The Story of Tom Brennan (3 page)

I tried to smile but it didn't come out right. I was like one of those drum-playing rabbits you see on TV commercials. Except they'd forgotten to put the supercharged batteries in me so I was on the downhill slide. I could feel the exhaustion creeping into the back of my neck. I hadn't even got near a ball and already I felt like doing the bolt back to the cave.

I spotted Kylie sitting on the fence, her arms folded. She saw me and glared back. The Grandmother had some bloke carrying a chair to where Kylie was, and now she was getting him to wipe it down with one of her hankies. You could see her lecturing and giving instructions. The whole time her man-slave nodded, Kylie looked the other way, pretending it wasn't happening. She was getting to be the master of that.

'Okay, let's get started,' Michael Harvey called.

Everyone wandered over to where Harvey stood. I couldn't see Brendan so I followed Jonny.

'Remember the rules.' Michael juggled the ball as he spoke. 'No playing the ball and no running off the mark. Understood?'

They answered with a few grunts.

'Let's go, boys. North of the river to my left, south to my right,' he directed.

Players ranging from about sixteen to thirty-odd shuffled into two groups.

'Marcus, what are you doing on the south side?'

'Come on, Sir.' A stocky guy with a head that looked like a pit bull stepped out of our group, the south side. He was a Year Twelve I'd had the intro to earlier. 'I've only been living on the north side four months.'

'Doesn't matter,' answered Harvey. 'Them's the rules.'

'But Sir, my heart's in the south.'

'And your dick's in the north,' one of them muttered. They all started laughing like it was the biggest joke ever. 'Marcus, the numbers are uneven. There are eleven players on the south and nine on the north.'

'So?'

'So, you live in Hartley Road now which is on the north side of the river, therefore you play on that team.'

'What about him, Sir?' The prick pointed at me. 'Why can't he play north side?'

'He's playing for Brendan,' said a guy called Rory. 'And Brendan's from south of the river.'

'He lives here now, Marcus.' Jonny spoke softly. 'So do what Coach says.'

For a couple of seconds there was silence. Then Marcus walked over to the other team.

'Okay.' Michael blew the whistle.

'He can be a wanker,' Rory told me. 'Don't worry about him. He's harmless.'

But there was something I seemed to have missed. 'Jonny, where's Brendan? I thought he was playing.'

'No,' Jonny shook his big head. 'We needed even numbers.'

'Oh? I, um . . .'

'Come on,' he smiled. 'You'll be right.'

A tall, wiry guy from the north side kicked off. Up and under, the ball went high, hoping one of us'd drop it. No such luck, thanks to Jonny who caught and passed to Rory in one movement. Rory took off, and before I knew it I was alongside him, running hard. I couldn't help it. It felt so natural.

Rory passed me the ball, a sparkle in his eyes. 'Go you good thing,' he laughed.

I held the ball, remembering how it became an extension of my hands, a part of me. Twenty metres till the try-line.

My breath echoed through my head, loud and fast, as my legs charged down the field. It was all in a split second yet it was the most freedom I'd felt in months. No pain, no bad thoughts. Maybe I could just keep running.

From the corner of my eye I spotted the wanker, Marcus, trying to catch me. My body switched into automatic. I propped off my left foot and came back inside. He should've expected it but he was still busy sulking, not thinking. He couldn't change direction quick enough. I left him clutching at thin air. 1–0, thank you.

Jonny, Rory and I carved them up. We were quite a trio – cut-outs, flick passes, scissors and soft hands were the flavour of the day. We ran the north side ragged, they were puffing and spitting after eating dust for an hour. We were too good. Final score, 12–3.

Everyone shook my hand, saying things like 'good game mate' and 'you've played before'. I went along with it, shaking hands and slapping backs too, but in the pit of my guts I could feel the emptiness returning.

'We blitzed 'em,' said Rory.

'Yeah.'

'See you tomorrow, eh?'

Tomorrow? I felt my heart slip to the ground. That was the thing I couldn't quite get my head around – there would be a tomorrow, and a day after that, and a day after that. The world went on regardless of how I felt.

The next morning, Dad dropped Kylie and me at the side entrance to our new school. I think he knew how she'd react if he dropped her at the front gate, he'd read that well ahead.

The morning had been tense. I kicked a ball around to settle my nerves while Kylie spent hours in the bathroom. At first I thought she might've been throwing up but she was doing stuff to her hair. What, I couldn't tell you. It looked like she'd stuck her head in a fan then dipped it into a cement mixer. When she got in the car she stank. There was so much gunk in her hair, I thought I was going to suffocate with the fumes. For a joke I started doing choking noises, and did I cop an earful.

It started with just a 'Piss off, Tom,' which wasn't enough to stop me. It grew to a 'Tommm,' through clenched teeth, 'I said – pissss offfff.'

Kylie had a habit of clenching her teeth when she was mad. It cracked Daniel and me up. We called it her 'need to do a crap' face. So naturally I had to get my money's worth out of that. Then I went back to the coughing and choking, louder this time, holding onto my neck, making my face go purple. It was the most fun I'd had in ages. But then I got the serve, got the 'Fuck off, you dickhead! I hate you! I hate you, I hate all of you.'

Dad kept driving. He wasn't one to lose it, but he had a thing about swearing, especially girls. Daniel's girlfriend, the one before Claire, was prone to a bit of a rough mouth. It really got up Dad's nose, which was another reason Dad adored Claire so much. She never swore. According to the old man, her breeding was too good for that.

Kylie must have been thinking the same. 'Sorry, Dad,' she said.

'It's not nice hearing you speak like that, Kylie.'

'I said I was sorry.'

And that's when Dad pulled up at the side entrance to our new school: St Benedict's Catholic College, Coghill. Like I said, he read that well ahead. No grand entrances for the Brennans. Slip in the back door unnoticed was the name of the game these days.

'Kylie, and you too, Tom,' he began. 'I know this is hard for you guys, it's hard for everyone. Look at your grandmother, she's seventy-eight and had to make room for four more people in her home. But this is the way it is, and as a family we have to stick together.'

Dad was looking at Kylie. Kylie was picking her nails.

'This is the challenge God has given us.'

'God?' Kylie mocked. 'God? You're already sounding like Gran. Get over it, Dad.'

She struggled out of the car, pulled her uniform down and tried to run her fingers through her hair. Then she walked off without a goodbye. She didn't even look back. That was the thing about my sister, she'd become tough. It was like I hardly knew her anymore.

Dad opened his mouth, then closed it.

'Bye,' I said.

'Well, good luck, son,' he answered. 'Check on your sister at lunch, will you?'

I looked back before going through the gate, instantly wishing I hadn't. Dad was leant over the steering wheel, his head in his hands.

St Benedict's, or Bennie's as those in the know called it, didn't look that different to St John's, except twice the number of buildings and a lot more grass. It was built in the same grey besser block with verandahs running across the second level. There was a lot of concrete, rows of silver benches pasted in bird's shit and fat kids hanging outside the canteen eating finger buns with pink icing.

I followed the signs to the office; no way was I going to ask for directions. Kylie was already there, finding out what classroom to go to. She ignored me as she picked up her bag, which was right next to my foot, and she ignored me as she threw it over her shoulder, just about knocking me out.

As she strode out the office doors I noticed her bag had hitched her uniform up, revealing blue and red undies fighting the beginnings of a wedgie. It was not the best way to start a new school.

'Kylie,' I whispered. 'Kylie. Oi.'

She kept walking. I followed.

'Kylie,' I said a bit louder. 'Kyles. Your, your undies are . . .'

She spun around and I prepared myself. But she was crying, or maybe it's that she was trying not to. She yanked her uniform down.

'Kyles . . . you okay?'

For a second she pressed her lips together. 'I have to go,' she said quickly.

I understood where she was coming from. It's like, don't ask me now. Don't ask me to let go of my breath because I don't have the energy to clean up the mess. It's just easier to keep holding it.

Back at the office, I was given hasty directions to the Year Eleven block and the name of my 'home room' teacher, Harvey the footy coach, who yesterday seemed like a reasonable bloke. The old man'd told me last night that Harvey knew about the accident and Daniel and stuff. I didn't feel comfortable about it, but Dad said the teachers had to know what happened to us back home. What could I do? As long as he left me alone and didn't try any after-school chats, I'd be happy.

I'd changed schools once before, when I left primary school to start Year Seven at St John's. It was no big deal 'cause everyone else did too. In our town the choice was either Mumbilli High or St John's Marist College. It came down to two simple factors – money and religion. Catholics with an income opted for St John's, Catholics on benefits and all the others were left with Mumbilli High or 'Billi High' as everyone called it.

Everyone was seated when I walked in, so it must've been the way I mumbled quickly at the door that made Harvey get the intros over with so fast.

'Class, this is a new student, Tom Brennan. Remember to say g'day and help him out.' He told me to take the desk across from Rory, and that was it.

'G'day.' Rory nodded as I took my seat.

The room was small and stuffy and my desk was in the middle. I could have a good sticky at those in the front and only wonder what the lot behind were like. Apart from Rory, there were a couple of other faces I recognised from the game.

It's hard to sneak a perve at the chicks when you're the new boy. I'd have to wait for a more inconspicuous time, that's what Daniel'd tell me to do. He'd say, 'You don't want to go cutting someone else's lunch.' And he'd be right. Besides, chicks were the last thing on my mind.

The night Dad told us we were moving to Coghill, I made a deal with myself: I'd stay for two years till Year Twelve was over, max. After that I hadn't decided. Not back to Mumbilli; the Billi would always be home but two years wasn't long enough. I didn't know how long was long enough. Maybe after Daniel had done his time we could all go back. Maybe not.

The bus on the way home was packed. There were kids from St Bennie's, St Xavier's, Coghill High and Montana, the hippie bush school. The bus stank. There was no air, just a cocktail of body odours and bad breath mixed in with the odd fart.

The blokes were being prize wankers, mucking around and showing off, and the chicks that weren't part of that were deep in conversation. Finally there was something good about being the new kid; my inconspicuous moment had arrived.

Two seats ahead sat a couple of girls from my class. The girl near the window was perched up on her knees, chatting to the one next to her. The buttonholes on her shirt were popping. If I leant over slightly I could see a bit of black bra through the hole.

Standing up at the front of the bus was a group of girls from Coghill High. One was real sexy. Her skirt was sitting low on her hips and she'd tied her shirt up so you could see her tanned, smooth belly. Daniel would've liked her, and he would have got her too. He got whoever he wanted, and when he was sick of them he'd move onto the next. Except with Claire, that was the only time he stuffed up, and did we all pay for that!

Daniel and Claire had been having a bad patch. Actually, it was Daniel having the bad patch and Claire having to cop it. It was the standard Daniel scenario: black moods that went on and on, rages over nothing, followed by long periods of sulking. There were times I thought the oldies were scared of him or didn't know how to deal with him. So he just got away with it.

When he got like that with girlfriends, it usually meant he'd had enough of them; it was his way of pissing them off without having to tell them. But Claire was different. She didn't put up with the grief, and she didn't walk, and I don't reckon Daniel knew how to handle it. He was used to calling the shots.

However, the real difference was that Daniel really liked Claire. He knew he was onto a good thing. Claire was pretty, smart, funny and had a certain way she carried herself. Maybe that was what made Daniel so insecure.

All the fellas fancied Claire, but it was Fin, our cousin, one of his best mates, who got up Daniel's nose the most when he was around her. It didn't make sense, Daniel getting like that. Fin worshipped Daniel. He always had.

If Daniel'd been able to look at it with a level head he would've seen that maybe it was Claire who liked Fin, not the other way around. But then maybe Daniel did see that, and maybe that's the exact thing he couldn't handle.

You see, Fin was changing, growing, and somehow that altered things between Daniel and him. There was a confidence about Fin he hadn't had before, especially in those last couple of weeks. Not that he was in your face. He wasn't like that. It was like Fin walked taller, and people began to notice him.

Fin had filled out, which meant he was strong and fast. Now he was the one to watch on the field, not Daniel and me, and no wonder. Come Friday night, Daniel and Luke would hit the piss and prowl around all night in the car. Most of the time Daniel was tired, hung over and bad tempered. He was doing zero work for Year Twelve but he didn't seem to give a stuff. And as always, he couldn't be told.

So the Brennan brothers started to look ordinary on the field. Daniel began to fumble the ball. Passes he usually swallowed, he'd spill. It was as though his instinct had vanished.

It was Fin who secured our place in the Wattle Shield with one of his famous sprints down the field. They were earning him a reputation, not just with the blokes but the chicks too. Why wouldn't Claire be one of them, especially when Daniel treated her the way he did?

So many hours, days, weeks I'd spent staring at my bedroom ceiling thinking about all of that. Dissecting it into little pieces, trying to pinpoint exactly when things started to change. Maybe it'd been happening for a while and I didn't see it. Or did it all just change that night at the sudden-death party in the old Mumbilli hall? Not that it made any difference now, but sometimes I needed to understand how that night got so out of hand.

I know parties can get that way. Someone gets too pissed, gets aggro. Usually you can shut 'em up and get on with it, but Daniel was more than just pissed and aggro that night. The way his eyes burned darkness and hate, and the way his top lip curled and spat obscenities that shocked and wounded. Daniel crossed a line that night, a line I didn't know my brother was capable of crossing.

Yet in the days that followed that terrible night, the whisper around town grew louder.

'Daniel Brennan was an accident waiting to happen. Daniel Brennan was an accident waiting to happen.
An accident waiting to happen. An accident waiting to happen.'

So how come the township of Mumbilli saw it coming and we didn't?

Gran's place was the furthest out of town, which meant Kylie and I were last on the bus. Then it was about a ten-minute walk to the house.

Kylie kept moaning, 'How hot is it?'

'So?' I said to her.

'So what?' she snapped.

'Did you – get through it?'

'Through what?'

'Derr,' I pulled my spastic face. 'Your first day at your new school.'

'It sucked. Anything else you want to know?'

'I don't know why I bother even talking to you,' I said.

'You don't.'

'No wonder.'

'You talk about – easy stuff, like "how was school",' she mimicked.

My steps slowed.

'You don't ever want to talk about the – the stuff I want to talk to about.'

I lagged behind.

'Do you? No.'

My voice starting singing in my head,
da da da da
.

She kept on. 'But if you're actually interested, my home-room teacher is a creep called Mr Reid. "With an e, i," he kept saying. Like I got it the first time, Sir.' She stopped and turned around. 'So who's yours?'

'Harvey.'

'The footy coach?' She shot me a look. 'Oh well, you'll be right, then.'

'Huh?' I started kicking a stone along the road, this time just in front of her.

'I said, you'll be right, then.'

I shrugged.

'Yep,' she continued. 'You'll be absolutely fine, Tom. No doubt about that. Couldn't have worked out better for you.'

'What do you mean by that?'

She ran in front of me. Her eyes were burning. 'What do you reckon I mean?'

'Well, I'm asking you, aren't I?'

'It's just typical.'

'What's typical?'

'Football.' Her mouth twisted as she said the word. 'Football's always saved you. Saved you and Daniel. Made life easier.'

'Saved us?' I spat. 'Saved us?'

As brother and sister I knew we weren't supposed to do this, turn our anger on each other when neither of us could help what'd happened. But no matter how hard you tried, it got a hold of you before you had a chance to get a hold on it.

Before my brain had a chance to register, my feet stopped and the words exploded. 'Football! Saved me and Daniel? You wonder why I don't speak to you? You're sick in the head! Haven't you noticed I'm here too? I'm stuck in this shit-hole too?' The anger scalded my insides as it bubbled and spewed up my throat. 'And what about Daniel? Hey, Kylie, what about Daniel? When he got to that courtroom, football didn't save him. Don't you remember Judge Williams's words? I do, I remember every single one. "Being a team player, you should have known better." Hey, Kylie? Don't you remember those words too? Don't you? Don't you?'

Kylie stood there, her mouth open. Tears rolled down her cheeks, washing the grime and sweat off her skin, leaving their tracks as evidence of our cruel attack.

She started to run. I didn't follow. Instead I sat down on the side of the road, put my head between my knees and concentrated on breathing slowly. In – out, in – out.