The Story of Tom Brennan (10 page)

Matt and his old girl were there too.

'Come on,' Dad said, steering me through the courtroom. 'Let's get inside.' I could feel his hand trembling on my jacket.

Brendan looked like he was virtually holding Mum up – probably because he was. Kylie followed in silence.

It doesn't matter what was said in the court that day. It didn't affect the outcome. Judge Williams mumbled about the probation report and the psychiatric assessment that documented Daniel had most likely been depressed before the accident. The fact that Daniel had written letters to the victims' families, attended alcohol and anger management counselling, and had maintained communication with his aunt and cousin who was now a quadraplegic, were all seen as positive progress and an expression of deep remorse. He noted the character references were excellent and he could see Daniel came from a loving family.

'However,' he said, louder this time, 'I tread carefully in showing leniency for good character, for fear of misguiding the community, as you were a provisional driver.' His voice grew stronger with each word. 'Unfortunately I have no alternative but to impose a custodial sentence. You ran from the car. Two young lives have been lost and a young man's life irreparably damaged. I have taken into account no previous convictions, and the probation and parole reports show you have good cause for rehabilitation, but we must remember this is a serious offence.' He paused. 'Daniel Brennan, you have been an active member in your community and school, especially in the sports you played. Being a team player, you should have known better. You should have been aware and responsible for those you offered to drive home the night of August 27th. The furious driving you undertook that night suggests to me an unrestrained anger and a highly irresponsible and selfish attitude. Your behaviour directly led to this tragedy. This is something you will have to live with for the rest of your life.

'Therefore, under Section 52a Driving in a Manner Causing Grievous Bodily Harm, I sentence you, Daniel John Brennan, to one year's imprisonment. In the subsequent two charges of Driving in a Dangerous Manner Causing Death under Section 52a, I sentence you, Daniel John Brennan, to two years' imprisonment on each account.'

Cries of 'unfair' and 'a life for a life' echoed as Daniel stood there shaking.

'Silence,' said the judge. 'I therefore sentence you to a total period of five years with a non-parole period of three years.'

Bang went the hammer.

'Take the prisoner away.'

Dad woke me early on Saturday morning. He'd cooked a big brekkie of bacon, eggs and fried potatoes. Finally I was going with Brendan to visit Daniel. I hadn't seen Daniel since the fortnight before we fled the Billi, and that was six weeks ago. I missed him badly.

'Aren't you going to eat your potatoes?' Dad asked.

I was still struggling with the bacon.

Mum shuffled into the kitchen and sat down next to me. I put my knife and fork down.

'Want a cuppa, Tess?' asked Dad.

'Thanks love.' She turned her chair to me, putting a hand on my arm. Her palm felt rubbery as it ran up and down my skin. 'He'll be so pleased to see you,' she said. 'He really will.'

I had to lean away. Her breath stank.

She kept talking. 'Please tell him lots of happy things. He needs to hear that stuff.'

I was staring at her teeth. They looked yellow and slimy.

'Tell him how you got into the firsts and what the . . .'

'You knew I got in the firsts?' I blurted. I couldn't help it.

'Well,' she glanced up at Dad. 'Your father told me, of course.'

I nodded. My neck felt tight.

'Sorry.' Her hand moved to the table. She scratched her wrist up and down the edge of the timber. 'Didn't . . . didn't I say something to you . . . about it?'

I shook my head. 'I don't care. It's no big deal,' I muttered.

Mum looked at Dad again. He shrugged.

'Well, I just assumed you'd get in. Michael Harvey thinks you're the best player around.' Mum started to stroke my arm faster and faster. 'He said that, didn't he, Joe? And didn't I say Tommy was a sure thing? I said that to you, Joe, didn't I?'

Dad nodded. Brendan drank his tea quietly.

'Anyway, tell Daniel all about it. It'll take his mind off things. Maybe he won't feel so far away.' Now she was running her fingers up and down her own cheeks. Back and forth, back and forth, I watched her dirty nails scratch off flakes of skin. 'We just have to work on getting him through week by week. That's the most important thing. This is so, so hard for him.'

'Let's go,' Brendan said.

'Don't forget his parcel.'

'I've got it, Tess.'

Mum threw her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into her, close and tight. It wasn't just her breath that smelt, it was her body, her nightie, her hair.

I stood there, feeling my body stiffen as her hands clawed up my body to my face. She kissed me on the cheek, her face hard against mine.

'Give him my love,' she whispered. 'Tell him I'm always thinking of him.'

It wasn't quite 7 am and Brendan and I were in the ute again, this time heading three hours south-west to Westleigh Detention Centre, home of Daniel Brennan, eighteen – nineteen on the 26th of April.

'You okay?' Brendan asked me.

I shrugged and wound down the window.

'This is the pits, her being like this,' he said. 'I can tell you, I'm finding it bloody hard as her brother. I mean, how do you feel about it?'

'She smells.' How did I know how I felt about it? I'd watched her slide as Daniel's sentencing loomed closer, her anger turning to despair – but what could I do? I couldn't even say the right things to her. Staying out of her way was about the only thing I could think of.

'She really can't seem to get it together, and she won't get any help,' Brendan continued. 'Your father's tried, I've tried, but she won't listen. Maybe if you talked to her. Maybe if you told her . . .'

'Her teeth look disgusting.'

A picture of Mum in her pink flowery bikini, sun-baking on our back lawn, leapt into my head. I could hear her calling, 'Joe? Joe, can you bring out my hat?'

I shook my head. Who was that woman in bed at my grandmother's?

'I don't know how long she can keep going like this.' Brendan was shaking his head too. 'Hey? I mean, what do you reckon?'

'Don't ask me,' I muttered.

Brendan turned, and for a second I felt his eyes boring into me. 'Yeah, that's right, Tom,' he said. 'Don't say anything, it may just hurt. We wouldn't want that.'

I held my arm out the window and said nothing.

We travelled in silence. The sheep and fences pasted against the landscape consumed my attention, along with a knot in my guts that had started to tighten.

Every now and then I felt Brendan's head turn to me. But I would not – could not – turn to him.

'Been a while since you've seen Dan.' Finally Brendan spoke. 'I know he's been hanging to see you.'

'Yeah?'

'I bet he looks forward to your visits the most. Not the same when he's seeing me and Tess and . . .'

'How – how was he last week?' I couldn't hang on to those words any longer.

'Sad,' he answered. 'Beating himself up and stuff.'

I gulped, forcing my Adam's apple back into my throat.

'Tom, you know I'm around. I mean, if you need to . . .'

'Yeah, okay.' I turned the radio on. 'Um, thanks.'

But I didn't want to spill my guts, not now. I needed all the strength I could muster. All the talk from the oldies about how down Daniel was had me nervous. Exactly what was I going to find when he walked into the visiting room?

The closer to Westleigh, the worse the flies got. Everything about this place felt hot and sticky, like a good clean was in order. The same greasy smell greeted us as soon as we drove through the gates. No wonder it was a fly's heaven. Walking from the car park to the visitors' area I counted twenty-seven of the little bastards on the back of Brendan's t-shirt, feasting on his sweat.

The change jingled in my pockets. That was one of the weird rules about this place: there was a whole lot of stuff you couldn't take in, but ten dollars' worth of coins for the vending machines was allowed.

The prison officers herded us into lines outside the visitors' area, the same as they did last time and the time before that. We were counted and searched before being allowed in, then our names were checked off on the computer.

I think they referred to us as 'approved visitors', some term like that, but 'visitors' didn't seem the right word. It just wasn't that kind of place. I couldn't help thinking that visitors are meant to feel welcome, not like they're an irritating itch up someone's arse.

Nothing or no one was allowed through until a thorough check had been done. The officers even looked down the babies' nappies, their shoes, everywhere. Brendan had to hand in Daniel's parcel in case we'd tried to smuggle anything in to him. Didn't they realise we weren't like everyone else here?

One lady was making a real fuss about a male guard searching her. They were a bit rough, so you could hardly blame her, even if she was about sixty-five and her tits were down to her knees. I wouldn't want those blokes putting their filthy hands on Kylie or the old girl.

'You're not feeling me up, sir,' she kept saying. 'You'll just have to go and get one of the female officers, that's what they did at Torklea.'

One of them walked away, muttering something under his breath. She'd won.

The final step in our interrogation was the metal detectors. I felt like a criminal standing there with my arms stretched out, then over my head. You wanted to say, 'Look, Sir, I'm just here to see my brother Daniel. You know, the quiet one, the one who doesn't belong here.'

But if you hung around long enough, listening to the talk, you'd discover everyone inside was innocent, a victim of the law. I'm not saying Daniel was innocent, what he did was wrong, very wrong, but he was no criminal.

The vending machines were in the waiting room. Waiting here was an exercise in sitting around pretending not to look at each other, trying not to catch the eye of the big bloke covered in tatts who every now and then punched the side of the drinks machine and groaned like he was dying of some tropical stomach disease.

I watched the families pile in, mostly women and kids, all pretty rough looking and either really, really skinny or really, really fat. I was definitely the odd one out not having a tattoo or a piercing. At least Brendan had a tatt on his back, not that you could see it.

I recognised a mother and her two kids from last time. The younger kid was in a stroller and the older one kept climbing over the vinyl chairs. Her chubby legs were covered in mozzie bites, some scratched so badly they were now like pus-cakes. I couldn't stop staring at them. I glanced over at Brendan. He was looking too.

Her mum kept saying, 'Bianca, get down. Get down, now. I'll give you a slap, Bianca.' But Bianca's mum didn't move. Instead she sat there, her teeth ripping her fingernails off one by one.

I wondered if Bianca and her sister were visiting their father. I wondered if this was what they did every weekend, and I wondered what their father had done to land himself in here. By the looks of them, he was probably a real crim.

Westleigh was for males aged eighteen to twenty-five; apparently this created a 'safer enviroment' for the younger ones. I didn't even want to think about what that meant. It was classified minimum to medium security, so I s'pose they didn't have the heavy murderers and psychos you read about.

'Crack!' Bianca stood there, a can of Coke spilling over the floor.

'Bianca, you idiot!' The words were followed by a slap. 'I told you not to do that!' Her mother pushed her into the chair. 'Now sit there and don't move.'

The older lady who'd made the fuss about the male guards came over with some tissues, got down on her knees and started to wipe up the Coke from the floor.

'Oh, no,' Bianca's mum started.

'It's all right, love,' said the lady. 'I always bring plenty of tissues. They always come in handy for something.'

The ladies cleaned the floor together. The younger one shook her head, saying something I couldn't quite hear, and the older woman put her hand on her shoulder, her swollen knuckles patting her calmly like a baby. When she stood up I quickly looked away. Brendan cleared his throat and shuffled around in the sticky vinyl chair.

What were we doing here? Would I ever get used to this place?

'All right,' the guard announced. 'Those without children up the front.'

Brendan and I lined up at the door. I couldn't figure if I was relieved to be getting out of this waiting room or reluctant to leave its uneasy comfort.

'Hurry up, please, folks,' he said. 'We haven't got all day.' Brendan was quick and grabbed a table at the edge of the room. The tables in the middle were closer together and it could get noisy. You couldn't just get up and move, either, as all the furniture was bolted to the floor. Probably a good thing as the chat could get pretty heated in here.

The men shuffled in wearing their 'visiting' white overalls with zippers down the back. Another security measure. This part was like waiting at an airport, searching through the faces for your relative to come through the sliding doors.

'There he is,' Brendan said, waving his arms madly. You were meant to stay seated at all times.

'Where?' I scanned the faces, looking for my brother, eventually realising the one staring back at me was Daniel. I lifted my arm and waved, covering my face so I could gulp down the lump rising in my throat.

Something about him had changed, and as he walked towards us I frantically tried to figure it out. Something in my head was telling me that if I could work it out before he got to us, perhaps it'd go away or wouldn't matter.

Daniel had dark hair and blue-grey eyes like Mum. But now the resemblance was more than that. The pale, thin face, the downcast gaze of his eyes and the slow shuffling steps, as though he didn't have the energy to actually lift his foot off the ground, were an exact mirror image of Mum. It was like they were dying of the same disease.

I had one second till he was at our table. I took a deep breath and tried a smile.

'Hey,' he said, grabbing my hand, squeezing my fingers with his. 'Hey, Tommy.'

'Good to see you,' I heard myself say.

'Brendan.' He sat down on the chair. 'Thanks for bringing him.'

'How are you going?' Brendan asked. 'We brought some stuff for you.'

'Thanks, mate.' For a second his voice cracked. Quickly he coughed. 'I really, um, appreciate it. Thank you.'

Think of something to say, my mind kept yelling. Anything. Just talk.

'Mum sends her love.'

'Yeah? How is she?'

'Huh?' I didn't know if it was the softness of Daniel's voice or the hum that was growing in the room. 'Sorry? Couldn't hear.'

'Gets noisy,' Daniel said. 'I just said, how's the old girl?'

'She's okay,' I lied.

'And Dad, Kyles, Gran?'

'They all send their love,' Brendan answered. 'So what's been happening here? You had an okay week?'

'Bit better. They've put me up for a peer support program. Means I'd move to another section, some Crisis Centre'. He shrugged. 'Dunno.'

'It's good,' nodded Brendan. 'Real good.'

Silence.

'I'm, um, playing for the firsts at, um – Bennie's,' I mumbled, feeling like a dickhead. 'Half-back.'

Something registered on his face. For a while he stared at his hands, his nail beds whitening as he pressed the tips of his fingers into the table.

More silence. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Maybe it was too much for him to hear.

Brendan leant forwards. 'Daniel?'

'I, um,' he whispered. 'I just —' He covered his mouth with his hands. 'I just – I need to say something.'

'What is it, mate?' Brendan's voice was soothing. 'You can tell us, it's just Tommy and me.'

'Tom?' He rubbed his chin, the palm of his hand supporting his jaw which had started to tremble. I wanted to look away but didn't.

'Tom,' he swallowed. 'I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to leave the Billi. I'm so, so sorry.' He kept shaking his head. 'I'm just so sorry. Sorry.'

'It's okay, Dan.' I could hardly get the sound up my throat. I didn't care what I said, I just wanted him to stop. 'It, it doesn't matter.'

Daniel's head was on the table. 'I fucked up everything.' He banged his forehead on the laminated surface, once, then twice. 'Everything!'

'It's okay,' I choked. 'Dan – come on.'

'Dan, stop it!' Brendan slid his hand under Daniel's head, cushioning the knock. 'Stop it.'