Suddenly Colm noticed the bird and yelled in his booming voice, ‘Miss Hill! There’s a bird in the classroom.’
Startled, the starling took off. Slam! Rory dashed the window down.
The starling perched on a trolley, its little chest heaving, its head darting from side to side. Miss Hill said softly, ‘Sit down, everyone. Try to do it quietly. Don’t make any sudden movements.’
The bird suddenly noticed the window behind Miss Hill’s desk. With a whoosh of feathers it flew directly towards the glass – and into it, with a sickening thud. The little creature lay stunned on the sill for a moment, then it took off again, perching on the top ledge of the blackboard. It was trembling all over, its tail-feathers vibrating with the shaking of its thin legs.
The class sat in their desks. They tried to keep still, but the bird began to dart and flit mindlessly, panic-stricken, from one side of the room to the other. Swoop, across someone’s head, whoosh – up to the top corner. Somebody screamed as it swished over her shoulder; the sounds of flapping and fluttering filled the room. The noise level increased as kids began to shout suggestions: ‘Close the blinds!’ ‘Open the windows!’ ‘Open the back door!’ ‘I’ll get it, Teacher! I’ll catch it!’
The starling flew, in blind terror, smack into the back window. It lay slumped again; then, unbelievably, it struggled to get up. It hopped a few metres and, with a pathetic scrabble of claws and wings, made it onto the blackboard ledge again.
Miss Hill opened the two side windows as wide as they would go, trying at the same time to quell the suggestions and the rising noise. ‘Hand me that towel,’ she instructed Niamh. ‘If I can just get the towel over it and catch it up that way …’ she murmured, almost to herself.
All this time, Adam stood at the back door, transfixed by the sight of the terrified starling. The bird clung to the narrow ledge, with trembling claws and a heaving chest.
A light breeze came from the partly open window at the side of the classroom. The starling felt the cool air and made a last valiant dash for freedom. It crashed heavily into the glass, fell to the floor and lay still.
Miss Hill started to go over with the towel. ‘Leave him!’ shouted Adam, with such force that she stopped abruptly.
Adam took his jacket off and gently covered the bird, lifting it carefully and wrapping the arms of the coat softly around its tiny frame. Then he walked out the door. The whole class sat in silence, staring at him.
Outside, Adam laid the bird gently on the grass and opened the coat slightly. The little starling’s head lolled back and its eyes were closed.
Adam cupped the tiny head in his hand and felt its impossible lightness. He stroked the soft feathers on the bird’s neck and chest. They were so soft, he could hardly feel them against his fingertips. Up close, Adam could see every colour. He wondered how he could ever have thought that the starling was just plain brown. The colour was more like – like petrol, the beautiful colour of petrol spilled on a path: greens, blues, a faint sheen of silver … A breeze ruffled the tiny feathers on his starling’s head, giving it the impish, scruffy look it had had the first time Adam had seen it.
Niamh came quietly down the path and took his arm. ‘Come on, Adam,’ she said gently. ‘Miss Hill sent me. You have to come in.’
Adam stood up.
‘It may live; it might only be stunned,’ she said uncertainly.
Adam said nothing. He turned and began to stride back up the path.
‘Wait!’ called Niamh, trying to catch up with him. But he was too quick. With a loud slam, Adam burst in through the door of the classroom and looked around wildly. The kids were all sitting at their desks; Miss Hill was trying to keep everyone calm.
Adam marched over to Shane and PJ and, in one movement, swept everything from their desks and sent it crashing onto the floor. Then he turned and strode up to Rory, who was ashen-faced.
Adam took a small step backwards, raised his foot and kicked Rory’s desk harder than he’d ever kicked anything in his life. The desk careered across the floor with a satisfyingly loud scraping noise, teetered on two legs for a moment, and then came smashing down, tipping all its contents to the floor in a muddled heap. No one spoke. No one moved.
Adam looked straight at Rory, swallowing a lump in his throat. ‘What did he ever do to you?’ he asked. ‘What did that starling ever do to you?’ he was shouting now. ‘It’s just a little bird. It’s just a – a creature! It flies around. It pecks up crumbs in the yard. What does it do to you? What does it do that makes you hate it, Rory?’
He was so full of rage and strength, he couldn’t stand still. He stamped down the length of the classroom, his anger like a boiling liquid trying to burst out of his skin. He grabbed a box full of pens and pencils and flung it wildly to the floor.
‘And what did I ever do to you, Rory?’ he shouted. ‘I’ve never done anything to you. Never! And I didn’t sneak on you, either. It was someone else.’
At the memory of the bin and Niall, Adam almost lost his courage. He could still remember the stench in that bin, and the awful fear …. His eyes stung, but he fought it and carried on.
‘You’re the sap, Rory! You smash everything. You hate everything! But I’ll tell you something.’ He paused, then said slowly and deliberately, ‘I’m not scared of you any more.’
Adam stood completely still in the middle of the room, startled by his own words. He looked at the pinched, petrified face of Rory Brennan, at his eyes darting all over the room.
A tiny smile appeared at the corner of Adam’s mouth. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m not scared of you!’ he yelled.
Adam walked slowly up to Rory, bringing his face so close that their noses were almost touching. ‘I’m not scared of you any more, Rory,’ he finished quietly. Then he turned and walked out the door.
Miss Hill had moved over near Rory’s desk, just in case. She had thought about intervening – maybe bringing the boys into the office – but there had been no need.
She watched Adam close the classroom door with a firm click, and then turned to look at Rory. His mouth hung open in shock and disbelief.
Good on you, Adam, Miss Hill thought with a tiny spark of happiness. He had it coming.
12
RUNNING
It began as a faint rustling sound, a kind of crackly buzzing, like bad reception on a radio. It rushed in through Adam’s ears and swiftly filled his head until it was like having his own personal tornado in his brain. At first, Adam thought the noise was the wind in the trees that surrounded the school; but as he walked steadily down the path and out the school gate, the sound grew louder and louder – rustling changed into roaring.
Adam broke into a run. No one was chasing him, and he didn’t even know where he was going – he just had to run. Down to the corner, up over the bank, across the main road … House, house, shop, shop, house – his feet pounded the pavement and his mind beat to the rhythm. Bus stop, shop, house, house … On and on, past the roundabout, over the main road – lights, park gate, house, house …
Slowly, it dawned on Adam where he was running. To Grandad.
Plenty of soccer with Danny had made Adam fairly fit, but, even so, he had no idea where the energy for this marathon run was coming from. His mam always drove them to visit Grandad; Adam had never asked how far it was, but it took about ten minutes in the car. Today, he knew he could run all the way to the hospital. Something about the pounding of his feet on the pavement calmed him, made him feel better.
Adam slowed to a steady jog and kept going. As long as he was running, he felt no pain.
When he reached the hospital gate, he forced himself to stop running. His legs were trembling, his lungs squeezed to the point of collapse. He leaned against the gate and hung his head, gasping.
Gradually the gasps subsided, and he straightened up. Leaning back against the cool metal, he listened to his own breathing as it slowed to a normal pace. He could go in now.
* * *
In the wa
rd, the patients sat gathered around the central table, which was set for their main meal. A nurse had said Adam could go in and sit with his grandfather while he ate.
Birdy was sitting at the head of the table, tweeting frantically. The old lady who normally guarded the TV remote still had it in her hands; with shaking fingers, she pointed the gadget at Birdy and began pressing buttons. ‘Why won’t it work?’ she asked the woman beside her. ‘I can’t turn it off.’
Still Birdy whistled.
‘How are you, Birdy?’ said Adam.
‘Tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet!’ he replied.
Adam drew up a chair and sat down beside Grandad, who hadn’t looked up. He was staring intently at the empty plate in front of him.
‘Hi, Grandad!’ said Adam, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.
The old man still didn’t look up. With some effort, he picked up his knife and fork, though the food hadn’t yet been served. Adam noticed how huge his grandad’s hands were still, though the skin that covered them seemed as thin as clingfilm and almost as transparent – he could see red and blue veins, and the stringy sinews that wrapped the giant knuckles and bones. Working as a mechanic on the buses, Grandad had used his hands to earn his living, and now they were living proof of his life’s work. Adam remembered that Grandad had always called his hands ‘shovels’ – he said they were made of asbestos. Adam didn’t know what asbestos was, but he reckoned it must be heatproof – Grandad had said that whenever he held anything hot.
Now, the knife and fork looked tiny in the huge gnarled hands. Grandad began to cut at the surface of the plate. The metal clattered and clashed on the empty china.
‘What are you doing there, Grandad?’ Adam asked.
Grandad stared even harder at the plate and tried again. ‘Darn it! This is fierce tough meat!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are they feeding us in this hotel? I asked for salmon!’ he said in disgust. ‘That looks more like a sprat – and it’s as tough as an old boot. I can’t cut it!’
‘But you haven’t got any f–’ Adam began; then he noticed the picture on the plate. It showed a leaping fish, and there were tiny fishes decorating the edge of the china. He stifled a giggle and took hold of the plate. ‘It’s okay, Grandad. I’ll go and get you another one.’
By now the dinner ladies had arrived with the trolley and were ladling stew onto plates. Adam went over to them, carrying his grandad’s tough fish. ‘Be sure you tell them how tough it was!’ called Grandad. ‘They shouldn’t serve stuff like that. Don’t let them away with it! Desperate hotel, this! We’re checking out as soon as Eileen gets back from her shopping.’
After dinner which Grandad had eaten merrily – once his tough fish was replaced – Adam and the old man sat by the window in their usual places. Adam needed to tell Grandad about the awful morning. He needed to say it aloud.
‘Grandad? I had this bird …’
‘Bird?’ echoed Grandad.
‘Sort of like a pet bird. You know – tweet-tweet, like Birdy over there.’ Birdy’s bright eyes twinkled, and he tweeted obligingly in their direction.
Adam looked closely at his grandad’s worn features. ‘Anyway, a guy at school – Rory – he played a trick, and …’ Adam paused, not sure if this made any sense to Grandad.
‘A mean trick,’ said Grandad, with some feeling.
‘Yes!’ cried Adam. ‘Rory played a mean trick and the bird, my starling, is … is dead.’
Grandad seemed to have absorbed that. ‘Dead? Ah, no!’ he cried.
Adam carried on, encouraged by the fact that Grandad seemed to be following. ‘So I went up to Rory and I yelled at him and I kicked all his stuff around.’
‘A fight?’
‘Yeah, I suppose. Sort of like a fight. Then I walked out of the place,’ Adam said.
The old man was nodding and smiling. ‘That’s right!’ he exclaimed.
Adam waited. Grandad put out one huge, bony hand and patted Adam’s knee. ‘I love birds!’ he said, looking directly at his grandson.
‘I know you do, Grandad. So do –’
‘You shouldn’t hurt them, you know.’ He spoke over Adam’s words. ‘Don’t let anyone hurt you, son. And don’t let them hurt the birds.’ Birdy gave an extra-loud chirp in agreement.
‘Now, when are they serving dinner in this place?’ demanded Grandad. ‘I’m starving.’
* * *
Getting back home was a bit more difficult than getting to the hospital had been. Adam found a pound coin in his jeans pocket and got a bus most of the way. He knew Mam wouldn’t be back yet, and he was relieved to find his house-keys in the same pocket as the money.
As he reached home, he glanced up automatically at the drainpipe; then, with a wrench, he realised what he had been looking for. He let himself in, went upstairs and lay face-down on the bed. He was exhausted. No tears came. No feelings. Nothing. Adam slept.
He was dimly aware of doors opening and closing, the phone ringing, voices. But still he slept on.
‘No, I’ll talk to him.’ Dad’s voice outside his bedroom door brought Adam fully awake. It was almost dusk, and the room was cold.
Dad came in and sat on the bed. He glanced at Adam and gave a chuckle. ‘You’re something!’
Adam scanned his face, trying to read his emotions – was he angry? Did he know what had happened?
‘Well, you told them, Adam. You certainly did! You say nothing for months, but when you decide to, you sure let them have it.’
Adam didn’t know where to start. He sat up in bed, shivering in the cool evening.
‘Dad, I –’ he began.
‘Listen, Adam,’ said Dad, giving his knee a squeeze, ‘I think you did the right thing. Well, you shouldn’t have run off, of course, but you did the right thing by standing up for yourself.’
Adam gave a wan smile.
‘Why don’t we get you something to eat? You’ll need your strength – we’ve to go to the principal in the morning. The three of us!’ Dad laughed as he left the bedroom. ‘I’d better find me a clean jacket!’ he said from the stairs.
Adam heard the stairs creak, then a pause. ‘Oh, yeah, that reminds me,’ Dad said. ‘Some girl phoned. Said to tell you your jacket was empty – whatever that means.’ He carried on down the stairs.
Empty! Oh! Maybe … Adam lay in the dark and dared to hope. When he’d walked out of school, he hadn’t passed the place where he’d laid the starling. Remembering, Adam realised he hadn’t even looked in that direction – hadn’t let himself look. Maybe now he could allow himself to hope. He would balance the sickening memory of the flailing wings, the terrified fluttering, with the tiny hope that the starling had recovered.
All night long, these two thoughts wrestled in Adam’s mind. Finally, only an hour before he was going to have to get up, Adam fell into a deep sleep – hoping.
13
SORRY
On the way to school in the car, Deirdre drilled Adam in Apology Technique, terrified that he would be suspended or even expelled. ‘Don’t try anything smart, Adam!’ Her fingers clenched on the steering-wheel as she accelerated. ‘I mean it. You’re in enough trouble …’ She braked suddenly to avoid a cyclist. Dad turned and gave Adam the thumbs-up.
‘I won’t, Mam.’
‘Just say –’ she began.
‘I know, sorry. I’ll just say I’m sorry,’ Adam droned, like a parrot.
Jim patted Deirdre’s arm. ‘He’ll be fine, love. It’ll all be fine. That is, if we live long enough to meet the woman. Slow down!’ Nerves always made Mam drive fast. She sighed a long sigh and slowed down a little.
Adam looked out the window at the grey sky – the empty grey sky.
* * *
Adam’s parents looked strangely out of place in the principal’s office, sitting bolt upright in the visitors’ chairs with Adam between them, as the early-morning business of school bustled outside. Deirdre was biting her lip and picking at her fingernails, while Jim shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair.
&
nbsp; No one spoke while Mrs Malley finished reading the pages in front of her. With a sudden lurch of nerves, Adam realised that the report she was reading was about him. He recognised Miss Hill’s distinctive sloping handwriting. He quickly looked away – he didn’t want to look as if he was trying to read what it said.
He found himself looking out the window, where a succession of curious children passed by, craning their necks to see what was going on in the office. Adam was already a minor celebrity for standing up to Rory. He would be a living legend for walking out of school without permission.
When, at last, Mrs Malley spoke, it was clear that Adam was not in quite as much trouble as they had all feared.
‘Adam,’ she began, ‘I am not going to hold you entirely responsible for yesterday’s events.’ Mam and Dad looked at each other questioningly, and Adam glanced rapidly from one to the other.
The principal continued, ‘I have spoken to Miss Hill and other members of staff, and it’s only now that I’m realising the full extent of the pressure you’ve been under.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps, if you’d spoken to one of us, we could have helped you’ – she peered sternly at Adam – ‘rather than letting matters get out of hand.’
Deirdre was nodding vigorously. She began, ‘We told him to tell the teacher –’
‘Quite,’ replied Mrs Malley. ‘That would have been the best course of action, but, at any rate, let’s hope things have now been resolved.’ She turned to Jim. ‘He’ll be on report, of course, for three days, because he left the premises without permission; but there’ll be no further punishment. I think – indeed, we all think – that he’s had more than enough.’
* * *
And that was that. Adam walked into class afterwards, not quite sure if he was the good guy or the bad guy. As he took his place, there was whispering and murmuring, but Miss Hill smiled cheerily at him and Niamh gave him a thumbs-up. Rory sat looking down at his desk, scared to meet Adam’s gaze. Shane and PJ grinned foolishly, like a pair of idiotic hamsters. Conor looked up and smiled. ‘Welcome back, Adam,’ he said.
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