The Sun on my Skin Ch. 03

I guess that's what pissed me off most: my being a lesbian was considered disgusting, whilst Pippa's merry-go-round of men — all with, as far as I could tell, dodgy backgrounds, dubious employment and suspect morality — was, if not okay, at least tolerated. Thank god for Mum's sister, our Aunt Paulette. At least she and her husband Colin had been supportive. Perhaps I should ask Paulette if she's heard from Pippa recently.

With a sigh, I push the unhappy thoughts and memories away as I stuff the physical manifestations of those memories back into the box. I pull the next two boxes out — stacking them more carefully this time — and there, wedged behind the final box, is the elusive walking boot. Only now do I recall throwing the boots into the cupboard in annoyance when I came home after that rugby match in Dulwich in which Tanwen's eldest lad had played. It was the day after Jan and I first slept together, but despite that, Jan had chosen to go back to Tanwen's house and not be with me. She'd said she was worried that Tanwen would somehow know that we'd become lovers...

No, I'm going down that sad memory lane either. On your feet, Tina, get those boots on and walk off this melancholy mood! Get through the next week and then, on Friday, go and try to meet someone. Yeah, that's a plan.

Thursday 12 November

"See you on Monday," Tanwen says to Malcolm and me as she slips her coat on. "See you later, Jani," she says as she passes her girlfriend. They touch hands, but I can tell they'd like to kiss.

"Bye, Tanwen," Malcolm calls. He seems to have accepted them being a couple. They told him on Tuesday, which surprised me as they talked about taking things slowly. I suspect Jan is spending nights with Tanwen, which is not so surprising given how things are between Jan and her soon-to-be ex-husband. It seems that he's insisting on selling their house as quickly as possible.

Tanwen and Jan seem happy together, and I do try to wish them well in my heart, but I can't help wondering what would have happened had I not let Jan go. I give a little snort. Who am I kidding? She'd have kept on babysitting for Tanwen, out on Saturday mornings so Tanwen could watch her son play rugby and so Jan could have a surrogate family. Eventually, that would have pissed me off to the point where I said something, and it's all too easy to imagine our relationship unravelling after that... No, what I did was right: I don't need to be walked out on yet again.

I can go dancing tomorrow night and hopefully there'll be someone there I can hook up with for company and sex and no complicated relationship worries.

Right, let's get this next batch of overtime processed or there'll be some very pissed off employees if they don't get their money until after Christmas.

I'm keying in the figures from the fourth overtime sheet when my mobile phone starts to buzz, vibrating on the desk beside me. The screen announces that it's Aunt Paulette.

"Hi, Paulette, how are you?"

"I'm very well, Tina dear, thank you. How are you?" she asks. I'm tempted to pour out all my frustrations and disappointments, but Malcolm is sat in the main office and his hearing is, I suspect, a lot sharper than he lets on, so this is not the time or place.

"I'm okay," I tell her, trying to make it sound true. "How's Colin?"

"We're both well. Actually, I was phoning to give you some news." The note of excitement in her voice intrigues me. "You know we've both wanted to go around the world? Well, Colin has booked it! He says it's for our Ruby wedding and my sixtieth birthday next year. We fly to New York for three days and then take the train to Chicago — you know how Colin's always had a bit of a thing about trains? A couple of days in Chicago and then San Francisco. After that, we Fly to New Zealand. We spend a week, no, ten days there and then to Australia..." I tune out at the bucket-list-killing litany of places: Melbourne, Sidney, Thailand, Singapore, Hong Kong... "and then finally, from Dubai, we fly home," she concludes.

"How long will you be away?" I ask, as my subconscious suddenly and unhelpfully points out that Paulette was married at twenty and lived, evidently very happily, with the same person for forty years, while I, thirty-four...

"Seven weeks, I think." Paulette's reply thankfully interrupts my thoughts.

"Oh wow, that sounds brilliant," I tell her, honestly but not a little enviously. "When do you go?"

"Next week. I would have told you sooner, but Colin only told me last Sunday, and since then it's been a whirlwind of getting ready. I think he was originally planning not to tell me until we were on the way to the airport, the soppy romantic," she laughs, "but then he realised we needed vaccinations and things."

"True; coming down with typhoid or malaria would most definitely spoil the holiday. Well, I hope you both have a wonderful time. You can send me postcards and make me even more insanely jealous."

"Oh, we will, I'm sure, although it might be emails and Facebook instead of postcards: this is the twenty-first century after all!" she teases. I have made numerous comments in the past about her reluctance to keep her mobile phone turned on when she's not actually making a call.

A sudden thought occurs to me. "You don't have an address for Pippa do you?" I ask.

"Why?" she asks in reply, obviously intrigued. She is fully aware of our relationship — or lack of one.

"Oh, I thought maybe I should send her a Christmas card. I sent one a couple of years ago but never heard anything, so I wondered if she'd moved. The address I have is years old."

"That's a nice idea, Tina, but I don't think I can help. She doesn't seem to want anything to do with me either. It's a shame. I'd hoped that maybe, once the pain of Judy and your Dad dying had eased that she would relent and find a way to accept you and everything."

"Sorry, Paulette, I didn't mean to puncture your happy mood. Go and get yourself packed and injected and everything else. I'll raise a glass to you on Chrismas Day when you're — where will you be?"

"Oh, er, I'm not sure... Singapore, or Hong Kong."

"Well, think of me back here in cold, damp Britain!"

"We will, and you have a happy Christmas too, Tina. Is there anyone..?" she asks tentatively.

"No, no one at the moment," I tell her. I'm again tempted to tell her about Jan, but no. Perhaps I'll call her tonight or maybe on Sunday.

"Oh... well, I'm sure you'll find someone special: you're a very nice person, after all."

I look up to see Jan standing in the doorway. "Sorry, Paulette, I'd better go. Love to you and Colin."

"Thank you, Tina. Love to you too, and a very happy Christmas. Bye-bye."

"Bye, Paulette." I end the call and turn my attention to Jan.

"Um, Tina, I'm sorry to interrupt." She seems nervous, and I wonder what the matter is.

"Yes?"

"I, well, I suppose we, just wanted to ask something," she says, keeping her voice low and coming closer, and I guess that the 'we' in this case is her and Tanwen. "We just wondered if, over Christmas, you know, when the schools are off, it would be okay if Tanwen and I took annual leave on alternate days so that one of us is at home every day?"

"That should be okay," I tell her, fighting the seemingly inevitable twinge of jealousy. "Malcolm will still be here so there'll be three of us in the office. It would be good if we can get as much stuff done at the start of December. I guess the schools don't break up until about the..." I glance at the calendar on the wall, "... the eighteenth?"

The seventeenth, actually; they have an INSET day, you know, a staff training day, on that Friday."

"Okay. Well, you and Tanwen just need to book the holiday on the staff portal in the usual way."

"Thanks, Tina," she smiles, and I watch her walk away. No, she and Tanwen are right for each other: I could never have made her as happy and contented as her new family seem to make her.

Friday 13 November

"Hi Tina, we've not seen you for a few weeks." I turn from waiting at the bar and there is Frankie, arm in arm with Michele, her girlfriend. They are regulars here at Quixote's and are sort of more-than-acquaintances-but-not-quite-friends.

"Hi," I reply over the music.

"Where's Jan hiding?" Michele asks, and this is, of course, precisely why I have been avoiding Quixote's as it was the place Jan and I came to dance, often meeting and dancing with Frankie and Michele; the place where Jan's dormant lesbianism awoke and where the brief, guttering flame of our love first sparked. Fuck, I need to let that go.

"She's not here," I tell them. "We're not a couple, actually; she's with someone else."

"Really?" Michele looks puzzled, "because I thought..."

"Tina, we're sorry," Frankie deliberately interrupts. "Are you okay?" she asks, putting her hand on my arm.

"Oh, yes; I'm enjoying being free and single," I smile. It's not exactly a lie, but the truth is a lot more complicated. I scan the room, checking out the women. This is the one disadvantage of Quixote's: the mix of straight and gay can cut down on the number of available girls. However, I couldn't face the trek to Mayflower or G-A-Y this evening and, if the opportunity arises, I rather fancy waking up with a lover in my own bed for a change.

"Got your gaydar running, I see," Michele comments, grinning.

"Well, you never know," I reply with a smile. "I guess it's a bit early yet," I add as all the groups seem to have even numbers of women.

"Come and dance with us then," Frankie suggests.

The dancing is fun, and I try to lose myself in the rhythms and my body's movement. Perhaps it was a mistake coming here because I'm constantly reminded of Jan.

I notice a young woman on her own, towards the edge of the dance floor and half-hidden by one of the pillars. She intrigues me as she appears to be dancing alone, her eyes closed almost as if in a trance. Her dark, straight hair sways as she moves her head, partially covering and uncovering her face. She is wearing a flower print, summery-looking mini dress over a pale, long-sleeved shirt and dark leggings. With her narrow waist and full hips, her body isn't the sort that would normally hold my eye, but there's something about her that I find captivating. I wonder why? Whatever it is, I find myself repeatedly looking at her.

"Seen someone?" Michele asks, making me realise that I've been staring. She moves beside me to follow my gaze. "What, her?" she asks in surprise. "She looks like she's stoned!"

"No," I protest, "she looks... carefree."

"Yeah, like I said: stoned!" Michele laughs.

"Shell, give Tina a break, huh? A bit of sympathy, right?" Frankie tells her girlfriend, giving her a meaningful stare. "Sorry, Tina. I love this girl, but Michele was definitely at the back of the queue when sensitivity was being given out!"

"Hey, not fair!" Michele objects.

"Actually, I think she might have been hiding behind the door," I suggest, and Michele sticks her tongue out at me. I try to focus on Frankie and Michele and on the music, but I keep glancing back to the dancing, carefree woman, peering through the increasing number of dancers to see that she is still on her own.

The music dips as the track changes and Frankie leans in towards me. "Go on, go over to her."

I look across and she's not there! The feeling of disappointment is unexpectedly intense, ridiculously so; she was just some random girl dancing. Just then, as the music builds to a fast, hard beat, she reappears from behind the obscuring column, arms raised and thrusting in time with the music, head tipped back and eyes still closed, stamping one foot as she slowly spins. I nod to Frankie and begin dancing my way towards her. I nod and smile at the people I pass, but almost all of my attention is fixed on her.

The area here is unexpectedly empty — the pillar seems to cut it off, and the nearby fire escape doors have evidently prevented the management from filling the area with tables and chairs. There is a couple, a man and a woman, with their arms around each other. Their movement bears no relationship to the music, their attention entirely on the kiss they are sharing.

I move nearer the woman. She exudes a sense of complete absorption in the music and carelessness towards the rest of the world that is enthralling and I cannot help envying her. I shut my eyes and continue to dance; within a moment or two, I find I am much more aware of the music. The song ends and I resist the temptation to open my eyes as the first notes of the next song begin. Violins, I notice, surprising myself, playing quick, piercing notes. It's an old track, probably one that someone has requested, and it takes a moment to recognise it: 'Come on, Eileen' by Dexy's Midnight Runners. It reminds me of dancing at family parties when I was young.

Once again, I am tempted to open my eyes and look at the woman but I fight the urge, focussing on the nostalgic music. It was a big local parish hall and a party for my grandparents — a sixtieth birthday or ruby wedding anniversary or some such — and me and my big sister Pippa and various cousins and other youngsters are dancing in a group amid the grownups. The song builds to a crescendo: Too ra, loo ra, too ra loo rye aye and I am swaying with my arms in the air in time with the beat, just as I did then, twenty or more years ago.

I dance on, reliving memories of a time before disapproval, bereavement and family division. Was it about then that I started to notice girls more than boys? Maybe.

The track morphs into the next, some anonymous drum and bass track. Without sight, my awareness of my body is heightened, and I start to appreciate the reasons for dancing this way. My movements become larger, freer, as the only feedback comes from balance and muscles and the rub of clothing on skin.

Something brushes my arm as I twist. Instinctively, I open my eyes as a surprised voice beside me says, "Oh, hello," I turn, and there is the dancing woman, looking at me, intrigued. "I didn't think I'd get any company in this corner."

"Well, I..." I hesitate and decide that the simple, open truth is probably the best option. "I was watching you dancing and you just looked so... carefree, so happy, that I couldn't resist coming over."

"Me, carefree? Not hardly!" she replies. She is even younger than I first thought, probably no more than twenty at the most. The momentary memory of Jojo is inevitable, I suppose, but this young woman is very different and radiates a calm confidence that Jojo never had.

"Well, you looked it, dancing with your eyes shut."

"Yeah, that's why I dance alone sometimes, you know? To escape. What about you? You looked like you were miles away, almost as if you were, like, in a trance."

"I suppose I was, in a way," I admit. "I was remembering dancing to one of the songs when I was barely a teenager."

"Music can be fantastically powerful like that." She has stopped dancing but still sways and shuffles in time to the beat. "Closing your eyes makes the music much more intense, don't you think?"

"Absolutely." I agree and then hesitate before asking, "So, do you just come here to dance on your own?"

"This is my first time here, but yes, sometimes -- when I'm just in a dancing mood. I was on my way home and I saw the sign outside and decided that tonight I wanted to dance. What about you? Are you a regular here?"

"Well, I guess I was but I haven't been here for a while," I admit "Um, do you want a drink?" I ask as she looks at me with dark eyes. Her pretty face takes on a curious expression, weighing me up as if unsure what to make of my offer.

"Thank you, that's very kind. Dancing makes you thirsty, doesn't it? My name's Andi, by the way." She holds out her hand in an unexpectedly formal gesture.

"Oh, I'm Tina," I reply, shaking her hand.

At the bar, she asks for a bottle of fruit-flavoured cider — with strawberry and lime, according to the label — while I stick with my usual white wine. Bottle in hand, the accompanying glass left rejected on the bar, she immediately heads back towards the far corner. I wonder if she is just incredibly rude, but she pauses after a few steps, looking back to see if I'm following. Perhaps she doesn't like being crowded into the scrum by the bar.

As soon as I start to follow, she continues walking. As the dancers thin, she begins to sway and step in time to the music. She sips from the bottle and turns: her eyes are closed once more and she slips into her dance.

Andi may be able to dance with a bottle in hand, but a glass of wine is more of a problem, and I have only one option if I am to dance and that is to put the glass down. I take a large gulp before placing it on the floor, behind the pillar. I close my eyes and seek the meditative state I had briefly experienced earlier. However, I cannot help thinking about Andi.

I can't decide if she is just shy and awkward beneath a veneer of confidence or is the most idiosyncratic person I've ever met. Or both. Neither offers much of a clue as to whether she'd be interested in having sex with me or would simply tell me to piss off. Of course, if she's determined to just dance and won't talk to me, then the whole question becomes moot and I'm just wasting my time.

I open my eyes and glance across the dance floor. There are a group of three women just entering and, from their hair and clothing — and the dark mottling of tattoos on one of them — I'd bet that some or all are gay. Should I take my drink and try and join them?

"Tina." Andi's voice interrupts my speculation. "I'm boring you, aren't I? Um, thank you for the drink."

"No, I guess it's my fault; you were quite happy dancing here on your own and I interrupted you. You're just here to dance, Andi, and I respect that." I bend to retrieve my glass and give her a nod as I turn to leave. Should I seek out the three women I saw? Am I in the mood anymore?

"What are you here for, Tina?" Andi asks loudly, projecting her voice over the music and making me hesitate.

"I wanted to find someone to sleep with tonight," I admit.

"You mean... a woman?" she asks and I nod. She doesn't appear shocked or disgusted, simply a little surprised as she blinks at me. "Er..." I don't know what she's thinking but take a guess.

"Yes, I did come over to chat you up, though what I said about how you looked was all true."

"Okay," she replies in an unexpectedly matter of fact tone. "Do you want to go somewhere we can talk?" Now it's my turn to blink in surprise.

"Uh, yes, that would be good," I manage and hastily down the rest of my wine.

We make our way out, collecting our coats on the way. Andi's is a royal blue duffel coat, complete with a hood and horn toggles; it's vaguely familiar and I wonder if I've seen one of Tanwen's daughters wearing something similar. She asks me to hold her half-empty bottle of cider as she slips it on.

Outside, the air is frost-sharp and the clear sky shows a few faint stars, even with the streetlights. I zip my leather jacket up, wishing it was a little longer and slightly envious of Andi's coat. I watch as she pulls something from the pocket and I am once more given her cider to hold as she pulls a woolly, Peruvian-style hat onto her head. The thought of Peru triggers recognition. "Paddington Bear!" I laugh and she smiles.

"Yes, it is a bit like his coat, isn't it? I don't have a marmalade sandwich under my hat, though." She looks at me, expectantly.

Despite her unexpected response in the club, she's clearly waiting for me to take the lead now, but for some reason I'm hesitant. It isn't that I'm nervous of a one-night stand — I've had a number over the years including that taxi driver the night I left Jan with Tanwen — and each time I've not hesitated to get into bed with them and calmly walked away the next morning with just a thank you and a goodbye. Seducing self-professed straight women hasn't been an issue either. Perhaps it's Andi's open innocence or maybe that, young as she is, using her gay-curiosity for a single night of sex feels just a little too cold and calculating, even by my past standards.