Boyz 'R' Us

by Scott Monk

  ‘Mitch?’

  ‘Yer, why not? It’ll only be pulled down if no one uses it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Elias said. ‘You guys stay here and we’ll be back soon with some tools and some wood. Got that?’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said to Elias.

  The Tower was our gift to them. We wanted to let them be kids for just that bit longer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was 10:58 when I returned home. Elias and I had worked until nine o’clock to rebuild The Tower. Our muscles were aching and our fingers pricked with splinters. Fixing the hide-out had been harder than we expected. But we stuck to it, freezing in the cold wind and hammering under the glow of a lantern. We reasoned if we didn’t finish tonight, the idea would lose its appeal by the morning and The Tower remain half-built forever.

  I’d stopped by Elias’s place first on my way home after he invited me inside for a quick bite. The last thing we’d eaten that day was lunch. Needless to say, his parents went ballistic when we walked through the front door. Mr and Mrs Batrouney nagged their son about how they were worried he’d been kidnapped by everything from muggers to aliens conducting medical experiments. Elias said that was ridiculous. Elias’s parents said he was grounded. I guess behind the scenes even the Batrouneys feuded. After that I got the polite boot out the door. What would the neighbours think if they saw me socialising with their son?

  Whatever, I never got my promised cornbeef sandwich and warm drink, and started for home after ditching the BMX in their garage.

  Walking along Wardell Road in the rain, I bumped into a chick from Marrickville Girls High waiting for her boyfriend. I stuck around, chatting her up in the shelter of a bus stop, until we both realised he was a no-show. We got on pretty well but she wasn’t my kind of chick. Too skinny and full of herself. A drama queen all the way. I screwed up her telephone number and threw it in the next bin I came across. If we saw each other again and she asked why I never called I’d say the number got destroyed in the wash. Hey, dating a chick just because she had the hots for me wasn’t my style. The attraction had to be both ways. And this end was cold.

  So at 10:59, after double-checking the old man’s bedroom light was off, I gingerly unlocked the front door and climbed up our unit’s stairs into the darkness. Usually, no one cared where I’d been all night. As long as I didn’t make a sound everything would be okay.

  Then again I might be wrong.

  A sinister chuckle echoed through the dark lounge room.

  ‘So,’ the voice began after a click of the lightswitch, ‘you’ve decided to come home.’

  ‘Dad?’ I swallowed. ‘I didn’t think you’d be—’

  ‘Save it,’ he growled, taking two steps forward. One hand slipped from leaning on the archway to his belt, while the other held a beer. ‘You were grounded for two weeks without conditions, remember?’

  ‘But all I did —’

  ‘I said save it.’

  Keeping his eyes on me, he gulped down a mouthful of beer then licked his lips. ‘I don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing. You disobeyed my orders. I pay the rent, so as long as you live in this house you’ll live by my rules.’

  ‘But that isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything to be grounded. The cops said I was innocent.’

  ‘Innocent? You’re never innocent. The cops are just too stupid to lock you away. I wish they would, to save me from picking you up from that police station all the time.’

  ‘I’m innocent!’

  ‘And I said save it! What are you? Deaf? Do you know what time it is, boy? Eleven o’clock. Eleven o’clock and not a single phone call to say you’ll be late or where you are. What do you think this is? A motel? They might let you run in and out of school all day while those teachers of yours are having tea parties, but not in this house. When I say you’re grounded — you’re grounded. You stay in your room until I call you out for dinner and not before. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?’

  Disgusted, I just threw my wet jacket down and tried to walk to my room.

  ‘Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere, sonny boy. Don’t you even think of being disrespectful to your old man. When I ask you a question I want an answer. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Don’t shout at me! Now I’ll ask you again. Yes what?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘I said don’t you shout at me! You’re not too old to be belted, kiddo.’

  Our bedroom light blinked on and Sean appeared at the doorway, scratching his chest with one hand and wiping the sleep from his eyes with the other. Allison’s door peeped open behind him and two green eyes stared out.

  ‘What’s all the racket out here?’ he asked through a yawn.

  ‘Get back to bed!’ Dad snapped.

  That was all it took to wake Sean.

  ‘Hey, don’t you talk to my brother like that!’ I shouted.

  Dad’s eyes exploded. ‘What did you say, young man?’

  ‘I said don’t you talk to my brother like that, you fat wino!’

  His jaw dropped.

  ‘You heard me! You fat, ugly wino, don’t you ever dare talk to my brother like that again. And don’t you talk to me like that either. I’m sick of your rules. I’m sick of your beer. And I’m sick of you!’

  Dad’s fingers tugged at his belt buckle. ‘You little, foul-mouthed punk. You’re out of here, boyo! There’s the door! Pack your bags and get out of this house now!’

  ‘All right! You’ve finally said something that makes sense! I can get your fat face out of my life!’

  I pushed Dad out of the way and stormed down the corridor, but Sean barred me from entering our room. ‘Mitch. C’mon, man. It’s the grog talking. It’ll all be forgotten in the morning.’

  ‘Oh no it won’t,’ Dad yelled back.

  ‘Oh no it won’t,’ I repeated for Sean’s benefit.

  I shouldered my brother out of the way, grabbed a bag and threw everything I needed into it — socks, undies, shirts, pants, shoes, cap and money. Sean tried to stop me but I did something to defend myself I never thought possible — I hit him. ‘Mitch,’ he coughed.

  I thought about dropping everything and helping him. But I left him curled on the ground.

  In the lounge room once again, Dad spun on me. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.’ I ignored him and zig-zagged past to grab my jacket. Allison started bawling.

  ‘Listen to me when I’m talking to you. Do you hear me? I said listen to me when I’m talking to you!’

  I turned around one more time to see Sean staggering out into the hallway. Dad’s shouting lost itself in the loudness of my heartbeat. I reached for the door handle when — CRACK! — fire struck my hand. Dad’s belt fell to the ground and snaked back to his feet for a second strike.

  ‘If you step out that door don’t you ever — ever! — come back. And I mean it, young man. This is your final chance.’

  ‘Get out of my life!’ I spat, slinging the bag over my shoulder with the good hand.

  Dad shattered his beer bottle against the door and brought the belt down on me once, twice and a third time. Pain crisscrossed every nerve and set my back on fire. It was as if he was trying to whip me back into the kennel. I got up, grabbed the belt, ripped it out of his hands and threw it at the TV.

  ‘Just remember, “Dad”,’ I said as he stood there dumbfounded, ‘I’m coming back for Allison.’

  Then our eyes locked and an unspoken agreement was reached. I was no longer Allan Jarrett’s son, and he my father. After all these years believing he would sober up and straighten out his life, I gave up. If he didn’t want to help himself, I wasn’t going to watch him die.

  So I left.

  Leaving Sean and Allison scared me the most. Could they survive without me? I loved them so much. We were a gang. We stuck by each other. Our father had destroyed that, but only physically. He could never break us emotionally even if we were a million
kilometres apart.

  I didn’t know where to go or who to stay with. The sudden decision to leave had stopped me from thinking that part through. But as long as it was far away from that alcoholic I’d be happy. Even if it meant slumming it down by the Walsh Bay piers for a couple of months.

  The stairs creaked. ‘You’re not going anywhere!’ my father yelled, coming down after me. ‘Get back here! I’m not finished with you!’

  He caught me by surprise and grabbed me before I reached the bottom. His belt whipped my legs and I screamed.

  ‘Get up the stairs now!’

  Allan Jarrett raised the belt again and arced it over his shoulder. I flinched, but it never came. Sean leapt from the top step and crash-tackled him. The three of us tumbled to the ground and ended up a mess of arms and legs. Allan tried to stand first, but Sean grabbed him in a bearhug and stopped another attack. I nodded to my brother in silent thanks, unable to say I was sorry for getting him involved. He offered a weak smile and told me with his eyes to get out of here.

  And I was gone.

  I had nowhere to stay. My casual job as a lazy unemployed kid and the casual salary that went with it put motel rooms completely out of my price range. The Thunderjets wouldn’t have me even if I was still on speaking terms. The Oath banned the gang hanging with traitors. I had no friends outside the Thunderjets, so who’d put me up for the night? Even Sarah-Jane wouldn’t help me after the way I’d treated her at the arcade.

  A row of sad streetlights glowed white near Beaman Park and I saw The Tower.

  Quickly, I ran towards it, the rain washing away my anger. Fumbling in the dark for the lantern we’d left behind, I lit it with my lighter. An orange flame flickered and burned harshly as my eyes blinked at the light. Water dripped through a hole in a corner of The Tower as the sky poured down, but the rest of it stayed dry. I balled up in the opposite corner and rocked myself, feeling for the first time the true pain of the whipping as the adrenalin faded away.

  Why did these things always happen? Sean promised to protect me. Then why did Dad hit me again? I should be in bed by now dreaming of cruising the Australian outback in a Corvette. And the girl I’d one day marry. The kids I’d parent and never let the same thing happen to. Then why was I here, feeling bad?

  Who was I?

  What was I to do now? Quit? Go on? Forget it and try to make up with Dad? Did I do the right thing? Or the wrong thing? Was it pride that made me run away? Or fear? Why did I hit Sean? I loved him.

  Who was I?

  Why was I here? What was my purpose in life? Was I supposed to change the world? Change somebody’s life? Save myself? What did the future hold? A family? A wife? Children? A job? Friends? Loneliness? Good times?

  Who was I?

  Would Sean ever forgive me? Would I ever forgive myself? Would Allison ever look up to me? Would my father give up the bottle and welcome me back? Why weren’t parents perfect? Why was my mother dead? Why did people have to die? Why were people left behind to ask why?

  Who was I?

  A lost boy. A learning man. A loner. A loving brother. A hurt son. A dreamer.

  That’s who I was.

  ‘Sean, he’s up here.’ The voice was distant. At first I thought the rain whispered it. Then I heard footfalls and a second voice call out my name.

  ‘Sean?’ I asked, staring into the darkness outside.

  ‘Yer, little brother. It’s me and Elias. Are you okay?’ His voice seemed relieved.

  ‘I’d be lying if I said yes.’

  ‘Can we come up?’

  I said they could and Elias and Sean squeezed into the first storey of The Tower. Sean crawled over and put his arm around me. ‘Hey, Mitch, don’t cry.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered, nursing my head in his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry Sean for hitting you. For running out. Dad hurt me, Sean. He hurt me.’

  ‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘C’mon, let it all just cry out. You’ll feel a whole lot better.’

  Feeling embarrassed and left out, Elias took the stairs to the second storey and hid until the appropriate time to return.

  I felt strong in Sean’s hug. Every bad thing that happened recently in my life — the stabbing, fight, police trouble, Trolley Man, being kicked out of home — drained out of me and disappeared with the rain. Sean was here. That was what I cared about. So we sat there, together, hugging and forgetting about everything but being kids.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sydney was a big city. But any small drama and everybody knew about it. It seemed like everyone in Marrickville was out watching and judging our drama tonight. They couldn’t help it. The police siren and flashing red and blue lights kept everybody awake.

  Allan was out in the front yard answering questions for the cops and Allison was resisting a female constable’s offer of a cup of hot chocolate. One of the neighbours had phoned in a suspected murder next door. With all the smashing and screaming that echoed from our place I was surprised the whole street didn’t ring the police.

  Grateful the rain had stopped, Sean, Elias and I stood back watching the scene from the safety of the crowd, unsure whether we should approach or not.

  ‘Sean!’ Allison called out, spotting us. She shouldered off the constable’s concerned hand and ran into my brother’s arms.

  ‘Hey, Ally,’ he said. ‘Have the police been looking after you?’

  ‘No,’ she said and buried her head in his chest.

  ‘They won’t hurt you. They’re here to help.’

  I grunted. Most cops — yer. A small number — no way. They were pit bulls with badges.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said the female constable, walking towards us. ‘Are you the Jarrett brothers who live here?’

  ‘Yes. I’m Sean and this is Mitchell.’

  ‘Hi,’ I mumbled.

  ‘So you’re Mitchell. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about your father.’

  ‘He beat me up. Are you gonna arrest him?’

  ‘So he did assault you?’

  ‘Yer. I just said that.’

  She wrote it down in her notepad.

  ‘Whereabouts did he hit you?’

  ‘On my back, arms and hands. Here, look.’ I showed her the red marks burnt into my skin. ‘With a belt. He wouldn’t stop. Sean can vouch for it.’

  The constable turned to Sean. ‘Is this true?’

  He looked past the constable and at his father. ‘Yes. But he was drunk, constable. He’s not like that when he’s sober.’

  ‘Has he beaten Mitch, Allison or yourself before?’

  ‘No,’ Sean lied.

  The cop picked the deceit. ‘Are you sure? Don’t protect him if he has. Most victims are hit for a long time before they tell the police. Some of those marks on Mitchell’s arm are older than just an hour. If you want us to do something about the beatings we can. But we need your cooperation.’

  ‘What will happen to Dad if we say he beat Mitch?’

  ‘We’ll charge him with assault, question him regarding the charge, then deal with the issue of Mitchell and Allison’s welfare.’

  ‘Can’t they be put in my custody? I turned eighteen in July. Doesn’t that make me their guardian or something?’

  ‘Sean, let me be honest with you. The court will hand Mitchell and Allison over to a suitable guardian, probably an aunt or —’

  ‘Suitable guardian? I’ve looked after these two since they were born. I can handle it.’

  ‘And where’s the money going to come from, Sean? You look like a bright kid, what, in your final year of high school? Don’t you want to go to university or TAFE? Help your chances of finding a job? Looking after two siblings will be equivalent to a full-time job. And earning enough money to feed, clothe and educate you all won’t leave you enough time to sit the HSC or university exams, let alone study for them.’

  ‘So it’s a catch-22 situation?’

  ‘Fraid so. The best thing you can do for Mitchell and Allison is to put them in the custody of a relative. They’ll be safe
there and in a supportive environment.’

  ‘Mummy can look after us,’ Allison suggested.

  ‘You have a mother?’ the constable asked, a new option available to her.

  ‘Allison, can you go and get a jumper from inside? It’s a bit cold outside for you.’

  ‘You didn’t say the magic “P” word,’ she yawned.

  ‘Please,’ Sean added.

  ‘Okay.’

  She plodded off to get a jumper.

  ‘Our mother died a few years back,’ I said, lighting a cigarette. After what I’d been through, a few thumps from Sean over a smoke would seem like a tickle.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t know.’ The constable seemed unmoved. She’d probably carried out dozens of death-knocks telling parents their kid had died in a car-crash or suicide. A natural death was nothing compared to the horror she’d seen. Maybe even comforting.

  ‘Yer, and Allison doesn’t know. Death is-is —’

  ‘— incomprehensible to a five-year-old,’ Sean finished for me. ‘She still waits for Mum to come home each night.’

  The constable closed her notepad. ‘That’s not advisable, guys. You have to tell your sister the truth soon. Kids suffer psychological damage later in life because of things like this. She might keep on denying your mother’s death until her early teens. By then it could be too late to help her.’

  She could stop the lecture. We already knew that. All that was stopping us from telling Allison was the right time.

  ‘So,’ Sean breathed, changing the subject. ‘What do you want us to do, constable?’

  ‘I can’t make you or Mitchell do anything. It’s your decision. As an officer of the law I suggest you get a restraining order against your father until he’s a fit guardian again.’

  ‘And when will that be?’

  ‘When he’s undergone counselling and a rehabilitation programme. By that time, and if everything works out between the four of you, you can return to your father’s custody. But, until then, it’s best for you to stay clear of him. They’ll use reuniting you as a family to encourage him to get off the alcohol.’