The Sun on my Skin Ch. 02

We have to drive around to find the entrance and then the carpark. As we climb from the car it's a relief that it doesn't seem quite as cold or windy as when we set off. Tanwen looks up at the school buildings and gives a low whistle, "What do you reckon it costs to send a lad to school here?"

"Well, I did look it up on the Internet yesterday and it's over eighteen thousand a year, apparently."

"No!" Eryn and Tanwen exclaim together. "That's mad, that is," Tanwen adds. "I guess there'll be lots of smug, rich buggers here then!"

"What's a rish bubber?" a little voice calls up.

"Oops!" I say, smiling, as Tanwen takes Tilly's hand and we start to walk across the car park area and the driveway to the pitches we'd seen from the road

"Let's see if we can find Jake, Tilly bach?" I feel Tilly's hand slip into mine.

"One, two, three whee!" says Tilly and I look questioningly at Tanwen.

"On the count of three we lift her and swing her forward," she explains but there's a strange tightness in her voice. Nevertheless, we count, "One... two... three..." and lifting Tilly by the hand we each hold and swing her forward as she cries "Wheee!" in a loud, happy voice. "Again, again!" she says excitedly as soon as her feet touch the ground.

Several repetitions later and we step onto the soft grass. Though the grass is well-tended the rain of last night, not to mention the previous week or two, means that the ground beneath is very muddy. Tilly immediately releases our hands and trots over to touch the bark of one of the large trees. "Are you alright?" I ask Tanwen and she glances at Eryn.

"I suppose so, it's just... 'one, two, three, whee' was something Ted and I used to do with all the children, so we did. It started when Jake was a toddler... Sorry, it was all just a bit unexpected, that's all." She reaches out and touches the back of my hand. "I'm glad you came today, so I am."

"Shall we go and watch Jake play rugby?" I ask a little awkwardly.

"Jake play rubby?" Tilly asks, having finished her investigation of the tree.

There are other people around, evidently other parents, and Tanwen waves and calls "Hello!" to some and chats to a few others briefly, introducing me as a work colleague and sometimes babysitter. The only thing that really stands out and makes me pay attention is Tanwen saying "... and her son Bam-Bam is the scrum-half."

"Bam-Bam?" I ask as the woman, Carol, walks away.

"The lad's name is Chris really but the others call him Bam-Bam because of his surname: Bambridge."

As we stand at the edge of the pitch looking at the lads running up and down practising I ask her which team is Jake's?

"Blackwood are in the green and black quarters," Tanwen replies pointing to the left to the team whose shirts have four squares of alternate black and leaf green on the front and back and with short sleeves, one black and one green. Black shorts and green socks complete the kit. It makes me feel cold just looking at them. "Looks like Dulwich are in blue and black hoops." At the other end of the pitch, the team's tops have horizontal blue and black stripes.

"Jake over there!" Tilly shouts, pointing. Now I see him he's fairly obvious.

"What position does he play?" I ask, recalling something Jake said about 'forwards' and 'backs'.

"He's number eight," Tanwen tells me.

"Yes, I can see that."

"No, Number Eight is also the name of the position," she explains.

"So..."

"And no," she interrupts, "before you ask: the other positions are not called 'Number One, Number Two, Number Three and so on." I smile sheepishly at her anticipation of my question. "Jani, just how much do you know about rugby?" She goes on to name and explain the positions, starting with number one, the 'loose-head prop' (I don't ask why) through to number fifteen, the 'fullback'. I'm sure I'm not going to remember most of them. She also tries to explain something called 'offside' which sounds insanely complicated. In the end, she settles for, "Just remembers that, wherever the ball is, the players have to stay on their own team's side of the ball."

I hear a short whistle and see two lads, presumably the team captains, jogging over to join the referee in the centre of the pitch. They shake hands and there is a coin toss. Shouting follows as Jake's team, Blackwood College, take the ball and I hear Tanwen call Tilly over from her investigation of one of the flags beside the pitch. Very sweetly she comes and stands between us, holding both our hands, and my throat tightens: this echoes so closely dreams I have of motherhood... but Tilly is not my daughter and it is Tanwen standing there, not Clive.

The sudden loud whistle blast makes me look back to the pitch and the ball is kicked. There are shouts as Blackwood chase the ball and a Dulwich player catches it. He's a big lad, tall and broad for his age, and he starts to run. A Blackwood player, bent low, cannons into him with a thump that, even from twenty or more metres away, I can hear and they crash to the ground. Other players swarm up in what looks like an unruly pushing, shoving heap. To my surprise, the ball is suddenly thrown out by a player on the Dulwich side to the waiting line of his teammates that seems to have spontaneously appeared. There is obviously more organization in the game than I realised.

Jake emerges from the bottom of the pile as the boys get up quickly to get back into play. "Well done Jake!" Tanwen calls, "Cracking tackle that was! That was a ruck," Tanwen explains as she turns to me and I love the very Welsh way she rolls the 'r' in the word 'ruck'.

"A ruck?" I mimic, "what's that then?" She gives me a look but can't resist explaining the rules. The explanation actually helps and I begin to see that the pile-ups aren't random but the teams competing for the ball, albeit within some pretty arcane rules.

Play goes on and there is a scrum (like a ruck but deliberately organised and no one lying on the ground underneath it) with Jake at the back, his head wedged in what must be a most uncomfortable way between the two players in front of him. Blackwood win it, apparently, and the ball arrives at Jake's feet. He lets go his hold on the players in front of him and picks up the ball to charge forward carrying it and using his free hand to fend off opponents. Tanwen is bouncing up and down with excitement, making Tilly laugh. Jake is soon tackled but has gained quite a bit of ground for Blackwood.

The game continues and it appears that Dulwich are very well trained. Blackwood, however, seem to have a real fire and determination. Despite their spirit, Blackwood struggle to win possession of the ball, though they defend hard.

Dulwich attack again; the ball passing from player to player smoothly as they run forward. "Interception!" Tanwen suddenly shouts and I see one of the Blackwood boys, a smaller lad with a straight-sided afro haircut, running through the Dulwich line, carrying the ball and accelerating rapidly. The Dulwich players struggle to turn while the rest of the Blackwood team charges after him. The lad's pace is awesome and his teammates struggle to keep up. "Go on Toluleke!" yells Tanwen.

The boy jinks, sidestepping the final Dulwich player and then he's free to run, curving in from the far edge of the pitch towards the tall H of the goalposts. As he crosses the goal line he places the ball between the posts and there is shouting and clapping. Even the Dulwich parents are politely applauding. Toluleke's teammates mob him with congratulations and pats on the back.

"That was a try and scores five points," Tanwen tells me. "Now they get the conversion kick." Another of the Blackwood team has the ball balanced on its end in front of the goalposts. He takes a few steps and kicks the ball, which travels neatly through the upper half of the H. "He did it. That's seven nil to Blackwood."

The game restarts with Dulwich kicking the ball and they seem determined to undo this setback. Despite my lack of knowledge I become engrossed in the game, with Tanwen providing commentary and explanations of rules and interpretations of the referee's arm signals. Even Eryn seems engaged by the game.

Blackwood concede a penalty for some reason -- offside, according to Tanwen who seems able to understand the referee's gestures -- which Dulwich kick through the posts earning, not two points as I assumed, but three. Play continues and there is a long period of toing and froing, with neither side able to score. However, it seems that Blackwood spend most of the time defending. Finally, Dulwich manage to get the ball over the goal line or, as Tanwen corrects me, the try line. It is close to the corner and this means the conversion kick has to be taken from a long way out. Tanwen tells me off for shouting "Yes!" when the kick misses, telling me that I'm being unsporting.

The game recommences once more but when one of the Dulwich players kicks the ball off the pitch the referee blows his whistle. It's halftime and the score is eight - seven to Dulwich.

I notice Eryn has wandered off on her own and walk over to her; I see she has her headphones in and her head bobs slightly in time to the tune that's playing. "What are you listening to? Anything a woman as old as your mum might know?" I ask.

She looks at me and without a word pulls the little earpiece from one ear and offers it to me. I take it and, bending slightly, hold it to my own ear:

"Now I'm dancing with Delilah and her rhythm's mine,

(Holding on for your love)

A different kind of danger in the daylight,

(I can never say no.)"

It has a fast, vigorous beat and the woman singing has a clear, strong voice. I find my foot tapping in time with the music and realize I could definitely dance to this.

"I like it; who is it?" I ask.

"Florence and the Machine." The name means nothing but I make a mental note of it. I continue listening until suddenly the words make the hairs on my neck stand up:

"It's a different kind of danger,

And my feet are spinning round.

Never knew I was a dancer,

Till Delilah showed me how."

The image of Tina pulling me onto the dancefloor at Quixote's appears in my mind; this song seems to fit so well. Then another thought occurs, another way of reading the lyrics. There was something else I never knew, or never acknowledged, and that was: my lesbianism. She 'showed me how' in that too. And it is 'a different kind of danger' to so many things in my life right now.

"So, what do you think of the game?" I ask her, handing back the earpiece as the song ends and keen to think of other things.

"It's not as bad as I thought," she admits. "And now I understand why Jake's always tired and sore when he gets home."

"I know; he must be covered in bruises." Something catches my eye and I see Tilly toddling out onto the pitch just as the teams begin breaking up from their half-time huddles. Tanwen, however, is engrossed in conversation with another parent. Tilly strays into a broad patch of mud where the grass has been torn up by a ruck or scrum or whatever; with a small shriek, she slips over, landing face-down in the cold mud and begins to cry.

I do not hesitate but instinctively dash out to scoop her up as the Dulwich team jog past to play the second half from the opposite end. I hug the girl tight to comfort and calm her and I feel her fingers clasp my hair. Watching every step I walk carefully back off the pitch as Tilly quietens in my arms.

I look up to locate Tanwen and there, by one of the trees, is Tina. She is watching me, no, she is observing me. "Tina?" I call. She pushes herself off the tree and starts to walk over, giving me a smile. At the same time, Tanwen approaches to see how Tilly is.

"She's fine, aren't you Tilly? Just a bit shaken up and muddy, some of which she seems to have shared with me," I say, noting the mud on my jacket. The little girl nods but I catch her arm to stop her muddy thumb on its way to her mouth. "I think that thumb needs a wash before you suck it," I suggest and she looks at it and laughs.

"Yucky mud," she agrees.

"Here, I've some wet wipes in my pocket," Tanwen says, rummaging. She pulls out the waterproof packet.

"The ever-prepared Mum," Tina comments as she joins us and Tilly's muddy hands are cleaned.

"Tina, what are you doing here?" Tanwen asks in a slightly worried tone.

"Oh, Janice mentioned yesterday that she was coming here with you to watch your son so I thought, as I didn't have anything else to do, that I'd come and have a look too. It's been ages since I stood cheering on a touchline. What's the score?"

"Oh, er, eight - seven to Dulwich," I say, more than a little flustered by her presence. I feel Tilly lean away from me as she reaches out for Mum. Tanwen and I lean in to pass Tilly between us and I find myself on the end of an intense gaze from those amazing green eyes. I try to subtly convey that I had not planned this but I suspect it doesn't work.

"The second half is about to kick off," Tanwen says.

We all move to the side of the pitch as play resumes. Dulwich immediately attack hard. Blackwood defend doggedly against the onslaught. However, in their desperation, they concede another penalty which Dulwich promptly turn into three more points. "Eleven points to seven," Tanwen laments.

Blackwood, however, do not despair but seem filled with renewed determination. Jake is in the thick of it time and again and slowly his team work their way up the pitch past halfway, each metre hard-fought.

A Blackwood player kicks down the field, the ball travelling high in the air as the team chases. A Dulwich player very close to his own try-line looks up, arms out to catch it. Perhaps it's the sound of his opponents' approach but at the last moment he glances at them and he missed the catch, the ball bouncing out of his arms. He grabs the ball from the ground and tries to run but is quickly tackled.

To my despair, he manages to pass the ball to his teammate who dodges a tackle. I expect him to make a lot of ground but the Referee's whistle goes. "Knock on, scrum to Blackwood," Tanwen translates the Referee's arm-waving once again. All I need now is someone to translate Tanwen and I'll understand what just happened.

"The player trying to catch the ball knocked it forward and players must only pass the ball backwards," Tina whispers as if sensing my need for an explanation. I glance at her and she gives me a smile and a sneaky wink that makes my heart skip.

Meanwhile, in the game, the scrum forms and, after a moment or two, the ball is thrown in by Bam Bam. The players heave and strain and Blackwood manage to push Dulwich back a little. The ball comes back through the scrum to arrive at Jake's feet once again. Every time apart from that first scrum, Bam Bam had picked the ball from between Jake's legs and he comes to the back of the scrum again and bends. However, with a sudden quick move, Jake grabs the ball and bursts forward. He is crouched low as the Dulwich players stood on their try line rush to stop him. I can't see clearly but somehow he keeps going. The Referee's arm shoots straight up and there is a loud whistle as Tanwen shrieks, "He scored! He scored!"

I turn to see the ecstatic look on her face; she turns to me and throws her arms around me and I cannot help but hug her back, sharing in a small way the pride and happiness she feels in her son's success. She releases me and her cheeks are wet with tears of happiness. "Jake's put them back in the lead, hasn't he," I say, infected by her emotion. "Er, twelve points to eleven?" She nods.

"That was very well played," Tina says behind me.

We watch as Blackwood take the conversion kick. It is so tantalisingly close but the ball ricochets off the side post, leaving them with just a single point lead.

The game remains heart-stoppingly close. We are in the last five minutes of play and Dulwich again attack, drawing closer to Blackwood's try line. A ruck forms less than ten metres from the line but the ball seems trapped under the bodies and the Referee stops it, awarding a scrum to Dulwich. I worry that they'll try to do the same as Jake. However, the ball is picked up by the scrum-half and passed to another player who seems to drop the ball only to kick it. The ball travels up and between the goalposts. "Nooo!" moan Tanwen and Tina together.

"Are they allowed to do that?" I ask and they both tell me that, yes, they most certainly are.

"It's called a drop goal and scores three points," Tina explains quietly. The Dulwich parents and players are thrilled.

With so little time left, there isn't really much hope for Blackwood. They try but even I can sense their desperation and the quality of their play suffers. Dulwich, on the other hand, have a new confidence and when the final whistle goes I'm a little relieved. "Well, it was so disappointing, so it was, but at least they didn't concede any more points at the end," Tanwen sighs, speaking what had been my feeling. "Jake will be so disappointed, so he will."

"He played so well, though; he shouldn't feel down," I reply.

"That's true but he'll be really upset nonetheless."

"They all did their best and it's only..."

"Jani," she cuts me off, speaking with surprising intensity, "never say it's just a game or he'll never forgive you!"

"She's right, you know. Mum used to say things like that to me right after a swimming race if I lost; I hated it." I nod, grateful for their advice.

Each side gives the other three cheers but you can hear the disappointment in the Blackwood voices. The Dulwich boys form a tunnel and applaud as Blackwood walk through as they leave the pitch, forming their own tunnel to applaud Dulwich. I'm impressed by the courtesy and sporting spirit in all this and even more by boys of both sides shaking the Referee's hand and saying "Thank you, Sir."

As the boys walk away to the changing rooms, one of the Dulwich coaches comes and tells us that there are refreshments available in the Junior Dining Hall and to follow the Dulwich parents.

As we walk, Tilly again opts to be between Tanwen and me and holds our hands. Inevitably there is the request for 'One, Two, Three, Whee' and we oblige her a few times. "Are you okay, Eryn?" I ask as she walks just behind us, headphones still in place and she gives a little thumbs up without taking her eyes off her phone.

It's quite a walk, making me realise how extensive the school is, and the Dining Hall is on the first floor of a modern building. There is a smell of cooking as we enter to see a room full of long tables, its walls hung with portraits of what I assume are past headmasters in suits and academic gowns. At the far end are parents with two women, obviously employees, dispensing drinks while the tables there have plates of sandwiches and biscuits. "Biscuits!" Eryn tells Tilly, pointing to the plate.

"Can I have a bittit?" Tilly asks.

"Yes, in a minute," Tanwen tells her. "Let's get a drink first."

"I can get them," Tina offers, "what do you want?" I ask for coffee and Tanwen for tea. "What about the girls?" she asks we all look at Eryn

"I don't know," Eryn complains, "what've they got?"

"Why don't you go with Tina and choose?" suggests her Mum. "Oh and just a cup of squash for Tilly, please; the chocolate will likely be too hot for her, so it will."

With a nod, Tina and Eryn move off to join the short queue while Tanwen and I claim the end of one of the tables. I'm touched by the way Tilly comes and sits on my lap until I realise that it puts her in reaching-distance of a plate of biscuits. "Perhaps you should have a sandwich first?" I suggest, "What about a cheese one or, what's this... um, coronation chicken? Perhaps not that then. Er, there's ham..."