by J. C. Burke
I wanted to stay with Fin. No one seemed to mind. More police arrived and some of them crouched down on the ground whispering about tyre marks. Some took Matt and Snorter away. Someone even drove the Statesman. I didn't know if they'd taken the fellas home or to the hospital or where. People were telling me things but they made no sense.
I just sat there with Fin, stroking his hair, watching it happen around me, listening to the paramedics who every now and then would whisper words like 'spinal' and 'injury'.
'It's okay, Fin. It's okay.' I wept over and over. 'It's okay.'
The atmosphere after a weekend of visits hung like a black cloud over Gran's kitchen. At least there was some noise to buffer it, even if it was Gran's voice complaining about the price of lamb and that no one knew how to grow a decent tomato.
'The boys are back,' she announced as we walked in.
'How's Fin doing?'
'Not too bad,' answered Brendan, heading to the fridge.
'Yeah?'
And it was back to tiptoeing and pretending. Brendan didn't want to say how bad Fin really was because it'd upset Dad and it wasn't his fault. But then Dad couldn't tell Brendan, or probably anyone for that matter, what state Daniel was in because the general consensus was that Daniel deserved what he got.
I left them to their game and wandered down the hall. The door to the oldies' room was just open, and through the hinges I could see Mum sitting on the bed probably planning her twenty-fifth attempt at coming back to life.
After she'd seen Daniel, you'd always notice a spring in her step. Well, it was really a plod, but at least she was vertical. Sometimes it lasted a day. Once it lasted two, until she decided it was all too hard, surrendered, and headed back under the covers to the preferred horizontal position.
I stood there waiting for the invitation. I couldn't just barge in yelling, 'Hey, remember me? Tom, the middle one.' Besides, I wasn't even sure she wanted to see me.
She was so different these days, so fragile. She'd been a good mum and it was torture seeing her like this. But I missed her.
She looked over and saw me standing there.
'Tom?'
'Yeah?'
'How – how was your day?'
I stood there, watching her rub her eyes and rake her fingers through hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed in weeks.
'Why are you standing there?' Her voice was husky.
'Dunno.'
'Come in and talk to me.'
I stepped into the doorway. Mum shuffled up the bed.
'Come over here,' she said, patting the mattress. 'I've hardly seen you.'
Yeah, well, it's a bit hard to see anything when you're down the bottom of the bed, I wanted to say, but more than that I wanted to be close to her, to hear her voice, smell her skin, and feel her hand smoothing my hair like when I was a kid.
I climbed onto the bed. She didn't smell like Mum. It was more like an old person smell – stale and still. I breathed through my mouth. She reached out her hand and touched my cheek. Her fingertips were cold on my skin.
'Let me look at you,' she said. 'I miss you.'
'Well . . . I've been here.'
'I know.' Mum closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. 'I'm, I'm just not doing so well.'
'How's Daniel?'
She sighed, long and heavy. I wished I hadn't mentioned him.
'He's very down,' she swallowed. 'They're thinking of moving him.'
'Where to?'
'Somewhere.' She pressed her cracked lips together. 'Somewhere we can visit him more.'
'They're moving him from Westleigh?'
'Just to a different wing.'
I could smell the tiptoe game a mile off.
'You're saying they want to keep a better eye on him, aren't you?'
She nodded. 'You've always been one step ahead. You and Kylie both have. So what did I do wrong with my firstborn?'
'Mum, don't. It was an accident.'
'Well, so they say. But I just can't help wondering sometimes.'
'Mum.' I reached over and held her hand. She closed her eyes and the tiniest of tears slipped down her face. 'Don't, Mum.'
'Daniel was behind the wheel,' she whispered. 'And he had no right to be.'
She was right. The knowledge made me want to tear my insides out. 'Why?' I choked. 'Why did he have to go and ruin – everything?'
'Please, Tom.' She gripped my wrist firmly and I knew I shouldn't have said those words. 'Don't.' Mum squeezed tighter. 'Don't say that about him.'
Things weren't much better in Kylie's room. The music was bouncing off the walls and Saint Rose of Lima looked like she was about to end up a shattered heap on the floor.
I picked up the CD cover on her desk.
'Audioslave,' Kylie shouted.
She was sitting on the floor staring in the mirror. She leant over and turned the music off.
'I hate my hair,' she said.
'I hate my life.'
'I hate my life too.'
'I said it first.'
'So.'
Kylie moved over to the window and lit a ciggie.
'When did you start smoking?'
'I've been smoking for ages. You just haven't noticed,' she said, blowing perfect white smoke rings out the window. 'You want one?'
'Nah.'
'Footy training?' she smirked.
'Dad'll flip.'
'Dad has already flipped. Anyway I don't care,' she answered, even though she held the ciggie outside. 'Do you think they cared when they dragged us here?'
'Did we have a choice?'
'You know what Becky said?'
'Becky! When did you talk to Becky?'
'Last night.' Kylie stubbed out the ciggie and put the butt in a jar. 'I rang her from Brianna's.'
Kylie opened a drawer, placed the jar of butts inside and shoved a piece of gum in her mouth. 'You want some?'
I shook my head. 'Brianna . . . that's the girl whose place you stayed at last night.'
'Derr, Tom. Genius.' Kylie started brushing her hair. 'Brianna said I can ring from her place any time. She can't believe how Mum and Dad just got up and made us all move. She said she would've . . .'
'Hang on!' I butted in. 'You told Brianna about, about . . .?'
'About everything. Yes.'
And now we weren't playing tiptoe, and I wished we were.
'Shit!' I sat on the bed and put my head in my hands.
'Tom?'
I heard myself groan. 'No!'
'Tom?'
'Why did you have to go and do that, Kylie?'
'Do what?'
'Tell.'
'Look, Tom, some of us need to talk about it.'
'I don't.'
'No, you just go round with a . . . a black cloud hanging over you. I can't just shut down and –'
'You don't even know this girl.'
'So?'
'So – why tell her that stuff?'
'Why not? I mean, hasn't anyone asked you why you've moved here?'
'No!' I suddenly shouted. 'And if they did I wouldn't tell them. It's none of their business. I don't feel the need to blab. All that crap, we did that back home with the counsellor. That was bad enough. How do you know you can trust her, I mean . . .'
'She's my friend, Tom! Remember those things – friends, huh?'
'You don't even know her.'
'Don't start preaching to me, Tom!' She jumped off the bed. 'Just because you're so paranoid. People are going to find out sooner or later.' Our foreheads were almost locked together. 'Don't you get that!' She pulled away and walked to the bedroom door. 'Get out,' she spat. 'I don't want you in here. You're such a downer, and I don't need it!'
The talk at school amongst the blokes was rugby and who'd be selected for the firsts. It was so familiar it was weird. Everything else was different: the town, the school, the faces; and yet the talk was the same. I knew St John's footy trials were next week too. Matt told me in an email. I still hadn't replied to his first one, there was no p
oint. I didn't have anything worth saying.
'Footy trials coming up,' Rory told me as we walked to English.
Rory was the man with the info. If I was interested in listening to him I'd know everything by now. He was like the Bennie's and Coghill crash-course master. Thanks to him I was getting acquainted with my new classmates.
Simon Whelan was a sick perve. Sally Cross from my home-room class had a tattoo of a butterfly on her arse, which her mother didn't know about. Mrs Spielman our English teacher sold one of her kidneys to pay for her daughter's wedding. And Ben McNally, the quiet kid with the blinking problem from Year Ten, made a bomb threat to the post office last year. It made the front page of the local paper but he never got caught.
'I see your sister's teamed up with Brianna and her lot.'
'Yeah.'
I didn't want to say much. I wasn't sure what this Brianna chick was capable of.
'I saw them hanging around Burger King on Friday night,' Rory said. 'I'd tell her to be careful of those girls.'
'Yeah?'
Mrs Spielman waited at the door as we filed into class.
'How you doing, Mrs Spielman?' Rory said, then whispered, 'See, I told you, she doesn't look well, does she?'
'What do you mean about Brianna and the others?' That was all I wanted to know. Mrs Spielman looked perfectly healthy to me.
'They're just a bit odd.'
'Odd?'
'Troublemakers. Shit-stirrers. You know, too big for themselves.'
I nodded. At least he hadn't included big-mouthed in the list.
'Brianna's mum's from Melbourne. She used to be some hot-shot lawyer.' Rory leant over onto my desk. 'Apparently,' he whispered, 'she wanted to hide one of the Afghanis who worked at the abbatoir in Aralen. You know Aralen?'
I nodded, omitting to tell him I'd spent Saturday there.
'Well, his visa was about to run out and she was going to hide him so he didn't have to go back.'
'Rory!' Mrs Spielman barked. 'Sit up and stop distracting Thomas.'
'She doesn't look well,' Rory muttered under his breath.
At home room, Harvey made an official announcement about the footy trials while I stared out the window.
'There'll be a note going out tomorrow,' he explained. 'Trials for grade teams will commence at 3.30 pm sharp on Tuesday of next week. Training will start two weeks after that.'
'When's the comp start?' Soupe asked.
'We'll have a few friendly games first. I think the Shield officially starts in April after the Easter break.'
'When will the games be, Sir?' asked Jimmy Rogers, according to Rory a freak runner.
'Some after school, some on weekends, Jimmy. The old geographical inconvenience factor will determine that. But we'll know well in advance, I hope. Anyway, off you go. Home time.'
The Shield Harvey had been talking about was the Wattle Shield. I had to fight hard not to get sucked into the black tunnel, so I concentrated on my folder, unclipping the pages, then reclipping them.
Rory was hanging around my desk, talking away, but I wasn't listening. I couldn't, 'cause the darkness was getting closer, choking my breath and squeezing my brain. All I could do was watch my fingers, clipping and unclipping.
Rory tapped my desk. 'So see you there,' he said.
'Yep.'
My heart was pumping overtime. I could feel my forehead and underarms breaking into a sweat. I was going to have big wet patches like we used to stir Snorter about. Before I knew it only Harvey and me were left in the classroom. He had his back to me, writing on the whiteboard. I closed my folder and was about to make my exit when he piped up.
'Have a chat, Tom?'
I opened my mouth to say 'no' but heard myself say, 'Yes, Sir.'
He turned around and leant against the whiteboard. 'How are you finding it?'
'Okay, Sir.'
'It's a big change for you.'
I nodded.
'Tom, I know your family is very close and private and I respect that,' he said. 'But if you want to talk at any . . .'
'I'm fine, Sir.' I didn't want to sound rude but he was right. We were close and we were private. I didn't want him thinking I'd hung back because I wanted to talk to him. I started to back out of the room but he kept on.
'Looks like you've got to know some of the fellas.'
'Yeah.' Da da da da.
'Rory's a good bloke. He'll look after you.'
I nodded.
'He plays five-eight too.' Harvey looked at me, waiting for me to say something. But what? Oh, great, Sir, it'll just be like Daniel and me!
It was torture. Being force-fed Gran's lamb's fry would be better. He wasn't going to stop, so I let him talk and I shut down, just managing to nod and grunt enough to keep him off my scent.
'Well, I won't keep you,' he finally said. 'I'm glad you're meeting them.'
'Huh?'
'You know where it is, don't you? Probably been there a thousand times.' I wasn't sure if Harvey was asking me one of those rhetorical questions. 'Just past the southbound servo.'
I must've been looking blank.
'The pool?' He frowned at me. 'Isn't that where you're meeting?'
'Oh? Yeah.' That's what Rory had been telling me at the end of home room. 'The pool. Yeah. Thanks, Sir.'
The pool was a piss-hole, but what else was I going to do? It was a better option than going back to Gran's. She had some prayer group going on till 6 pm.
'G'day,' said the bloke at the turnstiles. I recognised him from the tip game; he'd played for the north side.
'Dollar eighty,' he said. 'Student rate.'
I dug around in my pocket for some change.
'You're Brendan's nephew, aren't you?'
'Yeah.' I kept my head down, sorting through my change on the counter.
'You living here now?'
'Yep.' I was short twenty cents.
He swiped the change off the counter into his palm. 'You living at Saint Marg's?'
'Yeah.'
'Moved from . . .?'
'Mumbilli,' I grunted.
'That's right.'
I looked up. His bloodshot eyes were staring into my face. 'So you reckon I should let you into this pool?'
I opened my mouth.
'Hey? Do ya?'
The sound stuck somewhere in my throat. Here goes, I thought.
'Just jokin', mate,' he chuckled. 'You're only twenty cents short. I'm not going to call the cops.'
'Um, I, er . . .'
'You're sweating like a pig, buddy.' He handed me a token. 'In you go. You look like you could do with a dip.'
'Yeah. Thanks.'
'First time swimming here?'
'Yeah.'
'Don't open your eyes. There's a bit too much chlorine in the pool today.'
'Relax, relax,' a voice was saying in my head, but after that little scare I felt like a lie-down and one of Gran's orange tablets.
'Oi! Tom!' Rory was up on the diving board.
I unbuttoned my school shirt, kicked off my shoes, emptied my pockets and did a running bomb.
Smack! It was icy. It hit the nerve endings like shock therapy, zapping me out of my paranoia. 'Whoa!' I shouted, rising to the surface and shaking my hair, the water spraying around me. I climbed out of the pool and jumped back in. The soles of my feet slammed the water before landing on the cold tiles. I pushed off hard, springing high out of the water, lifting myself into the air, flying just for that second. For once, I felt free. Free and light.
Rory's feet came charging along the edge of the pool. He leapt in. Jimmy followed, bombing hard. Then Soupe bombed Jimmy. Water flew everywhere.
'No running,' one of the lifeguards yelled, but we were too busy splashing and dunking each other.
'Watch out, here comes the human whale,' shouted Rory.
Brad Wiseman was walking towards us. You could almost feel the ground vibrate with each step. He was huge. He had to be over six foot one and I reckon there wouldn't be much change from 115 ki
los. He'd been the firsts' prop for the last three years. Rory reckoned he's repeated that many times he must be almost twenty.
'Arrrr-a-arrr!' he bellowed, thumping his fists on his hairy chest.
'Go the flop, Wiseman,' called Soupe.
'The flop, the flop,' the boys started chanting.
Brad took a few steps back, paused, then ran, throwing himself into the air. Whack! – the biggest bellyflop I have ever witnessed. The water sprayed up and over the edges of the pool. Everyone started clapping and cheering, even me.
Rory swam over to me and mumbled, 'They reckon Wiseman's been shaving since he was nine.'
'Yeah?' I said.
The bloke at the desk was right about his chlorine miscalculation. My eyeballs felt like they'd been rolled in chilli and were sticking out of the sockets on toothpicks.
'Don't rub 'em,' Rory warned.
'They bloody kill.'
'They've been dumping so much chlorine in this pool lately.'
'Why doesn't someone do something about it?'
'I'm planning on it.' Rory stopped at the queue by the shower. It seemed like everyone at the Coghill Pool was lined up, bloodshot eyes staring. We looked like a bunch of aliens from some sci-fi movie. 'Just stand in there and let the water rinse your eyes. It's the only cure.'
A girl waited in front of me. She was tall, her shoulders broad and strong. Her hands reached up over her head as her fingers squeezed the water from her ponytail. I watched as the drops slid down her smooth brown skin, slipping under the tie of her bikini top, down her back and into her bottoms. I felt movement in my shorts, and before I had a chance to think of sledging baby seals, she'd turned and was looking at me.
'Tom? Hi!'
I gulped.
'Chrissy. Jonny's sister.' Her white teeth grinned at me. 'Remember, you came over the . . .?'
'Y-yeah.' I think my face was as red as my eyeballs. 'The Bart Simpson slippers.'
She nodded.
'Hey, Chrissy.'
'Hi, Rory.'
'You guys know each other?'
'Yeah.' She smiled and softly said, 'How's your grandad, Tom?'
'Um?' I felt my jaw suddenly tighten. 'Fine.'
She took her turn in the shower, while I stood there, the black curtain descending down on me.
SEVEN
The weekends seemed to drag the most.
