The Story of Tom Brennan

by J. C. Burke

  'Yeah, remember the punch-up with the cocky little half-back from Booralee High?' Daniel said. As if any of us could forget.

  Afterwards Daniel had smashed the window in the change room. We were sure he'd get suspended, but he didn't.

  'What'd he call you again?' I asked him.

  'Do we have to go through this, boys?' But we ignored Dad.

  'He called me a pussy.'

  'That's right,' I chuckled.

  'I gave him a good seeing to. He was lucky he . . .'

  'Who's the older guy?' Dad interrupted, looking over at the public phone. I could tell he wanted to change the subject, he'd been looking uncomfortable.

  'That's Winston,' Daniel said.

  'Isn't he a bit old to be here?' I asked.

  'There's a few older blokes,' Daniel explained. 'They're doing time but they're also mentors. Well, that's what they call them.'

  'You got one?' Dad asked. 'A mentor?'

  'Kind of. His name's Jerry.' I watched Daniel talk. His face was getting a bit of a concentration camp look to it and the dark circles under his eyes were worse than I remembered, yet today he did seem calm. 'He's been in and out over the years. Good guy, though. He spends a bit of time talking to me and this other poor bastard, Theo, who's in for the – the –' His expression cracked but he pulled it together. 'You know, in for the same thing – as me.'

  'He's at the centre too?' Dad looked around.

  'Don't do that!' Daniel said out of the side of his mouth. 'Don't look, but he's about three to Tommy's left. With his oldies. They're well pissed off with him.'

  I heard Dad take a breath in. I reckon I knew what he was thinking.

  The trip home from Westleigh was the same: staring out the window, pretending to listen to the radio but really exhausted, numb and wondering how our family, the Brennans, had ended up here. At least Daniel was in better form. That counted for a lot.

  Dad switched the radio off.

  'I didn't want to tell Daniel,' he said, 'but we got an offer on the house.'

  I nodded.

  'We're going to accept.'

  'Is there still much legal stuff to pay?'

  'Fair bit,' Dad sighed. 'There'll be a little left over though.'

  'We going to stay at Gran's?'

  'For the time being.' He sighed again. 'In her funny way I think she likes us there.'

  'Yeah?'

  'She's generous, your grandmother. She doesn't have a lot but she's generous with what she does have.'

  'What about Mum?'

  'What about her?'

  'Do you think she's going to be okay?'

  'Well, she's been up and about a bit more.' Dad made the turn into Coghill. 'Don't you think?'

  'Yeah,' I yawned. 'A bit more. I just, I dunno . . .'

  'What, son?'

  'I just thought it might happen a bit faster . . .'

  'She's doing her best, Tom.'

  I shrugged. I didn't want to have this conversation after all. I was tired, and thinking about Mum and how slow and stuck everyone and everything was only made me more tired.

  I guess I was getting impatient. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe I was finding my ticket out of the past.

  THIRTEEN

  When I walked into the school gates on Monday, at least ten paces behind Kylie, no one turned to look at us. No one pointed, no one whispered behind their hand, or worse still, shouted, 'There they are.'

  Nothing. Everyone just went about their business – hanging outside the canteen, having a gossip around the lockers, the usual stuff.

  Even Rory, Mr Motormouth, only said, 'You right?'

  Yeah,' I answered.

  I felt a bit hot and bothered when I noticed Chrissy walking towards me. I grabbed my folder and headed up the stairs. Behind me, I could hear her heels clicking faster and faster as she tried to catch up with me.

  'Tom!' she called. 'Tom, wait up.'

  I turned around. 'Chrissy?' I pretended. 'Oh, g'day.'

  'Hi. I, um, tried . . .' She was breathless. 'I tried to find you, um . . .' Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'On Friday – arvo.'

  'Yeah. Ta.'

  'You okay?'

  'Yeah, no worries.' My voice sounded dull as, but what did she think I was going to say?

  'Okay.' She shrugged and began to chew her lips. I wanted to reach out and touch them. 'Well, um, I guess I'll see you, then.'

  'Yep.'

  She turned left and I kept going. Now I was breathless and could feel my heart going a thousand k's an hour. But it wasn't because of the stairs.

  After school the fellas and I went down to Burger King to fuel up on some fries. It was freezing outside. It was the sort of cold where you couldn't feel the tip of your nose and there was no way to get your hands warm.

  We sat around stuffing our faces, nodding and grinning at each other as we started to defrost. A couple of times one of them asked something about back home, but it wasn't like we suddenly started talking about it.

  'How long's he in gaol?' Wiseman asked me.

  'Three years.'

  'So, what, that's two and a half to go?' Rory asked.

  'About that,' I replied.

  'How about your cousin, Jimmy? He's got another . . .'

  'He's still got four to go.' Jimmy counted. 'I haven't seen him for a while.'

  'What's it like?' Wiseman asked. 'I've never been to a gaol.'

  'Boring,' Jimmy answered. 'A lot of waiting around.'

  'Yeah.' Jimmy had pretty much summed it up.

  I'd be a liar if I said an enormous weight hadn't lifted off my shoulders. It had. I felt lighter. I no longer had the burden of carrying a secret. And the consequences – well, there were none. The conversation drifted off to the footy camp, and that seemed to hold more interest for them than what had happened to me and my family.

  Kylie and I still weren't speaking to each other. Even though I felt okay, I wasn't going to let her know that. In some ways, a part of me almost admired her guts, but she shouldn't have done what she did. Especially the way she did it. Hadn't we all been hurt enough by the random acts of others?

  Kylie was spending even more time at Brianna's, and when she was home she walked around like she had a carrot stuck up her arse. There wasn't really anyone to tell her what she could and couldn't do anyway. Dad was busy down at the sheds working or being assistant coach. Mum was still on the go-slow, trying to come to terms with life. That just left Gran, and Kylie couldn't give a toss about a thing Gran had to say.

  Dad spent most evenings in the bedroom with Mum. Six pm still seemed to be the latest she could stay up, but I kept telling myself that anything was an improvement. Brendan mostly hung down at his place or was out. So that just left Gran and me. At least she liked watching The Footy Show, we'd have a good laugh over that. Sometimes she wasn't too bad.

  'Do you still wish you had the chooks, Gran?' I asked as I was drying the dishes with her. 'You liked your chooks.'

  'They were like my friends,' she answered. 'I still remember the day little Cain and Abel hatched out of their shells.'

  'Why did you call them that?'

  'Well, I didn't intend to call them Cain and Abel,' she told me. 'I mean, their mother was Agnes, and no doubt their father Paul. It didn't make any sense to call them Cain and Abel, did it?'

  'Yeah, but Gran.' This is what had fascinated me as a kid. 'Did you think they were going to be roosters?'

  'I couldn't tell. I wasn't much good at that.'

  'So you just gave them boys' names?'

  'It was more the way they behaved together. They seemed like brothers.'

  'But they were sisters, Gran.'

  'I know, but I didn't know that when I named them. They were only chicks, Tom, but they reminded me of Cain and Abel.'

  'How?'

  'Cain was always bossing Abel around, pecking and eating all the food. Very indulgent, I would say. Cain only ever thought about Cain.'

  'Right.' She was talking about them like they were real
people.

  'Cain was the selfish brother, and Abel just tried to get along with everyone, minded his own business, didn't cause trouble.'

  I felt the laugh blowing out my cheeks.

  'It's not funny, Tom. Cain could be a very nasty hen.' She shook her head. 'You know Cain murdered Abel.'

  'What?'

  Gran nodded.

  'When?' I'd never heard that before. 'I can't believe I ...'

  'In the bible story, Tom! Not in my chook pen.' She clicked her tongue as she squeezed out the dishcloth. 'What do they teach you these days?'

  'Why don't you get more chooks?'

  'Your grandpa bulldozed over the chook pen when he built the sheds. So where would I put them?'

  'Dunno. In the garden somewhere.'

  'Tom!'

  'Well, why not?'

  She looked at me like I was a halfwit. 'I think I have enough on my plate.'

  I'd hoped, prayed almost, that Fin'd give up on the idea of having a party at the rehab centre, but he didn't. So Aunty Kath was busy organising a barbie for the Saturday. The whole family was talking about Fin's birthday. This time it was Daniel's birthday that had passed by without a fuss.

  Kylie tried to scam Becky coming but Gran told her it was an occasion for Fin, not an occasion to catch up with friends from Mumbilli. Gran was lucky she didn't get her head bitten off. Me? I didn't need the extra grief of seeing old faces from the Billi. Just seeing Fin in his wheelchair was going to be enough.

  The Friday night before Fin's party, Kylie stayed home for a change and I went out.

  The good thing about CoghilI was that it had a huge cinema. It even had a theatre with the armchairs you could lie down in, not that I could afford those tickets. Rory, Jimmy, Wiseman and I went and saw the new Vin Diesel movie. They were off to a party afterwards. I told them straight I couldn't go – it was my cousin's birthday tomorrow and we'd be leaving at sparrow's fart, probably about the time they'd be getting home.

  'No worries,' and, 'That'll be heavy,' was all they really said, and we left it at that. They never pushed me into talking about it, not even Rory, and I respected them for it.

  Chrissy was at the movies with this Davin bloke, Chris Davin, the same bloke I'd seen her wave at in church.

  'She's a hot bit of gear, that Chrissy,' Wiseman whispered to me as we lined up for tickets. She hadn't seen me, so I could watch her eat her choc-top without being busted.

  'He's the dude I was telling you about at footy camp,' Rory said as we wandered into our movie. 'Big Davin.'

  'What's he like?' I mumbled, shoving a mouthful of popcorn down my gob.

  'Okay.'

  'He's a big chick man,' Wiseman said. 'One of those lucky buggers. Gets whoever he wants, then, next please! You know the type.'

  'Know it well,' I nodded.

  When I got home from the movies Kylie was sitting on my bed.

  'What do you think you're doing in here?' I grunted.

  'Nothing.'

  'Well, why don't you do nothing in your own room?'

  'I'm sorry, Tom. Okay?'

  'Bit late for that.'

  'I'm still sorry.' She had no intention of leaving. Suddenly I wanted to hear what she had to say for herself. 'For some pathetic reason I thought it'd make me feel – good.'

  'And did it?' I asked her.

  'No.' Then quietly she said, 'It made me feel bad.'

  'Well, now you know.' I lay on the bed. 'But it's too late to take it all back. You've told the whole world.'

  'I know that!' Then she hesitated. 'Do you want to read it?'

  'Read what?'

  'My speech.'

  'Are you off your head?'

  'I thought you might want to know what stuff I . . .'

  'From what I've heard you pretty much told everything.'

  'Not everything,' she mumbled.

  'Sure!'

  'I didn't say anything bad about you.'

  'Thanks, very.' Where did she get off?

  She sighed. 'You know why I feel so bad?'

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  ''Cause it affected you, Tom, and that's the thing that dawned on me afterwards. I'm so angry at Daniel because, well, because what he did has ruined everything for me and you. As if he ever would've thought of that.'

  'Kylie! All Daniel thinks about is what he's done to us!'

  'Now, maybe. Not then.' She sat up. 'And I didn't think about how this'd be for you. I saw the way you looked, every time you thought someone was going to say something. I mean, you've hardly even spoken to me, about – about the whole thing since we've been here. I don't know why I didn't think about that, about you. I guess that's what I'm trying to say.' She shrugged. 'Okay? Speech over. I'm so, so sorry. I don't know why I did it.'

  'Look, Kyles, people would've found out sooner or later.' I relented a bit, 'cause it was true. 'But I guess I would've liked to have had some say over how they found out. Then again, I don't know if I would've had the guts to do what you did.'

  'I don't know if it took guts. No brains, maybe.'

  'Nah,' I shook my head. 'It was gutsy. Stupid, but gutsy.'

  'Has it been . . . bad for you?'

  'No.'

  'Me neither.'

  'I probably feel a bit better about it being in the open.'

  'Yeah?'

  'I'm not saying I'm happy about it though!'

  'But you forgive me?' She looked at me, my kid sister with the black makeup all over her eyes and the stupid hair that was starting to flop on one side. I didn't want to be mad with her anymore. I was sick of being mad. I wanted to get on with it. In many ways she'd released me, pushing me into my own fear.

  'Do you, Tommy, forgive me?' she squeaked. 'Just a teeny bit?'

  'I forgive you that much.' I held my index finger and thumb close together. 'And maybe if you let me eat more of your home science projects I'll forgive you more.'

  We laughed hard. Kylie kicked her legs in the air.

  'Your face,' she squealed, 'when you realised what you'd done!' She wiped her eyes. 'Oh, that was funny.'

  We sat there for a second, smiling. Then she sighed, long and heavy.

  'What?'

  'Tomorrow?' she said. Reality was never far away.

  'Yeah. I feel so frigging awkward around Fin.'

  'It's all awkward,' she replied.

  'You know we couldn't have stayed at the Billi.' I was almost saying it to myself. 'It wouldn't have got any better.'

  'Probably worse.'

  'Probably.'

  I stared at the ceiling. Kylie seemed to be staring at the floor.

  'It's not so bad here,' I offered.

  'No. Just different.'

  'Yeah,' I whispered. 'Really different.'

  For a few minutes we didn't talk. We didn't need words to say how we felt, our silence did that.

  Finally she spoke. 'So what did you see at the movies?'

  'The new Vin Diesel movie.'

  'Any good?'

  'Not bad.'

  'Hey, I just remembered something.' Kylie started giggling. 'I heard Brendan talking on the phone.'

  'So?'

  'Guess who thinks you're cute?' she sang.

  'Is this a prank? 'Cause I'll kill you if it is.'

  'No, honest. I really did hear this.' Kylie had her hands over her mouth. 'Chrissy Tulake reckons you're cute!' Now she was pissing herself stupid. 'I think she meant cute-looking. Not, you know, cute personality or cute . . .'

  'Kylie!'

  'I swear.'

  I grabbed her and put her in a headlock. She squealed and started kicking her legs.

  'If you're spinning me . . .'

  'No! Swear,' she shrieked through her laughter. 'God strike me down if I'm lying!'

  'You better not be.'

  One way to describe Fin's nineteenth birthday, other than unbearable, was interesting. Everywhere guys were whizzing around in wheelchairs; some had weird contraptions sticking out of them and strange-looking things they spoke into. M
arvin from the old ward was there, and another man I recognised from when Fin first went in to hospital.

  It was one of those days where you tried not to say the wrong thing, and tried not to stare at anyone or their space-age bits and pieces.

  I got choked up when I saw Fin in the wheelchair. All the way in the car I'd been telling myself I was going to handle it, that it was no different to him lying in bed. But it was different, and no matter how prepared I thought I was, it bowled me over when I first saw him.

  I bent my head and swallowed quickly. 'Good to see you, Fin,' I managed, but again I had to fight the reflex to slap him on the back or hand. 'Happy, um, birthday, mate.'

  'Hey, Tom.' He smiled, but his eyes weren't Fin's. At least not the Fin I remember.

  Aunty Kath made one of her famous cakes. This time it wasn't any special shape, I mean, you couldn't exactly do a motorbike, and it's not like a wheelchair cake'd be any good either. So it was plain old chocolate with white swirly things. It was good, though – I ought to know, I had four pieces.

  Mum made an effort. She'd put some gunk on her face and her teeth were starting to look white again. Her clothes were baggy and there were lines around her mouth I hadn't noticed before. But she was up.

  There was tension between Kath and Mum. It was like the air went icy when they were near each other. Brendan was putting in his best effort to improve the situation, I kept hearing him say things like, 'Tess, I was just telling Kath about the blah blah,' or 'Kath, Tess was saying how . . .'

  At one stage I nearly pulled him aside to tell him to 'give up, mate!' It was bloody agony to watch.

  I volunteered to cook the sausages with Dad. At least the barbie was away from everyone, but soon I heard the whirring of an electric chair and Fin parked himself next to me.

  His long-sleeved top and tracky daks swam on him, the long ridges of bone visible under the fabric. It seemed clearer now how tall Fin had grown – probably shot up just weeks before the accident.

  'Did you hear St John's lost against the St Patrick wimps?' Fin said to us. 'What's the story there?'

  Dad coughed. I shrugged.

  'If they don't get their shit together, you Bennie's boys might beat them.'

  It was hard to tell if this Fin was having a joke or having a go. We let him talk.

  'That's a match I'd love to see. You and Matt playing against each other.'