Like schoolchildren, we chuckled and giggled at our poor efforts. But when Fred reappeared – her hair now in the same messy bun she’d worn when I saw her in the café – we all fell silent and waited for the inspection. She and Dorothea started at opposite ends, meaning the tutor started with me and Fred would reach me last. Dorothea was kind though: ‘There are some good shapes here, Edith.’ I held on to that – there are good shapes here, definitely good shapes – like an affirmation while Fred worked towards me.

She burst out laughing at Miranda’s sketch – ‘You see me as quite abstract?’ – and Miranda soon joined in the laughter, even though ‘abstract’ didn’t sound exactly complimentary to either the artist or the subject.

‘Edith, yes?’ Fred held out a hand.

‘Edi.’

‘Fred,’ she said, as we shook. ‘I know you, right? You’re the woman doing research?’

I was grateful for her phrasing; grateful she hadn’t made me into the sad woman looking for ways to meet people – despite wearing an engagement ring. ‘Ah, I knew I recognised you.’

She laughed. ‘A little harder to recognise me with my clothes off?’

It was a joke. I knew it was a joke. And yet, my mouth became waterlogged with cotton balls and no matter the witty comeback I thought of, nothing emerged. When uncomfortable seconds had passed, Fred swapped her attention to my drawing and I followed her stare. It was how I saw her: curved and rounded and soft and—

‘This is flattering,’ she said, still looking at the easel. ‘I like this one.’

‘It isn’t too abstract?’

Another laugh. ‘No, Edi, it’s … Well, it’s quite beautiful.’

‘I had a good subject.’ It popped out, like a kneejerk reaction, and I was too scared to look at her to see how the comment had landed. Instead, I kept focused on my own work, and started to nod like I’d seen all the tortured artists do in low-budget films.

‘I’m glad you think so.’ She lowered her voice, then. ‘You’re researching how to meet people still?’

‘I …’ Yes. But I couldn’t say it. ‘I’m not really sure.’

‘Well …’ She dropped a hand into the coat of her robe. ‘If you decide you are.’ She passed me a small rectangular card, black with white writing: Fred. Artist. Is that her phone number? ‘I hear life drawing classes are another great place to meet people …’

Chapter 18