by Irfan Master
Adam walked to the butcher’s and waited outside. Blood waved and beckoned him in.
‘You’re early? It’s only four thirty.’
‘I’m meeting someone,’ replied Adam, looking at his feet.
‘Who?’
‘My dad,’ replied Adam.
‘Oh. OK.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. A boy needs his dad, even if he is a goonda. You know … we were close once, when we were about your age. He’s not changed. Never wanted to work at anything, or build anything. Always wanted to cheat.’
‘When did you stop being friends?’
Blood looked up at Adam and grimaced as he threw a large rack of meat onto the chopping board.
‘When I decided that cheating life wouldn’t get me anywhere. I understood that early on. Your dad never did. That’s when we drifted apart.’
Nodding, Adam walked out of the shop. His dad was waiting for him on the kerb outside. Adam stiffened as his father gave him an awkward hug, a cigarette burning in his left hand.
‘How are you, son? Look at your hair – it’s all over the place. If your Dadda was here, he’d be at you to get it cut.’
‘But he’s not around.’ And neither are you, Adam thought.
‘No, true. Where shall we go? Burger and chips?’
‘Yeah, OK, but I have to be back here by six.’
‘Here?’ replied Adam’s dad, looking up at the butcher’s shop.
‘Yeah, I work here every day at six, cleaning up.’
‘You don’t need to work. I can give you money, Adam. You don’t need to work for him. What’s he paying you anyway? In lamb chops?’ He chuckled to himself.
‘He pays me enough,’ Adam said.
‘Yeah, well, watch him. He’s sly, that one.’ Funny, he said you were a cheat, thought Adam.
Adam walked with his father along the road to the takeaway and watched his dad while he joked with the man behind the counter as he ordered their food. Adam’s dad knew everybody. He was well liked. People stopped him in the streets to say hello, have a chat. He was charming and told little jokes and made people smile. Adam wanted to scream at him, Tell them about your life! Or better still, let me tell them what it’s like to be your son! How could his dad be two different people? He remembered the times his father would be out there on the streets waving to people, laughing and joking, and as soon as he had walked through the front door he would change into a glowering, difficult and angry man. A dark cloud followed him about. His face changed, his body became rigid and tense as a plank, and his fists … Adam always remembered his balled fists. The size of your heart … He had felt the size of his dad’s heart. It was a ball of iron. Collecting their food, Adam’s dad led them across the road to the park. They sat down on a bench and began to eat. Through mouthfuls, Adam’s dad asked questions about school, home, Farah, even Yasmin.
‘How’s your mum? Is she OK after Dadda dying? Doing OK?’ Adam looked at his dad. He noticed the concerned look, a little frown, lips pursed to show he cared. Head bobbing like those dogs at the back of cars. How did he do it? Was he that much of an actor that he could just turn it on and off at will?
‘I don’t know … She hasn’t cried yet,’ replied Adam.
‘She’s not one for crying is your mum. But she’s feeling it. Give her some time, eh.’
Why didn’t you give her some time, Adam thought. She cried for you. She felt it with you. Setting aside his food, Adam sighed. What his dad didn’t know about him could fill a book. What he didn’t see of him could be drawn on a giant canvas. And still he wouldn’t understand.
‘Anything else happen after the funeral?’
Adam snapped out of his reverie and turned to his dad.
‘Like what?’
‘Just, you know, anything?’
‘No. Nothing,’ replied Adam. Not even tears.
‘Oh, OK. Did the solicitor not come around then?’
‘Not that I know. Why would a solicitor come around?’
‘Well, you know the old man worked for almost forty years for the underground. He must have a pension, and savings. That all needs to be sorted. You need a solicitor for that,’ replied Adam’s dad, taking a big bite and concentrating firmly on his burger.
‘Mum hasn’t said anything about it.’
‘No, course not, probably doesn’t want to worry you too much about that side of things. But you know, sooner it gets sorted, the better. Means a bit more cash, and you can stop working at that bloodbath, eh.’ Adam’s dad winked at him.
Something was niggling at Adam, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. Something his dad wasn’t saying …
‘Anyway, forget that. I was thinking I could see Farah too one of these days. I don’t think your mum’s going to go for it, so I need your help. You need to be my inside man. Get me some face-time with the lady of the house.’
‘She won’t see you. You know that, Dad.’
‘I know, but it’s your birthday in a couple of days, right …?’
Adam started. He’d completely forgotten about that.
‘You see, I remembered this time. So if you say to her that you’d like it if I could come around for a bit of cake and tea, I get to see you and Farah too. We all win. But I need you onside.’
‘I don’t think she’ll go for it, Dad. Not like that.’
A little flicker in his dad’s eyes caught Adam’s attention, making him tense. Glancing down, he saw fists turning into balls. Just as quickly, the anger passed and he felt a reassuring hand squeezing his shoulder.
‘Come on, you have to try. We’re a family and it’s your sixteenth. You’re well on the way to being a man. Look at you, almost as tall as me and everything!’
Adam squirmed and sat on his hands and looked straight ahead. William was gone, so was Dadda. This was the only father he had left. His dad was looking at him earnestly, bobbing his head. His eyes spoke of understanding and compassion, but those fists …
‘OK, Dad. I’ll try my best to make it happen.’
Beaming, Adam’s dad put an arm around him and leaned back. Both father and son sat and watched as the pigeons swooped down in case there was some food on offer.
Laila looked across at Adam and sighed. He had barely said a word to her in the last two hours. His whole body had folded in on itself and the fire in his eyes, the embers she so enjoyed staring into, were ashes. If he would only open up to me, Laila thought. She had glanced at some of the drawings he’d been doing in his notepad and they were dark and ugly. All streaks and sharp scratches on the page. Nothing beautiful.
‘Adam …?’
‘Huh?’ Adam turned, snapping out of his thoughts.
‘You with me?’
‘Yeah, course.’
‘I feel like you’re walking alone somewhere on another planet, without me.’
Turning to her, Adam blinked and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
He sat up and took her hand in his. ‘They’re like dark clouds now – your eyes. Ripples of grey.’
‘I’m not angry,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘I’m confused as to how I can help you.’
‘Maybe you can’t help me.’
‘Is that what you think?’ said Laila with a grimace.
‘I’m just saying, some things can’t be helped. You can’t fix it for me. So, yeah, maybe you can’t.’
Letting go of Adam’s hand, Laila looked straight ahead, shaking her head.
‘What?’
‘You wanna deal with this by yourself?’
‘I’m just saying, I don’t know how it’s all going to turn out. My life feels pretty messed up.’
‘Do I feel pretty messed up?’
‘No, no, that’s not it. That’s not what I’m saying.’ Tell her it’s hard to explain. Tell her! Make her smile!
‘You’re not saying anything, Adam! That’s the problem! You want to be alone, fine. I get it! Be alone!’
Grabbing her bag, she held up her hands, as if this wa
s a stick-up and Adam had pointed a gun at her.
‘I have to go.’
Adam didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. As he watched her gradually become a point in the distance, Adam knew he was flying too close to the sun and this was what Icarus felt as he fell to earth.
Adam knew he had to find William. Somehow he knew William was what he and the Shah family needed. He had a heart in his body that belonged to them. He couldn’t just leave like that. Adam didn’t know how it was all supposed to work out, but he did know William needed to be with them.
In one of their conversations, William had mentioned the hostel he stayed in when he wasn’t sleeping in Dadda’s armchair. Hopping off the bus, Adam walked past the cinema and through the main square, running right into a group of protestors. One of the scribbled placards caught his eye. Justice for Muslims! We are for peace! A protester barged into him. This was the time now. Bombings, beheadings, kidnappings. Being born in 2001, Adam had never known a time when his people had not been in the news.
‘Brother, come with us. Join the protest. Not all Muslims want to kill. Islam is a religion of peace. We need …’
Pushing past him, Adam nudged his way through the crowd. As ever, he didn’t want to be part of a group. He wanted to be alone, apart. That was his way. Wasn’t it? Emerging into a clear space, Adam turned to see a number of police cars parked on the main road. It looked like a peaceful protest, but maybe police were needed for crowd control. Some of the doors on the police vans slid open. Adam moved away off the main road towards the hostel. A bored-looking man at reception buzzed him in.
‘Yep?’ he asked, not looking up from the computer.
‘Do you have a man called William Tide living here?’
‘I can’t tell you that, can I? It’s confidential,’ he replied, scowling.
‘I need to get hold of him. It’s very important,’ said Adam, leaning over the counter and trying to catch the man’s eye.
Sighing, the man looked Adam up and down.
‘I can’t just tell anyone who turns up and asks, understand? It don’t work like that.’ The man went back to looking at the screen.
‘I’m related to him. He’s part of our family.’
The man looked up at him, curious, and shook his head. ‘Eh? You ’avin’ a laugh. He’s a pale bloke and you’re … err … not. How’s that work then?’
‘So he does live here?’
Realising that he’d been tricked, the man stood up.
‘Look, leave it out or I’ll have to chuck you out.’
‘Can I leave him a message?’
‘Piss off,’ the man replied, looking annoyed.
Adam backed away and walked out onto the street, happy that at least he knew where William was staying. He crossed the busy road and went looking for a sandwich to stave off the rumblings in his stomach. The market was busy, but he spotted at least seven police officers, trying not to look too conspicuous but failing miserably. It looked like something was about to kick off. A couple of older women had surrounded a young-looking officer and were asking him questions. Adam walked over and listened in on their conversation.
‘What’s going on, officer? Why the police vans?’
‘Nothing to worry about, it’s just a precaution. Just to keep the protest peaceful.’
‘Five police vans to keep a few people with signs peaceful?’
‘Look, it’s just a precaution. Better safe than sorry.’
A few other voices chipped in then and the police officer began to look nervous.
‘We heard there’s a English Defence League group about to march down the hill. Is that true?’ chipped in another man, and the small crowd began to swell.
The officer began to look nervous and held up his hands. ‘Please, we have the situation under control. Let us deal with it.’
In less than a minute the news had gone from stall to stall. Taking that as a bad sign, a few stallholders began to pack up. Adam took a side street and crossed the road back to the main square. Standing back and watching the crowd, he wondered what it would feel like being part of the mob in front of him. All his life, every time he’d seen even a small group, he had made his excuses and left. Maybe the silence he favoured was because of the people around him. Farah, his mum, Dadda and then William. But there was more to it, something that always drew him to stand on the edge of the cliff beside Icarus, but unlike him, Adam was happy to stay grounded and stare at the sun. He tapped his temple with his index finger, trying to dislodge the thoughts in his head. Something caught his eye on the edge of the crowd, a familiar green coat. The swell of the crowd was rising and falling, filling his vision with a sea of colours. There it was again. Adam pushed his way forward, the flash of waxy green keeping just ahead of him. Come on, Adam thought, come on, stop moving for just one second …
Grabbing the coat, Adam yanked hard on the sleeve. William turned and registered that it was him.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘You can’t just leave like that,’ said Adam, still gripping William’s sleeve. ‘You belong with us.’
‘Oh, Adam. I don’t. Not really. You have been kind, but … only my heart does.’
Adam tried to pull William out of the ebb and flow of the growing crowd, which was beginning to jostle as the movement around them became choppy. It was becoming difficult not to be lifted off your feet as each ripple spread around them.
‘Why are the police here?’ asked Adam.
‘Because of them,’ replied William, pointing with his head in the direction of the hill.
Adam raised himself up on the balls of his feet to take a better look. A very different crowd was walking down the hill towards them. Adam caught glimpses of their banners. England for the English. Islam = Terrorism. No More Mosques. No Surrender.
Adam grabbed William’s hand. ‘Let’s get out of here. This has nothing to do with us.’
‘It feels like it has to do with all of—’ William started saying, but without warning the movement of the crowd around them became erratic. There was a scream and then angry shouts. The police were locking shields and walking slowly towards the oncoming crowd. Objects were thrown, and a few people went down, clutching faces and heads. Adam saw broken bottles as little pockets of space began to open up. The other mob, the English Defence League, had now reached the police lines and were pushing against them, inching them back one step a time.
‘William. You can’t be here. You have to stay calm, protect your heart. Let’s get out of here. Now.’
Practically dragging William, Adam pushed through the milling crowd as missiles rained down around them as they tried to get away. William was in a daze and shuffled after him. Flustered, Adam saw an alley and made for it. A police officer stood in their path.
‘You can’t come up here. Turn around and go back the other way.’
‘We can’t. It’s blocked and this man has a heart condition. Please let us through. He only lives around the corner.’
‘I can’t. If I let you in, another ten will follow.’
‘Please!’ Adam pleaded. ‘He can’t have another heart attack. It’s a new heart. A good heart, a working heart. Please.’
Making a sucking sound and taking a look at William, who was now visibly wilting, the policeman moved aside and ushered them past.
Propping William up was taking all his strength. Adam leaned against a wall.
‘Let’s go somewhere quiet. Follow me, we’ll go visit the old man,’ he said, and pulled William away from the crowds towards the cemetery.
The wind buffeted them as they walked down the narrow paths in the graveyard. William still looked pale and pinched and, walking slowly, took in large gulps of air every few steps. They walked in silence past the neat rows. Everything was so ordered. Graves planted in a grid, each plot a point on a piece of graph paper, each grave allocated a number and each person a set distance from the next. Adam thought how a lot of people died in pain or agony or with regret or sadness, but t
hat once you were dead all that was redundant, and all that was left was this: the map of the dead. He led William through the first part of the graveyard, which William called ‘the people of the cross’. As they walked ahead in silence, gradually the crosses began to merge into half-moons and they were close. Treading with care, Adam made his way to his Dadda’s grave. William had stopped at a bench and sat down, watching him. Feeling awkward standing up, Adam knelt down next to the grave. He wanted to speak, wanted to say something, wanted to speak with his Dadda like he never had in life. But the words wouldn’t come. Adam started clearing the grave of twigs and rocks, smoothing the soil until it was flat. A clear canvas. With a twig Adam scrawled into the mud.
Hearttoheart. Hearttwoheart. Twohearts. Too hurt hearts.
Adam sat there a while, hoping real words would come to him or tears even, but none did. He heard William behind him. William stood over the grave, stared at the words Adam had scraped into the mud and started speaking.
‘I don’t know why you did it. I don’t know why I was the one to get your heart. I don’t know about any of it. I do know that you have a good family. Good people that have been good to me. I want you to know that at least. I know you’re there in that grave with a big hole in your chest. A big chasm where your heart should be. A hole deep and wide and full of things you wanted to say to your family. So I’m trying to be useful to them. I’m going to try to watch over them. I don’t understand all of it, and there are a few things still out of my reach, but I know that I’ll get there. I’m no good with words. That’s what I used to say to me mam, and she’d say, “I wasn’t too good with actions either.” She was all the family I ever had and she let me live but not love. This is love. Where I am now, with your family. The love owed you is now given to me. I didn’t want to come here today, but now that I’m here I want you to know that I’m grateful. As selfish as it sounds, I’m glad you gave me your heart, because that has allowed me to love. For the first time in my life, it has allowed me to be a part of something.’