The Story of Tom Brennan Page 5

  Mum said, 'She seems nice.'

  'She's doing us all a big favour,' Aunty Kath replied. 'She's even got her arm around him.'

  'But she knows, doesn't she?'

  'Tess! Of course she does.'

  'Do you think Brendan will ever tell them?'

  'Mum and Dad?'

  'I mean, surely they'll figure it out one day?'

  'I reckon Mum knows,' Aunty Kath answered. 'She doesn't let on. And she'd never ask about it. She probably just does a lot of praying for him.'

  'Do you think . . .' I remember Mum starting to giggle and Kath hushing her even though she was laughing too. 'Do you think there's a patron saint for, for . . . gay sons?'

  Daniel had known Brendan. They were close. Sometimes I think Brendan told him things, private things about his life. As Daniel got older he mucked around with Brendan heaps, treating me like the toxic little brother, all of nineteen months his junior. Even last Christmas, well, not exactly last Christmas (that Christmas didn't rate a mention), the one before that, I remember wondering why I couldn't hang out with them. Daniel and I always did stuff together, but when we got to Gran's he'd just piss off with Brendan and I'd be stuck at home with Kylie, knowing I was missing out on a good time.

  On Brendan's desk was a photo I hadn't seen for ages. It was Mum, Brendan and Aunty Kath fishing by the river when they were kids. Mum was doing the peace sign behind her little sister's head and Brendan was pretending to choke himself. Another picture frame lay face down. I picked it up, not ready for the fist in my guts. Staring at me, their arms wrapped around each other, were Daniel and Mum.

  Mum looked so happy. I'd forgotten the way her eyes could smile. She was looking at Daniel, laughing. It was taken just after she'd unwrapped a Christmas present from him, a pair of pearl stud earrings. Daniel saved up all year for them. I don't think Mum's ever taken them off, and that was thirteen months ago.

  The old girl and Daniel were close, real close. It wasn't like she loved him more. It didn't feel like that. It was like she thought he couldn't look after himself, that he'd stuff up if she wasn't there doing it for him. And she'd been right.

  Brendan came out with a towel around his waist. 'Tom! G'day.'

  I pushed the picture away.

  'That's one of my faves,' he said.

  'Huh?'

  'That photo of Tess and Daniel at Christmas.'

  'Oh.'

  'I remember Tessa chasing Joe around the house because he wouldn't tell her where he'd hidden her present.'

  'Yeah,' I nodded. 'Dad got her an ice-cream maker.'

  'Was a good Christmas, that one.'

  'Yeah.'

  The silence that followed hurt like mad. The thing about this pain was that it was always there, but these encounters sent it peaking before it settled back to a constant dull ache.

  'So how was the first day at Bennie's?' Brendan looked at me hard. 'They treat you okay?'

  'Yeah.'

  'They're good blokes, Tom. Just give it time. You'll find that . . .'

  'Hey, Brendan, can I check my emails?' I didn't want the 'time is a healer' talk. 'I'm on hotmail. I can go to the . . .'

  'Yeah, course you can! Any time, mate. Make yourself at home.'

  'Thanks.'

  'Sorry the place is a pigsty. I've just been really busy, you know.'

  'Yeah, yeah.'

  'Just dial straight through, it's on a separate line. I'm going back out, help Jonny finish up.'

  It was only a week ago that Kylie and I found out we were leaving Mumbilli. Four lousy days before we shifted. I'd seen Dad packing boxes but I didn't think too much about it. I guess I was so numb, I wasn't really thinking about anything. But it was obvious, of course we had to go. For the third time in a couple of weeks someone had left a message – this time on our garage door – 'NO JUSTICE'.

  I don't know who wrote the stuff. The list of suspects was big, but you couldn't be sure of anyone. Some folk seemed okay and some just stared when they passed you, but in the end it got too much, waiting for someone to spit on your face. So I just stopped going to town.

  Mostly I was at Matt's place. His parents worked so we had the house to ourselves. School had broken up, Daniel had gone and Mum just stopped getting out of bed. They were weird, those days. It was like they had no beginning or end; one merged into the next and the next and the next.

  One night when it was too hot to sleep Kyles and I watched the video of The Matrix. Just before the end, Dad walked through the front door and said, 'Kids, we're moving to Coghill.' He said it just like that.

  Kylie ran to her room and I sat there with my gob on my knees.

  'I'm sorry, Tom, but we can't stay here,' Dad said.

  I nodded. 'What about the house?'

  'I'm trying to sort that.'

  'What about all our stuff?'

  'I've made arrangements. I need you and Kylie to pack up your rooms tomorrow.'

  'When?'

  'Friday. Early.'

  'Shit.'

  'And Tom, no one is to know. Understand.'

  'But what about . . .'

  'No one.'

  That Thursday night I posted Matt a letter. I'd been at his house all day. It was raining, the first rain in months. Matt, Timbo, Snorter and me had the most excellent game of poker. We pissed ourselves so many times that day. Once I had to run to the loo 'cause I wasn't sure if I was laughing or crying.

  So I never got to say goodbye to Matt. He'd been my best mate since grade four – eight years. He was there the night it happened. He was my buddy, the one I could talk to. Probably the only one. Snorter just shut down 'cause it was easier that way, but Matty never gave up on me or the rest of us, and that meant more than anything else.

  It was a short letter. It was pretty pathetic but I didn't know what to say and I didn't want to say nothing. It felt wrong pissing off your life and your best mate with just a few sentences. It was like leaving yourself behind, and in a way I suppose I was.

  Matt, we've moved. I couldn't tell you. I only found out the other day. Email me. Good old Daniel's gone and stuffed everything. Dad reckons we had no choice and he's right. Say g'day to Snorter and the boys. This sucks. Tom.

  My fingers trembled and slipped along the keys. Finally I was logging on. I watched the message blink, 'receiving mail', my heart pumping in my throat.

  Bing! – there it was.

  From – Matt: Subject – What the? Received 24/1/03,10.55 pm.

  Tom mate, I'm shocked, we're all shocked. My head's spinning. I keep standing outside your house waiting for you to walk out. What am I going to do with myself Australia Day? Please don't tell me you've moved to Coghill 'cause that'd really suck. We're speechless mate. You're right about Daniel stuffing everything up – he did that with perfection. I understand why you had to go. It sucks but maybe it'll just be for a few months while things settle down in the Billi.

  If you see Fin say g'day to him from us. My old girl heard he's being moved to some rehab place soon. The Billi's still full of rumours. I know this is short but it feels a bit weird at the moment. Say hi to Kyles. My sister says Becky hasn't stopped crying. Take it easy – Matt.

  I read it over and over. I wanted to eat the words, make them my sustenance for the emptiness gnawing at my guts.

  I hit reply and stared at the box that waited for my words.

  Good to hear from you mate. My head's spinning too. I lost the battle about repeating Year Eleven but who cares. I had my first day today and it was the pits. Yes I'm at Coghill, where else. They've sent me to St Benedict's. The tossers who couldn't catch a cold, well I'm one of them now. I reckon it's the only time the family's driven to Gran's without a fight and that's only 'cause no one opened their mouth the whole way. It's like your worst nightmare, no it's worse . . .

  I realised the phone was ringing. The answering machine clicked over, speaking in Brendan's voice. I sat there wondering if I should pick it up, but I heard Aunty Kath's voice and was relieved I hadn't.


  'Hi, Brendan, it's me.' She sounded tired and a bit shaky. 'I'm just on my way back to the hospital. Fin's pretty down so I thought I'd spend the night with him. Hope Tom and Kyles are settling in okay. Um, what's the plan for the weekend? Let me know. Bye.'

  Now Fin's face was stuck in my head and nothing mattered anymore. My grumbling looked so weak up there on the computer screen. I stared at the words I'd written to Matt, feeling ashamed. I couldn't send this. I hit delete and logged off. Maybe tomorrow I could try again.

  I hadn't seen Fin in about a month: the day after Boxing Day, to be exact. I wanted to see him but it was just so hard. Each time he'd be a bit thinner, a bit quieter, and his initial look of determination and balls was fading to one of anger and bitterness. Or maybe that was what I saw in Aunty Kath's face. I wasn't sure, I didn't want to look too much at anyone.

  December had been hot and the hospital air conditioning was busted that day. Fin had no sheet over him. His legs had wasted to long pieces of bone wrapped in shiny skin. I couldn't stop staring. These were the legs that had run the length of the field to score the needed try of the season, then kicked the ball through the posts to conversion and victory.

  Now they lay there on the bed, useless, and that was something I just couldn't wrap my head around.

  'What's happening in the Billi?' Fin had asked me.

  'Nothing much.'

  'Got to be more than what's happening in here.'

  'Snorter wrecked his trail bike jumping that hill behind his place.'

  'Again! Stupid wanker.'

  'He reckons it's going to cost him nearly a grand to fix this time.'

  'Could be worse.'

  And that's another reason I didn't like seeing Fin. There was nothing you could say. Every word had another meaning and every story led you back to the same place – here. A spinal unit, mostly full of young men like Snorter, where risk and danger was what pumped their hearts.

  Not the case with Fin. Our cousin, the responsible only child of Aunty Kath, took one risk – always the same – and that was trusting my brother Daniel. It was a bad decision.

  'Wash your hands for dinner, Thomas.'

  Gran was stinking out the kitchen cooking lamb's fry again. There was no way I would ever eat that stuff. A few bowls of cereal was going to be dinner for the fourth night in a row. Not that I minded. I wasn't hungry and nothing tasted good anyway.

  I calculated that the roast on Australia Day was the last decent meal she'd served. Now I wished I'd eaten that charred slab of cow's shit.

  The others were at Gran's mercy. Maybe that was her master plan: feed 'em up big on arrival then let them choke on lamb's fry until they're starved into submission. I wouldn't put it past her.

  'Thomas, what are you looking for?' I swear Gran had eyes in the back of her perm.

  'The Weet-Bix.'

  'Finished, mate,' Dad winked.

  'What?'

  'I don't know why you can't eat the normal dinner like the rest of us.'

  'Not hungry,' I muttered.

  'At least have some baked beans on toast tonight,' Gran said. 'You can't go all week without protein. Don't they teach you these things at school?'

  'Yeah, well, where is everyone?' I muttered.

  'Kylie's out for the night,' answered Dad.

  'Out? Where?'

  'At a friend's.'

  'Who?'

  'Brianna someone.'

  'Brianna Henderson,' Gran corrected. 'Seem like a nice family although I hardly know them. Anglicans,' she whispered. 'But St Benedict's were happy to take Brianna.'

  'She doesn't waste any time,' I said.

  'She's just trying to make the best of this situation. Isn't she, Joe?'

  Dad nodded. He'd undertaken the big job of chewing the lamb's fry.

  'I hope you've made some friends this week, Tom.'

  I shoved a spoonful of baked beans in my mouth.

  'It's important to try and – give it a go. There are lots of nice lads at the school. No point indulging in self-pity.'

  I felt like spitting my beans back into the bowl.

  'Have you met Simon Whelan yet?' Gran's interrogation continued. 'He's a nice chap.'

  I knew about Simon Whelan, he was in my biology class. His face was like a weasel's with little beady eyes that watched the Year Nine girls file out of the lab before we went in. I overheard Rory saying someone caught him sniffing the stools after they'd left. Yeah, Gran, real nice chap.

  'What time are you and Theresa leaving in the morning?' she asked Dad.

  'Are you going to see Dan?' I said, a bit too loud.

  'Yeah,' Dad nodded. 'Just your mother and I.'

  'Oh.' Mum who hadn't left her room all week.

  'Brendan thought you might like to go with him to Aralen, to see Fin and Kath. Maybe go for a swim afterwards.' Gran looked at Dad as she spoke to me. 'You know he might be moving to the rehab section. The doctors are very pleased with him.'

  Dad stared at the gristle on his plate. 'I'll try to get up there next weekend, Carmel.'

  'Apparently there's slight movement in his left shoulder.' Gran couldn't help herself. Either she was stupid or enjoyed playing the guilt game. Somehow I reckoned it was the latter. 'He's still very down, well, why wouldn't he be. I think Kath stayed every night with him this week. Terrible, sleeping on those vinyl recliners, especially in this heat.'

  I cleared the plates, something I never do, but anything to get away from her. I was afraid of what I might say, and Dad sitting there, letting her go on in that underhanded way of hers, was more than I could hack. At least our home in Mumbilli had given us some kind of sanctuary, some silence for our private guilt.

  FIVE

  Saturday in Coghill. Kylie had a reprieve seeing she had her new best friend. She'd ended up staying over at this Brianna Henderson's house and was in no rush to come back.

  While Brendan and I were headed three hours northeast, the oldies who'd left at sparrow's fart were driving two hours south-west to see Daniel. They had to be there at 10.30 am: Saturday visiting timeslot. Probably about now they were rolling into the car park with the other families.

  'Why are just the oldies seeing Dan?' It was more like a thought out loud.

  'Few reasons, mate,' Brendan replied, pulling up outside a house with a yellow stripey sheet hanging in the front window.

  'Who lives here?'

  'Jonny.'

  The engine was still running.

  'Is Jonny coming?'

  'No. I need you to run in and collect some stuff for Fin,' he told me. 'I'm duckin' up to fill the tank. Be back in five minutes.'

  I knocked on the door, waiting for Jonny's big head to appear.

  'Hello,' a sleepy voice said.

  It was a chick. She was a bit like Jonny, but it was hard to get a really good look as her black hair was tangled all over her face. She tried to force it behind her ears but her fingers got stuck.

  'I've got to get it cut.' She giggled in a kind of embarrassed way.

  I nodded, not meaning I agreed, but what was I meant to say? Yeah, it looks like a bird's nest.

  'You must be Tom? I saw you at school the other day.'

  'Yeah?'

  'I'm in Year Twelve at Bennie's.'

  Again I nodded. I'd just caught eyes with the Bart Simpson heads sprouting out of the slippers she was wearing.

  'Classic,' I laughed.

  'You like them?' she said lifting a foot.

  'Yeah.'

  'Anyway, I'm Chrissy.' She smiled, showing the same white teeth as her brother. 'Jonny's sister.'

  'G'day. I'm meant to be collecting . . .'

  'I know,' she interrupted. 'Stuff for your grandad. I'll just go and get it. You can come in,' she called behind her.

  The sitting room was overtaken by an enormous flat-screen TV. Chrissy was rummaging through some bags.

  'I think everything's here.'

  After the 'grandad' line, I figured it was safer not to question what was in the bags. Instead
I went for the TV diversion. 'Flat screen. Cool.'

  'Jonny sits there religiously watching every sports show: footy, golf, tennis.'

  'You don't like sport?'

  'Come on,' she laughed. 'My family's from Tonga. Rugby's second to God.'

  Brendan tooted outside.

  'Better be off.'

  'Bye.' She walked me to the door. 'Hope your grandad's, you know, okay.'

  'She thinks it's for Grandad,' I said, shoving the bags into the back seat. 'Whoever that is!'

  'Yeah, well, their old lady's a bit complicated,' Brendan replied. 'Not everyone can handle the situation.'

  'No kidding,' I mumbled. 'So what's in the bags?' I leant over and pulled a gigantic lamb's wool booty out from the top. 'What do we need this for?'

  'It belonged to their father, Peter.'

  'Whoa.' I measured the booty next to my shoe. Judging by the size, Jonny obviously took after him.

  'He had a stroke, a real bad one,' explained Brendan. 'The whole right side of his body was useless, and then he had another one and that was pretty much it.'

  The ute made the loop onto the highway. The sign said Aralen, 289 kilometres, Mumbilli, 670. I felt my guts turn.

  'Poor bastard,' Brendan was still talking. 'He couldn't walk, talk, eat. He was such a big strong man.'

  'Yeah?' I was only half listening.

  'Yeah,' nodded Brendan. 'He died a few years ago now. Got pneumonia in winter and that was it.'

  Now I understood why we had his sheepskin stuff. This'd be Fin's first winter. I swallowed hard.

  'Look, Tom, I had to spin her a yarn,' Brendan sighed. 'Rose, that's Jonny and Chrissy's old girl, is as religious as my mother. She thinks alcohol is evil. She hassles Jonny for having a beer after work. She believes everything the church says. Let's just say she's zero tolerant, have you heard that phrase before?' Brendan had turned red in the face. 'And anyway, it's not fair to Mum, people like Rose knowing. Mum's too old to cope with this sort of stuff.'

  'Jonny knows,' I said.

  'Yeah,' nodded Brendan. 'I would've gone mad if I hadn't had anyone to talk to.'