Adam's Starling

  Adam’s Starling

  ‘Perdue’s handling of the Adam/Grandad scenes are not only brilliant, they are also genuinely moving, and the starling plot is never allowed to become tweety-sweety. My nine-year-old thought it fantastic’

  Niall MacMonagle, The Irish Times

  ‘Adam’s Starling belongs on the shelf of any home with school-going children … The bonding-with-animals theme makes this an appealing book, crashing through age and gender definitions in a warm-hearted way’

  Evening Herald

  ‘A gentle novel which confronts a serious problem in a sensitive and honest way’

  Judges of the Eilís Dillon Award 2002

  ‘An extremely thought-provoking book that would be an easy read for most 9- to 11-year-olds’

  Inis, Children’s Books in Ireland magazine

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  1 Grandad

  2 Trouble at School

  3 Starlings

  4 Danny

  5 Throwing Stones

  6 The Rubbish Bin

  7 Linda’s Plan

  8 Adam’s Secret

  9 Trouble

  10 Dad’s Problem

  11 Facing Rory

  12 Running

  13 Sorry

  Copyright

  For Jessie and Sara

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Liz Morris for constant encouragement and Adrienne Perdue for further encouragement plus typing! Thank you, also, to Eilís French and Íde ní Laoghaire for their hard work and skilful editing and to Lynn Pierce in the art department and Barry Reynolds for the lovely illustrations. A huge thank you to fourth class, Rathfarnham Parish National School and their teacher, Ian Packham, for test-reading. A final thank you to Angus, the Enabler!

  1

  GRANDAD

  The old man sat close by the window, staring out through the grimy glass. He was wearing a heavy jumper, though the hospital room was warm and stuffy.

  As Adam came in, the old man turned and looked excitedly at him. ‘Did you get the paper? We’ll be off soon, won’t we?’

  Adam grinned and nodded. ‘Sure did. Here you are.’ He handed his grandfather the evening paper. ‘How are you, Grandad?’ he asked, dragging a chair across from the central table and sitting down beside the old man.

  ‘Fine, fine. I’m fine,’ Grandad replied, shifting in his chair and pulling the blanket up further on his lap. ‘Fine. Grand,’ he repeated, gazing out the window.

  Then he turned and looked directly at Adam with watery blue eyes. ‘Did you not bring your coat, or something to keep warm?’

  ‘Keep warm?’ echoed Adam. ‘But it’s roasting in here –’

  The old man continued without waiting for him to finish. ‘It’ll be a long journey, you know. And they never heat these trains properly.’

  Adam smiled and sat back in the hard hospital chair. Now he knew what was on Grandad’s mind. It had been a while since they’d had the one where they went on the train. This would be fun.

  ‘Nah, I’m not cold,’ he said with a grin. ‘I think the train’s warm enough. Just perfect.’

  The old man nodded, then seemed to lose interest in the conversation and began leafing through the newspaper. His lips moved as he read. Adam sat quietly beside him.

  It really was stuffy in the room, and the air was stale. Adam got up. ‘Grandad? Do you mind if I open the window just a little?’ He headed towards the window, intending to open the smaller one at the top.

  ‘Sit down, son!’ Grandad said urgently. ‘Are you mad? You’ll lose your seat.’

  Adam sat down with a little smile. He’d forgotten that: Grandad was always worried that they wouldn’t get seats, or that they might lose the ones they had. He looked around the room, wondering how his grandfather could possibly think he was on a train.

  They were in the day ward of a geriatric hospital. There was a large central table which was where the patients had their meals. Arranged around the sides of the room were armchairs and wheelchairs, with smaller tables and magazine racks between them. This ward usually held seven or eight elderly people. Adam’s grandad always sat in the chair by the window.

  Though the room housed seven adults, it was strangely quiet. They didn’t talk much. Some dozed, or sat leafing through magazines or books. Over in one corner sat a rake-thin old man whom the staff called Birdy. He never spoke, but he whistled constantly – little chirps and tweets that sounded exactly like birdsong. One old lady held the remote control for the TV, which she watched with the volume turned way down. Many were lost in their own worlds, like Adam’s grandad, who had no idea he was in hospital. Some days he would think he was at home, though he hadn’t lived there for over a year, since Adam’s granny had died. Other times, he thought he was waiting in the doctor’s surgery, or, like today, that he was on a train. Adam liked the train best. His grandad was fairly alert on those days, looking forward to a day at the beach or a weekend trip.

  Adam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bag of Maltesers and a bar of chocolate. Grandad had a sweet tooth. ‘I brought sweets for the trip, Grandad,’ he said, placing them on the old man’s lap.

  ‘Great, great!’ exclaimed Grandad, with a gleeful expression as he picked them up. ‘Thanks, son!’ He often called Adam ‘son’; Adam did look very like his Uncle Gary had when he was nine. But Gary was in his forties now and lived in Australia. He was a long way from the boy he’d once been. Grandad had three daughters as well – Adam’s mother, Deirdre, was one.

  As if on cue, Adam heard his mam coming down the corridor; she’d been parking the car. The heels of her boots clicked on the floor and she swished into the room, bringing a blast of cool air from outside with her.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ She marched briskly over to the old man and bent to kiss him. Grandad reared back in his seat, away from the embrace. ‘Madam!’ he exclaimed loudly. ‘I don’t even know you! Please!’

  Deirdre stepped back and looked questioningly at Adam, who shrugged. ‘He thinks I’m Gary today,’ he whispered to her, ‘and it’s the train.’

  Deirdre stood helplessly, two coins of colour appearing high up on her cheeks, as Grandad continued loudly: ‘All these seats are taken, my good woman. I’m afraid you’ll have to sit somewhere else.’

  She glanced in embarrassment at the other patients and began pulling a chair over from the group at the table, but by now Grandad was finding the stranger’s persistence irritating. ‘Madam,’ he snapped, ‘I’m trying to have a quiet chat with my son. There really is no room in this carriage.’

  Deirdre sighed and put the chair back. It was going to be one of those days!

  The old man relented a little. ‘Perhaps if you try further down the train,’ he said kindly. ‘There’s usually space in the back.’ He turned to Adam with a sly smile. ‘Now, let’s admire the scenery and enjoy the goodies!’ he whispered mischievously.

  Grandad and Adam sat munching chocolate in companionable silence, and staring out the window. Adam saw a scruffy patch of grass, which was leaf-strewn and needed cutting. Behind it was a small car park, and behind that again was the main hospital. Adam glanced at his grandfather, wondering what he saw.

  ‘Would you like me to get you anything to drink, Grandad?’ The last time they’d played this game, Adam had got a cold drink and cups of tea from the small café down the corridor.

  Grandad was still gazing out the window. ‘Hmm?’ he murmured, turning towards Adam.

  ‘They have a restaurant car on this train, Grandad. I can get you a cup of tea if you like.’

  ‘That’d be nice, son. In a little while, maybe. We’ve a long way to go, you know.’

  Behi
nd them, at the table, Deirdre leafed through Hello magazine and sighed. Adam took off his sweatshirt and tied it around his waist. His gaze caught Birdy’s across the room. Adam blew his hair off his forehead and fanned himself. ‘It’s roasting, isn’t it?’ he called to the frail old man.

  ‘Tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet-tweet!’ chirruped Birdy by way of reply.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Adam wasn’t quite so warm. His feet were soaking. He could feel the seams of his socks pressing into his cold, clammy toes. He had been in such a rush to get out of school that he’d forgotten the enormous puddle lying in wait just outside the school entrance. He’d been zipping up his jacket, half-running, half-walking, when – splash! – he’d gone straight into it. As if that weren’t bad enough, he’d only gone a few more squelchy steps when a passing car whizzed through another puddle on the road, drenching him all down one side. Great! thought Adam. Just great!

  He walked past the side of the school, and then – blam! Something smacked him hard on the back of the head.

  He looked down. At his feet was a carton of school milk; that was what had hit him. It had burst, and milk seeped out onto the path, forming a white map of Italy on the ground.

  ‘Hey! A-A-Adam!’ yelled a voice. A stocky boy with close-cropped brown hair was running towards him. It was PJ, a kid from Adam’s class. A not-very-nice kid from his class. ‘I’m going to tell the teacher you’re robbing milk out of the school.’

  He was joined by another boy, skinny and freckle-faced, with the look of a whippet. They stopped a few feet from Adam, grinning and sniggering. Adam began slowly backing away.

  Shane, the skinny one, shouted, ‘Yeah! And I’ll tell her you’ve been bursting the cartons, too. You’re in for it!’

  ‘W-wait! Sh-Shane!’ stammered Adam. ‘That’s n-not fair.’ He shifted from one squelching foot to the other, unsure whether he should reason with them or just run for it.

  He didn’t have much time to decide. Rory, Shane’s twin, a lankier, scrawnier version of his brother, came running up to the others, clutching four or five cartons of milk. He doled them out.

  ‘You’d better leg it, Addy-waddy!’ he sniggered. ‘These milks are from last week! I found them behind the bins.’

  Adam knew he had to do something. He picked up the now-empty milk carton that had hit him and threw it at the three boys. It drifted sadly through the air and landed at Shane’s feet with a sorrowful plock.

  ‘Brutal!’ said PJ.

  ‘Pathetic!’ sneered Shane.

  ‘You can’t even throw, you sap!’ yelled Rory, hurling not one carton, but two at Adam.

  Adam turned to run, but it was too late. A milk carton caught him right on the shoulder and he was splattered all over the face and neck with foul-smelling, lumpy, sour milk. A second carton whacked into his schoolbag and milk began dripping down the sides, into all the nooks and crannies, and seeping slowly through the zip. The smell was disgusting.

  Adam hastily wiped the worst of it off his face and ran as fast as he could towards the main road. As his feet pounded the path, he bit back hot tears of rage and humiliation. Just let me get away from them – just let me get away, he thought.

  He ran on, over the bank and down to the verge of the main road. Across the road, at the bus shelter, he could see his cousin Danny waiting for him, laughing and talking with two teenage girls.

  Danny was eighteen. He had left school and was doing a training course in the mornings at the local vocational college; he wanted to be a chef. He met Adam most days after school and spent the afternoons with him. He was meant to be minding Adam until six o’clock, when Deirdre got back from work – but, to Adam, it never felt like he was being minded. He really liked Danny, though he thought he looked all wrong for a chef. For a start, he was thin and very tall. He was also blond, with an earring and a permanent grin. He had a black biker’s jacket, which he wore summer and winter alike. His friends and family poked fun at both his height and his lack of padding, calling him Lanky Lout or Stick Insect, but Danny just grinned even more.

  When Danny came into your house, the first thing he’d say was: ‘Any nosh? Anything decent to eat?’ He was always starving. ‘That’s why I want to be a chef,’ he said, ‘so’s I’ll always have plenty of grub!’ When Danny smiled, you found yourself grinning foolishly back at him – you couldn’t help it. Adam had often wished he could be like his big cousin.

  The sight of Danny calmed him a bit. He paused, gasping, and allowed himself to turn around. There was no sign of Rory and Shane. PJ was a good way off, heading across the football pitch, in the opposite direction.

  Adam sighed in relief, wiped his face again, and crossed over to Danny.

  ‘Hey, Adam!’ Danny shot a wink and a half-grin in the general direction of the two girls, by way of farewell. As Adam approached, the grin faded.

  ‘What the …?’ He stared at Adam, at his flushed face and milk-sodden coat. ‘What happened? Look at the state of you!’ Danny winced as the smell reached him.

  Adam shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  Danny waited a moment. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ll head home. You can tell me on the way.’

  Adam was almost running to keep up with Danny’s long strides, but it was easier to talk now that they were doing something else.

  ‘It … it was just some of the lads at school,’ he began.

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Danny. ‘Well, I didn’t think you’d taken a milk shower all by yourself. Who did it? Did the teachers nab them?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘They ran off.’

  ‘Of course they did.’ Danny snorted. ‘I wish I’d been there … I’ll sort it for you, Adam. Who was it?’

  Adam said nothing. He was tempted to tell, but he was scared of what would happen if he did. And there was something else. He was ashamed – ashamed and annoyed with himself for doing nothing. They’re right, he thought. I am a sap.

  Danny was still waiting for an answer.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Danny,’ said Adam without conviction. ‘I’ll sort it myself.’

  Danny sighed in frustration. ‘Well, if you need me, you know where I am.’

  Adam managed a small ‘Thanks’ as they walked on – Danny striding, Adam squelching and stinking.

  2

  TROUBLE AT SCHOOL

  Adam stood looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. Though he’d washed his hair about ten times the night before, he still imagined he could smell the sour milk. He leaned close to the cool glass until his nose was touching it, and sniffed … nah, it must be gone.

  Sighing, he stepped back and searched his face for a clue, some reason that would explain the bullying. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he looked too stupid … maybe he looked too clever … there had to be something!

  But all he saw was an even, ordinary face: blue eyes, brown hair cut nice and spiky at the back. Sometimes, when he’d just got his hair cut, Mam would say, ‘Come here till I feel your hair,’ and Adam would stand really still while she rubbed his hedgehog hair. He loved that … What else? He saw freckles; a small red scar from a fall when he was a toddler; normal ears, not too sticky-out … He saw an ordinary nine-year-old boy. Just a boy.

  ‘Adam!’ a voice called up the stairs. Then, louder, ‘Adam!’ He shook his head and blinked, waking himself up, then went out.

  Deirdre was in a hurry. She was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, holding Adam’s coat. Her long hair was trapped under the collar of her jacket in the way that always irritated her. She had a small M of worry-lines over her nose. That meant she was cross, or about to be cross.

  ‘Come on – get your schoolbag. Have you got your lunch?’ She grabbed her handbag from where it hung on the banisters.

  Adam ran down the stairs and picked up his schoolbag. He stood in the hall, not wanting the day to begin. Why couldn’t he just go back to bed?

  Dad appeared on the landing. ‘See you later, son,’ he called down.
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  Adam managed to give his dad a smile. ‘See you, Dad. Sleep well.’

  Adam’s dad, Jim, worked night shifts at a computer software firm, which was in an industrial estate about two miles away. Adam hated him doing nights, because it meant that he was often still asleep when Adam got back from school. There was only a short time in which they could see each other before Dad was gone again. Some days, if Adam was late getting back with Danny, he didn’t get to see his dad at all.

  ‘Ah, Adam!’ snapped Deirdre, exasperated. ‘Hurry up. Put your jacket on!’ Adam hastily did as she said and they got into the car, ready for the drive to school.

  The school was only about five minutes away, if there was no traffic and if all the lights were green. But most mornings there were loads of cars on the road – all in a hurry, all full of people yawning and looking narky – so the drive usually took fifteen or even twenty minutes. Long enough to sit at red lights three times. Long enough to look across at the bridge in the park. Long enough to think about school and to begin feeling bad. Long enough to get the pain.

  ‘Mam, I think I’m sick,’ began Adam.

  But this morning his mam was having none of it. ‘Ah, now listen, Adam. Don’t start.’ She sounded very firm.

  ‘But –’

  Deirdre spoke over him, through gritted teeth. ‘Adam, don’t even go there. Not today.’ She softened her tone slightly and went on, ‘Not today, love. You’re grand. You’ll be fine when you get to school.’

  Normally Adam knew to drop it when his mam was in this humour, but the memory of the sour-milk incident made him desperate. He had to try one last time. He clutched his stomach with both hands and arranged his face into the tortured grimace that he thought would go with acute appendicitis. ‘But I really do feel bad, Ma, I do,’ he whispered.