Life Drawing for Beginners by Roisin Meaney

every human body, whatever its shape, be considered beautiful? The idea was certainly appealing. No more anorexia, no more girls and women starving themselves in the name of beauty. Everyone waddling around happily.
    Audrey had poured them both more tea from the pot they’d gotten to follow the cannelloni. “So what do you think? Are you interested?”
    The money being offered wasn’t great, but it would make it possible for Jackie to get the Wii that Eoin wanted. And it all sounded so easy: just sit there, or lie there, or whatever, and collect your money at the end. Really, what was there to object to? All Jackie had to do was get over her inhibitions, loosen up a bit.
    “I think I’m interested,” she’d said. And just like that, she’d committed herself.
    For the rest of the day she’d felt satisfied with her decision. She’d seen a way to make a bit of extra cash and she’d gone for it. She’d obviously impressed Audrey, who’d said more than once that she thought Jackie would be perfect for the job.
    When you thought about it, Jackie was being terribly broad-minded and mature. She was the girl who took her clothes off for art. As she walked home from the café she’d felt acutely conscious of how she was moving. She’d found herself straightening her shoulders, pushing her chest forward, swinging her hips. She was an artist’s model. She was a thing of beauty.
    But when she lay in bed that night, the implications of what she’d done began to sink in. Taking off her clothes, all her clothes? Standing there completely naked, with five people focused on her wobbly bits—did she really have the confidence to go through with it?
    And throughout the following day, the whole notion had become more and more intimidating. What if the women were all glamorous and beautiful, the kind of women who enrolled in evening classes just to have something to talk about at dinner parties? How could Audrey be sure they wouldn’t sneer when Jackie presented her far-from-perfect body to them, or snigger at her dimpled behind, her pitifully small breasts?
    Or worse, what if someone she knew had enrolled in the class, what if a neighbor turned up? What if she had to undress for Mr. MacDonald in Number 20, whose gaze drifted to her fully covered chest anytime she talked to him? Two men, Audrey had said. And if anyone she knew had signed up, just imagine her parents’ horror when they found out what their daughter was doing on Tuesday nights. They wouldn’t see it as art, no way.
    Round and round her uncertainties flew, growing and multiplying until now, the night before the first class, Jackie knew that she simply couldn’t do it. She felt awful about letting Audrey down by backing out at such short notice, but not awful enough to conquer her fears. Surely a few other people had responded to the ad, surely a replacement could be found?
    She checked that her parents were watching television before scrolling through her phone contacts until she reached Audrey Matthews . She took a deep breath and pressed call , and listened to Audrey’s phone ringing.
    And ringing.
    After eleven rings her son came out to the hall and saw Jackie sitting on the stairs.
    “Can I have a biscuit?”
    “Just one—and brush your teeth straight after.”
    She listened to three more rings before the line went dead. No voice mail, no way of letting Audrey know she’d changed her mind. What now?
    She hung up and walked slowly into the kitchen. Audrey had been so friendly when they’d met, and so delighted with Jackie. What if she couldn’t get a replacement, what if the class had to be canceled because of Jackie abandoning ship at the last minute?
    “I need my PE gear tomorrow,” Eoin said, replacing the lid of the biscuit barrel.
    “Right,” Jackie said absently.
    Maybe she should give it a go, just once, and see how it went. It mightn’t be as bad as she was imagining. Maybe the people who’d signed up would be nice and mature, maybe