In Search of Adam Read online

  I was alone. Again. I didn’t want to go into school. I was having a day off. I was a big girl. I was having a day off to go to a funeral.

  But I didn’t. I didn’t get to go to the funeral. And. And I didn’t get my day off.

  It wasn’t right.

  The whole day was wrong.

  It wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  Hasn’t seen him for years though. Yeh see his first missus was a murderer. Killed her bairn. I think his name was Adam. The murdering cow broke Betty’s heart. Hasn’t seen him for years though. Yeh see his first missus was a murderer. Killed her bairn.

  I think his name was Adam.

  The murdering cow broke Betty’s heart.

  Words whirling. Twirling. Round and round and round.

  Whirling

  twirling

  round

  and

  round

  and

  round

  and

  round

  and

  round

  and

  round

  and

  round.

  I had to make them stop.

  I turned around. Carefully. Slowly. Moving my legs. From the inside to the outside of the square. Slowly. Slowly.

  Then I let go.

  I

  let

  go

  of

  the

  bar

  and

  I

  jumped

  to

  the

  floor.

  I put out my right wrist to stop my fall. It buckled under my weight. My body buckled under my weight. Crumpled to the concrete floor. I didn’t move. I waited to see if my body would shatter into a thousand pieces. It didn’t. A wave of pain swept across my body. It peaked. It stayed. Stayed over me. With me. No longer alone. No tears. No bubbles. Big girls don’t cry. Do you hear me? Big girls don’t cry.

  I picked myself up and I walked into the welcome entrance. School. A numbness. A nothing. All over me. A nothing. I smiled to the secretary. She looked confused. I walked past my classroom. Past the cloakroom. Into the toilet. Into a cubicle. I locked the door.

  Miss Waters came into the toilet. 2:47pm. She came looking for me. I saw her sparkling eyes, peering over the top of the cubicle. She must have climbed onto the toilet. I looked into her eyes. They looked scared. Her eyes told me that she was scared. Her eyes told me that she couldn’t find any words. She looked to my arm. I was sitting on the toilet. Clutching my swollen right wrist. On it. In left-handed scribble. In black felt tip pen. I had written.

  I had written Adam.

  She went away. She came back in four minutes and fifteen seconds later. It was going to be ok. It’s going to be ok Jude. I’ve told Mrs Stouter. Your dad’s going to come and get you.

  I didn’t want him to. He would shout. He would scream. He would hit me. Punch punch punch. I didn’t know what to do.

  She talked me out of the toilet. She walked me to Mrs Stouter’s office. Sit there Jude. She pointed to the naughty chair. I didn’t understand. Then. She went in and closed the office door. Hush hush tones. Then. She came out. Smiling. They had phoned my mother’s house. He wasn’t there. At a wake. Miss Waters would drive me home. Quick quick. Rita was there. She would need to talk to her.

  Rita saw us coming. She was sitting in the front room. She was waiting. She came to the door. Glaring. What the fuck have yee done now? Miss Waters didn’t smile at Rita. She told me to go inside. I went up the stairs. I went to my bedroom. I did what Miss Waters wanted. Hush hush hush. Then Rita closed the door. Slam. I heard her huff puffing up the stairs.

  She stood in the doorway to my room. Yee carn’t fucking tell ye da aboot this. He’s got enough te deal with. Yer a fucking screwed up kid.

  I didn’t say a word.

  Gan in the bathroom an wash tha writing off ye arm.

  Miss Waters had told her. She knew about my words. But. But. Rita didn’t ask. She didn’t ask me questions. She didn’t shout. She didn’t speak his name. She didn’t hit me. I didn’t understand. I went into the bathroom. I began to wash my arm. Stabs of pain with every touch. Rita stood behind me. In the centre of the room. She was watching. Reading the word. Seeing the black ink drip

  drip

  drip

  drip

  drip

  into the sink. Then. Then she reached over my shoulder. She opened the cabinet and stretched in. She took out bandage.

  Sit there.

  Rita pointed at the edge of the pea green bath.

  I divvent want ye mentioning this again. We’ll tell Miss Waters tha wer whent te hospital. It’ll be oor secret.

  Hush hush. Whirling. Twirling. Round and round and round.

  Then she wrapped the bandage around my swollen wrist. Tightly. My wrist liked it. Then she left me. Alone. Sitting on the edge of the pea green bath. Away away for a year and a day.

  The summer came and went. The summer when I left the primary school. I left the watching eyes. Miss Waters was getting nearer to the truth. I was leaving her little clues. She was clever. She was picking up the clues. But. I left. I left before she figured it all out. Before she put all of the clues together and discovered the true identity of Jude Williams.

  My summer was quiet. I was quiet. No words to be spoken. But. But inside my head. There were words and words and words. Screaming words and words and words.

  My head was swelling and swelling. And tightening and tightening. Help help. Inside hundreds and thousands of words spun round and round. They needed to escape. They needed to be free.

  Away away.

  I dreamed of opening my head. Of cutting round and round. A perfect round. Then. I could open my head. I could open up and scoop out the words. Scoop them out of my pumpkin head. Then I could throw away the pips. Be gone be gone. Then. I would bake the rest. In a cake. With a crust on it. Marked with a J. For Jude. For me.

  Words.

  Hush hushed words.

  The pips of my life.

  Swirling.

  Whirling twirling.

  Hasn’t seen him for years though. Yeh see his first missus was a murderer. Killed her bairn.I think his name was Adam. The murdering cow broke Betty’s heart.

  Flick flick.

  Lifting lids.

  Searching memories.

  Delving.

  Forcing memories.

  Back to the beginning.

  Back to the beginning.

  Remember.

  Remember.

  Back to the beginning.

  Back to the beginning.

  Remember.

  Remember.

  Back to the beginning.

  Back to the beginning.

  Remember.

  Remember.

  Remember.

  Remember.

  On March 26 1980, I was six years, four months and two days old. I was dressed and ready for school. It was 8:06am on my digital watch. My mother was still in bed. I went into her room to wake her. I found her lying on top of her duvet cover. She wasn’t wearing any clothes. Her ocean eyes were open. She wasn’t sleeping. And from the corner of her mouth, a line

  of

  lumpy

  sick

  joined her to the pool that was stuck to her cheek. Next to her, on her duvet I saw an empty bottle. Vodka. And there were eleven tablets. Small round and white. And I saw a scrap of ripped paper. There were words on it.

  Remember.

  Remember.

  jude, i have gone in search of adam. i love you baby.

  I didn’t understand. But I took the note. It was mine. I shoved it into the pocket of my grey school skirt. I crumpled it in. Adam. Adam.

  It was all about Adam.

  The funeral. It was a Wednesday. My mother’s wake at The Traveller’s Rest. I didn’t go. I went back to school. I walked myself home. I used my key and let myself into my house. Black plastic bags. Remember. Thrown into the garage. Ready for the bin man. Remember. One bag for
her clothes. One bag for her secrets. I took her secrets. Remember. That bag full of letters and beads and her sketch book. I took that bag and I hid it in my room. Buried within a basket of teddies and dolls. I wouldn’t look. Remember. I couldn’t look. Thought that my mother would show me when she came back. Believed we could take it with us. When she took me away. When she had found herself an Adam. When it was time. Remember.

  Reality.

  A

  bolt

  of

  lightning

  striking

  down

  onto

  my

  scraggy

  head.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  It was clear.

  It was obvious.

  Always had been.

  October 24 1985

  Eleven years and eleven months old.

  Five years, six months and twenty-eight days since the death of my mother.

  The need to know was pressing. Pressing on the insides of my head.

  Needing to escape. Needing to find answers.

  The time was right.

  I had no choice. I needed answers.

  I opened my mother’s bag.

  My mother’s secrets. My mother’s life with my father. Answers. A bag full of answers.

  Photographs.

  Cards.

  Beads.

  Sketches.

  A box.

  The box would have once contained shoes. My mother loved shoes. It was hardly recognisable. It had been altered. It had been personalised with my mother’s artistic flair. Tiny painted footprints. Glittering stars. Shooting stars. Painted. An apple tree in black charcoal. Blond curls. Glued on. A beautiful box. The lid. The roof to her house of secrets. Delicate italics embodied his name.

  Adam

  I was being invited in. I had found Adam. To remove the lid. To open. To find. Answers. Secrets. My fingers trembled with fear. With anticipation. With desire.

  I sat on my bed. Back against the wooden headboard. I placed the beautiful box in front of me. Gently. Onto my blue duvet cover. I sat back. Adam. Adam. Arms wrapped around my shins. Knees pulled up to my chest. Pulling into myself. Terrified to go any further. Knowing that I had to carry on. I pulled my arms around my knees. Gripped my hands together. Locked them together.

  No choice. A need.

  Slowly. I released my hands. Slowly. I removed the fragile lid. Slowly. I took out each tiny item.

  Blue booties. Hand knitted. Tiny.

  A curl. Blond. In a plastic money bag. Blue letters andnumbers on the plastic.

  Hospital wrist band. Black biro.

  Adam Williams. 13-12-1967.

  A black and white photograph. Blue biro on the back.

  Adam. Aged 2 weeks old.

  A knitted hat. Blue. Satin ribbon ties. Straight. Never tied.

  A hand-sewn teddy. Brown. A button for a nose. Never cuddled.

  A letter. Yet to be read.

  A diary. Unspoken words.

  A birth certificate.

  Mother Sarah Williams. Father Bill Williams.

  A death certificate.

  Adam Williams. 29-6-1968.

  A tiny coffin of secrets.

  Adam

  I had found Adam.

  A diary. I opened the door.

  It used to be a sketch pad. Before my mother had spilled out her thoughts. Her secrets. The thick white pages were decorated with her looping scrawl. Personalised with her doodles and scribbles. Always the same. Sad eyes. Sad almond eyes staring back from the pages. Watching over the secrets. Penetrating. Familiar. Thewords. The blue ink leaped from the pages. Fragments. Episodes. The spilling of thought. Needing to be rescued from my mother’s mind. Precious secrets. Words never given sound.

  Waiting.

  Waiting for me to discover.

  Waiting for me to bring them alive.

  25th august 1968

  i can’t sleep. i hear your piercing screams.

  whenever i close my eyes i hear your crying.

  you are still here.

  26th august 1968

  are you hiding from me? are you hiding in our flat? where are you adam?

  i need to see you again. i need to hold you again. make me smile again. only you can make me smile.

  i need to be with you adam.

  i have nothing.

  where are you? where have you been taken? i need you to come back to me.

  my breasts still leak.

  i hear you cry and they tingle.

  the milk drips from me and

  soaks into my top.

  i let it.

  i let the round patches spread around my nipples.

  i smell you in my wasted milk.

  my body needs you. my body leaks for you.

  my breasts ache for you.

  i know that each leak is taking you further away from me and further away from my body.

  the tingling gives me hope. hope that you are near.

  27th august 1968

  where are you? i can hear you crying?

  30th august 1968

  you were crying. you thought that i didn’t love you.

  you thought that i had abandoned you.

  i couldn’t cope. i was bursting.

  it was too much, your crying was too much for me.

  i killed you.

  i let you die.

  i made you quiet.

  1st september 1968

  i close my eyes and i hear you crying.

  i hear your desperate sobbing in the darkness. you can’t catch your breath—your screams fill the room. your screams bounce around inside my head.

  i killed you.

  for this i live in hell. i exist in hell.

  god has abandoned me.

  i long to close my eyes and never wake.

  i feel a grey blanket covering me. i am smothered. i can see only grey.

  everything is smudged and blurred together.

  my life is a shaded charcoal drawing.

  2nd september 1968

  people try to help. they say that god needed another angel. they say that you were too special to be on earth.

  what do they know?

  what gives them the right to comment on my grief? they know nothing.

  i see the relief in their eyes as they leave me, as they leave our flat.

  i know that they breathe again when they leave this hell hole.

  they can go back to their lives. they can go back to their babies. they never bring their babies with them.

  what do they think that i will do?

  what would i do?

  what am i capable of?

  i don’t know me anymore.

  they don’t know me. no one but you, god and your da know me.

  i am evil. i am an evil woman.

  i killed my own son.

  12th september 1968

  god rescued you.

  13th september 1968

  god was protecting you. he took you from my failure.

  i’m not worthy of being a mam. i wasn’t worthy of you.

  i prayed you away. i prayed for silence. i prayed for a break.

  god and the devil did a deal.

  he took the colour, god took you.

  i was paid with this fake silence.

  i hear him moving. he’s watching me. he’s laughing at me.

  i’m scared adam.

  14th september 1968

  people utter words.

  they do not contain comfort. they’re always the same words. they tell me what they think that i want to hear. they are empty words.

  i hear their speech and as they talk i close my eyes and wish my grief onto them.

  i wish that they could hear my thoughts, hear my

  secrets and then they would be silenced.

  if they knew they would stop vomiting their empty words.

  if they knew what i had done.

  if they knew what i was capable of.

  then, they’d become angry. the
y’d shout and scream.

  i long for them to shout and scream.

  19th september 1968

  your da looks at me with such hatred. he loved you and i killed you.

  your da hates me.

  he knows the truth. he knows the secret. he carries the burden.

  after he found me clutching you. i told him. i told him the truth of what i’d done.

  he didn’t protect you. he failed you adam. your da failed you.