Adam's Starling

by Gillian Perdue

  Adam paused, then shook his head. ‘Some big guy. He took my m-money and shoved me in there.’

  ‘God, they should all be strung up.’ The man looked closely at Adam. ‘Did he beat you up?’ Adam shook his head again. ‘Well, that’s something. Come on inside and we’ll clean you up.’

  7

  LINDA’S PLAN

  Les brought Adam up a flight of black metal stairs and into the back of the dry-cleaners where he worked. Adam stood quietly, while they all fussed over him, and waited for his hands to stop shaking.

  A middle-aged woman came running over and took his jacket. ‘The poor child!’ she exclaimed, giving Adam a little pat before quickly cleaning the filthy coat with a kind of hot spray-gun. Another girl gave him a damp cloth and helped him clean up his jeans. Les showed him where the cloakroom was, and Adam went in to wash his face and hands.

  For a few moments, with his hands deep in warm soapy water, Adam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the mirror in front of him. The water was almost too hot, and Adam felt his hands tingle and throb as the blood warmed up. He sighed. He’d always loved the smell of the drycleaners. Now it was as if he was surrounded by heat and steam. He could hear the hiss of the large cleaning-machines working away outside the cloakroom door. The sound and the warmth calmed him. He still felt sore and bruised, but at least the panic had subsided. And he was clean.

  Suddenly he remembered the film. What about Danny and Linda? He looked at his watch in disbelief. It said five to two! Adam shook it and held it up to his ear. It was still ticking, but Adam found it difficult to believe that so little time had passed. It felt as if days had passed since his mam had dropped him off.

  He knew that if he moved quickly he’d actually make it to the cinema by two o’clock. Then no one would have to know. He didn’t want sympathy, or questions, or all the sentences that start with ‘You know what you should do …’

  And anyway, there was something else – something small and steely growing inside him. A feeling like a smooth, hard marble, polished and glinting. Anger.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said to Les as he came out of the tiny cloakroom.

  Les looked surprised. ‘Do you not want me to bring you home?’ he asked, jangling car keys ready in his hand. ‘Where are you going? Have you money?’

  Adam nodded. ‘I’m meeting my cousin,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine. Thanks for everything.’ He headed towards the door of the shop.

  ‘Okay, okay!’ laughed Les. ‘You’re quick to perk up! Come back to me here if you need a lift or if you see that fella again. Here’s a fiver.’

  ‘Ah, no, I couldn’t …’ began Adam, but Les folded the fiver up into a tiny square and pressed it into his hand.

  ‘Go on with you. Take it.’

  Adam took the note shyly. ‘Thanks. I – I …’ He trailed off.

  ‘It’s nothing. Go on!’ smiled Les, tousling his hair. ‘And try to keep out of trouble, you hear?’

  ‘I will. Thanks, Les; thanks, eh … everyone.’ Adam smiled and closed the door.

  He raced up to the cinemas, nimbly darting in and out between shoppers. It was just a minute after two. Danny and Linda were sitting on the stairs near the ice-cream shop. Lines of people were moving into various cinemas, handing over their tickets and disappearing into the blackness.

  ‘Adam! Where were you?’ called Danny, jumping to his feet and nudging Linda. She stood up too and smiled at Adam.

  ‘Hiya, Adam. How are ya?’ she asked, handing him his ticket. ‘Come on, they’ve all gone in. I’d say the trailers have started.’

  Adam took his ticket and murmured a handful of apologies. They sat down in the cinema just as the opening credits began to roll.

  Later, in McDonald’s, Adam tried to give Danny Les’s fiver for the fries and Cokes he’d bought for the three of them. Danny wouldn’t hear of it, and Adam felt strangely guilty putting the money back in his pocket.

  ‘You hang on to it,’ said Danny. ‘Sure we’re loaded, aren’t we, Linda? We get paid a fortune working in our place!’

  Linda nodded. ‘Get yourself sweets or something for school,’ she said.

  At the mention of school, Adam felt a quick hiccup of fear, as if he’d been prodded in the stomach. A sudden surge of panic went through him.

  Danny must have seen something in his expression, because he glanced at Linda and his eyes seemed to ask her a question.

  ‘Is school tough going?’ she asked.

  Adam could see where the conversation was leading. He shrugged as if he could actually shake the topic off, the way a dog shakes off cold water.

  ‘Look, Adam,’ interrupted Danny, ‘you don’t need to pretend. Why don’t you let me sort those fellas out? I could talk to them for you.’

  Adam tried to imagine Danny dealing with Shane, Rory and PJ. He had a mental picture of them barking and nipping at Danny like dirty little terrier puppies. It would be easy for Danny – one swift kick and they’d be off, howling.

  That’s what I have to do. The thought hit Adam with a heavy thud of realisation. I have to make them stop. And it has to be soon, before it gets worse … The thought of something worse than being locked in a wheelie bin made Adam shudder.

  ‘Well?’ said Linda. He hadn’t realised she was speaking to him. ‘Adam?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t that right? You have to stand up to bullies?’

  Adam just nodded.

  ‘How many are there?’ she continued.

  ‘Three,’ said Adam.

  ‘Right – there’ll be a ringleader, then, and the others will be gofers,’ said Linda. Adam looked confused. ‘You know, go-fors – they get bossed around, fetch and carry for the ringleader,’ she explained.

  Adam nodded again. That was Rory, Shane and PJ exactly: Rory bossed, and the others sniggered and helped.

  ‘Always listen to Linda,’ said Danny, as if he were reciting one of the Ten Commandments. ‘Women – they’re all very good on the old psychology. And Linda’s the best of all.’ He tapped his head and looked thoughtful.

  ‘Shut up, you!’ laughed Linda, giving him a thump on the arm. ‘Adam’ – she leaned over to make her point more forcefully – ‘you know I’m right. You have to do something … and you can, too. Find the ringleader and just stand up for yourself. You’ll probably only have to do it once.’ She sat back.

  ‘Good thinking, Batgirl!’ laughed Danny. ‘You tell him!’ He took a noisy slurp of his Coke. ‘She’s absotively, posilutely correct!’ He let out a loud belch.

  Linda gave Danny the eye, but he pretended not to see. ‘Come on, amigo. You’re better than they are. Find the leader, face him down. Adam rules, bullies drool – eh, drools!’

  8

  ADAM’S SECRET

  It was Monday morning, and Adam had a plan.

  He’d got up early and had some breakfast with his dad when he heard him come in from work. It was still pitch-dark outside, and they’d spent over half an hour chatting and drinking mugs of tea in the warm kitchen.

  ‘I know things are hard for you at school right now, Adam,’ Dad had said. ‘And if you like, I’ll go in and talk to the teacher. But sometimes it’s better to sort things on your own.’

  Adam nodded.

  ‘After all, the teacher won’t be there all the time.’

  Again, Adam nodded. ‘I know, Da. It’s fine – it will be fine. And I know she won’t be around all the time.’ He thought of the bin behind the shopping centre. No teacher there. And the strange thing was that Adam felt Miss Hill wouldn’t have fared much better than he had – not with Niall. ‘It’s okay, Dad. I’ll sort it on my own.’

  And that, more or less, was the plan.

  * * *

  There was a substitute teacher in fourth class; Miss Hill was sick and wouldn’t be in for a few days. The sub was new, and very young. She looked like a student teacher. By the time Adam came into school, there was already an excited, dangerous atmosphere in the classroom. All the children were changing places to sit be
side their friends, pretending that they always sat there. Rory was beside PJ, with Shane in the desk behind. Miss Hill never let them sit together, even for watching videos. She had more sense.

  Adam’s usual place was empty, and Niamh was at her desk, beside his. When Adam walked in, Rory, Shane and PJ looked quickly at one another, as if wondering what was going to happen. They stole shifty little glances at each other and at Adam – except for PJ, who couldn’t even look at him, but started sharpening his pencil vigorously. Adam deliberately kept his face blank and looked right back at them. He hoped the look said something like ‘Things are different now’ or ‘No more Mr Nice Guy’. Anything apart from ‘Wimp who gets shoved into bins’.

  Adam said hi to Niamh and sat down, glancing at PJ’s desk again. Shane and PJ looked decidedly scared; they were glancing nervously at Adam, then back at Rory. Even Rory looked slightly rattled, not knowing what to expect.

  Adam turned back towards Niamh and began talking. He felt a tiny thrill of power. They were scared that Adam was going to tell, that he already had told. For the first time, they were scared of him. Let them sweat for a while, he thought.

  The substitute teacher was sitting at Miss Hill’s desk, looking through textbooks and a timetable, obviously planning the day. She didn’t seem to notice the noise in the room – kids swapping stories, swinging on chairs, banging rulers, yelling and laughing. She was small and young, with a pointy, timid-looking face.

  The noise became louder and louder. Still the teacher read and shuffled pages. Kids began to get out of their places and walk around the class; she didn’t even look up.

  A voice rose from the back of the class: ‘Miss! Hey, Miss! What are we going to do today?’

  Another, louder voice, rising shrilly over all the noise: ‘Yeah! Where’s Miss Hill?’

  No reply.

  ‘Hey, Missus!’ Colm’s voice. Colm was always trying to get a laugh. The only problem was that he wasn’t very funny, just loud. Now he bellowed, ‘Missus, are you deaf?’

  The young teacher shoved her chair back against the wall, so hard that it sounded like the crack of a whip. She got up, turned to the blackboard and rapidly scrawled her name in large letters: Miss Clarke. She underlined it with such force that the chalk broke and fell to the floor in three little pieces. Before a titter could break out, she whirled around, banged the hard side of the duster on the board with a loud rap, and shouted in a surprisingly deep voice: ‘Right! My name is Miss Clarke. Not Teacher, Miss or’ – she shuddered theatrically – ‘Missus.’

  She slammed the duster back onto the ledge. ‘And let’s get one thing straight. I am a Fully Qualified Teacher.’ She sounded like an FBI agent announcing himself, complete with badge and gun. ‘A fully qualified national-school teacher. I may look young. I may even still look like’ – her voice was scornful – ‘a student teacher. But I’m not.’

  There wasn’t a sound; everyone sat rigidly in their places. For someone so small, she had a very loud voice. She marched down the centre of the room like a tiny sergeant-major, turned and yelled again, ‘I may be teaching you for some time. So get this into your heads once and for all: I am a fully qualified national school teacher! Not a student!’ She gazed off into the distance, hands on hips, feet (in tiny black boots) firmly planted. ‘And I’m damned good! You have ten seconds to sit in your proper places. Now move it!’

  For a split second, nobody moved. Then, in a panic, the kids who had switched desks hastily gathered their belongings and scurried back to their rightful places. They kept their eyes on the floor.

  By the time Miss Clarke had reached her desk again, there was total silence. All eyes were on her. She bent smoothly to retrieve the chalk, flashed a dazzling smile and said in the warm tones of an airline stewardess: ‘Good morning, boys and girls. My name is Miss Clarke and I’ll be with you for the next few days.’

  Adam, and probably the rest of the class, wondered if they’d imagined the previous minute.

  ‘I look forward to spending some pleasant days with you, boys and girls. Now, let’s begin.’

  Adam shook his head in admiration. So that’s how you do it! he thought.

  Outside, at break, fourth-class kids wasted no time telling awestruck smaller children about Miss Clarke – how she’d broken a ruler in half banging it on the table, how she’d forbidden them to talk or even to breathe loudly, how she was going to give them triple homework and detention on Friday …

  Niamh and Adam stood leaning against the only tree in the playground, in companionable silence. Conor came over. He had a packet of Chewits, and he offered them round.

  ‘What d’ya think of your woman, then?’ he asked, unwrapping another sweet and putting it in his mouth.

  Adam shrugged.

  ‘I think she’s great,’ said Niamh. ‘Sure, she’s strict, but I’d say she’s nice underneath. I mean, she has to be tough – you know what some of them are like.’

  Conor smiled. ‘Wasn’t it gas when she picked up Rory’s book and held it like it was radioactive?’ He mimicked her mousy expression and piercing voice: ‘“Am I supposed to correct this? Do you really expect me to spend my valuable time searching these grubby half-sentences for your answers? Blunt pencil! No margin! No capital letters!”’

  Adam laughed. ‘And when she let go of the copy and wiped her fingers with a tissue …’

  ‘Yeah! Well, you would too – it’s filthy!’ exclaimed Niamh.

  ‘He won’t be taking her on today,’ said Conor. ‘He looked really scared, didn’t he?’

  Niamh nodded. ‘So did Shane. I think maybe they’re in trouble for something else. They both look pretty worried.’

  Adam bit his lip. Here was a chance to tell his friends what had happened. He’d told nobody, not even his mam. He’d locked it away in the small, dark box of his mind. But it hadn’t gone away. Rolling around inside him was the marble of anger – steely and hard, and very much there. He said nothing.

  A small movement on the playground wall caught his eye. His starling! Sidestepping along, then pausing and looking around – it was like a little dance to some inaudible bird rhythm. Look up, wait, look across, wait, look down, wait …

  The bird looked over at Adam, and Adam had to fight the impulse to wave and say ‘Hi.’ Instead, he smiled.

  ‘Hello? Ground control to Adam … come in, please!’ Niamh laughed as she waved her hands in front of Adam’s face.

  ‘Sorry.’ Adam shook his head. ‘I was just looking at the starling.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Conor and Niamh together. Adam pointed, but there was nothing on the wall any more.

  ‘You’re daft, Adam,’ said Niamh fondly.

  ‘You sure are!’ agreed Conor.

  Adam smiled as the bell rang and they headed back across the playground. He remembered the bird footsteps – or, rather, claw-steps – on the roof of the wheelie bin. Could it be? Maybe he follows me, maybe he looks out for me, Adam thought wonderingly.

  Back in class, there wasn’t a sound from anyone. Adam sat at his desk by the window, answering geography questions. Miss Clarke paced up and down, silently stopping every now and then behind some unfortunate person who’d made a mistake, prodding her bony little finger at the error and sighing in irritation. Adam thought of Grandad’s schooldays. Miss Clarke would have fitted in well there.

  Then Adam looked up, feeling he was being watched, and saw the starling actually on the ledge outside his window, stepping back and forth on his impossibly thin legs. Adam could see every feather – the brownish-green ones on his face, the fluffier, speckled ones on his breast, the long, strong tail-feathers and wing-feathers. And his eyes … up close they still looked inky-black, but with the most delicate surround of grey …

  ‘You!’ Adam jumped as Miss Clarke shrieked and pointed at him. ‘Aaron, or – what is it?’

  ‘Adam,’ murmured Adam.

  ‘Well, Adam, stop staring out the window! Get on with your work. You can go bird-watching outside school ho
urs.’

  There was a general smirk at Miss Clarke’s humour, and Adam quickly buried his head in his book. The little bird flew off.

  * * *

  When school was let out, Adam waited behind for a couple of minutes, in the hope that Rory and Shane and PJ would leave quickly and not wait for him. Miss Clarke asked him to check that all the windows were closed. Quickly, Adam opened the one beside his desk and put the remains of one of his sandwiches out on the window-ledge for the starling. Then he closed the window and gathered up his stuff.

  ‘Bye, Miss Clarke,’ he called.

  ‘Bye, Aaron,’ she replied, not looking up from her desk.

  As Adam came out of the school building, someone grabbed his elbow and called, ‘Gotcha!’

  Adam whirled around, his fingernails already digging into his palms, steeling himself. ‘Get off!’

  He stopped suddenly, seeing Niamh’s friendly face – only it wasn’t friendly; she looked worried. ‘Oh, Adam, I’m sorry! Are you okay?’ She held onto the arm she’d just grabbed and looked closely at him. ‘You’re really pale. Sorry for scaring you.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Adam. ‘It’s just that – I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘Nah, I saw those three running off five minutes ago. They couldn’t get out of here fast enough.’

  Adam smiled: the lads still didn’t know if he’d told or not. It was kind of nice to think of them being scared and worried, for a change.

  ‘Hey, Niamh?’ he asked suddenly, as they walked along together. ‘Did you ever hear of a bird following you?’

  ‘Is this a joke or something?’ asked Niamh.

  ‘No, no – for real.’

  ‘Well, I’ve heard of stray dogs following people, or maybe cats. But never a bird. Why?’

  ‘Don’t laugh!’ said Adam, glancing at her face; she was already smiling. She had a gap between her front teeth, which made her smile even more noticeable, and mischievous green eyes. He looked down and sighed.