Out of Heart Read online

  ‘Most people were heartless about turtles because a turtle’s heart will beat for hours after it has been cut up and butchered. But the old man thought, I have such a heart too.’

  Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

  Sitting in the canteen eating his lunch, Adam looked out of the big windows and saw clumps of kids walking, talking, laughing and jostling. The noise was incredible. It created static in his head. A constant burring sound that made him close his eyes and put his hands over his ears.

  ‘Adam, you awright?’ Cans’s busy vibe penetrated the static.

  Adam shook his head to clear his thoughts and opened his eyes.

  ‘I’m just tired. Didn’t sleep too good.’

  ‘Me neither. I was listening to some tunes, bruv, you wouldn’t believe. Some mixtapes that were crazy. Serious bruv, craaazy.’

  ‘But you’re going to remix them right. Splice and dice?’

  ‘You know me, fam. It could be good, but Cans can make it better for sure.’

  Adam looked at Cans and the light that came to his eyes when he talked about music, the way he became animated when he was talking about a new track he’d discovered. Adam imagined Cans’s brain to work like a turntable. Record turning. Taking out his pad, he sketched a few things down. Cans looked up from his pudding and shook his head.

  ‘Bruv, you know that I get your whole silent drawing, faraway deep thing. But whipping out your sketchpad and pencil, guy, remember, we spoke about this? Girls think that stuff is weird. Boys will murder you for it. And teachers gonna think you need some kind of counselling. That you is on some autistic spectrum. They gonna put you in some room with a psycho-analyst sayin, “And what do you see when you look at this?” And when you say butterflies, they write dead cows or summat. You’ll be admitted, bruv.’

  Adam smiled, but carried on sketching while Cans scraped out the last of his pudding. Finishing the sketch, Adam flipped the pad shut.

  ‘And?’ said Cans.

  ‘And what?’

  ‘What did you draw, bruv? You got all busy with the HB nib, and then what? You ain’t gonna show me?’

  ‘You said it was weird. Said I was a mental case.’

  ‘Nah, I didn’t say that. I said others would say it … Oi, stop distractin me and let me have a look, fam.’

  Adam flipped open his pad and slid it over to Cans.

  A big grin appeared on his face as he held up the pad. ‘This is mad. Can I keep it?’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Bruv, I love it. I can use this on my next promo when I’m DJing. If that’s OK with you? Don’t want no legal wrangling when I make it though.’ He chuckled.

  ‘You can have it and use it. Course, bruv.’

  Cans looked at the drawing of a skull. In the frontal lobe, Adam had sketched Cans on a turntable listening to the playback. At the bottom, graffiti-style, he had written ‘Loony Tunes’ – Cans’s DJ name.

  ‘Tear it off for me. I don’t want to ruin it,’ said Cans, handing the pad back to Adam. Adam carefully tore out the sheet and handed it to Cans, who tucked it into the middle of an exercise book and patted it.

  Out the corner of his eye, Adam saw Laila walking towards him, but she went straight past, eyes fixed ahead.

  ‘Jeeeeez, cuz. What you say to her?’ asked Cans. ‘You gave her rage.’

  ‘The wrong thing. Always the wrong thing,’ replied Adam. ‘I told you.’

  ‘Do you like her like that, bruv?’

  During a typical school day, Adam would do his best to avoid mostly everyone. Everyone except Cans. Like Adam, Cans lived in his head, with his tunes. Like him, he created in his head. If he could talk to anybody, he could talk to Cans. He took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what I like her like.’

  ‘Does your heart start hitting some deep bass when she’s around you?’

  Adam thought about that, and hadn’t really listened to or noticed his heart when he was around her.

  ‘Nah, I don’t think it’s like that.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Hard to explain.’

  Shaking his head, Adam stood up abruptly. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Where? There’s time still,’ replied Cans.

  ‘I just wanna clear my head. I’ll see you later, bruv.’

  Walking out of the canteen, Adam swore under his breath. Cans didn’t mean anything by it. He’d asked the right questions. But Adam hated the right questions.

  Since Dadda had died, Adam’s mother had been working two jobs. That morning, before he’d left, Adam had seen a pile of bills on the kitchen table, marked with flashes of red. His mum was falling behind. Adam knew he had to pass his exams, but in order to help his family he would also have to get a job. Adam thought of William suddenly, and tried to shake his head clear of the strange big man. But he couldn’t. He wondered if William would be sitting in the moss-green armchair when he got home.

  ‘Hello, son.’

  Adam heard the low voice right behind him, but in his head it felt like it had carried from across the oceans. He even imagined hearing it when he was born, a whispered prayer in his ear. But that was in his imagination. From things he’d been told. Happy memories he’d exchanged for bad memories. The voice was a bad memory.

  ‘Son, hold on. Don’t walk so fast, eh. Let your old man catch up.’

  Adam turned to see his dad hurry to come alongside him. He was tall, still slightly taller than Adam, but there wasn’t much in it. Adam could almost look him in the eye. His patchy beard was sprinkled with salt-and-pepper stubs of hair, but his hair was still jet black, a shock of unkempt hair twin to Adam’s. Like Adam’s, his face was all angles and cheekbones and deep-set eyes. Adam turned away suddenly, realising that looking at his dad was like looking into a mirror twenty years on. He didn’t like what he saw.

  ‘I saw you at the funeral. Saw your mum too. I knew it would be a hard day, so didn’t want to cause a fuss.’

  Adam nodded but looked past his dad. At the breaking sky behind him.

  ‘How are you? How’s my little girl?’

  ‘We’re all fine.’

  ‘Yeah, good to hear, good to hear.’

  Adam concentrated on the patch of sky that was still clear. Still unaffected by the grey threatening to overwhelm it. He wanted to dive right into it, before the heavens closed.

  ‘So, no hug for the old man? No How’s it going, Dad? How’s school? You’ve got exams and stuff coming up, haven’t you?’

  Tearing his eyes from the patch of white, he looked at his dad.

  ‘What do you want, Dad?’

  Sighing, Adam’s dad shrugged.

  ‘I’m your dad. I want to see if you’re OK.’

  ‘You’ve seen me. I’m OK. Now what?’

  They’d stopped in the middle of the street, not far from the local primary school. Groups of children floated past and around them like shoals of fish flitting around their feet. Adam and his dad were rocks entrenched in the seabed.

  ‘I want to see you more,’ he replied.

  ‘You know Mum won’t like that. She won’t let that happen.’

  ‘But you could let it happen. I know what she thinks of me, but I’m your dad. I want us to know each other.’

  Adam looked into the onyx eyes of his dad, so hard to read. What was he thinking? He scanned his face for signs of fury, for the anger that was always close. Adam looked down at his dad’s hands, his fists. Those fists that had caused so much damage. To his mum. To him and Farah. Fists that could break bones, fists that could break promises, fists that could break hearts.

  ‘What’s different now, Dad? What’s changed from before?’

  ‘I’ve changed. I’m not as … angry as I was. I can control it now. I know what to do. I won’t hurt you again. Any of you.’

  Adam pinned his eyes to the patch of sky, now steadily disappearing.

  ‘Come on, trust me, I’m your dad. I’ve changed.’

  Adam needed to clear his head after the meeting with
his dad. He made a detour to the disused railway yard. It was empty and for a while as he set about doing his work he was lost in the mist of red paint. He thought suddenly of Laila. He knew a lot of boys said the wrong thing for appearance’s sake, because it made sense to keep it cool. Adam didn’t care about any of that. He cared that he came across as difficult, when all he wanted was to spend a bit of time with her. Standing back from the newly sprayed train top, Adam knew that he’d like to show her what he was doing here. Next time he saw her, he’d ask her if she would come with him, say he had a surprise for her. Putting the lids back on the cans, he gathered up his rucksack and climbed down. It was already late and a feeling of guilt washed over him. He should be home with his family, not indulging in some graffiti in this dark disused corner. His mum looked tired, her two jobs taking their toll, dark circles around her eyes. She couldn’t go on like that. Adam knew how he could help.

  Blood looked Adam up and down and grimaced. Wiping his hands on his apron, he threw a rack of lamb onto the worktop and began to cut it into even quarters with short sharp chopping actions.

  ‘I need someone who clears up and gets rid of all the mess properly. Makes sure everything is nice and clean around here.’

  Nodding, Adam looked at Blood. His bushy beard was straggly and had flecks of blood in it, making him look like an old warrior on a battlefield. With the cleaver in his hand, he really looked the part.

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘Uh, yeah?’

  ‘I need someone that’s going to listen …?

  ‘I can listen, Uncle. I can keep this place clean.’

  Shaking his head and throwing a large steak onto the wooden top, Blood patted the meat flat and brought the cleaver down.

  ‘We close every day at six thirty. Come at six to help clear up, but the main day is Saturday. I’ll need you to keep the space clean and do some deliveries.’

  ‘I can do all that, Uncle.’

  ‘I’ll give you fifty quid a week to do all that. Fair?

  Adam calculated and nodded. ‘Fair. Thank you.’ Blood wiped his hands on his apron and produced his right hand. Adam looked at the blood-smeared hand and shook it.

  ‘I’ll see you Monday.’

  ‘Monday,’ agreed Adam.

  Walking out of the shop, Adam looked at the blood already drying on his hand.

  Adam turned the key in the front door and walked into the dimly lit hallway. He threw his rucksack at the foot of the stairs, kicked off his shoes and entered the front room. Empty. No Farah with her book. And no William. But there was no reason for him to be here. Adam walked into the kitchen and took a swig of milk straight from the bottle. He felt a sudden, stabbing disappointment that William wasn’t sitting in the armchair. Hearing the front door open, Adam turned to see Farah walk into the kitchen. She put a bag of shopping on the kitchen table, onions spilling onto the floor. Following closely behind was Yasmin with a clutch of bags she dumped heavily, trying to avoid the onions rolling around her feet.

  ‘And where were you today?’ Yasmin asked, raising her eyebrows at Adam. ‘You forgot what day it was?’

  ‘It’s supermarket Tuesday! Sorry, I forgot.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed. And we had nothing in the house, not even beans.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum, I just forgot.’

  ‘I get that, but I couldn’t do it all by myself so I had my two helpers.’

  ‘Farah’s a good helper. Where’s Daddima?’

  ‘Daddima can’t carry anything, you daft thing. Her fingers hurt. No, my other helper, William.’

  At that moment William walked through the front door.

  ‘He’s here again,’ Adam whispered.

  Yasmin looked at Adam and nodded. ‘Yeah, he doesn’t talk much, so with him and Farah for company you have to keep yourself entertained, but it was useful to have another set of hands,’ she said, with a smile.

  William carefully put his shopping bags on the kitchen table and glanced at Adam.

  ‘Here, sit,’ Adam said to William, pulling out a chair.

  William sat heavily. Farah signed excitedly to Adam, the only bit of which William understood was, This is fun.

  She skipped around the kitchen picking onions up as Yasmin hummed an old song under her breath while she did the washing-up.

  ‘Right, that’s the dishes done. Who wants a cup of chai?’ asked Yasmin.

  Three voices said ‘yes’ in unison. William looked at Adam and smiled. Adam returned the smile as Farah came and sat on his lap.

  ‘Typical. You lot should be making me tea after the day I’ve had …’ Yasmin replied, but she continued humming as she turned to fill the saucepan with water.

  A little later, drinking their tea, Adam studied William. He was so pale you could see the lurid green veins in his neck and face. His hair, thinning on top, rust flecked, was cropped short. He always sat in his chair like he was bracing himself for impact. Like he was about to crash.

  William pointed to the notepad next to Adam.

  ‘Is that where you dump it all? The stuff in your head.’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Can I see?’

  ‘They’re just scribblings and words. Random.’

  ‘Farah told me you could really draw.’

  ‘Did she?’ replied Adam, looking over at the small figure near the window.

  He passed the notebook to William.

  William flicked slowly through the pages. ‘These are really good.’

  ‘They’re just sketches. Nothing major,’ replied Adam.

  ‘What are you doing with these sequences of words?’

  ‘Hard to explain.’

  ‘Try.’

  Adam looked at William.

  ‘The words help me make sense of things. Of things I see and hear and feel. Once I write them down, things begin to make more sense in my head.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied William.

  ‘I sound like special needs,’ said Adam, shaking his head.

  ‘We all have our own special needs,’ said William gently, spotting handwriting that clearly wasn’t Adam’s, and written with a blue pen. Adam only ever used pencil.

  ‘That’s him, my Dadda. I found it not long after he’d gone.’

  William read, and as he did so, he felt his chest tightening.

  ‘Shame. He feels shame about something … within himself.’

  Adam took the notebook from William and sat down.

  ‘He was working at Russell Square station in 2005. His shift had just started when the bombs went off. The explosion shook the whole station and he helped pull people out. He never talked about it, but after, he’d sit in front of the TV, and every mention of any terrorist act, he’d hold himself rigid right there in that armchair. He hated what it made our community and people look like.

  ‘It’s the only thing I have written by him. He wrote it on the front page like he wanted me to find it. I haven’t shown it to anyone else, not even Mum. I didn’t know what to do with it.’

  ‘He wanted to leave something behind. Something that wasn’t hate.’

  Adam stared at the words, tracing the spidery handwriting across the page. As he listened to William, something shifted in him and he felt relief. It was all he had, but it was something.

  Not in my shame not in my naming and shaming those that are not ours knots bound and found in our homes but knotted hearts not our hearts not this exploding bodies not us this knots of hate not us in the 99 names shame on us for you all our above love above your state of hate for all you cannot for all we have for all our hearts beat fists on doors not opened this heart left behind no heart left behind full of above all love love above all full of above all love love above all love above all love above all

  Adam stared at the blinking cursor, fingers hovering over the keyboard. His mind was a scramble. He never went online to chat, but something had made him log in and there she was, online, Laila. Touching the keys with the tips of his fingers, Adam pretended to type what he really
felt. I like you Laila. Do you like me? Scowling, he lifted his fingers and slapped his forehead in disgust. Like? The cursor continued to blink accusingly at him. Adam stared at the message from Laila.

  Adam u OK? Haven’t seen you in a while …

  Adam stood up and paced the room. Don’t be an idiot – message back.

  I’m cool. Been a bit busy …

  Nothing. Adam stared at the cursor and willed it to flash some words across the screen.

  She’s probably gone, he took so long to get back to her.

  Busy? You always rush off after school. I don’t even see you in the art room any more … Everything OK?

  Yeah it’s cool. I’ve got a job …

  Where?!

  At the butcher’s. On the High Road.

  That’s where we buy our meat!

  Yeah

  But you can’t be there all the time. I NEVER see you around …

  Dunno. Don’t seem to have much time nowadays.

  OK Mr NO-TIME. How about you make some time?

  For what?

  Adam, I sometimes wonder about what’s going on in that pretty head of yours LOL

  ???

  Make some time for me SMH

  Fingers resting on the keyboard, Adam stared at the screen.

  Shutting his eyes tight, he typed.

  How about tomorrow …?

  Blink. Pause. Blink. Pause. Blink …

  Tomorrow is perfect. At the park near school? There’s a bench near the swings

  I know it

  After school then

  Yeah

  Slapping his head, Adam swore again. Yeah? He tried again.

  That sounds good.

  Great

  ??

  That sounds great. Better than good LOL

  Great