Adam's Starling

by Gillian Perdue

  Adam followed his gaze. There was a blank wall, flanked on either side by wheelchairs; a small table, with a vase of wilting flowers perched off-centre on it; and a big gilt-framed picture showing a farmyard scene. No blackboard.

  So we’re in school, thought Adam. And I’m Billy. ‘Hey, Grand – I mean Joe.’ Adam nudged Grandad’s elbow. ‘What age are we?’

  ‘What kind of a question is that, you eejit! We’re nine! We’ll be in with the master and the big boys next year. Oh, I hope she’s not telling him about us!’

  ‘Telling him what?’

  Grandad nodded in the direction of the window. ‘About the yard. About throwing stones in the yard.’

  Suddenly Adam remembered an old story that his grandad had told him, before he’d become ill. It was Grandad’s most famous school story – the one where he’d been caned. He had been caught throwing stones in the yard, so the story went, and had been sent to the master and beaten. But Grandad had always maintained that he and his friend hadn’t been throwing stones, they’d been pitching them – little gentle throws, designed to land in a specific spot. Billy must have been the friend who had got in trouble with him. Adam thought he remembered that Grandad had actually gone straight home after the beating, he’d been so upset. When he’d arrived home and told his mother the sorry tale, she had marched him right back to the master for another beating! Tough days, thought Adam.

  Then he had an idea. ‘But we weren’t throwing stones, Gr – Joe!’ he said reassuringly. ‘The mistress knows that.’

  ‘We weren’t?’ quavered the old man, with watery eyes.

  ‘Nah, of course not. We were collecting them. Yeah, that’s right. There was a big pothole in the tarmac …’

  ‘What are you talking about, Billy?’ demanded Grandad, his expression anxious.

  I’d better get this right, thought Adam. ‘Miss – the teacher asked you and me to collect those stones at break-time. That’s right. She said there was a hole in the ground and one of the little ones might fall into it. So she asked you and me to collect enough stones to fill the hole.’ He paused for effect. ‘And then we were to pitch the stones into the hole.’ He hoped the word ‘pitch’ would ring a bell. He waited, smiling and nodding in an effort to convince Grandad.

  The old man began to look more hopeful. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Adam firmly. ‘And now she’s telling the master how great we are.’

  ‘No!’ Grandad’s voice was trembling.

  ‘Yep!’ said Adam. ‘She’s telling him that we helped her and we should get a reward.’ He was worried he’d gone too far. Did they get rewards in those days?

  But he needn’t have worried. The old man relaxed and, at last, unfolded his arms. ‘Do you know what, Billy?’ he said, turning to Adam. ‘I think you’re right. That must be what she’s doing.’

  By the time Deirdre came in, Grandad had dozed off, resting against his ‘school desk’.

  ‘Don’t wake him, Mam,’ said Adam. ‘He’s had a tough day at school.’

  6

  THE RUBBISH BIN

  When they got home, Deirdre went straight into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea before tackling a pile of ironing. Adam came into the room as she was doing it. ‘Mam? It’s nearly half-twelve. Are you bringing me up or is Dad?’

  ‘Up where? Where is it you’re going?’ she asked, unplugging the iron wearily and setting it down on the worktop.

  ‘Remember, Mam? Alien Empire! Two o’clock!’ asked Adam, not believing she could have forgotten something so important. ‘I said I’d meet Danny up there at about a quarter to two.’

  ‘Ah, heck!’ said Deirdre, remembering something. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Joan at around one.’ Adam looked stricken. ‘Don’t worry. Don’t start whining …’ She tightened her ponytail and began biting her nail as she thought what to do.

  ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll leave you up there early and you can hang around, look at the shops, whatever, until your picture starts. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Adam. He was disappointed, though. He had been hoping that she’d go up to the shops with him and they could have a chat before the film began. Why is she always so busy? Why does Dad have to work shifts? He felt the sadness and self-pity rising up in him and had to swallow back a lump in his throat.

  Deirdre saw the glitter of tears in his eyes.

  ‘Ah, Adam! Grow up! Don’t be such a baby!’ she snapped. ‘What’s the matter? You’re going to the pictures, you’ve no school. I don’t understand you at all.’

  Her voice softened a little when she saw his face, red now, and she took a tissue and rubbed away the tears. ‘Here,’ she said, reaching into her bag and opening her purse. She handed him a five-pound note. ‘You spent your own money on your grandad the other day. You’re a good lad. Spend that on yourself before you go in.’

  Adam folded the note carefully and put it in his pocket. ‘Thanks, Mam,’ he said.

  * * *

  At one o’clock, Deirdre left Adam at the roundabout beside the shopping centre. ‘Now, make sure you buy yourself something to eat, Adam. Something decent, not sweets. Right?’ She opened her purse and took out another five-pound note. ‘Enjoy yourself, love.’

  Adam took the money and got out of the car. ‘Thanks, Mam. See you later.’

  He waved as she drove off. As he did, he noticed a group of boys about his age hanging around at the bus stop across the road. He felt suddenly self-conscious about waving; he quickly lowered his arm and walked up to the car park.

  He was planning to go into the shopping centre and get something to eat in McDonald’s, but the queues were snaking almost out the door and there were no free tables. He walked on round the car park instead, and sat on a bench near the taxi rank. The taxi drivers were sitting in their cars, some listening to the radio, some reading papers propped up on their steering-wheels. Then someone would get a taxi from the front of the rank, and they’d all start their engines and drive two or three feet forward before settling down to read again.

  Adam pulled a half-eaten bar of chocolate out of his pocket, rubbed the fluff off it, and started to eat. From where he sat, he could see down to the main road and the park opposite the shopping centre. His gaze travelled on, to where the land seemed to melt into the sky, with an almost-imperceptible line of white separating the two strips of grey.

  To the right of his view, the land sloped gradually upwards to form low hills and, in the distance, the Dublin mountains. His school lay in that direction, almost the last man-made structure between the city and the hills.

  Far in the distance, he could see a flock of birds wheeling and diving. They must be seagulls, he thought. That means it’s going to rain. Miss Hill had told them that. ‘If there are seagulls far inland, the rain’s not far behind,’ she’d said. ‘They all fly inland to get shelter, so the rain must be on its way in from the coast.’ Adam liked it when Miss Hill told them about nature, or when she told them old sayings like ‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight.’ She’d grown up on a farm, and some- times told them funny stories about things she’d done as a child.

  He liked Miss Hill, but even so, he couldn’t imagine her being able to help him out with Rory and Shane and PJ. He’d thought about telling her, especially about the milk; but he’d felt she might make it worse – get their parents in, and his mam, and set up meetings with the principal … He sighed and threw the chocolate wrapper towards the bin. Better just carry on and hope they’ll stop.

  He got up and picked up the wrapper, which had bounced off the side of the bin and fallen on the ground. Suddenly he saw a flock of starlings wheeling in from the left, heading towards the back of the shopping centre. There was a parking lot there, for lorries delivering goods, and it was full of bins and skips holding all the rubbish from the shops. They’ll probably find plenty of food there, Adam thought, and decided to go round and see.

  As he turned the corner, he heard voices. The starlings had land
ed on the ground near one of the big wheelie bins and had begun pecking at the half-eaten chips and lumps of bread that littered the ground, but a sudden bang made them all take off. Adam looked around to see what had caused it.

  There were four kids behind one of the skips – well, three kids, maybe Danny’s age, and a bigger boy. They were lighting pieces of paper and throwing them into the skip. With a sinking heart, Adam recognised the jackets the boys were wearing. Didn’t he see them every day at school? It was PJ, Rory and Shane. The teenager was probably PJ’s big brother, Niall, the one he was always boasting about.

  Perhaps if Adam had run then, he could have got away. But he’d been spotted. ‘If it isn’t the school sap!’ said PJ, nudging the bigger boy. Rory and Shane turned and started towards Adam.

  ‘Nah, he’s not a sap,’ said Rory. ‘He’s just a dope.’

  Adam began slowly backing away, but Niall moved quickly as a snake and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked PJ.

  ‘No one,’ said PJ scornfully.

  ‘Just Adam. Little Addy-waddam,’ sneered Shane. Niall pinned Adam’s arm behind his back and held him tight.

  Up close, Niall was not a pretty sight. He had bleached hair with greasy black roots, and one of his pale eyebrows was pierced with a grubby silver ring, which wobbled when he spoke or moved. His skin was covered in red and purple pimples, which had taken over his whole chin area like an invading army. Underneath these, the skin itself was an unhealthy-looking shade of greenish-white. Niall was gripping Adam so tightly that Adam could smell his breath. It smelled of drink.

  ‘Well, Adam,’ drawled Niall, like some demented talk-show host, ‘what a lovely shiny jacket you have on. I’d say that cost your mammy a lotta money, hmm? Rich boy, are you?’

  Adam didn’t answer. He knew nothing he said would make any difference.

  ‘Is he?’ Niall asked the others, who stood sniggering and watching in a huddle like grubby little vultures.

  ‘Is he what?’ said Shane, whose mouth was hanging open.

  ‘Is he a rich kid, you dopes?’ yelled Niall.

  They nodded vigorously.

  ‘Yeah, his mammy and daddy give him everything – only kid,’ said Rory, as if that explained everything.

  It certainly seemed good enough for Niall, who shook his head. ‘Tsk, tsk, Adam. Very greedy. You’re meant to share, you know. Don’t they teach you that in school?’

  Adam’s heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. He thought he might be about to throw up.

  Suddenly Niall gave him a hard jab in the stomach with his free hand. Adam doubled over, trying to get his breath. The others rushed over, eager to join in now that the first blow had been struck.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ roared Niall.

  ‘What?’ said PJ in disbelief.

  ‘You eejit, you’re all in school with him. You can’t beat him up, you’ll get caught. Here, hold him for me.’

  Like trained dogs, they obeyed quickly, pinning Adam’s arms behind his back in vice-like grips. Niall rapidly went through Adam’s pockets and found the two fivers his mam had given him. He thrust them into the back pocket of his own jeans.

  ‘Oh, dear! Poor Adam,’ continued Niall, patting Adam down and tenderly zipping up his jacket. ‘You can’t help getting into trouble, can you? What were you looking for?’

  Adam had no idea what he was talking about. He stared at Niall, ashen-faced. What was he going to do next?

  They were standing beside one of the big wheelie bins; the roll-top lid was open and there were a few bin-bags lying on the bottom. Niall continued, ‘Yeah, you were looking in the bin for the money you’d lost – you should be more careful Adam – and guess what happened? Here’s the fun part! You just fell in!’

  Finally, Adam realised what was going to happen. He felt a surge of heat and panic begin to well up from deep inside him. To his shame, tears began to prick behind his eyelids.

  ‘Here – let me help you!’ said Niall, in the same sinister, kind voice. He gave Adam a leg up and then, in one rapid movement, heaved him head-first into the filthy, stinking bin. The others stared in disbelief as Niall rolled the lid down and held the two handles together.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ he bawled at the three of them. ‘Go and get a plank or something to jam this with, you thicks!’ His knuckles whitened with the effort of keeping the iron handles pressed together. ‘Or do you want us all to get caught?’

  Quickly, Rory picked up a broken sweeping-brush and thrust it into Niall’s hand. With a bang, Niall rammed it through the handles, then checked to see that it would hold. It did. He turned and gave the bin a final kick. ‘Now, you three, leg it home or you’re for it!’

  ‘What about the money?’ asked PJ.

  ‘What money?’ sneered Niall. ‘I don’t have any money. Now beat it!’ he roared.

  Having seen what had happened to Adam, the three boys didn’t need to be told again. They ran.

  Inside the bin, Adam lay on his side, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his hands clasped around them to stop himself shaking. Please don’t let Niall come back for me, he prayed over and over, as he heard the sound of the boys’ feet disappearing into the distance. For a few minutes he lay perfectly still, too petrified to move in case Niall was still there. His stomach was aching where Niall had punched him. His teeth were clenched, and when he tried to unclench them he found they wouldn’t stop chattering.

  He bit his lip. Then he gave up the struggle and let the tears flow freely. Soon he was crying in great gulping sobs, his whole body shaking.

  The stench inside the bin was disgusting, and as the shock and terror waned, Adam began to recognise the individual foul smells. Banana, he could smell banana – and crisps, and sour milk and rotten meat and wet cardboard and black plastic bags … and rotten apples … and chips and lumps and clumps of black filth coating the inside of the bin …

  ‘Let me out!’ Adam sat up and began banging against the lid. But his cry had been more of a whisper. He tried again. ‘Let me out! Help!’ his mind screamed. But the words didn’t reach his mouth. Adam could feel them, like sharp, black stones lodged in his throat.

  He fell back against the side of the bin and put his head in his hands. What if he was left there all night? They hardly ever emptied these bins. What if a week went by? What if Niall came back and threw in a match?

  He’d lost all track of time. Maybe his mam was home already, worrying, wondering where he was. Suddenly he thought of Danny, waiting for him. The thought of everyone looking for him panicked Adam even more. He retched, and the smell of sick was added to the stench in the bin.

  For a long time Adam sat huddled with his back against the side of the bin, his arms hugging his knees and his head buried in his arms. He had stopped crying.

  Tick … tick … tick …

  What was that? Adam’s head jerked up and he tried to see if the noise was coming from inside or outside the bin. He peered through the gloom. Then he heard it again, faster: tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick. It was over his head, on the roof of his filthy metal prison. It was … it sounded like … a bird, sort of running along the roof of the bin. Then it would stop and peck. The sound was amazingly loud from where Adam sat. An image of a bird wearing metal boots came into his mind – his starling in little bird boots with steel tips! I must be losing it, thought Adam, almost crying with laughter at the picture.

  The laughter helped. A new calm came over Adam, and he found he was brave enough to shuffle over on his knees to the tiny crack of white where daylight came through between the bin and the lid.

  ‘Starling?’ he said softly. ‘Starling, is it you?’ He thought he could hear the bird directly over his head. ‘Starling?’

  He could just see a tiny black triangle, then another, breaking the line. The bird was obviously perched on the rim of the bin, with the claws of one foot curled around it.

  Adam took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the foul air in the bin.
‘Help!’ he yelled, at last finding his voice. ‘Help me!’ he roared, banging at the bin with his fists. Then he sat back and began kicking the sides of the bin with his boots, over and over.

  It still stank, and it was still pitch-dark except for a tiny crack of light, but Adam’s fear was gone. He was raging. He banged and yelled and stamped, and all the while he felt the anger like a swirling, bubbling, flowing river inside him. Rage for the punch in his stomach, for the filth in the bin, for his imprisonment, for the jeering and the insults and the shoves and the jibes. A lifetime of rage.

  ‘Okay, okay. Hold on. Steady on!’ A deep voice carried over the noises in the bin and the anger in his head. ‘You’ll be out of there in as a second, whoever you are. Calm down!’

  The shadow of a large hand passed in front of the narrow shaft of light. There was a bang and a shake, a sound like a crashing wave, and then daylight, air. White, white air.

  ‘Oh, my God! Look at you! What on earth are you doing in there?’ A big, friendly-looking man in a blue shirt stood staring at him – ‘Here!’ He reached under Adam’s arms and hauled him out over the rim of the wheelie bin.

  Adam’s legs buckled with relief, and the man grabbed him to steady him. Then, with one arm around Adam’s shoulders, he brought him over to some upturned crates and sat him down.

  ‘What’s your name, son?’ he asked.

  ‘Adam,’ replied Adam, still shaking.

  The man squeezed Adam’s shoulder reassuringly. ‘Okay, Adam. You’re all right now. I’m Les. Now, how the hell did you end up in the bin?’ He carried on without waiting for an answer. ‘You could have been stuck there for days. Hardly anyone uses these bins – they use the other ones at the front. God – you could have died in there!’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘And you’re only, what, eight?’

  ‘N-nine,’ said Adam.

  ‘Well, whoever did that to you deserves a good hiding, a good kick in the …’ He stopped. ‘Do you know the guy who did it?’