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hen party where they were all given pencils and paper and supposed to draw a buck naked model. She said he was a hunk who worked out at the gym and he had a good laugh with them. Not like this guy. He’s gross.”
    â€œThat’s mean.”
    â€œIt’s true.”
    â€œYou want a chunky model. Better for drawing.”
    â€œListen to the expert.”
    â€œI was shocked, too,” Naseem said. “I hope my parents don’t ask to see what I drew when I get home.”
    â€œDon’t,” Jem said. “My Dad would be round the school Monday morning. We can say we watched the artists at work, which is true. Let’s agree on that, shall we?”
    â€œBut we can tell the others at school,” Ella said.
    â€œWe absolutely must. This is too good to waste. What did Tom say to you in the break?”
    â€œHe was introducing me to some of the artists. Geraint, the one with the serial killer face. If you get a chance, take a look at his collection of knives, all laid out on the bench beside him. I said his work was fantastic and he called me a bloody liar, the only words he spoke.”
    â€œCharming!”
    â€œSo who did you start up a conversation with?” Ella said as if she’d been socialising all morning.
    â€œNo one in particular,” Jem said. “One looks like a vicar. I heard Tom call him Bish.”
    â€œA bishop?”
    â€œI expect it’s a joke.”
    â€œSomeone’s coming.”
    It was Ferdie, pushing a bag of compost in a wheelbarrow. Now that they knew he was Tom’s dad and the owner of the house, he would get more respect.
    He stopped to speak. “Will you be coming every week, then?”
    â€œNo. Some others will get a turn next Saturday. Tom says three at a time is best.”
    â€œHow many of you are there?”
    â€œIn our A level group? Twelve.”
    â€œThat’s not many. And will you become better artists by coming here?”
    â€œTom reckons,” Jem said.
    â€œSeeing how real artists work is a big help,” Ella said.
    â€œYou’re real, aren’t you? You look real to me.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t call us artists if you saw our stuff,” Jem said.
    Ferdie wagged a grimy finger. “Never undersell yourselves. From what I’ve seen of the art world, there are no rules about how it has to look. It’s more about persuading people your product is special, and you won’t persuade anybody if you talk like that.”
    â€œWe have to persuade Tom and an external examiner.”
    â€œNo problem. It’s a matter of confidence. Those artists in there have got it. They believe in themselves.”
    â€œBe nice if some of that rubs off on us,” Ella said.
    â€œIt’s not for me to interfere,” Ferdie said, “but I don’t see why you have to take turns to visit here. You could take your drawing boards outside and draw the scenery. If the weather’s bad you could do interiors in the house.”
    â€œI don’t know if Tom would agree,” Jem said.
    â€œNever mind Tom. Would you find it useful?”
    â€œIncredibly useful.” Jem was beginning to think they had an ally in Ferdie.
    â€œI’ll put a word in,” he said before wheeling his barrow away.
    The girls returned for the afternoon session feeling more relaxed about life drawing, a state of affairs that didn’t last. Tom announced that Davy the model would take up a new pose. Davy disrobed and stepped up with a wobble and a grunt and some minutes were spent deciding what was required. He was turned left and right and finally square on to the girls with legs astride and his member quivering.
    â€œOkay for everybody?” Tom asked.
    The girls were incapable of speech.
    â€œCouldn’t he do something different with the arms?” Drusilla said. “It’s too Neanderthal from here.”
    â€œTry it with hands on hips,” Tom said to Davy.
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