![\"A](\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/07\/Naked-woman-leg-Freud.jpg\")
<\/a> Anyway, he was dead, and a crew of us were in his studio to collect some of the paintings that he had never allowed to leave. They were going to the gallery for inspection, where the curator was going to pick out a few for the memorial exhibition and the rest would go into storage before the painter\u2019s family decided to put them up for sale. We were working in pairs, wrapping, crating then carrying them downstairs to the lorry. It had a security door and a uniformed guard inside \u2013 it wasn\u2019t inconceivable that some crooks with inside knowledge would try a grab \u2013 but none of us had ever known any trouble on these jobs. We were concentrating on handling the paintings carefully, making sure there was no chance of a chipped frame or snag in a canvass. I was with Josh, while Paul and Alfie were working together. One of them made a wheezing sound, there was a whisper then a giggle. I ignored it, we moved a painting across the studio to a bare spot of wall, but I was conscious of an unnatural quiet. The other two weren\u2019t doing anything. We propped the painting against the wall and I looked around to see Alfie staring at me as if there was something he was scared to say.<\/p>\n\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think you should have a look at this one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with it? If it\u2019s damaged it was damaged when we arrived. There\u2019s nothing to worry about.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, it\u2019s not that, but you ought to look at it.\u201d<\/p>\n
His face was frozen between embarrassment and a big laugh. Behind his shoulder Paul was looking down to the floor. I felt a tickle of irritation but decided to humour them.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got an idea you know the model for this one,\u201d Alfie said.<\/p>\n
I had to walk a few steps to get a proper view of the picture. It was one of the painter\u2019s nudes, an overweight woman of about fifty, sitting on the arm of a sofa. Her stomach drooped onto her thighs, which were wide enough apart to reveal a thick bush of hair, her hands were on her waist and her shoulders thrown back to show off large breasts. It took a moment for me to look at her face and realised that I recognised her. It was my mum.<\/p>\n
I stood still, stared, said nothing. For a few seconds there was silence, then Alfie spoke softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is her, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you know about it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I could hear him and Paul stifling the laughs. Josh asked who we were looking at. They didn\u2019t answer, that was up to me, but I only had two words.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh fuck!\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mum offered me a cup of tea. I accepted, because I always did and thought that sticking to the ritual might help me stay calm. She talked for several minutes, about how she had been one number short on two successive games of bingo, and the aggro she had with Tesco because it kept sticking the wrong price tags on the shelves, and her friend Peggy being upset because her daughter\u2019s marriage was breaking up. We had both finished our tea by the time she was asked how I was doing.<\/p>\n
\u201cHaven\u2019t slept much the past two nights.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy\u2019s that? Something on your mind?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw something that upset me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was that?\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about it for a moment. It still didn\u2019t make sense to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were clearing out a studio in the week, moving a lot of paintings. There was one \u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped. I was still embarrassed, and hanging on to the possibility this was a massive coincidence. Mum\u2019s expression changed, hinting at a revelation.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhose studio was it?\u201d<\/p>\n
I told her his name.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe one who died a few weeks ago?\u201d<\/p>\n
That was a surprise. She hardly ever recognised the names of any artists I mentioned.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you know him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI met him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
She hesitated. It was clear that this was something she hadn\u2019t intended to tell me before now. I prodded her to carry on.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was six, seven years ago, a couple of years after your dad died. You know I used to go out for a regular drink with Peggy, after she had divorced Malcolm and before she met Jim. Well this man used to go in the same pub and got chatting to us a couple of times. He was obviously interested in Peggy, especially when she said she was divorced. Then one day while he was getting a drink she told me he had asked to paint her portrait, but she thought he might be dodgy, so would I go to his studio with her to see if it all looked above board. I thought she should be flattered, and that even if he was after a bit of the other there was no harm in it.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell we went to the studio together the next week, and when we got there she went right off of him. Nearly all the pictures were of nudes, and they were all \u2026 I suppose you\u2019d say natural. They were normal people, looking a bit worn out with all the bits dangling, and flopped out or curled up on sofas or on the floor. We gawped at them for a couple of minutes, then Peggy decided she didn\u2019t want any of it, or any of him. She couldn\u2019t get out of there quick enough, but he offered us a cup of tea and I decided to stay. It might have been because I had never been in an artist\u2019s studio before, and I was curious about why he painted people like that, so I let her go and sat there talking to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was interesting , and nice enough, and half hour later he asked if he could paint me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I interrupted.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn the nude?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, yes. That\u2019s how he painted people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you said yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
That was it. I couldn\u2019t pretend that he had painted a woman who just happened to be a ringer for my mum. She had stripped off and sat on the arm that sofa for him, tits out and legs apart for all the world to see. I was silent long enough to make a point. Mum looked awkward, as if she had half hoped that this conversation would never take place. Then I asked a question.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me before?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I don\u2019t know. I suppose I thought you might be upset.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMore upset than my mates at work all getting to see you in the nude?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho saw it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlfie, who you met at my party and who\u2019s had a cup of tea in here. And Josh and Paul in our crew, and I bet they\u2019ve told everyone in the company, and at the gallery, and all their mates as well!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t shout.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not shouting.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell you\u2019re getting aggressive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell haven\u2019t I got the right? They\u2019ve emptied his studio so they can use some of the paintings he kept in a big exhibition. They might choose that one of you. You might be hanging on a wall in a gallery showing it all off for everyone who wants a look.\u201d<\/p>\n
She was quiet for a moment, as if I had raised something she had never considered. I pushed the point.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo how do you feel about that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know. I suppose it\u2019s not bad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell I saw the painting when it was finished, and I quite liked it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou liked it?\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt my anger rising. She was meant to feel ashamed, or at least that she had been manipulated.<\/p>\n
\u201cI did,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s a long time since I saw it, and I remember it showed the fat on my belly and thighs and that my tits were sagging, but that\u2019s me, and it made me look proud of myself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProud!\u201d That made me more angry. \u201cYou look like a bloody porn model!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean it\u2019s not as if you curled up and hid anything. You were just sitting up there with your legs open inviting anyone to take a look.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stared at me. Her eyes grew red and watered, angry and hurt. I knew I had gone too far, but I was still too angry and hurt to admit it. There was an awkward silence for nearly a minute, then she stood up and walked out of the room. I sat there and stewed.<\/p>\n
Two minutes later she returned with a plastic carrier bag. I was close to being ready to say sorry, but before I could speak she pulled a magazine out of the bag. One look at the cover brought an awful recognition.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou lost track of this one,\u201d she said. \u201cForgot that you had tucked it under that bit of loose carpet under your bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
The cover of the magazine showed a young woman wearing nothing but a thong, sideways on and pressing herself against an open door. Everything inside was a lot more explicit.<\/p>\n
\u201cI found it a few months after you moved out,\u201d Mum said. \u201cLeft it there in case you ever remembered and came back. I didn\u2019t want you to know that I had found it. Well now you do know.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remembered the magazine. It was left over from my mid teens and had inspired a handful of fantasies. Mum waving it in my face wiped out all my other feelings.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd want to know something else.\u201d She fingered through the magazine, stopped opened a few of the spreads then stopped. \u201cThis is where I got the idea for the way I posed.\u201d<\/p>\n
She pushed it in front of me. I had to take it, opened at a spread where most of the right hand page was taken by a photo of a young woman with long dark hair and sultry eyes. She was sitting on the arm of a sofa, shoulders back to show off her large breasts, legs apart to reveal a streak of pubic hair.<\/p>\n
\u201cI suppose you liked her,\u201d Mum said.<\/p>\n
I thought back. To be honest I didn\u2019t fancy this particular girl and she had never been the subject of one of my fantasies.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, no Mum, but \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did like a couple of the other girls in there.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was only one thought in my mind: \u201cOh fuck!\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was the first time I had been invited to one of the receptions. I wore my suit and a new tie, and had decided I was going to drink wine even if there was beer on offer. I went along with Mum, but a lot of people wanted to speak with her \u2013 the artist\u2019s family and friends, the curator, a couple of art critics, someone who owned a gallery \u2013 so I took a glass of wine and wandered around the exhibition. It was busy, full of people schmoozing and there to be seen, but also with plenty who were excited by the occasion and in awe of the artist\u2019s work. I looked at the paintings, appreciating things that I had never seen in the artist\u2019s work before and understanding why they would sell for tens or hundreds of thousands. I spoke with a couple of people who recognised me, gallery staff who knew me as one of the shifters and were impressed by the reason I had been invited. I spoke with a couple of strangers as we looked at paintings, sharing opinions of what we saw then about other artists and other exhibitions.<\/p>\n
After nearly an hour I looked across the room and saw Mum among a group of people. She had been to the hairdresser, bought a new dress, and put on her gold necklace, giving herself a little glamour for the evening. She was obviously enjoying all of the attention, and looked confident, talking as much as the people around her. An older guy in a pin striped suit seemed to have spent a lot of time talking with her, and they were both laughing over something one of them had said. I wondered if he was interested.<\/p>\n
I went back to where they had hung her portrait. It was the third time that evening I had looked at it, still appreciating I didn\u2019t feel embarrassed any more. I was impressed by the way she sat upright on the arm of the sofa, acknowledging that her body had its rolls and wrinkles but proud of the way she looked. It was in her eyes, a bit of daring that led her to take off her clothes and made her beautiful. A young woman appeared at my side, stared up at the picture and smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis one\u2019s lovely,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly what I was thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wonder who the model is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally!\u201d<\/p>\n
The woman looked around at me. Her smile had broadened.<\/p>\n
\u201cReally. She\u2019s lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n