We head back the way we came, the sun hot on our backs and the footpath clear ahead of us. With five o’clock fast approaching we’re in the slow trickle of foot traffic moving away from the city. It’s such a pleasant afternoon that the whole idea of curses and cannibalism in the Arctic Circle seems a bit ludicrous.

‘I’m not getting any younger here, Alex. Finish the story.’

I half turn to look at John. We’ve passed Hamer Hall and the Arts Centre is in front of us, so he has the added drama of Inge King’s sculpture, Forward Surge, as a backdrop. Its monumental steel wave forms are oddly soothing.

‘There’s really not much more to it. The curse stuff is quite straightforward.’

‘Oh good, because I hate a complex curse.’

‘The painting was part of the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1864, and it hung in one of the most prestigious positions in the gallery. Critics raved about it; some because they loved it, and some because they thought it was shocking.’

‘Yeah, but there was a large, angry bear chomping on the rib of an Englishman,’ John says.

‘At least it wasn’t a bunch of guys sitting round a cooking pot with a ribcage in the background.’

‘Sounds a bit Monty Python.’

‘Anyway, Thomas Holloway bought the painting for the collection at his new institution for women’s education.’

‘You’re kidding. What man in late Victorian England would have thought that a suitable subject for genteel young ladies?’

‘Perhaps he thought their enquiring young minds would leap at the chance to discuss –’

‘Perhaps dissect?’

‘Ha ha.’ I shoot him a look. ‘Discuss the subject. You know, man versus nature.’

‘What happens when civilised society falls apart?’

‘That sort of thing.’ I nod. ‘Or maybe he just wanted to weed out the fainters from the academics. Why he bought it is irrelevant. The point is he did, and he stuck it in the college where everything went swimmingly for a few decades until the college started actually holding exams.’

‘Which was when?’

‘1920s or ’30s.’

‘Seriously? So for fifty years or so all these women just went to college for the hell of it? No chance to actually get a degree?’

‘Beats sitting in the parlour doing your embroidery until you die from terminal boredom.’

‘Are we reminiscing about craft classes at your la-di-da girls’ school now?’

We’ve come to the intersection of St Kilda Rd and Southbank Boulevard and I press the button for the traffic lights. Repeatedly.

‘School days a touchy subject, huh?’ John grins at me as I continue to rapidly jab the button, willing the lights to change.

‘I’m parked in Linlithgow Avenue, are you up there too?’

‘I caught the tram today, but I’m happy to accept a lift while you continue the story.’

With a sound like something out of a Space Invaders game, the lights turn in our favour and we head across the road toward the flower clock, currently looking a bit sparse after the prolonged summer heat.

I decide to ignore John’s needling. ‘So when the college began holding exams they used the gallery where the Landseer hung, and straight away the whispers started; if you sat near the painting, you would fail. No matter how smart or how well-prepared, the painting held you in its thrall and you failed.’

‘Sounds like more of a convenient excuse than a curse.’

I shrug. ‘Maybe the first time, who knows? But there was supposedly one woman who sat next to the painting and made the error of staring directly into the eyes of one of the polar bears and then went insane and killed herself quite spectacularly.’

‘Right there in the exam room? Now we’re talking!’

‘And just before she topped herself she scrawled, “The polar bears made me do it” across her exam paper.’

‘Awesome!’

‘Next time exams rolled around, a student had hysterics when she found out her seat allocation and refused to sit the exam. The painting’s obviously too big to move, and of course they wanted to start the exam. The nearest thing to hand was a Union Jack, so they covered it with that and it’s been that way ever since – every time there’s an exam on.’

‘You’ve got to love that British confidence, don’t you? Are you vexed by a hex? Worse for a curse? Fear not! Simply hang the Union Jack between yourself and the cursed object and problem solved! Does not apply to biblical plagues or smitings.’ He says the last bit really fast and in a deep voice.

‘It’s a long walk home, John.’

John stops to stare at me, his eyes wide. ‘So should we go back and tell Meredith not to look directly into the eyes of the bear?’

‘I think she seems like a girl who can handle herself. What’s the story?’

‘We worked together once or twice way back when, right after uni. Professional differences.’ He shrugs. ‘She’s good at the job but … shall we say very ambitious?’

‘You slept with her, didn’t you?’ I punch his bicep. ‘Did she dump you? She did, didn’t she? I bet she had you at her beck and call! You’d best be nice next time you see her, just in case she ends up head of department or something.’

‘She’ll either have to wait thirty years or knife a few colleagues for that to happen. Probably option B if past history is anything to go by.’

‘Meow!’

John gives me the finger. I mentally file away his relationship with Meredith for another time.

‘Is it still a hotbed of internal politics and ladder-climbing at MIMA?’ I ask.

‘Giles tells me it’s an absolute cesspool.’

‘Nice. And to think I passed all that up.’

‘You’d run rings around the lot of them, Alex. I mean, you just told me that whole crazy thing about the cursed painting off the top of your head.’

‘Yeah, Mum would be so proud of my ability to retain useless information.’ I scuff my toe in the dry, brown grass.

‘So that’s the whole story?’ John’s tone seems overly hearty and I slide my eyes sideways to make sure he’s talking about the painting again.

‘What more do you want? A lost expedition, cannibalism, failure, madness and death.’

‘Well, when you put it like that …’

My car is only a few steps away and John and I peel off to opposite sides. I pop the locks and we clamber in. The radio comes on loud when I turn the key in the ignition – some intricate Chopin – and further conversation is impossible. I spin the wheel and point the Citroën toward Birdwood Avenue and the south-eastern suburbs.