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 ward, 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.’

‘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.