The Story of Tom Brennan

by J. C. Burke

  I could feel him watching us.

  'When's the game?' he asked. 'Bennie's and St John's?'

  The old man started to flip the sausages, slowly, one by one, like it was the most important thing he'd ever done. We let him rave. You had to. They were the rules.

  'Who's the Bennie's five-eight?'

  'A bloke called Rory.'

  'Is he any good?'

  I answered carefully. 'He's not bad.'

  'Wouldn't be like you and Daniel, though, would it?' Fin stared ahead. 'Sharing that brotherly instinct and all.'

  I breathed out slowly. 'I don't know, Fin.'

  'Did you see my birthday cards?'

  'No.'

  'Got stacks of them from the Billi.'

  I didn't say anything.

  'It'll take me days to read them.'

  'I'm sure everyone misses you, mate.'

  He turned his chair and whizzed off to bug Kylie.

  I heard Dad swallow. It was loud and sounded dry. I couldn't hate Fin, but at that moment it was hard not to. The debt was overwhelming.

  I went over to Kylie to tell her we were going. She was hugging Fin and nodding as he spoke.

  'That's great,' she said. Her eyes were glassy with tears. 'Say hi to her.'

  'Who?' I asked.

  'I got a postcard from Claire.' Fin looked right into my face. I felt myself take a few steps back. 'She's in Rome.'

  'Yeah?'

  'Then she's going to Lourdes to get some holy water for me.'

  It was good to get out of there. There was nothing more I wanted than to be hanging out with Fin as if nothing had changed, but that wasn't the reality. It was now the great divide.

  If there was any doubt or question still in my mind, today had answered it. There was no point looking back because there was nothing there. Luke and Nicole took it all with them.

  As Brendan made the turn into Coghill, I felt happy to be back.

  We got the phone call the next morning. Daniel'd hit the wall again. All I could get out of the old man was that Fin's birthday had started it off, and he'd gone downhill quickly.

  Mum and Dad left straight away for Westleigh. The Crisis Centre was open to families being involved, that's why the oldies had pushed hard to get him in there. They weren't sure how long they'd be gone. There was a motel about half an hour away from the gaol; they'd stay there and visit Daniel every day until they were sure he was okay.

  FOURTEEN

  For the rest of us, life went on, but I'm sure we had the same thing in our heads – Daniel.

  During the weeks the oldies were with him, I forced myself to get out of bed every morning to go running with Brendan. It was freezing. Sometimes the grass'd be covered with the finest layer of frost. When we were kids, Mum used to say that meant the elves had visited and sprinkled their luck. I wondered what she'd say now.

  Sometimes Brendan and I talked. Other times I'd run till I saw the blackness of nothing. That's when I'd zone out, the weight of my thoughts shedding with each kilometre, like layers of skin falling onto the track, leaving an empty shell. All I could feel was the force of my breath.

  But even then, Daniel was never far away. That's what Brendan and I shared, Daniel.

  'Did Dad say he'd be back in time?' It was the week before footy camp.

  'He's pretty sure he'll be right,' answered Brendan.

  'What ab0ut Dan?'

  'Joe didn't say much about him except that he was doing a bit better.'

  We were back at the cabin. I dumped myself on the stairs while Brendan started his sit-ups.

  'That's one of the worst things about all of this,' I said. 'No one talks about Daniel. They don't talk about how he used to be, and they don't talk about how he is now. Yet it's not like we're not thinking about him the whole time.'

  Brendan didn't answer. He just went on counting his sit-ups.

  'Sometimes it feels like he never existed,' I continued. 'I mean, what do the oldies reckon, we think they're having a holiday? If Dan wasn't in gaol, I wouldn't be out here before the sun's even up, freezing my balls off with you.'

  'Where would you be?'

  'Back home in my own bed asleep!' I got down on the grass next to Brendan and started doing sit-ups too. 'We have a right to know how he's doing. But I can never get the oldies on the phone,' I puffed. 'And when I do, they either say they can't talk for long or there's no news. It shits me.'

  'Reading between the lines, I think they're having a pretty full-on time up there. I guess we all handle things differently,' he replied. 'You were hardly "Mr Have-a-Chat" when you arrived. Now I can't shut you up.'

  I sat up. 'You know, Brendan, sometimes you really give me the shits.'

  Jonny filled in for Dad as assistant coach. He had a slightly different style of training, he was more into ball skills and improving your technique. I don't think the boys were too happy about it. They were more at home with Harvey's approach – running your guts out, then finishing with a friendly game of tip.

  One arvo Harvey didn't turn up, he had some late meeting at school. Jonny told me to take the backs.

  I wasn't real comfortable about it. 'I don't know, Jonny.'

  'Harvey said, "Get Tom to take the backs."'

  'Yeah, but you know . . .'

  'Tom, these fellas will learn a lot playing with you.'

  I didn't say, maybe if they were the 12As, but that's what I thought.

  Marcus, whose nose I'd put out of joint at the touch game on Australia Day, was one of them; so was Tonelli, the captain. At least Rory was in the group.

  We started on slide defence. There was no ideal way to practise it, and I was pretty sure it was something the boys had no idea about. They seemed keen to learn so I started explaining how it worked.

  'So I mark their inside centre?' Rory said. 'Not their five-eight?'

  'Exactly.'

  The fellas started nodding. 'Right.'

  'Is that why you were calling "drift wide" in last week's game?' Tonelli asked.

  'Yeah.' I looked at him, then at the others, then back at him. 'Didn't you get that?'

  'Well, I think I thought . . .' He stared, a blank look on his face.

  'Oh, forget it,' I mumbled. 'Let's just, um, have a bit of a run, eh.'

  Afterwards Brendan turned up in the ute.

  'Good sesh?' he asked.

  'Geeze, Brendan,' I said. 'I think it's a bit late for footy camp. I don't think these blokes have any idea.'

  'Yeah?' He laughed.

  'I'm serious.'

  'I'm sure you taught them something this arvo,' he said. 'They love the game, I can vouch for that.'

  I climbed into the front seat.

  'I thought I might take you to the club for a steak.'

  I was guzzling the water. 'Sounds good.'

  'Mum gave us some clothes for you.'

  'My mum or Gran?'

  'Gran.'

  I must've looked panicked. 'Don't worry,' Brendan chuckled. 'She didn't put in a dinner suit.'

  'I'll see you back at my place.' Jonny called from his car. 'Tom can have a shower there.'

  'No worries.'

  'What?' I asked. 'Where am I going?'

  'Jonny wants to get out of his clobber before we go, so you can have a shower at his place.'

  I wasn't too sure about this idea. 'Will, um, Chrissy be there?' Just say she walked in and saw me starkers! 'I mean, I'm just wondering.'

  'Yeah?' Brendan looked at me. 'She'll be coming to dinner. Their old girl works Tuesday nights.'

  'Okay,' I nodded casually as the panic set in.

  I'd seen Chrissy a few times since Kylie told me that pile of shit about her thinking I'm cute. But since then, every time I saw her, I wanted to run the other way. Sunday mass was okay 'cause with her up in the choir I could stare all I wanted then disappear before she came down.

  Now here I was with absolutely no warning, about to have dinner with Chrissy Tulake, and The Grandmother had packed my clothes.

  Jonny ha
nded me a towel. 'The hot comes on really fast and it's, like, burning. Okay?'

  'Yep.' I acted serious, like I was listening to every word of his instructions, but really I was wishing I had eyes in a few more parts of my body.

  So far, so good – Chrissy was nowhere to be seen.

  'Get the cold on first,' Jonny continued, ''cause the way the shower's angled it gets kind of tricky. I keep fixing it but it always breaks.'

  The bathroom was the size of a cupboard, and of course it had one of those doors you couldn't lock – it didn't even shut properly. I rattled it a bit and thought about dragging something over to keep it closed, but the room was so tiny there was nothing in it that wasn't attached to the floor.

  The shower cubicle was pathetic; a coffin was more spacious, but at least it had a door that closed. I climbed in and turned the tap on and, whooshka, came the water and it was boiling! I was trapped. I couldn't even reach out my arm to turn it off.

  'Shit! Shit! Ouch!' I manoeuvred myself around to try another angle and this time the hot water got me, scalding my arm and thigh.

  'Aaaghhh!' I screamed, jumping out and knocking the tap. The hose fell out the shower door. 'Shit! Aaaghhh!' Hot water was spraying everywhere and I was trapped between the dunny and the basin.

  Brendan and Jonny flew into the bathroom.

  'Tom! Mate!'

  In a flash Chrissy was at the doorway too. And I was – starkers.

  'Aaaghhh! Oooooh!' I leant over the basin, splashing cold water on my arm. At least that covered the front of me even though my arse was out there in all its glory.

  Jonny wrestled the hose, kinked it with his foot and turned the water off. Suddenly there was silence.

  'God, are you okay?' Chrissy gasped.

  Brendan and Jonny burst out laughing. They stood there pissing themselves. 'Oh, classic!' Brendan kept slapping his thigh. 'Poor Tom got caught in the Tulake deathtrap.'

  Jonny passed me the towel. I wrapped it around me then turned to face Brendan. 'Ha, ha,' I said.

  Chrissy was trying really hard not to laugh too. Her face was bright red and she had her hand over her mouth.

  'Oh, Tom, Tom, are you – are you okay?' she spluttered. 'That happens to nearly everyone. Nice bum, but.' And that was it, she cracked up too.

  Maybe that'd been a good ice-breaker, 'cause dinner was fun. I remembered just about every joke I'd ever been told, and did the punch-lines with such precision I was even killing myself. Chrissy laughed so much she knocked over the jug of water. She had a great laugh. It started out soft then grew louder and louder (not too loud though), and she kind of hiccuped at the end.

  This was new for me; usually when I'd been out Daniel was there, and no one ever had a chance around him. Girls'd hang on to every word he said, even though he was hopeless at telling jokes. He'd either forget the punch-line or stuff it up.

  I was feeling pretty good, and when Chrissy said, 'You know, we should do this every Tuesday night,' I felt even better than good.

  But then Jonny piped up with, 'What about the big Davin?'

  'Yeah,' Brendan added. 'What about the big Davin? Is he still . . .'

  'BIG!' Brendan and Jonny said together, like it was hysterical.

  'You two are off,' Chrissy blushed.

  'But you're still seeing him, aren't you?' Brendan asked.

  'Well – yes.' And she blushed again.

  The Davin was my obstacle.

  Daniel was doing okay, which meant Dad could make it to footy camp; he was going straight there from Westleigh. Mum wanted to stay a bit longer just to be sure, so Brendan was going up to join her.

  The arrangement was that after camp the old man and I'd go to Westleigh to see Daniel and pick Mum up. That way Brendan could get back to Coghill to help Jonny with a big repair and still be at Aralen the next weekend to look at a unit for Aunty Kath. If it was okay eventually Fin would move in there too.

  Gone were the days when I didn't have a clue what the rest of the family was up to. Now it was one finely tuned plan and arrangement after another. We should've kept a tally on the kilometres we were doing; it seemed half our lives were spent in the car.

  The bus trip up to camp was pretty funny. Soupe had eaten a curry the night before and was letting off farts that just about blinded you. Rory brought up a few dirty mags that were being handed around and Wiseman required the cold hose.

  The boys were running a book on who was most likely to meet, let alone top, Davin's score last camp with the nurses. Rory, Soupe and Jimmy had their money on Miles Harrigan, the vice-captain. Miles would've had money on himself too. Someone said Miles couldn't get it up, so Soupe changed to Tonelli. Tonelli bet on Marcus, and Wiseman bet on me.

  'Come on,' Rory kept elbowing me. 'You got to place a bet.'

  'How would I know?'

  These were the times I felt on the outer: a history I didn't have, names I didn't know.

  'Come on, Brennan,' Tonelli called. 'You can't be a tight-arse.'

  'Put a bet on me.' Wiseman stood up and beat his chest. 'I'm up to the challenge.'

  'That's like burning money.' That much I knew. 'He'd bloody suffocate them.'

  'Hey, Tonelli?' Harrigan shouted. 'Is Davin still rooting Tulake?'

  My antennae switched on. Ever since dinner I'd been tuned into two words – Chrissy and Tulake.

  'Eh?' Tonelli shouted back.

  'Is Tulake and Davin still on?'

  'You're in luck, Miles,' Tonelli answered. 'She dumped him on the weekend.'

  'Go, Miles,' Wiseman hollered. 'Go, son.'

  I felt my guts turn, but this time it was good.

  Dad was waiting for us.

  'Hey, Mr Brennan,' all the boys greeted him as they loaded off the bus.

  'Welcome, fellas,' Dad kept saying.

  'Okay!' Harvey called. 'Gather round. This is the deal: four rooms of four and one room of three. Got it?'

  Everyone nodded and started shuffling into groups.

  'Not so fast,' Harvey said. 'This is a footy camp, not a social event. The idea is we get to know one another, understand the concept of a team and . . .'

  As Harvey rattled on, I realised this was what I'd been dreading, all that crap. It had been the same crap talk at St John's footy camps, but somehow it was different, I knew those guys inside out. We'd thrived on the bond we'd built. That's what made us winners.

  Bennie's just wasn't the same. Everyone got along, and there was no one person you'd call an arsehole, and they had team unity – you couldn't deny them that. But what they didn't have was technique, and that's what put them on the outer next to teams like St John's that could play the game in their sleep.

  I looked at Dad, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

  I got the draw with Tonelli, Marcus and Jimmy, and lost the toss on the top bunk.

  'Was it the same at St John's?' Tonelli asked me as we were unpacking. 'Team unity, all that crap?'

  'Sort of,' I answered.

  'We're playing St John's at the end of July,' Marcus told us.

  'Yeah?' I swallowed. That was going to be a hard one.

  'We're only playing them once,' he added quickly. 'They're in a different draw to us.'

  'You seen them play this year?' Tonelli asked.

  'No,' I grunted.

  I caught Marcus glaring at him.

  'Oh, yeah,' Tonelli said. 'Just thought you might know what their form was like.'

  'No.'

  'Who's their captain?'

  'Matt O'Rourke,' I answered.

  'What's he like?'

  'He's my best mate.' I sat there, unravelling and re-ravelling my St John's socks. Now I wasn't sure why I'd brought them. Were they my badge of honour? I shoved them back in my bag.

  'Your old man's a good guy. Knows his stuff.'

  'Well, I'm going out for a ciggie,' he said. 'I know they'll pull that amnesty caper on us tonight.'

  Anthony Tonelli was right: after dinner Harvey made the announcement.

  'Oka
y, boys. This is a week to get fit and concentrate on your football. Everything else goes out the window. Right? So you've all just wasted your money on that little book I heard about.'

  Chuckles and grunts and, 'Sir,' echoed in the dining room.

  'I'm going to hang a bag on the door and you know the drill. Cigarettes, alcohol . . .'

  'What about syringes?' Miles Harrigan yelled.

  'Yeah, funny,' Harvey said. 'Syringes and tourniquets too, please, boys. This is your chance to be anonymous. If I find you're up to stuff after this amnesty, you'll be dealt with according to school regulations. Anyone not understand?'

  The morning routine was standard: up early for a run, brekkie, two hours of training, an hour of gym work, lunch. Then it was an afternoon's worth of bonding – canoeing, orienteering in teams of four, and whatever other dickhead activity you could imagine. The nights were a mix of games and footy videos, mostly of Bennie's getting flogged, which got me wondering what kind of a bullshit camp we were on.

  For a start, what's the point of having a footy camp when the season's almost half over? These blokes needed this stuff weeks if not years ago.

  St John's camp was a hard slog and at the beginning of the season. Dad used to get a city coach in, a real pro, and he'd work us ragged. But that's what we expected: camp was to get us into gear to win, to hang on to that Wattle Shield. That's what Mumbilli expected. We weren't there to have fluffy getting-to-know-you trust games. All that was a given.

  By Wednesday I had the shits with the whole caper, and there was still Thursday and Friday to go.

  I felt like saying to the old man and Harvey, 'There's no point to this. Why don't we get back on the bus and go home?'

  Dad sussed me out. After lunch he came up to me.

  'Tom, I want a word.' I followed him to the porch outside.

  'What's the problem, son?' he asked. 'You don't seem to be into it. It's showing, too.'

  'Come on, Dad,' I moaned. 'The 16As would be better than this lot. I mean, they're all good guys, but . . .'

  'But what?'

  'Dad, get real.'

  'I thought you were a member of this team?'

  'What sort of a question is that?'

  'I thought you'd know by now what sort of a question that is.'

  'Dad?'

  'Did I push you too hard?' He placed his head against the railings of the porch. 'Was that it? Did I bend to Mumbilli's obsession with retaining the Wattle Shield at all costs?'