Under My Skin (10 page)

Pappy keeps the notes in a box under the counter. The loose change goes into an old red OXO tin. I ask him if we can have an ice cream for breakfast and he says, ‘Go ahead.’

Daniel has an Orange Split and I have a Gollywog. Then we sit on the front step eating them and making fingerprints on the soft tar in the sun.

Mrs Deegan crosses the street. She is old and does not have to look left and right. She always walks with her chin stuck out in front of her, like she’s being led on a rope. She lives in the blue house on the corner. When she opens her front door she steps right on to the street. Her only son, Martin, is now called Martina. He had a ‘
S-e-x C-h-a-n-g-e
’ but no one is supposed to know this. Everyone has a secret, Pappy says, something they keep inside – something that they stay really quiet about and still everyone else seems to know. Mrs Deegan steps over us and goes into the shop. She buys tomatoes, four slices of cooked ham and a loaf of white bread.
She speaks very slowly and chews over each word before it comes out.

There is a white suit in Pappy’s wardrobe. It hangs on a wooden hanger and it is covered in a clear plastic sheet. It is a large one-piece outfit with long sleeves, and trousers with flares. There is also a wide pointed collar, high up at the back, and a beautiful sparkly belt. The suit has gold sequins all over the shoulders and silver glitter that runs down the legs. 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 I look down. There are three broad beans left on my plate.

One – two – three.

Three – two – one.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Pappy watches me.

Oh please
, and I say this down low and inside myself, but the word that comes back is ‘No’.

The red history book shows a dead body being taken away in a wheelbarrow. There is also a woman in a green shawl and she is crying and waving her hands in the air. We are learning about the famine and thinking about all the people who died. Doreen draws a speech bubble from one of the people. ‘Can anyone tell me the way to McDonald’s?’ it says. Then there is a test and we are asked to list ‘the effects of the famine on Irish society’. We consult each other and Doreen writes her only answer in very faint pencil –

a lot of people died

I do not have any other answers so I write –

Apple drops

Fizzle sticks

Marshmallows

Bonbons (lemon, strawberry and white)

Chocolate hearts

Milky teeth

Coconut mushrooms – and

Flogs

Bright patches. There are some. Today I am walking up the street with Daniel, and Pappy is standing smiling at the shop door. On a sunny day like this he might come out and meet us or sometimes he will sweep the dust from the step. On a bright-patch day he might stop and lean on the brush a little and then talk to the mechanic from the garage next door. He does not know that there is a notebook in my bag where I
save all my questions for him and for this kind of day. They are mostly about ads on TV, men and women, love, angels and death.

At lunch Daniel will not eat his potatoes.

‘I have the famine,’ he says.

And today there are words everywhere. They fly out of Pappy’s mouth and run up the stairs. They fill the saucepans in the cupboard and fall out of paper cups and plates. On days like this he likes to talk and talk and sometimes I think he will never stop. He talks about my mother and how beautiful she was – and how romantic it was when they first met – and then he goes back to his schooldays and growing up in the countryside. He talks about his mother and the animals on her farm. He tells us about pigs and sheep and goats, and even rats and mice. He stands at the shop window and whenever anyone passes, he waves. And it is a big wave with two hands and sometimes they get a fright. He buys too much of everything at the Cash and Carry and there are boxes of Love Hearts and lemon bonbons under our beds.