The Sun on my Skin Ch. 03

This morning, Ali said she wanted to go into college — to see her friends as much as anything, I suspect — so I'd gone into work. Needless to say, back at my desk I found a backlog of work and a mountain of emails, so leaving at three o'clock had been stressful, making me feel guilty for leaving early, apprehensive about the work piling up and scared of getting to the College late. How do Tanwen and Jan cope?

The Pastoral Director — who seems determined to keep calling me 'Ms Roberts' whilst at the same time insists that I call her Frances — is nice enough if a little scarily self-assured and efficient. She goes through various policies and processes regarding absences and attendance, how the College can offer Ali counselling to assist with bereavement and any other challenges she may face in the coming months, and that I can contact her or Ali's tutor if I have any questions or concerns. There are contact details to provide and an agreement that I will support the College in helping Ali to complete work and generally do her best.

"I won't pretend that Ali hasn't presented some challenges: her attendance needs to improve significantly, and while her teachers say she's an intelligent young woman, her work — particularly her homework — has frequently been incomplete or of a poor standard. I tried to engage with your sister about Ali's attendance and performance but..." she gives a small shrug, turning her open palms up.

"I... I think Pippa was struggling with... lots of things and don't think that her own experiences at school would have helped either. But I believe she was worried about Ali and wanted her to succeed — she just felt she couldn't help her and," I take a breath, "and she wanted me to help Ali. Um... Ali knows that too," I add.

"Good. Well, we're here to help Ali as much as we can, so feel free to contact us at any time, Ms Roberts. Right, well that's all for the time being. Have you arranged to meet Ali somewhere?"

"She mentioned waiting outside the main dining hall, wherever that is."

"I can show you. I believe Ali's first appointment is at four-forty-five with Kerry Daniels, her English teacher."

Frances leads the way along several clean and modern-looking corridors and out into a wide thoroughfare between buildings. I spot Ali standing and chatting with a shorter, dark-skinned girl. I don't know if it's my approach or that of Frances that scares Ali's friend away, but as soon as she notices us she gives Ali a quick handclasp before hurrying off.

"Hello, Ali," Frances says, "Your Aunt didn't know where to go to find you, so I thought I'd bring her to you." I cringe inwardly at the word 'Aunt'.

"Um, thank you, Frances," Ali replies uncomfortably. I expect Frances to object to Ali's over-familiarity in using her first name, but Frances says nothing. Perhaps Ali is being given some dispensation in the current circumstances.

"Okay, well, you'd best hurry so you're not late for your appointment," Frances tells Ali. The tone is kindly, but underneath there is firmness that expects to be obeyed. Somehow, I doubt many kids try to mess this woman around.

"Okay, Ali, you'd better lead the way," I suggest. "I've no idea where we're going."

"Kerry will be up in the English Department corridor. C'mon." Ali sets off and I follow.

"Ali, won't you get into trouble if you keep calling your teachers by their first names?" She gives me a slight frown.

"No, we always call them by their names. We're not, like, schoolkids now."

"No, I guess not. Still, back in my days, we always had to call them Mister or Miss whatever. Of course, I had to wear school uniform too, even in the Sixth Form. I guess this is better though: I always call colleagues by their first name."

"I hated school uniform," Ali grumbles. "All that crap about the right colour socks and wearing a blazer and stuff."

"Well, you're out of that now," I reassure her. She doesn't reply, so I decide not to push it. Maybe in time, we'll find an easier relationship.

"It's in here," she says as we arrive at a classroom, although the displays featuring authors and poets along the corridor had already suggested we'd entered the English Department's domain.

I glance into the room and there are three teachers there: a man and two women. One of the women has no parents or student with her and I look at Ali questioningly. She shakes her head and indicates the other woman with a quick flick of her hand. So we must wait, as Kerry speaks to the student -- a floppy-haired young man with mother and father sat either side, all nodding at what the teacher is saying. I watch, feeling unexpectedly nervous about what is to come. Others arrive to wait their turn.

Finally, the family trio stand and there are smiles and handshakes. As we pass, the floppy-haired youth gives Ali a nod and a slight smile that could be relief or empathy.

"Hello Ali," Kerry says, half standing and inviting us to sit with a gesture. "You must be Ali's au...."

"I'm Tina Roberts, yes," I say hastily, although I don't know why being called an aunt grates so much. "Just Tina is fine," I add, offering my hand in greeting.

"Okay, Tina," she replies and then looks down. On the desk in front of her is an open book with a grid, a list of names down the left-hand side. I'm pretty good at reading upside down and easily find Ali's name. The numbers and letters — Cs and Ds and mid-range percentages, suggest that Ali is not doing brilliantly. "So, just for your benefit, Tina, the syllabus is: one Shakespeare play - The Taming of the Shrew - two novels — Ian McEwan's Atonement and also Wuthering Heights — and the poetry anthology, all pre-1900 poems. This term, we're looking at Shakespeare, the first of the novels, Atonement, and one or two of the poems. Okay...." She looks back down at her mark sheet and I sense Ali shrinking down a little: she clearly anticipates what's coming. "So, Ali, how do you think you're doing?" What a horrible question; pretty much whatever Ali says will put her in the wrong.

"Um..." Ali says, presumably sensing the trap before her.

"Er, Kerry," I interrupt, "while I understand that Ali's motivation and effort are important, perhaps it would be better if you gave your assessment of Ali's performance first; then we can discuss it, yes?"

Kerry gives me a slightly disapproving look, but I've managed people from stroppy teenage work experience kids to truculent sixty-year-olds, so I hold her gaze until, finally, she nods. "Very well. So Ali, so far your work puts you on a borderline grade C or D. You didn't complete the last worksheet on Atonement, and some of your other work has been rather lacking in effort and thought. However..." she pauses dramatically, "there were parts of your essay on The Shrew that were excellent, showing some careful thought and perspective and you explained them well. The misogyny in the play certainly caught your attention." Kerry gives a little smile.

"Yeah, well, women don't need taming," Ali mutters.

"Ali, I'm not going to disagree," Kerry assure her. "However, you need to take the insight and enthusiasm for your ideas and apply that more widely. You know the theme behind all the texts is 'Love through the ages,' so use how we think of love today and how it's presented in the novels and poems as a contrast. You have a good brain in that head and good ideas; you just need to make the effort and remember to play the game."

"Game?" Ali asks.

"The exam game. It's all about giving the examiners what they want so that they'll give you what you want: a good grade. One that you're capable of getting if you'll only just apply yourself." There is a hint of frustration in Kerry's voice. I glance at Ali, expecting some negative reaction but there are just silence and an uncomfortable look on her face.

"Thank you, Kerry," I say. "Are there any things in particular that Ali should concentrate on, to begin with?"

"Well, Ali, you need to not miss lessons, er, I mean once things get more settled," she adds hastily, evidently recalling Ali's current situation. "Read the texts, obviously. Please don't just watch a film or television adaptations. They can help with the basic plot but you can't be sure how much has been edited out or changed. Oh, and if you could try and improve your handwriting: I cannot mark what I cannot read!"

"I find the writing hard," she complains. "If I write neat it takes, like, forever."

"Well, you can always type in on a computer," Kerry suggests.

"Yeah, maybe," Ali concedes. I've known Ali for only three days — albeit quite intense days — but I can tell there's a lot she might have said just then about life with her Mum.

"Okay, well, is there anything else you want to say, Ali?" Kerry asks but Ali just shakes her head.

"Well, thank you, Kerry," I say, starting to stand. We'd better get to our next appointment and I can see others are waiting to see you."

Kerry shakes my hand again. "Nice to meet you, Tina. See you tomorrow, Ali."

Back out in the corridor, Ali is still out of sorts. "So is it... History next?" I hazard?

"Yeah. This way."

"Ali... What Kerry said about your handwriting..." I hesitate; I don't want her to feel criticised by me. "Well, would it help if we got a computer and a printer at home, for you to do your work on?"

"Uh, maybe, a bit," she replies with a slight note of surprise.

"We could get a laptop, so, you know, you could take it with you; bring it into college if you needed to work on an essay, say."

"Like, for real? That'd be cool," she replies, definitely a little happier.

"I've wondered about getting one before but I've never really needed it, not in the way you need one. I might need to use it occasionally, though," I warn, just to get that rule established from the outset.

"Yeah, no problem," she agrees, possibly a little too readily.

History — with Justin (Mc something Scottish) and Greg, a trainee teacher who says nothing — is much the same as English. Aside from the slightly disconcerting discovery that the Modern European History module goes up to the fall of the Berlin Wall — an event I lived through, for fuck's sake! — there is the same complaint that Ali has the ability but hasn't done enough to develop her potential. When the same objections to her handwriting are also repeated, Ali immediately asks if it would be okay to use a computer.

"Of course," Justin assures her, "though not its exams, obviously."

"Why not?" Ali asks, annoyed.

I place my hand on her arm to calm her. "Perhaps we can find out whether that's always the case," I suggest, diplomatically, thinking that Justin probably knows what he's talking about.

After History, there's a twenty-five-minute gap before the final subject, Psychology. I ask her if perhaps there's somewhere we can get a drink.

"I dunno... the canteen, maybe but... can we just go over to Psychology?"

"Okay," I agree, a little reluctantly. I wonder why she's so keen. Maybe this going to be terrible, and she just wants to get it over with. "So, anything you want to say about Psychology before we talk to your teacher?"

She gives a little shrug. "It's hard, I mean, like, complicated."

"Interesting?"

She gives a half-short, half-squeak sort of sound that I've learned means more-or-less the same as 'dunno'. "Some bits, I guess. It's not as much fun as Nessa thought it would be," she adds, obviously sensing my frustration with her first reply. The name Nessa rings a bell.

"Ah... I assume this is your best friend Nessa?" I ask, deliberately not adding, 'the one you wanted to live with instead of me'.

"Yeah. We wanted to do, like, at least one subject together, you know?"

"So was Psychology her idea or yours?" I ask. "I'm not criticising; I get that you wanted to be in a class with a friend when you come to a new place... I just want to understand."

"I guess it was kinda hers more than mine. She's doing Biology and Chemistry so... I guess it, like, fits for her."

"But not so good for you?" I suggest.

"No, I mean... there's stuff in English, you know: why characters do stuff, their motivations and how they make us feel... And now with what's happened with Mum..."

"You think it might help you to understand her, perhaps?"

"Maybe."

"It can't hurt, and understanding people is always good. Perhaps I should have done some psychology, then maybe I would have made some better choices."

"With Mum?" she asks.

"Possibly, though I was thinking more about some of the other relationships that I've had." She half turns and gives me an intrigued look.

"Like with Rowan, that Mum mentioned? The guy you were with that upset your parents?" she asks, fully justifying her teachers' comments about her intelligence and disconcerting the hell out of me. The only relief is that she's assumed Rowan was a man.

"Um, yes, possibly... among others... but I'm not about to give you all the gory details," I manage a smile, "certainly not right now!" She half-smiles back, and I wonder if there'll be a day when we feel close enough to share the whole truth.

There are seats in the corridor outside the classroom where Ali's Psychology teacher awaits. The people sat there, already waiting, means that we won't get to see the teacher early.

"Ali!" A young woman sat on one of the chairs exclaims with a big, happy smile as she jumps to her feet. It looks like the girl I saw talking to Ali earlier.

"Hi, Nessa," Ali replies and the two of them hug. Ah, So this is Nessa, Ali's BFF. I bet she is the reason why Ali was so keen to get here early.

I'm not sure what I'd expected. Obviously, I'd not seen a photo of Nessa and Ali hadn't described her, but I must have had some subconscious picture, or I wouldn't be so surprised by the short, cute, dark-caramel-skinned girl who's hugging Ali. Her long black, slightly frizzy hair is dyed blue at the ends in a way that echoes Ali's, and I wonder who is copying whom. She looks over Ali's shoulder at me, then glances back at Ali. There's something in the way she smiles that makes me feel that I'm the butt of some joke shared between the two of them. "Hi, er..." she says to me.

Slightly unsure of what to do and not wanting to mess this up, I offer my hand.."Please, call me Tina. Hello, Nessa, nice to meet you." She hesitantly shakes my hand. I notice a woman staring intently at us.

"Uh, this is Nessa's Mum, Heather," Ali says, and the woman stands in response to the introduction. The woman is a fraction shorter than me, slim and a little older perhaps, dressed in a long, dark skirt and white blouse beneath her jacket. Her pale skin indicates her partner or husband must be black — unless Nessa is adopted, of course. Heather's eyes are a light hazel colour, and her honey-blonde hair, tied back in an efficient ponytail, looks natural.

"Hello," I say. She gives me an appraising look. Does she think I'm Pippa and that I look too young to have a daughter of Ali's age? Whatever the reason, her studying of me is a bit unsettling.

"Hi," she says eventually, "I guess you must be Ali's aunt, yes?" She has a soft but noticeable accent.

"Um, yes... Tina, Tina Roberts. So you're an A..."

"Yes, Heather's Canadian," Ali interrupts, loudly, "but she's been here for, like, years." Ali is giving me a hard stare and a frown. "Not American," she mouths in silent addition.

"Um, yes, a Canadian, of course. Please to meet you, Heather." I can only assume Heather dislikes being mistaken for an American as much as I dislike being called 'Aunt Tina'.

"And you too. I'm sorry for your loss," she says. There is a slightly cold wariness in her tone that makes her words sound like a mere formality. I wonder — given that her daughter and Ali have been friends for some years — if she ever met Pippa.

"Thank you," I reply and then hesitate awkwardly. It feels rude not to say anything more, but what do parents say in this sort of situation?. "Has the evening gone well for Nessa?" I ask and then curse myself: that question should have gone to Nessa, not her Mum, so now I'll have annoyed Nessa, and by extension, Ali.

"Yes, very good so far. There are times when Vanessa needs to focus a little more and avoid distractions, but otherwise, she's doing very well." I wonder if this is a subtle dig at Ali. "And you?"

"Oh, well... there are some things to work on and areas where Ali needs some support but isn't that true for all of us? Otherwise, yes, she's doing okay." Just then, people emerge from the classroom: a student and his parents.

"Mum..." Nessa says.

"Finally," Heather sighs. "We'll need to be quick, Vanessa, or I'll be late for choir practice." I receive a brief nod as she hurries away.

"Are you okay, Ali? I ask, hoping I haven't upset her.

"Yeah."

"Nessa seems very nice."

"Yeah, she's cool. Heather's okay too but she thinks, you know, that I kinda distract Nessa from working."

"Do you?" I ask gently. If that's the case then maybe it's as well Ali didn't have to find out if Heather would take her in.

"Well, maybe a bit, I guess... sometimes. But some of the stuff's boring... and hard!" she complains.

"Yes, A-Levels are a lot of work. In some ways, a degree can be a bit easier because mostly you only get exams for a single year at a time, sometimes just for one module." I watch to gauge her reaction, not knowing if going to university is something she wants to do, or if she's even considered it before. She glances at me but doesn't say anything. "So, apart from maybe looking for a laptop, do you want to look at getting some other bits for your bedroom at the weekend? We could go to Ikea and have a look."

"Um, maybe," she replies, but I can tell there's more interest in the prospect than she wants to show. Her room has only a bed and an old chest of drawers, so it needs some furniture and I want her to feel the room is hers.

We wait in silence until Nessa and Heather reappear. I can see Nessa wants to talk to Ali but Heather is in a hurry: clearly, her choir practice is calling her. I wonder momentarily what church it is and if she's as homophobic as some of the other Christians I've encountered.

Nessa's thumbs-up to Ali suggests the meeting with the teacher went well but the two of them have to settle for a quick touching of hands and 'See you tomorrow' rather than the chat they'd so obviously prefer.

"Bye, Nessa, goodbye Heather. Come on, Ali, we'd best not keep your teacher waiting," I suggest as more people approach along the corridor. Ali gives a reluctant nod.

There are two teachers in the classroom, a man and a woman, and Ali heads towards the woman, who looks up at our approach. She's probably about my age with close-cropped dark hair and a heart-shaped face with wide, dark eyes. She is attractive — very attractive. I've never really believed in the whole 'gaydar' thing, but that's not stopping a tiny corner of my brain from screaming, 'She's a lesbian, she's a lesbian!'

"Tina?" Ali's voice interrupts my thoughts, and I'm suddenly very self-conscious. Have I been staring?

"Uh, sorry, Ali. I just thought about something at work that, er, that I need to do tomorrow. Sorry," I say to the teacher. "Tina," I say, offering my hand.

"Sally Marcheson," she replies, returning my handshake firmly. "It's always unnerving when you remember something you should have done, isn't it?" she adds with a smile and gestures for us to sit. "So, Ali, how are you finding the course? Honestly."

"Um, well, it's hard," she admits. "Like, I think I understand what we've done, most of it, but there's, like, so many names and facts and stuff to remember!"

"Yes, I'm afraid that's the way it is; most students don't expect it, which is why so many drop out after a few weeks." She smiles at Ali. "I'm glad you don't seem to be considering doing so."