Confessions of a Liar, Thief and Failed Sex God

by Bill Condon

  The two of us are so different. Mum can hug and cry easily with people who are strangers. Not me. I feel a lot of things about Zom tonight but I don't let any of them out.

  Two cops arrive. They hang around in corners like unwanted pot plants, keeping their distance from Zom's family. One catches a nurse's attention as she goes by. They exchange whispers before he shows her the name written in his notebook. She nods and I hear the word 'critical'. They leave without speaking to anyone else. I'm sure they'll come back but I'm not worried about Zom getting into trouble over the stolen car. He's got bigger problems than that.

  Shortly after they leave a doctor walks in to see us.

  'Zeeba?' she asks. 'The Zeeba family?'

  'Yes.'

  I hold my breath. I think we all do.

  She goes into a huddle with Zom's mum at first, but realising her English is a problem she says it out loud, to all of us.

  'Raymond was falling in and out of consciousness at the accident scene but he's stabilised now and his vital signs are positive.'

  Some cry and others smile. Mum closes her eyes and mutters something under her breath – I know she's thanking God.

  Before anyone can get too excited, the doctor continues. I hone in on the key words – concussion, internal bleeding, not out of danger yet.

  She gives a tight-lipped smile that seems to say, Don't get your hopes up. 'I'll let you know as soon as I can about any changes to his condition.' Then there's a slight bob of her head, and she strides away.

  54

  It's a steaming night. We're all wiping away sweat. Zom's mum fans her face with a magazine. Used paper water cups pile up in the bin. Every time the door of the operating room opens we peer in trying to see Zom. Beyond the doctors and nurses, all I glimpse are machines and tubes. Patients and beds are a blur of white. The door closes too quickly.

  It's close to ten when Sylvie arrives.

  'Sylvana!'

  Her mother rushes to her with arms wide. Relatives flock around to bring her up to date with news about Zom. She has a hug for every one of them. I stay well back with Mum and Dad.

  Seeing her there has me spinning. I've got this great jumble of thoughts and feelings. We made love. I want to hold her. But how does she feel about me? I can't let my parents know about her. She mightn't want anyone to know about me. And what about Zom? How can I think about me when he's –

  'Neil.'

  Sylvie sees me and as soon as she can, she breaks away from the pack, comes over and kisses me on the cheek. It's just an ordinary kiss hello.

  'Your brother's in our prayers,' Mum says.

  'We're very sorry,' mutters Dad.

  Sylvie whispers to me, 'Let's go outside, where it's quiet.'

  We walk out to the machine in the foyer. I buy her a coffee and we sit on green plastic chairs. The room is empty apart from us.

  She gets straight down to it.

  'Do you know how this happened, Neil?'

  I pause too long. I'm not such a good liar that I can do it instantly. She notices and goes after me.

  'When I rang you this morning I told you I was worried about Ray, didn't I?'

  'That's right – and I went to see him as soon as I hung up the phone.'

  'Then what happened?'

  I tell her the bits and pieces that I think are safe, but I hate it because every question chases me further down a dead end. I can only stall and dodge so long. Eventually I'll get to the part where I have to admit that I helped her brother steal the car that he crashed.

  And then it's over for me and Sylvie. If I tell the truth, it's over.

  'I don't understand, Neil. You say you were with Ray from early in the morning.'

  'From after you rang, yeah. We saw a movie.'

  'I don't care about the movie. If you were with him all day you must have some idea what he was doing in a stolen car just after he left you. You must.'

  'Sylvie, I wasn't there when it crashed. I didn't know anything about that until I saw it on the TV news.'

  'All right! You weren't there – but before that, when you were there – did he talk about it? Did he say anything at all that made you suspect he might steal a car?'

  'Um – I don't think so.'

  'You don't think so? ... Christ!'

  She gets set to backhand the cup of hot coffee – doesn't do it – does it. The cup flies across the room and coffee sprays in all directions.

  'This isn't a little boy's game, Neil! My brother is lying on an operating table in there. He might not survive. Tell me what you know and don't stuff me around!'

  'I tried all day to talk him out of it – he wouldn't listen to me.'

  'Talk him out of what? Stealing the car?'

  I've reached that dead end now. There's nowhere else to run.

  'There's more to it than that, Sylvie.'

  'Then tell me. I want to know everything there is to know.'

  Not many people get the truth out of me these days – I think I've almost forgotten how to tell it – but Sylvie deserves at least that much from me. One piece on its own doesn't add up so I give her the bright shining truth, right back to where it all began, with the wallet – when I stole it, alone.

  She listens, shaking her head, eyes closed. When it's finally done she stands and walks back towards the waiting room without a word to me.

  'Sylvie, I'm sorry.' I don't try to stop her because I know she doesn't want me near her. 'I didn't mean any of this. Ray really is my friend.'

  'No, you're not his friend.' She doesn't stop walking. 'It's because of you that he's here. Just go.'

  Sylvie opens the door, steps in, and slams it behind her.

  55

  I'm sitting in the gutter when Mum and Dad come out.

  'What did you say to that poor girl?' demands Mum. 'She's very upset in there.'

  I'm not going to explain another thing for as long as I live.

  'It's personal.' That's all I say.

  Mum splutters and squawks but Dad takes my side.

  'Ease up, Margaret,' he says, 'the lad's upset, too. We'll work it out when we get home. He's a good kid, you know that. Anyway, this isn't the time to argue. Let's just be glad we've got our boy in one piece. Not everyone can say that tonight.'

  'Yes.' She kisses Dad on the forehead. 'You're quite right.' She turns to me, back to being my kind mum. 'Sylvie said she doesn't want you inside – for whatever reason. I'll give you the keys and you can wait for us in the car.'

  'I'll be out here too,' Dad says.

  'Thanks,' I tell him, 'but I don't need you to babysit me.'

  'Who said I was doing it for you? I'm just glad to get out of that joint.' He takes the keys from Mum. 'Hospitals give me the heebie-jeebies.'

  Dad tries to get me talking.

  'I think your mate will be all right. They can work wonders, those doctors.'

  The words tumble down a deep hole and there's no echo.

  He waits a while and then he has another crack at it.

  'That Sylvie seems a good style of a lass – I didn't even know you and her were friends.'

  I don't answer that one either but it doesn't put him off.

  'Now I don't know what the story is between you two – you'll tell me when you're ready – but it takes me back to me young days, this kind of situation. I've had many a night like this with your mother. Before we got married. Yeah. I know what it feels like. We'd have a blue over somethin' – nearly always my fault – and she'd get on her high horse, call me for everything and then she'd storm off. There were times there when I thought I'd never live through it... but you do, matey, you do.'

  'Dad, I don't want to talk about Sylvie. Okay? I don't want to talk about anything.'

  'Fair enough.'

  I don't think he has any idea how I feel. Even I don't know. I suppose I'll start feeling it more tomorrow, but tonight I'm just a block of wood with tears.

  We sit in the darkness, me and my dad, the windows open in the hope of trapping any breeze tha
t floats by. None does. And then a taxi pulls up behind us. An old bloke bustles out – he's short and strong – and I know him from somewhere. He sees me and comes over, leans into the window.

  'I look for Emergency. You know where I find?'

  'Sure.' I get out of the car. Telling him directions isn't going to work. Too complicated. 'I'll show you,' I say. 'This way.'

  I take him up in the lift and through to the blue doors. 'It's in there.'

  'Thank you, my friend.' He gives me a tired smile. 'I go see my son. He very sick boy. My Raymond.'

  56

  'I always knew you'd make it, Zom. You can't kill a zombie – right?'

  'Looks that way, Neil.' His face is still bandaged but I can see the smile in his eyes.

  It's a week since the crash. First time I've been allowed in to see him. There's so much to say ...

  'I had to tell Sylvie what happened. I couldn't lie anymore. She knows everything, Zom.'

  'It's all right. We've talked about it. I think she understands what I did.'

  'What about what I did? Does she understand that?'

  'Can't say, Neil. She didn't want to talk about you.'

  I shrug as if it doesn't mean a thing. It does.

  'Cheer up,' Zom says. 'Everything is good now.'

  'You think so? What about the police and the stolen car?'

  'I'll worry about that later. Whatever the price, I'll pay it. The main thing is that getting smashed up brought me and my father together again. He came to the hospital. He said I can come home, Neil... I didn't think that was possible.'

  I know that in his own quiet way Zom's jumping up and down. It's all on the inside, but it's just as real.

  'That's great. It really is. I know how much it means to you.'

  'Thanks, Neil.'

  'Zom, there's one thing I'm desperate to find out – you know what it is.'

  A nurse puts her head around the door.

  'I'll have to ask you to leave in five minutes. Doctor needs to do some more tests.'

  'Not a problem,' I tell her. 'This bloke's boring me anyway.'

  He waits for her to walk away ...

  'You want to know what happened that night?'

  'Of course I do. I'm dying to know. Did you just go too fast and lose it before you could get him? Or did you change your mind at the last second and swerve away?'

  'I've thought about it a lot, Neil. I remember being in the car and seeing Brother Michael walk onto the road – but then there's nothing.'

  'What do you mean, nothing?'

  'It's gone. I've forgotten it all. I saw Brother Michael in front of me, and my next memory is waking up in the hospital.'

  'Jeez ... and now Mick's a hero for saving you.'

  'It looks that way.'

  'Do you still want to run him down?'

  'Part of me does. Like I said to you before, I think he's evil. But he saved my life – that changes things. And I've got my father back ... that's all I ever wanted.'

  The nurse appears at the doorway. She gives me a look that says 'Time's up'.

  'Gotta go, Zom. I'll come back to see you again.'

  He doesn't answer because he's staring out the window at a car that's just driven into the parking lot below.

  Sylvie's here.

  57

  She's coming up the steps, I'm going down ...

  I thought about hiding in the toilets until she'd gone past, but I have to see her – even if turns out to be the last time.

  We stop as we draw level.

  'How are you, Neil?'

  'Good. I'm good. Just saw Ray. Looks like he's doing okay now. It took a while.'

  'I'm glad I ran into you. Talk with me a minute?'

  'Okay.'

  I sit next to her in the middle of the stairway.

  Most people I know are slow starters when the hard stuff has to be said. Sylvie's like that now. When she sighs I want to put my arm around her. I think maybe she wants that, too. We could do this without any words. One look from her and I'd know everything was going to be all right. Instead I get a smile – not the toothpaste-ad kind – this is the one smile I don't want. I know it means goodbye.

  'Give me your hand,' she says. 'I'll tell your future.'

  'I don't want to know it.'

  She takes my hand anyway.

  The Brothers tell us that the big M everyone has on their palm is supposed to stand for Mary, the mother of God. Sylvie traces a finger up and down the letter and now the M becomes my future.

  'You're going to find a really nice girl,' she says. 'A much better person than me.'

  'I don't want anyone else.'

  'You'll fall in love with her and she'll love you just as much. And one day –'

  'Sylvie, I promise I'll never lie to you again. I'd do anything to make it up to you.'

  'This isn't about that, Neil.'

  She pauses so that the next words aren't cluttered up with the ones that went before. Her face tells me that the next words are going to be the important ones.

  'I don't regret what we did,' she says. 'It will always be special. And so will you. But I love someone else.'

  58

  It's only two weeks later when Rose marches down the aisle with her dad, their arms laced together. Mrs Smith, the church organist, pumps out the music, all posh and royal-sounding. That suits because Rose looks like a princess.

  I'm beside Kevin at the altar. He made me his best man. I wasn't too keen to do it because I thought everyone would be gawking at me – now I know that was wrong. Kevin is much more interesting to gawk at than me. He's got so many butterflies he's about to take off. If he had to ride his bike blindfolded off the Harbour Bridge he couldn't be more nervous than he already is. I'm loving it.

  Mum stands in the front row, crying her heart out. Dad hangs onto her hand and pulls faces – he calls it smiling – to cheer her up. But I know it's not necessary. Mum's crying because she's happy.

  Probably all families are weird. Mine's just better at it than most.

  The music groans to a halt as Rose reaches the altar. In the moment I have to spare I look out at the church hoping to see Sylvie's face.

  Father Collins begins the service.

  'In the name of the Father and of the Son ...'

  I'm glad they got him instead of O'Brian. It makes a difference when a priest actually likes people.

  When he gets down towards the end of the service and asks if anyone has reasons why the marriage shouldn't go ahead, he glances at the back doors as though he expects hordes of people to teem in with their protests. He gets some smiles.

  'And do you, Kevin John ...'

  He does. She does.

  Forty-five minutes, it takes.

  Married.

  And by then I know for sure, Sylvie's not here.

  We go back to the scout hall for the reception. Soon out comes the food and the drinks, but I hardly touch any of it because I'm too nervous. The best man has to make a speech. It'll be the first one I've ever made and I'm heart-attack material.

  Soon I'm up there trembling and raving on, and everyone's bored out of their brains. They yawn through the serious parts, and no one gets my jokes. Mum laughs to try to save me but everyone knows she's just being kind. I'm dying big time. Any sensible person would wrap it up and finish. No one's ever accused me of being sensible, so I keep going – but I stop reading from my notes, and when that happens, I stop trembling.

  I tell them about Kevin's smelly footy socks that pong the whole house out – 'Did you know about them, Rose?' – and how he snores with his mouth open, and how once the snores were so loud I put one of his socks in his mouth and the smell almost killed him. I end up with a story that Mum told me. When he was seven or eight Kevin saw a photo of an octopus. 'Mum, Mum,' he says. 'I know about octopuses – they have eight testicles!'

  When the speech is over I get a huge laugh from everybody, except Kevin. Strange that. The applause belts around the scout hall like rain on the roof. I feel l
ike I'm a superhero, with jokes.

  'Get you later,' Kevin says as I walk past, but he's clapping too, and smiling, just a bit.

  For the first time Dad breaks his habit of one homebrew a week. He's downed four or five when he gets up to make his speech. Mum doesn't look real pleased.

  'Ladies and Gentlemen ...'

  Good start.

  '... we are gathered here today ...'

  Struth, they've already been married – you're too late for that one, Dad.

  '... to wish Rose and Kevin a wonderful life ... Kev, mate, if she turns out to be even half as good as the old girl – your mum – then you've done well. And Rose, luv, all I want to say is good luck, God bless – and thank you for taking him off our hands. I was starting to think we'd never get rid of the bugger!'

  Mum helps him off the stage as everyone applauds. Dad's grinning away, and smiling more than I've ever seen him. There's only one way to describe him tonight – merry.

  Whitey Taylor, a mate of Dad's, has brought along a stack of records. He's got the stereo all hooked up and set to go and soon The Monkees are belting out 'Daydream Believer'. Mum bounces up to him, waving her hands like a traffic cop on red cordial. After copping a blast Whitey reluctantly turns it off and instead plays an old-fashioned slow waltz record – the kind people dance to on the night they get married.

  I turn all but a couple of lights out and we form a circle as Kevin takes Rose's hand. He's a hopeless dancer but Rose hangs on tight and glides him around the floor and loves him.

  In the middle of everyone going 'Ooh, ahh – aren't they sweet', I think of Sylvie ...

  59

  The weeks whittle down to the end of the year and then I'm standing in line at Assembly and it's my last day of school.

  'Just because you are not in your uniforms, don't think you can run around doing as you please during the holidays,' Mick lectures. 'There are standards to maintain. Whatever you do, wherever you go in life, you carry the honour of this school with you, and you will uphold that honour, always!'