owner is.”

She looked offended.

“I don’t think Roger would appreciate that.”

“Roger lives in a drawer.”

“So does Dan.”

“Leave Dan out of this.”

She took another sip.

“Still…”

“What?”

“I’ve never looked at Roger and wondered how he managed to hide himself in a pair of jeans for five years.”

I burst out laughing.

The woman beside us picked up her drink.

And moved.

Sharon Knew Exactly What I Was Thinking

“You are so going home to Dan.”

“I am not.”

Sharon looked at me over her wine glass.

“Of course you are.”

“I’m going home, having a cup of tea and going to bed.”

“Yes.”

“Alone.”

“Of course.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Stop smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I just think it’s lovely.”

“What is?”

“You’ve had a cultural awakening.”

“I’ve been to an art class.”

“You’ve spent ninety minutes being told to stare at a naked Simon.”

“Sharon!”

She laughed.

I glanced around.

Thankfully, the woman who’d moved tables was now well out of earshot.

“Nothing happened.”

“I know.”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“I know.”

“So stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something.”

She smiled.

“I do.”

“What?”

“You’ve been crossing and uncrossing your legs for the last twenty minutes.”

I froze.

She raised her glass.

“To culture.”

I stared at her.

Then started laughing.

“You’re awful.”

“And correct.”

I reluctantly touched my glass against hers.

“To culture.”

“And Simon.”

“No.”

“And Dan.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Poor Roger?”

I sighed.

“Fine. Roger.”

She smiled triumphantly.

“See? Art really does bring people together.”

Honestly…

…I needed better friends.

Back at the Apartment Block

We arrived home shortly after ten.

The apartment block was quiet.

Sharon and I walked along the corridor together.

She stopped outside her apartment.

“Well…”

“Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re going to.”

“I was simply going to say goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I started walking.

“Sue?”

I stopped.

Slowly turned.

“What?”

She smiled.

“Give Dan my regards.”

“Go inside.”

She disappeared behind her door laughing.

I opened my own apartment.

Benji appeared immediately.

Tail wagging.

“Hello, handsome.”

He followed me into the kitchen.

“At least you’ve kept your clothes on.”

He looked up.

“Long story.”

I filled the kettle.

Tea.

Whatever happens in life…

…tea still needs making.

I settled on the sofa.

Benji curled up beside me.

I turned on the television.

Somebody was renovating a bungalow.

Excellent.

Safe.

Cupboards.

Worktops.

Paint colours.

Absolutely nobody naked.

Five minutes later…

…I realised I hadn’t absorbed a single thing.

Instead, my brain had returned to Simon.

I took a sip of tea.

No.

Kitchen.

Concentrate.

Nice taps.

Simon.

Lovely cupboards.

Simon.

Breakfast bar.

Simon.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.”

Benji lifted his head.

“Not you.”

He put it back down.

I switched off the television.

Bed.

Bed was definitely safer.

I Was Absolutely Fine

Ten minutes later, I was washed, moisturised and wearing my nightdress.

I climbed beneath the duvet.

Picked up my book.

Perfect.

I read the first paragraph.

Then again.

Third time.

Still no idea what it said.

My eyes drifted towards the bedside drawer.

No.

I looked back at the book.

One sentence.

Drawer.

“No.”

I actually said it aloud.

As though the bedside table had made an inappropriate suggestion.

I tried again.

Then Simon’s second pose wandered straight back into my head.

Book closed.

“Oh, all right.”

I opened the drawer.

There he was.

Dan.

My little pink rabbit.

Silent.

Innocent.

And apparently the only male I’d encountered that evening who’d had the decency to keep himself covered.

I picked him up.

“Well.”

Nothing.

“You’ve had a quiet evening.”

Still nothing.

“I haven’t.”

I settled against the pillows.

“This is Sharon’s fault.”

Dan remained neutral.

“If she’d told me there was going to be a naked man, I wouldn’t have gone.”

I thought about it.

“Probably.”

Another pause.

“All right…”

“…I might have.”

I pressed the button.

Bzzzz.

I looked down.

“Oh, so now you’ve got something to say.”

Dan Gets His Instructions

I couldn’t help smiling.

The truth was…

…I’d spent most of the journey home pretending the evening hadn’t affected me.

It had.

There.

I’d admitted it.

I was hot under the collar.

Actually…

…who was I kidding?

I was bloody frustrated.

Simon hadn’t done anything.

Neither had I.

But spending ninety minutes being professionally instructed to study every line, curve and proportion of a naked man you’d once fancied tends to leave an impression.

Especially when you discover certain proportions were considerably more impressive than anticipated.

Dan hummed quietly.

“Well, darling…”

I pulled the duvet higher.

“…I’m afraid you’re on duty.”

Bzzzz.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

I turned the bedside lamp down.

Closed my eyes.

And immediately thought of Simon.

Typical.

The little smile.

The robe.

The second pose.

I opened my eyes again.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

Dan’s gentle hum continued.

I adjusted the setting.

Bzzzzzz.

“Steady.”

I settled back.

For the first time all evening, there was nobody talking.

No Sharon.

No Helen telling me to observe anything.

No naked man smiling because he’d caught me looking.

Just me.

A quiet bedroom.

And Dan.

Bzzzzzz.

I smiled.

“Well…”

“…at least one rabbit finally turned up tonight.”

Then my phone pinged.

Roger Picks the Worst Possible Night

I ignored it.

Ping.

I opened one eye.

No.

Surely not.

I reached for my phone.

Sharon.

Of course.

Her message contained three words.

ROGER IS FLAT.

I stared at the screen.

Then burst out laughing.

Dan went quiet.

“Oh no.”

I pressed the button.

Bzzzz.

Still alive.

Excellent.

Another message arrived.

NOT A WORD.

That made it worse.

I typed:

Reliable, was he?

Three dots appeared immediately.

Shut up.

I smiled.

Always ready and willing?

SUE.

I was laughing so much I had to put Dan down.

Then:

This is not funny.

I typed:

It really is.

A pause.

Then:

Is Dan charged?

I stopped.

Looked at Dan.

Looked at the phone.

Absolutely none of her business.

Goodnight, Sharon.

Her reply came instantly.

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Then:

I KNEW IT.

I threw the phone onto the bedside table.

“Bloody woman.”

Bzzzz.

I looked down.

“Don’t you start.”

I put the phone on silent.

Very deliberately.

Then I picked Dan back up.

“Right.”

No more interruptions.

Apparently, Dan Had Something to Prove

I settled back against the pillows.

Dan hummed quietly beneath the duvet.

After everything Sharon had said about poor Roger…

…I suddenly felt rather smug.

“See?”

Bzzzz.

“Fully charged.”

I adjusted him.

“Reliable.”

Bzzzzzz.

“Dependable.”

Another adjustment.

The buzzing deepened.

“Always ready and willing.”

I stopped.

Then burst out laughing.

“Oh God…”

I sounded exactly like Sharon.

That would never do.

I closed my eyes again.

Then Simon wandered back into my head.

That bloody second pose.

That little smile when he realised I’d recognised him.

And Helen telling me not to be afraid to look.

Honestly…

…I’d followed that particular instruction far too well.

Dan buzzed steadily.

I smiled into the darkness.

“Don’t worry.”

Another little adjustment.

Bzzzzzzzz.

“You’re still doing very well.”

I thought about Simon’s drawing.

Then Sharon’s.

Planning permission.

I started laughing again.

Dan’s hum continued.

Poor thing.

This was probably the most confusing assignment of his career.

One minute I was hot under the collar.

The next I was laughing.

Then Simon wandered back into my head…

…and suddenly I wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Oh…”

I pulled the duvet a little higher.

“Well then.”

Dan had my full attention again.

Some Art Requires a Hands-On Approach

The room was quiet apart from Dan.

A gentle hum.

Then slightly less gentle.

I closed my eyes.

For once…

…I allowed myself to stop pretending.

Yes.

I’d fancied Simon five years ago.

Yes.

Seeing him again had brought some of that back.

And yes…

…seeing absolutely all of him had brought back rather more than expected.

There.

I’d admitted it.

I was a grown woman who’d spent the evening looking at a very attractive naked man.

Sue me.

And fortunately…

…unlike poor Sharon, I still had batteries.

Bzzzzzzzz.

“Oh…”

I smiled.

Dan was certainly earning his keep.

My phone lit up silently on the bedside table.

Sharon.

I ignored it.

Whatever crisis Roger was currently experiencing…

…he was on his own.

Another message appeared.

Still ignored.

I had priorities.

Besides, Sharon had caused this.

She’d wanted me to experience art.

She’d told me to keep an open mind.

She’d broadened my horizons.

Well…

…mission accomplished.

I reached across and turned off the remaining bedside light.

Darkness.

Quiet.

Apart from…

Bzzzzzzzz.

I smiled.

“Come on then, darling.”

The duvet shifted.

“Let’s see what you learned at art class.”

And for once…

…Dan didn’t need telling twice.

Perhaps I Do Like Art After All

Much later…

…the bedroom was finally quiet.

Dan had returned to the bedside table.

I lay beneath the duvet staring at the ceiling with a smile I wasn’t particularly proud of.

My phone lit up again.

I reached for it.

Sharon.

Found Roger’s charger.

I laughed.

Then another message.

20 MINUTES.

Followed by:

This is torture.

I typed back:

Should’ve gone to the art class better prepared.

Three dots.

How’s Dan?

I looked towards the bedside table.

Poor Dan.

He’d done his duty.

Admirably.

I typed:

Resting.

There was a long pause.

Then:

YOU HUSSY 😂

I laughed into the pillow.

Goodnight Sharon.

Her final reply arrived.

Night. Same time next Wednesday?

I stared at it.

Absolutely not.

No chance.

I was never setting foot inside another life-drawing class.

I’d had enough culture to last me months.

I typed:

NO.

Then stopped.

Thought about Simon.

Deleted it.

Typed:

I’ll think about it.

Sharon’s reply came immediately.

KNEW IT.

I rolled my eyes and put the phone down.

Absolutely ridiculous.

I wasn’t going back because of Simon.

Obviously.

I simply felt my drawing needed more practice.

Particularly…

…the proportions.

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