The Sun on my Skin Ch. 03

She turns her head sharply and an apprehensive look appears on her face. " Er, Tina, hi..."

"How are you?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light and without any hint of the unspoken, 'you never called me,' accusation that part of me desperately wants to blurt out.

"Oh, er, good, I guess... Um, you okay?" She looks back up at the menu, clearly uncomfortable and the complete antithesis to the poised and confident young woman I'd met ten days ago.

"Reasonably well, all things considered. Been dancing recently?" The question slips out before I can stop it and I curse myself. However, before she responds, the man behind her speaks.

"Wha's up, Ali? Who's this?" The guy is tall with dark, tangled hair, stubble-covered chin and deep brown eyes, his large frame draped in a dark, grey-blue woollen trench coat. He gives me an inquisitive, slightly wary look.

"This is, er, a woman I met her at a nightclub once. I was dancing on my own and she was on her own too so we, er, we talked a bit, is all." She gives me a meaningful look before turning her head to the man. "She's not, like, really a friend or anything."

The guy laughs. "Another of your random, weirdo acquaintances, eh Andi?"

"Yeah, that's right: just a random acquaintance," she confirms.

I should make an excuse — feign a remembered appointment or something — and just walk away. I know that my infatuation with this girl was stupid, but I am tired of being used and rejected. I feel hot anger bubbling up inside me.

"Let's be honest here, Andi," I snarl as I force myself to keep my voice quiet, "I wasn't just an acquaintance, not unless you stick your finger into all your acquaintance's arses as you finger their cunts!" I can see from his face that the guy heard me. He looks perplexed for a moment and then works out what I meant; his perplexed look is quickly replaced by one of upset. Good.

"You bitch!" she hisses back, but I am already turning away.

I walk, fast and hard out of the coffee shop and along the road, breathing quickly as I steer towards the swimming pool. There's no sobbing, but I'm not sure if the dampness on my cheeks is just the rain.

I try to focus on the page in front of me but I keep remembering Andi's face as I turned away: I'd certainly caused her problems, and though I probably shouldn't be, I'm a little bit proud of my spiteful comment about a finger up my arse whilst finger-fucking me: how's she going to explain that to the guy I'm pretty sure is — or was — her boyfriend?

It was, of course, a hollow victory and I'm just as on my own as I was before this lunchtime's brief encounter. However, whether it was the swimming or the fact that I need no longer wonder if Andi will call me again — ever! — I do feel better than I did this morning.

My stomach gives a small rumble and I reach out to grab the packet of cheese and onion sandwiches that hurriedly bought on my way back from the pool. I'd spent forty-five minutes swimming, which meant, given the time spent getting changed and the journey to and from the pool, that I was very late back to the office. Ripping open the packet, I can see that they're never going to come anywhere in a 'Best cheese-based sandwich' competition but I was in too much of a hurry by then to pick and choose.

I take a bite, and despite being rather bland and a bit dry, it tastes surprisingly good. I guess it proves one of Aunt Paulette's favourite sayings: hunger makes a good sauce.

The phone on my desk rings. "Hello, Tina Roberts speaking."

"Ah, Tina, it's Amita."

"Yes?"

"Could you come down to reception, there are some people to see you." Oddly, Amita sounds a little nervous.

"I'm not expecting anyone," I reply, desperately thinking back to be sure that I haven't forgotten something. "Who is it?"

"Um, it is some policewomen."

"Oh... What do they want?" What could they want with me? Oh, crap, this isn't something to do with Andi, is it? No, it can't be.

"They will not say, they just want you to come down so they can talk to you." I hear a muffled voice in the background "She said to tell you that you're not in trouble or anything." Well, they would say that, wouldn't they?

"Okay, I'll be down in a minute," I hang up and walk into the main office. "There's someone at Reception to see me, apparently," I tell Jan and Malcolm. Malcolm grunts an acknowledgement and Jan just says okay.

On the way down, I'm torn between an urge to run and find out what this is all about and a desire to walk at a snail's pace, for fear that I've inadvertently done something terrible. As promised, at the Reception desk are two women in police uniform. They don't instantly seize me and slap me in handcuffs, but my stomach remains a tight, anxious knot because I can tell it's something serious.

"Ms Roberts. I'm Constable Williams and this is Constable O'Connell," the pale, taller and slightly older of the two policewomen tells me. I glance at Constable O'Connell, whose dark skin seemed at odds with an Irish surname, and she gives me a half-smile and slight shrug as if she can read my thoughts. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?" Constable Williams asks.

"Er, is the little meeting room free?" I ask Amita, who looks down at her computer.

"Yes, it is not booked at all this afternoon." I nod in thanks and lead the way.

In the meeting room, after the door is closed, there's a moment of silence before Constable Williams speaks; "Can you just confirm your name and address please?"

"Uh, Tina Elizabeth Roberts, thirty-four, Orchard Road, Ashington. Look, what is this?"

"Would you like to sit down, Ms Roberts? I'm afraid we have some bad news," PC O'Connell tells me, pulling out one of the chairs.

"No, I'm fine standing," I reply, "Just tell me whatever it is, please."

"It's your sister, Philippa. I'm afraid she died this morning. We need you to come to the police station."

I stared dumbly for a moment, unable to take in what she said. "Died? Pippa?" I manage. "No... how?"

"We're not certain yet but... well, she left a note, so it was probably suicide," It is the other policewoman speaking now, her tone soft, sympathetic and a little sad. "The note was addressed to you, but we had to examine it. You understand?"

I nod. "Can I... can I see the note?"

"It's at the station — to be honest, it's a piece of evidence at the moment," Constable Williams says. "We hope you will be able to confirm that it's her handwriting."

"I'm sure we can give you a copy of it, though," Constable O'Connell adds. "Will you come?" I nod again — it's all I can manage. I feel... numb. Perhaps this is what they call shock.

"I, um, I just need to go back up to get my coat and bag..." I gesture vaguely out of the door.

"No problem, Madam. We'll wait here for you."

I stare out of the small, rain-streaked interview room window at a tall, muddy-grey building opposite and a darkening, leaden-grey sky. The colouring seems entirely appropriate to my mood. Even the twinkle of the stupidly premature Christmas lights in one distant window does nothing to lift my mood.

I still can't quite believe Pippa is dead. I knew, through Paulette, that she'd had problems in the past with depression, bad relationships and alcohol and, I suspect, other drugs too. I try to comfort myself with the fact that at least I'd made the occasional effort to get back in touch with her since Dad's death, but I know I could have -should have — tried harder. Too late now.

After Dad's funeral, Pippa and I had spoken a few times; briefly and frostily on each occasion. As her dislike of me, of who I was — or rather, what I was — never relented, it was easier not to talk to her.

And now this: her sudden, unexpected death and the equally unexpected — incredible, in fact — letter to me. I could have done more as a daughter and as a sister. And as an aunt, too, I guess. Well, all those failings seem to be coming back to haunt me.

Pippa... dead. Suicide, the police believe, by an overdose of something — antidepressants, painkillers or something illegal; a post-mortem will be needed to confirm. A neighbour found her, apparently, after seeing the door to her flat was open. Perhaps she'd done that deliberately to make sure she was found before her daughter returned home from college.

I look down at the copy of the letter that Detective Constable Webber had reluctantly provided after interviewing me. He'd been a florid, somewhat overweight man dressed in a crumpled suit, with his tie loose around the slightly grubby open collar of his shirt. It had felt like I was an unwelcome but necessary formality for someone who already had ten things to do and only time for four of them. Well, being here wasn't exactly something I'd chosen either.

My eyes fall on the piece of paper, and I can't help re-reading Pippa's final message to me, her suicide note...

Dear Tina,

I don't know what you'll be thinking or feeling when you read this — angry, sad or simply pissed off that your big sister has fucked up — again — and let everyone down — again. Whatever you're feeling, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I was angry with you about Dad's passing. I know you did as much as you could for him, even though he and Mum weren't always kind to you. I think, in truth, he was always proud of you — as much as he was disappointed in me. I'm sorry but I was jealous. I wanted them to be as proud of me as they were of you, so when you told them about you and Rowan, I thought that was my chance to be the favourite daughter.

But then Mum died and then Dad, and with them gone it was easier to be angry at you than at them -- especially him for just giving up on life. I needed him, I wanted to make him proud of me too and he took that chance away from me. I'd have been a better person if he'd been there, I know I would. A better mum, too.

I guess I now understand how he felt: life is just too hard and I've screwed up on everything and everyone, especially Alice. I wish I could go back — back to when we were girls, when we played together, when the biggest tragedy was wishing I'd chosen chocolate ice cream instead of strawberry and when you looked up to your big sister. I'd make better choices a second time around, I know I would.

I've always loved you, always, deep down, always been proud of you and envied you in equal measure. You're the better person and that's why I must pass on to you the one good thing I've done in my life — Alice. I should probably have done this so sooner, given her a chance to have you as a role model, a life of stability and not wondering what state her mother will be in when she gets home, or wake up in the morning to discover what scumbag her mother has spent the night with.

And this is where I must ask you for something that, if you don't hate me already, you really will now. I haven't been a good mother and Alice has lost out because of that. I know she's always resented that we're poor, that she can't have the things her friends have and that I've spent money on drink and even drugs sometimes, just to numb the pain. I have neglected her and been unfair and unkind. More than that, I know she isn't safe with me, not with the men I know, not with men who tempt me with drugs or money but look at her with cold lust in their eyes. And last night. No, I cannot think about what might have happened to Alice if I hadn't woken up. That's why I want you to take her, to adopt her and become the mother to her that I should have been.

I know this is so much to ask. You have your career, just as when Dad was ill but Dad had already given up on life, but Ali hasn't given up, not yet, and she has so much potential, so much to live for, given the chance. Yes, she can be angry and unreasonable, yes, she's getting into trouble at college — she's a teenager and her mother's daughter after all — but she's not yet out screwing men and doing drugs and you can keep her from that and inspire her to achieve her all she can be. Don't let her make the same stupid mistakes I have.

Goodbye Tina. Tell Alice that I love her and try to make her understand that I'm doing this for her. Perhaps, in time, you will both forgive me.

Love, Pippa xx

I blink and take a shuddering breath. My emotions tumble — sadness, anger, guilt, fear and confusion. I don't know if I should scream, cry, shout or run away and hide. How dare she put this on me? How could I have been so selfish? How can I possibly become a mother to a girl I don't know and have met only a handful of times and all before she'd even started school? How can I not at least try?

I glance up as the door opens and a woman enters. She's dressed in dark trousers and appears to be a fan of layering, with a coat over a jacket, over an open shirt over a tee shirt. She holds out a hand. "Hi, Tina Roberts? I'm Bernadette Riordan. I expect you've been told why I'm here?" She has a soft Irish burr and I shake her hand uncertainly. "I'm from Social Services... regarding Alice Roberts...." I nod. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Tina — may I call you Tina? — Please call me Bernie. We need..."

I hold up my hand to stop the rapid flow of words and, thankfully, she pauses. "Look, Bernie, I... I don't know about any of this. It's all been such a shock and, well, I don't know the first thing about being a parent." I finish plaintively. She looks at Pippa letter and nods in understanding, suggesting that, like the police, she's read it.

"What parent does, when they start out?" She takes a moment to move a chair and sit next to me. "Listen, Tina, we do understand, but there are several considerations here. First, you are a blood relation and your sister expressed her desire that Alice be with you. A family connection can be important and the fact that she knows you..."

"But she doesn't!" I interrupt. "She cannot have been more than four or five when I last saw her. She doesn't know me and I don't know her!"

"Hmm... well, that's not so good. Tina, let me be honest here: Alice's needs are paramount — we want the best outcome for her. It seems that her home life was, how can I put this, a little chaotic. In an ideal world, she would have come to our attention sooner. What she needs is some safety and stability right now and a relative — her closest relative, I believe? — maybe the best. That said, you need to be happy with that, and we need to be sure that you are suitable."

I swallow uncomfortably, my mouth suddenly dry: I hadn't thought that I would be being assessed and judged. Wait, what am I thinking? I've never wanted children — that was why I let Jan go... Oh, fuck.

"And, um, if I'm not suitable? What happens to Alice then?" I ask, trying to squash the idea that if this had happened two months ago, Jan would have wanted me, not Tanwen.

"We'd look to find foster carers but," she gives a small sigh, "for the time being, it would have to be a children's home. Listen, Tina, this isn't simply a case of you saying yes and me agreeing that you're suitable: Alice also gets a choice so why don't we go and meet her? She should be here by now."

"She's coming here? Now?" I ask in surprise. "I mean, yes. I'd like to see her but at a police station?" I do want to see her but didn't expect it to be right here and now; I'm suddenly as nervous as hell.

"It's not ideal, I know, but it was practical. Given some of the things in Philippa's note, the police had to ensure that Alice was safe," Bernie tells me. She touches my arm in reassurance. "I know this isn't easy but remember that whatever happens today isn't final. If Alice stays with you, we'll meet with you and her regularly to be sure it's working. If she goes to a children's home, well, she might change her mind and decide that she'd like to try living with you. I know that might be hard, but..."

"It's about her and her needs, I get that," I interrupt, my anxiety making me impatient.

"No, that's not true: it's about you too but, sure, there's a price to being an adult, isn't there? Come on, let's meet your niece."

Bernie leads me upstairs to another room. I'm unsure what this room is normally used for — it's not much bigger than the interview room downstairs but it has a small sofa, two armchairs and a coffee table, making the room crowded: maybe it's a staff room or perhaps for situations like this.

There's another woman — a colleague of Bernie's, I assume from the way they greet each other by name — and there, on the sofa, a sullen-looking girl. She is wearing black, ripped jeans — the ripping is probably a fashion thing as, although the jeans aren't new, they don't look to have seen that much hard wear — and a dark green, heavy-knit jumper with the sleeves pulled down over her hands. Her dark hair dark is highlighted orange at the ends and hangs down over the right side of her pale face. From this angle, I can't see much of her face, though the profile reminds me uncomfortably of Pippa when we were young. I catch the glint of a ring in the side of her nose and two piercings in her ear.

Bernie calls her name and she looks up, her eyes meeting mine but her expression unreadable. "This is your Aunt Tina," Bernie tells her, and I cringed inwardly at the title.

"I, er, I don't think you need to bother with the 'Aunt' bit, Alice," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and friendly.

"Hi," she replies curtly, then looks down again.

The second woman — Shalu, Bernie had called her — turns to Bernie and me. "I have explained the situation," she says quietly, the faintest trace of an Indian accent detectable, "but she wants to stay with her friend. From what she told me, I do not think that would be... appropriate. I told her that we do not think that would be suitable, but..." She gives a little wag of her head that I interpret as a comment on the intractability of teenagers.

Bernie nods and looks thoughtful. "Perhaps... perhaps if Tina and Alice had time to chat?" she turns to me, making it clear that I have a choice.

"Um yes. Can it be just the two of us? I think that might be easier." Disappointingly, Bernie seems hesitant but I notice Shalu's glance up and to the right. I follow her gaze, and there is a discreet CCTV camera, nestling in the corner. Clearly, this room is for interviews, at least sometimes. Bernie gives a quick nod of approval and the two of them make their exits.

I'm left standing, looking down at an unhappy girl. It's obviously time to step up, be an adult and do this for Pippa. For me and my guilt too, if I'm honest. Tentatively, I sit on the sofa beside her. "Hello, Alice."

She turns her head to look at me for a second time. "So you're Aunt Tina," she says, flatly.

"Just Tina is fine... not 'Teen' though."

"Is that what Mum called you?"

"Sometimes. She'd call me 'Pest' if I annoyed her or if I was winning an argument," I feel my mouth twitch towards a smile at the long-forgotten nickname. "Or 'you bitch' if I borrowed her stuff." There's a faint flicker in her expression, but whether it was surprise or amusement, I can't tell.

"Did you fight a lot?"

"No, not back then. Well, no more than sisters normally do, I suppose."

"But, like, most kids know their aunts and uncles. I guess I sort of knew you existed, but I've never seen you before and Mum never, like, talked about you."

"No, I don't suppose she would have. We fell out and then first Mum and then Dad — your Grandmother and Grandfather — died. It was not a good time, for either of us, especially Dad dying, and... we sort of blamed each other."