In Search of Adam Read online

  Crystal was home.

  I stood just outside of the doorway. Spying into the room. My father was staring at his tiny fortune. He was holding her tight. Absorbed. Together. Love. I couldn’t move. I sucked up the image. I stayed perfectly still. Trying to be invisible. My father looked at me. His eyes were full of tears. I didn’t understand. He asked me to meet my sister. I smiled. Wide smile. A real smile. I moved to my father. I peeped. I saw a tiny squashed face enveloped in a bright white blanket. Compact. Constricted. Safe. She was wrinkled. She was perfect. She was helpless. Catapulted into a world that wasn’t safe. Exposed. Fragile. I was overwhelmed. Tears trickled down my cheeks.

  My father was watching me and for that brief moment, I felt that he liked me. I wanted to tell him about Eddie. For a split second I needed to tell him about the bad people that came to our street. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to be ready. I wanted him to fight off the bad people. A gallant knight winning his spurs. Like in the hymn at school. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t talk about Eddie. I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t find the beginning. I couldn’t trust him to protect Crystal. I had to save her from harm. I decided to guard her. I would be gallant. I would defend my baby sister. She was precious and I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I would be her protector.

  Crystal was so tiny. She was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. Her eyes were blue. Pale and occupied. She knew me. She grasped my attention. She absorbed me. She wrapped her tiny fingers around my index finger. She told me that she needed me. Her eyes spoke. Rita told me that she was only my half sister. I didn’t understand her. Rita was loopy. She was a mad woman. Crystal was my tiny baby sister. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. She needed me. For the first time in my life. For the first time I was needed. It was my responsibility to make Crystal safe. I had to protect her from Eddie. I had to.

  My father would feed her. My father would change her. Rita was always tired. She would lie in bed watching a black and white portable television. Sometimes my father would let me hold Crystal. Those were my favourite times. Sometimes Crystal would lie on the floor and I would lie next to her. Just watching over her. Just smiling at her. Eyes flickering for signs. I anticipated harm. I watched everything. Rita needed breaks. I longed for these moments when Rita wanted to escape. These times were for me and Crystal. Rita wasn’t watching. Rita wasn’t glaring at me. Crystal would stare into my eyes. She knew. She knew everything. I told her all of my secrets. I told her all about Eddie. I warned her about Eddie. She understood. She listened.

  With Crystal in my mother’s house everything changed. I wanted to wake up in the morning. I wanted to hurry home from school. I didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t want to leave her alone. She shouldn’t be alone. I worried about her all day. I didn’t concentrate on school work. I thought about Crystal. I worried that Rita would give her to Aunty Maggie to look after. I worried that Eddie would come back. Panic. Fear. A need to protect. I had a sister. Eddie would not harm my sister. Rita would not harm my sister. It was my duty. It was my role. I would protect Crystal. I had to.

  It was overwhelming.

  My father told me that he had always wanted a daughter. I didn’t understand. He had been given a second chance. He was going to be a real dad this time. I felt happy for Crystal. My father would look after her. Two pairs of eyes. We would save her.

  I kept a record. I wrote about Crystal. In my green notebook. Idescribed her. Everything. I noted her firsts. Meticulous attention. Never missing a moment.

  Stares at me. 3 weeks. 15th August 1984.

  Smiles. 3 weeks and 4 days. 19th August 1984.

  Moves eyes to watch me. 6 weeks and one day. 6th September 1984.

  Smiles just for me. 6 weeks and three days. 8th September 1984.

  Drops things on purpose. 8 weeks and 2 days. 21st September 1984.

  Stares at hands. 13 weeks. 24th October 1984.

  Laughs. 13 weeks and four days. 28th October 1984.

  Babbles. 14 weeks and 3 days. 3rd November 1984.

  Cries when I leave the room. 15 weeks. 7th November 1984.

  Grabs and holds big things. 15 weeks and 3 days. 10th November 1984.

  Pulls my hair. 17 weeks. 21st November 1984.

  Every little thing was a wonder. She was so very perfect. An angel. Sprouting wings out of the slightly protruding bones on her smooth white back. Innocent. Vulnerable. Fresh. I watched her. I recorded everything. I knew her. I was able to tell if she was hurt. I could distinguish her cries. I knew.

  Rita began not to mind. I entertained Crystal. I made it easy for Rita to relax. She could gossip with her friends. Tittle tattle. Crystal wassafe with me and I gave Rita the peace and escape that she craved. She was never nice. She was never thankful. She stopped being cruel for a while. It stopped when she needed me. It stopped from time to time. I dragged myself up. I cared for myself. I began to live. Crystal forced me to live. Crystal forced me to grow up. I became responsible. I was responsible for her security. Her sheltering. Her safety. More weight for me to carry. Added. Multiplied. Quadrupled weight. But. But I could manage. I could carry it all.

  Rita liked not to see me. She liked me not to speak to her. No need to speak. Hush hush. She let me be with my Crystal. She allowed me to become a gallant knight. Like Joan of Arc. I was special. I didn’t hate Rita as much. She had given me Crystal. And. As long as Crystal was safe, then everything would be okay. I was tired. Always tired. But. I needed Rita to let me near to Crystal. It was easier to protect her when I was allowed close to her. I did what Rita asked. Silence. Silence. Hush hush. Never a word.

  I watched Rita as a mother. She was a pencil outline. Not quite what a mother should be. She held Crystal. Sometimes. She cuddled her. Sometimes. She soothed her. Sometimes. Everything in small snippets. Boredom threshold allowing. I hated her inadequacies. I hated that she didn’t put Crystal first. I had all the responsibility. I had all the weight. I couldn’t relax my watch. I was Crystal’s protector.

  1985

  February 3 1985. I was eleven years two months and ten days old. My nasty dreams began. Three years, eleven months and twenty-nine days since my walk with Eddie. He entered me as I slept. I could hear his ho ho ho. I could taste his dribble. I could smell his cigar.

  Wakey wakey.

  The smell of his cigar was all over me. All around me. The smell seeped from my skin. Came out of my bed sheets. It enveloped me. It was within me. He is within me. As I closed my eyes. As I floated back into the Land of Nod.

  Zip zip.

  I was awake. I was wide awake. His dirty smell. Like the dead skin in between my fingers when my plaster cast was removed. Flaked from me. His sound. Zip zip. Bounced around my room. I was afraid that he was there. In the darkness. In the corner. In the doorway. I could not move. Stiff with fear. He was everywhere. Waiting. Waiting. I needed to feel safe. I needed to sleep. I could not sleep. I feared sleep. He came when I slept.

  I had a safe place. The boxes remained arranged under my bed. Just enough. Just enough space. I could scramble in. Balls of dust. A tiny metal top hat. Red and yellow counters. Broken bits of plastic. Old knickers. Crumbled sweet wrappers. I could have pushed my way over them. I could have burrowed. I could have been flat on my tummy. I could have been safe under my bed. But. When I woke from my nasty dream. Even though I knew that I needed to be in my safe place. I could not move. I was rooted to my bed.

  My nasty dreams paralysed me.

  It was real.

  He is real.

  He is within me.

  Always within me.

  In the darkness he shouts to me.

  I can’t cope. It’s here again. That mind-disturbing feeling. That deep internal rendering.

  Again?

  It comes again.

  And again.

  It possesses me. I can’t cope. There is no escape.

  Again?

  Again.

  It’s here again.

  I can’t cope. That
vision-blurring motion. That head-spinning potion.

  Again?

  Again.

  It won’t leave me.

  Again?

  It’s my only friend. I can’t ignore it.

  Again?

  Again.

  I’d do anything for it.

  Again?

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  It’s too late. I can no longer escape. It controls me. I am obsessed.

  I had a friend. I had a best friend. My friend knew my secrets. My friend was a secret.

  My body was changing. I would eat whatever I could find. I would eat as much chocolate, cakes and biscuits as my savings would buy. I liked sweet things. I hid the wrappers in a green Fenwick’s plastic bag. In the bottom on my wardrobe. Stolen from under Aunty Maggie’s sink. It used to be folded. It used to be perfect. No creases. Now it was full of my dirty secret. My father said I was too fat. They hoped that Crystal wouldn’t be fat like me. Rita said my legs were too chubby for trousers. Rita had fat thighs with dimples on them. They slip slapped together when she walked. I didn’t tell her that she was fat. You’re a greedy pig, Jude. I listened to their words. I absorbed their words. I ate more chocolate. Chocolate made me feel happy.

  I had no school friends. They thought that I was strange. Teachers thought I was odd. The parents who hung around the school gate thought that I was weird. I had to be at home. Looking after Crystal. No time for anything else. After a while, I realised that I was a fat and ugly freak.

  So I ate.

  Chocolate became my friend. I ate and I ate. I ate till I hurt. I ate till my sides were going to split. I ate till I throbbed. Till my insides groaned. Then. I went to the toilet. Then. I pushed two fingers into my mouth. Then. I tickled the root of my tongue. I tickled until the chocolate came back and covered my fingers.

  I liked being sick.

  The first time that I was sick was an accident. It was at Rita and my father’s wedding. June 26 1984. I was ten years, seven months and two days old. I ate as much as I could. I ate till I could hardly move. I ate till I would burst. I ate till it began to stick in my throat. Then. I felt sick. I had to go to the toilet. I didn’t mean it to happen. I had bent over. To pull up my knickers. I was sick. I didn’t need to use my fingers. I tasted the food again. The bitter bitter tasting food. Then. I had returned. Back to my chair. I sat. I watched the celebrations. I listened. I ate again. I felt calm.

  I had found a friend. A friend to fill the gap. To make everything better. Eating. Food was my special friend. I invaded the fridge. I collected food. I stored food. Hidden under creased jumpers in the bottom of my wardrobe. I planned. I plotted. I schemed. I gathered. I sneaked. I felt excited. I thought about food all the time. Thinking about food stopped me feeling anything else. I stole. I stored. I hoarded. Ready. Always ready. Throughout the day, the need to eat built and built and built. It took over me. I tried to stay in control. For Crystal. For my little girl. I tried. But something. Something would take away my control. A smell. A sound. A word. A breeze. Something. Then. I began to panic. Panic panic panic. I panicked and I panicked and I panicked. I panicked until I ate. The eating blotted away everything. I didn’t have to think. Just for that brief time. The eating made the world silent. I couldn’t stop myself.

  I ate and I ate and I ate.

  Then I was sick. Two fingers into my mouth. I decorated my fingers and I decorated the toilet bowl. Sometimes the gagging sound was loud. It echoed around the bathroom. It shouted down to my father and Rita. They did not notice. They never noticed anything. Then afterwards. After I had cleaned my fingers. After I had wiped away my sick. After I had flushed the toilet and brushed my teeth. After I had brushed away the sour taste that clung to the insides of my mouth. Then I felt sad. Sometimes. I felt numb. Sometimes. I felt. Then. I had nothing again. I felt fat. I was fat. I am a fat pig.

  4:19pm

  June 17 1985

  Ring a ding a ring a ding a ring a ding a ring.

  Get the fucking phone, Jude.

  Hello. Who’s speaking please?

  Sarah?

  Silence.

  Sarah, is that you?

  Silence.

  Sarah. It’s Bill’s mam. Is that you Sarah?

  I dropped the phone. It clanged off the little round table. The little wooden table trembled as the receiver bounced onto it. Clang clank clink. I stood back. I stared at it. I glared at it. The squeaky woman had said my mother’s name. She had said that she was Bill’s mam. She was my father’s mother. My father had a mother. I moved backwards over the red carpet. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. Till my heels touched the bottom step. Scared to touch the phone receiver. It was vibrating. Sarah? Sarah? It was wobbling on the small round wooden table. It was alive. I didn’t want to speak to her. It didn’t make any sense to me. My father had a mother. I didn’t understand. I twisted onto the bottom red step. Back against the wall. Arms wrapped around my shins. Knees pulled up to my chest. Pulling into myself.

  Sarah? Sarah?

  I heard her loud twang. She was shouting. Rita came wibble wobbling in. She was carrying Crystal. She shoved her at me. What the fuck yee doing yee strange bairn? She picked up the cream phone receiver. She held it to her ear. She was all breathy and puff puffed into the phone.

  Who do yee want?

  Pause. Huff puff.

  She doesn’t live here anymore. Who are yee?

  Pause. Huff puff.

  Nah.

  Pause. Puff puff puff.

  His missus.

  Pause. Huff huff.

  I’d best get Bill.

  Rita placed the telephone receiver onto the round wooden table. Carefully. She looked at me. Pulled Crystal back to her. My little girl cried. Not happy. Confused at what was going on. Then Rita smiled. Not a nice smile. Then she wibble wobbled along the red carpet and into the kitchen. I didn’t understand what was happening. My father was in his garage. She must have wobbled in through the wooden door from the kitchen. I strained to hear. Hush hush tones. I heard clattering and clanging. Then. My father marched out of the kitchen, huge strides along the carpet and snatched the phone.

  What d’ yee want?

  Pause. Pause. His fingers clenched the phone.

  What the fuck d’ yee want me to dee bout it?

  Pause. He was angry.

  How d’ yee get me number?

  Pause. His angry voice.

  She’s deed. It’s what yee wanted isn’t it?

  Pause. Pause.

  Yee divvent mention his name te me.

  He saw me. His eyes met mine and then he flicked them away. A momentary connection. Momentary. He knew that I was listening. Fuck off upstairs Jude. He shouted at me. He glared. Fierce. Red eyes. Angry. I scurried upstairs. Quick quick. I knew to get away. I knew to run as fast as I could. Away away. I stopped at the top of the flight though. I stopped. I made myself invisible. I peered down. My father was standing with his back to the staircase. He was glaring out through the frosted glass front door.

  I divvent want te talk aboot this ower the phone.

  Pause. Steam coming out of his ears.

  Nah. I divvent give a fuck.

  Pause. His head was getting bigger and bigger and bigger.

  Me bairn Jude.

  Pause. Pause.

  Divvent talk aboot Adam.

  My father slammed the phone back onto its base. Rattle rattle rattle. The wooden table quivered and shivered. Rita took a step forward. She must have been standing just out of my view. Crystal wasn’t with her. Rita’s arms were folded under her boobs. Pushing them up to me. I looked down onto them. My father turned to her.

  Me fucking da’s at death’s door.

  I didn’t understand. My father twisted and looked up the stairs. I breathed in. Gasp gasp. I breathed my head out of his sight. I caught his angry eyes.

  Tha was yee nana.

  Then he marched off, back into the kitchen and left me not daring to exhale. He left me standing as
still as a statue at the top of the stairs.

  I had a nana. A nana. A nana. Adam. Adam. Adam.Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam. A nana. I had a nana.

  I didn’t understand. I didn’t open my mouth. I didn’t ask the questions. I knew to leave my father alone. I knew that he was angry. Really really angry. I just didn’t know why.

  Panic panic.

  I went to my wardrobe. A loaf of bread. A jar of jam. Strawberry jam. A packet of digestive biscuits. Two Mars Bars. A chocolate Swiss roll still wrapped. Stolen from the cupboard. Rita was angry. She liked Swiss roll. I didn’t like Swiss roll. I hated the feel of the cake on my fingers. I opened the wrapper. Ripped it with my teeth. I pushed the cake into my mouth. I hovered over the Fenwick’s plastic bag. Mustn’t get crumbs anywhere. Push push push in. I didn’t chew. I swallowed lumps. Hurry hurry. The clock began to tick from the first mouthful. I had to be quick. It was harder to be sick if I left it too long. Quick quick. Push push push in. Lumps and crumbs fell onto the plastic bag. I didn’t touch them with my fingers. I opened the jam. Took a slice of bread and folded it into the jam. Scooped the jam onto the bread and then shovelled it into my mouth. Blobs of jam trickled down my chin. No time to stop. No time. No time to wipe my chin. No time. Quick quick. Biscuits. One two three. No taste. I never tasted. I shoved. I pushed. I swallowed. I saved the Mars Bars for last. They looked the nicest.

  They were proper food. Hurry hurry. Wrappers off. Into the mouth. My teeth tingled with the texture. The toffee oozed out. It slipped out of my mouth and joined the jam. No time. I wanted to suck. No time to suck. Swallow swallow. Quick quick. I had an empty pint glass. Hidden in the wardrobe too. I sneaked to the bathroom. I filled the glass with water. Back to my bedroom. Gulp gulp gulp. I forced myself to drink. Quick quick. I folded the wrappers and crumbs into the green plastic bag. I pushed them back into my wardrobe. Covered them with two old creased jumpers. Then. I went to the bathroom.