Read Online Under My Skin by Alison Jameson - Free Book Online Page B

At night I think it comes out and stretches itself, and then it begins to dance and jive. I remember Pappy wearing it. He used to have long black sideburns and a big quiff in his hair. Before my mother went off with the angels, he ran the shop and he was an Elvis impersonator as well. And on summer evenings he would take down some paints and a brush and sit outside and paint. I can remember how Mum would stand at his shoulder and how he would say something and she would smile and they would have some private talk.
    Our secret is not the white suit – or the paints – everyone in the town knows about that – our secret is that the Elvis we know is always sad.

    From the shop window we can see Brady’s pub, the church, the doctor’s house, the chemist and the Presbyterian Hall. There are two old beech trees in the town square, and they are scaly and grey, like big elephant’s feet. Once, when my pappy was feeling well, we stood at the window and talked about those trees and then we tried to guess the number of leaves. And then he said something really nice to me – and he also said my name.
    ‘Hope,’ he said and his voice was quiet and smiling, ‘only God can make a tree.’

    When Pappy is having a bad day he looks at us strangely – it’s as if he can see we are children but he is not really sure who we are. Today he is having a bad day and that means he will never call us by our names. I am thinking about the angels again and there are questions I would like to ask. I am wondering where they took my mother first of all and if they are all living together now in a white mobile home. I am wondering if they play Scrabble the way we do and if they laugh when they come up with low-score words, like ‘cat’ or ‘God’. I am wondering if they have end-of-term discos like us. And if they like spaghetti with meatballs. Do they wear white wings and ski-pants? Do they like Joan Armatrading? Because I do. Do they ride around on white bicycles? Do they have big cloud dogs with muzzles? Do they crimp their hair?

    The paints are kept in the attic. There are worn-out brushes and a pallet with different daubs of colour. Before Mum died he used to sit inside the window and paint the different colours of the evening sky. Now he paints dark clouds over grey water or usually he just sits and stares. He picks up a brush and stirs the water until it turns grey too and then he puts the brush back down and looks at a picture that is just not there. I wish he would make something. I wish he would put red and yellow and blue on the canvas just so he can see that those colours can be out there too.

    Our kitchen table is covered in a plastic cloth. There are pictures of small bottles of wine on it and then some apples and pears. Pappy has no time for washing-up and so we use plastic cutlery and paper plates. There is no conversation and we each have different ways to amuse ourselves. Daniel eats his food alphabetically – first the broad beans, then the potatoes, and the smoky rasher last. I think about all the ads on TV that I like and my favourite is for Cadbury’s Flake.
    ‘Only the crumbliest, tastiest chocolate, tastes like chocolate never tasted before’, and I think these are the most beautiful words I have ever heard. Pappy leans over and pours milk into Daniel’s glass and other than that he just eats and never says a word.
    ‘Pappy…’ I say, and he just keeps chewing and chewing and looking out over our heads. Another ad I like is for Ariel washing powder. I like that they always start out with stains like jam and chocolate and then the same clothes end up dazzling white. I am sure the angels use Ariel and now and then they also have a Cadbury’s Flake.
    Pappy finishes his lunch and dabs a paper serviette to his lips. He lifts the picnic ware and he glances at the clock.
    The shop needs to be opened again.
    Tick-tock-tick-tock.
    ‘The nun asked me if you would sing at the school concert again this year,’ and then