Life Drawing for Beginners by Roisin Meaney

Author:Roisin Meaney [Meaney, Roisin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781455504077
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

From behind the vertical blinds of the gym’s floor-to-ceiling windows Irene watched the mechanic locking his car and jogging through the rain towards the front door, holding a sports bag over his head. While she waited for him to make his way to her she drank water and gathered her hair into a pink elastic loop.

The gym was almost empty, the afternoon members mostly gone home, the evening crowd not yet arrived. A man jogged steadily on one of the treadmills and two women worked their way around the circuit of resistance machines. A bank of televisions high on one wall displayed frighteningly thin models sauntering along a catwalk as music pumped from speakers on the ceiling.

The door opened and he appeared. He wore navy tracksuit bottoms and a blue T-shirt, and sneakers that had definitely seen better days. Irene walked across to him, her hand out.

“Hello there. You made it.” She pretended to think. “It’s…Ger, isn’t it?”

He shook her hand, his grip firm. “That’s right.” No sign of discomfiture. “Go easy on me.”

She smiled. “Not a chance.”

She’d forgotten how dark his eyes were, how solidly built he was. The T-shirt strained across his chest. He was slightly shorter than Martin, but just as broad. “Let’s see what you’re made of,” she said, leading him towards the bicycles.

He was strong, but not terribly fit. As Irene guided him through the workings of the various machines a sweat broke out on his forehead, and the fabric of his T-shirt began to darken, but he didn’t protest. He was pushing himself, trying to impress her with his strength and stamina, but most of her male clients did that.

Towards the end of the session the last of the other gym users left the room, and they were alone. “You’ll be rushing home after this,” Irene said as he replaced the weights he’d been using for the bench presses.

“I have a late job on,” he said, his back to her.

Expected home for his dinner, the wife slaving over a hot stove for him. Irene led him to the final station and demonstrated the correct rowing position. “Back straight,” she ordered. “Bend from the hips.”

He straddled the machine and put his feet into the stirrups and began to row. “Keep your back straight,” she repeated.

He was nothing to her, he was just her way of coping. Any man would do—any man had done in the past—but he was here now. If he asked, she’d accept.

He finished rowing and sat, breathing heavily. Irene tore paper towels from the roll by the water station and handed them to him, and he wiped the sweat from his face and behind his neck.

“Well done,” she said. “You put up a brave fight.”

He got to his feet. “That was good,” he said, still panting. “You’re good at this.”

“I like to see people working up a sweat,” she said.

“We might do it again sometime.” He ran a hand through his damp hair. His face was flushed, and it suited him. “When you’re not working.

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