Adam's Starling Read online

  ‘Go on, Adam!’ Niamh said, exasperated. ‘I’m not laughing. I can’t help smiling, but I’m not laughing.’

  ‘Okay,’ he went on. ‘Okay – well, this sounds weird, but there’s a bird that follows me. I’ve seen it at school, on the way to school, at the shops, in the yard …’ He stopped, checking Niamh’s reaction.

  ‘What kind of bird?’ she asked, eyebrows raised but not smiling now.

  ‘A starling,’ he replied quickly. ‘A small starling. Kind of scruffy.’

  ‘And it follows you?’ asked Niamh, beginning to slow down. ‘Like to your house?’

  Adam hesitated, then nodded.

  ‘And then to school? Does it come inside?’ She grinned and began to giggle. ‘Does it follow you everywhere? Like into the bathroom?’

  Adam stopped and sighed. ‘No, not into the bathroom. I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I told you you’d laugh.’

  Then he thought of something: he’d never actually seen the starling at home. And maybe the one on the way to school was a different one – maybe it was a different one each time – maybe the one at school was just some greedy bird …

  ‘Forget it,’ he said.

  ‘Adam!’ said Niamh, as they reached her bus stop. ‘Sorry for laughing. Show me your bird tomorrow in school.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Adam, sighing. ‘Forget it.’

  9

  TROUBLE

  Rain poured down outside and a strong wind whirled around the school, dashing the rain against the windowpanes. Adam watched the raindrops rolling down the smooth glass. He chose one raindrop, high up, and followed its progress all the way down. It didn’t roll smoothly; it would lose speed and travel sideways, or pause, until it drifted into another bead of water; then it would be heavy enough to roll a little further. He was glad he’d chosen that particular drop to follow, though. Some drops were too tiny even to enter the race. They just landed on the windowpane and stayed there. His little drop meandered along its own route, stopping and starting, until finally it reached the rain-drenched windowsill. All the while, heavier drops lashed and splashed their more direct routes down.

  There was a knock at the classroom door. Adam jumped.

  ‘Come in!’ called Miss Clarke in her shrill voice.

  ‘Um, excuse me, Miss Hi – I mean Teacher,’ said a sixth-class boy, Ronan.

  ‘What is it? And my name is not “Teacher”, it’s Miss Clarke.’

  Ronan tried again. ‘Sorry, Miss Clarke. Shane and Rory Brennan are wanted in the principal’s office. And PJ Murtagh, too.’

  ‘Now?’ enquired Miss Clarke, already fixing the three boys with her narrow-eyed gaze.

  ‘Um, now,’ replied Ronan.

  Rory was already up out of his place, glancing shiftily at Shane and PJ. They filed past across the silent classroom. Rory gave a sly hiss on his way past Adam’s desk: ‘You’re dead.’ Adam felt his stomach lurch.

  They were gone for ages. Miss Clarke had just told the class to get out their lunches when the three boys returned. PJ came in first, red-eyed and hangdog; he muttered, ‘Sorry, Miss,’ and shuffled to his place. Shane appeared next, bottom lip quivering, head down. Finally Rory came in, surly and furious, elbowing the door closed behind him and striding over to his desk. Even Miss Clarke decided not to tackle him in that humour.

  At break, Conor – who always knew everything that was going on – told Adam. Rory and Shane and PJ had been seen down at the back of the shopping centre, on Saturday setting fire to rubbish and throwing it into a skip. There’d been a small fire there later and the guards had been called. Someone had told the gardaí which school the boys were from, and the school had been contacted. The principal had hauled the boys over the coals for forty minutes, phoned their parents, and put them on report for two weeks.

  Adam’s first reaction was relief – if you were on report, you had to stand outside the principal’s office at break-time and before school, and you had a report card to be signed daily at home and at school. You were also automatically in detention on Fridays. At least for a while he’d have a bit more peace and quiet at break-time.

  Niamh ran over to Adam and Conor. ‘So?’ she said, gasping for breath. ‘Where’s your pet bird, your magpie or whatever?’ She gave Adam a playful elbow in the ribs.

  Adam sighed and scanned the playground. There was no sign of the starling. ‘I dunno. Maybe I imagined it,’ he muttered. ‘I’m just going in to get my jacket. Back in a minute, lads.’

  He ran up to the back door of the school. One part of him was convinced that he’d been fooling himself all along about the bird; the other part of him was planning to leave some more crumbs on his windowsill, just in case, while no one was in the classroom.

  The classroom always looked like a shambles when they weren’t in it – half-eaten lunches still on the desks, chairs pushed out at awkward angles, pencils and markers on the floor; even the teacher’s desk looked abandoned, with open textbooks and uncapped pens. Adam quickly crumbled up a few crisps, opened his window and placed them on the sill outside.

  Just as he was closing the window, he heard footsteps. Quickly, thinking it was a teacher, he knelt on the floor beside his desk and pretended to be looking for something in his schoolbag.

  He didn’t look up as the footsteps approached. Suddenly – wham! – the desk was sent slamming into the side of his face, whacking against his left ear. Adam’s hands flew up to hold his throbbing face, and he whirled around.

  Rory stood there, white-faced with rage, his pinched features and thin lips making him look far older than ten. ‘You are so dead, you little …’ He aimed another kick at the desk, sending Adam’s books and pens crashing to the floor. Adam had stood up and was edging back towards the door of the adjoining classroom.

  ‘I knew you’d tell, you little sneak.’

  ‘I – I –’ began Adam.

  ‘I – I – I –’ mimicked Rory. ‘Told on us, yeah, and we didn’t even take your money. We weren’t the ones that put you in there. It was Niall.’ Rory was livid. ‘Too scared to rat on him, though,’ he sneered, his lips drawn back over ratty little teeth.

  ‘I didn’t tell!’ stammered Adam. Why was he defending himself? This wasn’t the plan!

  Rory followed Adam as he backed up towards the door. ‘Nah – you thought you’d be really clever – not tell about the wheelie bin. Then we wouldn’t know it was you.’

  ‘But it really wasn’t me! And anyway, you …’ Adam began to find a tiny shred of courage. ‘Anyway, you –’

  Suddenly the bell rang, and the two of them were jerked back into the reality of the classroom. Rory was the first to react.

  ‘Yeah, well, I should have got you when I had the chance, you sneak. And I will. You are dead!’ He jabbed Adam’s chest with his finger in time with the words. ‘You’ – jab – ‘are’ – jab – ‘dead!’ Hard jab. Then he turned and walked out.

  Adam went back to his desk, picked his stuff up off the floor, and sat down with his head in his hands. He was furious with himself and his ear hurt terribly. So much for the plan.

  He didn’t even notice the starling pecking the crumbs off the windowsill, right beside him.

  * * *

  Adam sat beside Grandad in the day ward, enjoying the warm stillness of the room. His ear still throbbed and pulsed, but the worst of the pain had faded. They were leafing through the evening paper together, Grandad’s large fingers tracing the print in a slow, smudging trawl across the crackly pages.

  When they reached an article about Elvis, the old man suddenly became animated.

  ‘The King!’ he cried, pointing at the familiar rock star in his white sequined suit.

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Adam, leaning across for a better view.

  ‘He’s great, he is. He’s been in loads of films. We’ve seen them all, your mam and me.’

  Adam nodded. So today I must be Gary again.

  ‘Maybe there’s another one coming out soon. Or maybe he’s coming over to d
o a concert … Let’s see …’ Grandad began reading aloud in a hesitant voice:

  ‘A quiet, sleepy town in midwestern America has become the latest hot spot for Elvis fans after a sighting of the great star there last week. Since his death in 1977, literally hundreds of similar sightings have been reported …’

  Grandad stopped and looked at Adam. ‘His death?’

  Adam nodded uncertainly.

  ‘When did he die?’ continued Grandad, confusion creeping across his features like a cloud covering the sun. ‘I never heard anything about it. Why did nobody tell me? Eileen will be so upset. She loves Elvis …’ Grandad was becoming more and more agitated.

  Adam reached over and took the paper from his trembling hands. ‘It was a long time ago, Grandad. I think Nana knows already.’ Grandad still looked worried. ‘But we won’t talk to her about it, because you’re right, it’ll only upset her. Let’s find something else to read.’ Adam quickly shuffled a few pages. ‘Here!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Look here, Grandad. Here’s something about the football. Let’s see how your team did the other day.’

  But the old man had lost interest completely. Adam closed the paper and got up to put it on the central table. As he down again, his ear throbbed and he put his hand up to it.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, son?’ said Grandad.

  Adam shook his head and instantly regretted it. ‘Ow! Sorry. Nothing. It’s okay.’

  But Grandad was concerned; he shifted forwards in his seat for a closer look. ‘Show me.’

  Reluctantly, Adam took his hand away. The ear was swollen and red, and an angry, purple bruise had already appeared at his hairline.

  ‘In the name of … What happened you?’

  Adam sighed. He had thought Grandad wouldn’t notice. ‘It was a fella at school. I’m okay, Grandad. Honest.’

  Granddad reached over and gently placed his huge, gnarled hand over Adam’s ear. He gazed out the window and seemed, once more, to move away from the present. ‘I got a thick ear once, from James Hennessy. Last week.’ He rubbed his own ear thoughtfully at the memory. ‘Billy told me that Hennessy’s out to get me again. He’s going to do it after school.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Adam softly.

  The old man shrugged. ‘Huh! He doesn’t need a reason! He does it to everyone. But’ – his voice hardened and he gripped the sides of the chair – ‘he’s not going to hit me again. I’m not taking it any more. I’ve had enough of him.’

  Adam found himself nodding in agreement. I know what that feels like, he thought. ‘What will you do, Gra – Joe?’

  Grandad turned to Adam and grinned. ‘I’m going to look him in the eyes, in his piggy little eyes, and I’m going to tell him: I’m not scared of you! Billy said that’s what he did, and James legged it faster than a jackrabbit!’

  The two of them smiled at the thought of James Hennessy pelting along like a frightened rabbit. In Adam’s mind, James Hennessy looked suspiciously like Rory Brennan.

  Maybe I need a new plan, thought Adam. Or maybe – maybe I could use Grandad’s …

  10

  DAD’S PROBLEM

  Rory was clock-watching. If you’d asked him the time, he could have told you it was precisely 2.51pm. He’d been staring at the clock for ages, willing the boring minutes to pass. But they still crawled by, and he was beginning to wonder if the clock was broken. He sighed loudly.

  ‘Get on with your work!’ snapped the principal. PJ looked up to see what was going on. ‘You too, Paul,’ Mrs Malley told him. ‘Detention ends at half three – perhaps you need some more work to do?’ She began shuffling pages on her desk. ‘I’m sure I have a worksheet here somewhere …’

  The three boys hurriedly bent over their work again. Another forty minutes to go, another week on report looming, another detention at the same time next week … They were not happy.

  A small shadow flitted by the window, then landed on the sill. It was a bird, and it peered inquisitively at the shapes and shadows inside. It was right beside the desk where Adam sat, Rory noticed. Adam’s starling.

  * * *

  ‘Will we go up to the shopping centre and see that new movie today?’ Adam’s dad asked on Saturday morning.

  Adam turned away from the TV to see his dad standing behind the kitchen counter, showered and sleepy-looking, like a recently washed tortoise.

  ‘But you were working last night, Da … don’t you have to sleep?’

  ‘Nope, it’s okay. Your mam’s not feeling well, so I said I’d bring you out today. I’m grand.’

  Jim didn’t look grand; he had bags under his eyes and a kind of crumpled look to his face. Adam hadn’t the heart to tell him he’d already seen the film. He got up and turned off the TV. ‘Okay, I’d really like that,’ he said.

  Adam was surprised to find that he enjoyed Alien Empire just as much the second time. It was great to be there with Dad, sitting companionably, sharing popcorn and sweets in the dark.

  As they came out, the daylight glare of the white November sky hit Adam with an almost physical force.

  ‘Will we walk back?’ asked Dad. Adam zipped up his jacket and felt the icy wind find its way up the sleeves and through the stitches. ‘Good exercise! Save the fare!’ said Dad, sounding unconvinced.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes before Dad spoke again.

  ‘Listen, Adam, there’s a bit of bad news.’

  Adam felt an icy hand grip his stomach. What could it be? ‘Is it Grandad? I haven’t seen him since – since – is he okay?’

  ‘He’s fine, Adam. It’s not that. It’s …’

  But Adam’s mind was still racing. It must be Mam! ‘Mam?’

  ‘Adam, Mam’s fine too. She’s just got a cold.’

  Maybe they’re splitting up. He hadn’t seen Mam and Dad laughing together for ages. He knew what it was like – he’d heard about all the problems when Niamh’s parents split a year ago …

  ‘So, anyway, the car’s gone back …’ Dad was saying.

  ‘Car?’ repeated Adam.

  ‘Yeah, the car; we can’t afford to keep it, especially with Christmas coming up.’

  Adam looked confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Dad put his hand on Adam’s shoulder. ‘Have you been listening to anything I was saying?’ he laughed. ‘Don’t worry; Mam will get another job and she’ll cheer up a bit. We’ve got to help her and not keep asking for things or being difficult. Right?’

  ‘You’re not splitting up?’ asked Adam.

  Dad threw back his head and laughed. ‘I knew you weren’t listening, Mr Panic.’ He held Adam by the shoulders and looked directly at him. ‘Adam, Grandad is still alive, Mam is not ill and we are not splitting up. Mam’s just lost her job – that’s all.’

  Adam smiled with relief. ‘Oh! That’s okay, then.’

  Dad’s eyebrows rose and he gave a wry laugh. ‘Okay? … Well, in one way, you’re right. It’s only a job. It’s only money. We have each other and we have you. That’s what it’s all about.’

  They turned the corner onto their road. Outside the house, Dad noticed a small bird clinging to one of the struts that supported the drainpipe. ‘Would you look at that?’ he said, pointing to the bird. ‘A thrush or something … what’s it doing there?’

  ‘It’s a starling, Dad,’ said Adam, with a huge smile. ‘It’s waiting for me.’

  11

  FACING RORY

  Back in school on Monday, Miss Hill was surprised by the warm reaction she received from the class. They cheered when she came in, then began vying with each other to tell her how strict and awful Miss Clarke had been.

  ‘Enough!’ she laughed. ‘I’m sure Miss Clarke did you all a power of good!’ She looked around the classroom. ‘Where are our friends, Rory, Shane and PJ? Did she take them with her? Couldn’t bear to part with them?’

  Everyone laughed. Niamh explained that they were on report for another week, which meant they had to stand outside the principal’s office until lessons began
.

  ‘Oh, we’ve a few minutes to go before they join us, then.’ Miss Hill tried her best to look disappointed.

  At break-time Adam had to pass Rory as he went out to the yard. Rory wasn’t going outside; he would be spending another break-time standing by the office.

  He caught Adam by the sleeve as he passed, and leered into his face. ‘Been feeding your little birdy, have you, Adam?’

  Adam stopped in his tracks and glanced over at the window. Then he tried to pull free, but Rory held on long enough to give him a swift kick on the ankle. ‘You’re such a sap!’ he spat, walking off towards the office.

  Outside, Adam began to feel uneasy. Niamh and Conor were their usual cheerful selves, but Adam felt very far away from his friends. He could hear and see them, but it was as if their voices came from a long way off, as if they were actors in a film. Boys and girls ran, chased and played around him, but the noises seemed distant.

  Adam’s heart began thumping heavily. He didn’t even hear the bell ring for the end of break. Conor had to pull him into the line. ‘What’s with you today, Adam? Wake up!’

  The line snaked its way to the doorway and waited to be let in. There was a roaring in Adam’s ears, drowning out the chat and laughter. Something was going to happen.

  The children began to file into the classroom and sit down, and Miss Hill came in from the other door. Adam felt it straight away: there was something not right – some kind of atmosphere in the room. Shane and PJ were already sitting down; the principal must have sent them in early from the office. Rory was over at Adam’s desk. Adam’s first thought was, What’s he doing with my stuff? Then he saw it.

  His starling was inside the classroom, pecking crumbs off the inner windowsill. A small trail of crumbs led from the sill outside, right onto Adam’s desk.