The Story of Tom Brennan (8 page)

'Footy trials coming up,' Rory told me as we walked to English.

Rory was the man with the info. If I was interested in listening to him I'd know everything by now. He was like the Bennie's and Coghill crash-course master. Thanks to him I was getting acquainted with my new classmates.

Simon Whelan was a sick perve. Sally Cross from my home-room class had a tattoo of a butterfly on her arse, which her mother didn't know about. Mrs Spielman our English teacher sold one of her kidneys to pay for her daughter's wedding. And Ben McNally, the quiet kid with the blinking problem from Year Ten, made a bomb threat to the post office last year. It made the front page of the local paper but he never got caught.

'I see your sister's teamed up with Brianna and her lot.'

'Yeah.'

I didn't want to say much. I wasn't sure what this Brianna chick was capable of.

'I saw them hanging around Burger King on Friday night,' Rory said. 'I'd tell her to be careful of those girls.'

'Yeah?'

Mrs Spielman waited at the door as we filed into class.

'How you doing, Mrs Spielman?' Rory said, then whispered, 'See, I told you, she doesn't look well, does she?'

'What do you mean about Brianna and the others?' That was all I wanted to know. Mrs Spielman looked perfectly healthy to me.

'They're just a bit odd.'

'Odd?'

'Troublemakers. Shit-stirrers. You know, too big for themselves.'

I nodded. At least he hadn't included big-mouthed in the list.

'Brianna's mum's from Melbourne. She used to be some hot-shot lawyer.' Rory leant over onto my desk. 'Apparently,' he whispered, 'she wanted to hide one of the Afghanis who worked at the abbatoir in Aralen. You know Aralen?'

I nodded, omitting to tell him I'd spent Saturday there.

'Well, his visa was about to run out and she was going to hide him so he didn't have to go back.'

'Rory!' Mrs Spielman barked. 'Sit up and stop distracting Thomas.'

'She doesn't look well,' Rory muttered under his breath.

At home room, Harvey made an official announcement about the footy trials while I stared out the window.

'There'll be a note going out tomorrow,' he explained. 'Trials for grade teams will commence at 3.30 pm sharp on Tuesday of next week. Training will start two weeks after that.'

'When's the comp start?' Soupe asked.

'We'll have a few friendly games first. I think the Shield officially starts in April after the Easter break.'

'When will the games be, Sir?' asked Jimmy Rogers, according to Rory a freak runner.

'Some after school, some on weekends, Jimmy. The old geographical inconvenience factor will determine that. But we'll know well in advance, I hope. Anyway, off you go. Home time.'

The Shield Harvey had been talking about was the Wattle Shield. I had to fight hard not to get sucked into the black tunnel, so I concentrated on my folder, unclipping the pages, then reclipping them.

Rory was hanging around my desk, talking away, but I wasn't listening. I couldn't, 'cause the darkness was getting closer, choking my breath and squeezing my brain. All I could do was watch my fingers, clipping and unclipping.

Rory tapped my desk. 'So see you there,' he said.

'Yep.'

My heart was pumping overtime. I could feel my forehead and underarms breaking into a sweat. I was going to have big wet patches like we used to stir Snorter about. Before I knew it only Harvey and me were left in the classroom. He had his back to me, writing on the whiteboard. I closed my folder and was about to make my exit when he piped up.

'Have a chat, Tom?'

I opened my mouth to say 'no' but heard myself say, 'Yes, Sir.'

He turned around and leant against the whiteboard. 'How are you finding it?'

'Okay, Sir.'

'It's a big change for you.'

I nodded.

'Tom, I know your family is very close and private and I respect that,' he said. 'But if you want to talk at any . . .'

'I'm fine, Sir.' I didn't want to sound rude but he was right. We were close and we were private. I didn't want him thinking I'd hung back because I wanted to talk to him. I started to back out of the room but he kept on.

'Looks like you've got to know some of the fellas.'

'Yeah.'
Da da da da
.

'Rory's a good bloke. He'll look after you.'

I nodded.

'He plays five-eight too.' Harvey looked at me, waiting for me to say something. But what? Oh, great, Sir, it'll just be like Daniel and me!

It was torture. Being force-fed Gran's lamb's fry would be better. He wasn't going to stop, so I let him talk and I shut down, just managing to nod and grunt enough to keep him off my scent.

'Well, I won't keep you,' he finally said. 'I'm glad you're meeting them.'

'Huh?'

'You know where it is, don't you? Probably been there a thousand times.' I wasn't sure if Harvey was asking me one of those rhetorical questions. 'Just past the southbound servo.'

I must've been looking blank.

'The pool?' He frowned at me. 'Isn't that where you're meeting?'

'Oh? Yeah.' That's what Rory had been telling me at the end of home room. 'The pool. Yeah. Thanks, Sir.'

The pool was a piss-hole, but what else was I going to do? It was a better option than going back to Gran's. She had some prayer group going on till 6 pm.

'G'day,' said the bloke at the turnstiles. I recognised him from the tip game; he'd played for the north side.

'Dollar eighty,' he said. 'Student rate.'

I dug around in my pocket for some change.

'You're Brendan's nephew, aren't you?'

'Yeah.' I kept my head down, sorting through my change on the counter.

'You living here now?'

'Yep.' I was short twenty cents.

He swiped the change off the counter into his palm. 'You living at Saint Marg's?'

'Yeah.'

'Moved from . . .?'

'Mumbilli,' I grunted.

'That's right.'

I looked up. His bloodshot eyes were staring into my face. 'So you reckon I should let you into this pool?'

I opened my mouth.

'Hey? Do ya?'

The sound stuck somewhere in my throat. Here goes, I thought.

'Just jokin', mate,' he chuckled. 'You're only twenty cents short. I'm not going to call the cops.'

'Um, I, er . . .'

'You're sweating like a pig, buddy.' He handed me a token. 'In you go. You look like you could do with a dip.'

'Yeah. Thanks.'

'First time swimming here?'

'Yeah.'

'Don't open your eyes. There's a bit too much chlorine in the pool today.'

'Relax, relax,' a voice was saying in my head, but after that little scare I felt like a lie-down and one of Gran's orange tablets.

'Oi! Tom!' Rory was up on the diving board.

I unbuttoned my school shirt, kicked off my shoes, emptied my pockets and did a running bomb.

Smack! It was icy. It hit the nerve endings like shock therapy, zapping me out of my paranoia. 'Whoa!' I shouted, rising to the surface and shaking my hair, the water spraying around me. I climbed out of the pool and jumped back in. The soles of my feet slammed the water before landing on the cold tiles. I pushed off hard, springing high out of the water, lifting myself into the air, flying just for that second. For once, I felt free. Free and light.

Rory's feet came charging along the edge of the pool. He leapt in. Jimmy followed, bombing hard. Then Soupe bombed Jimmy. Water flew everywhere.

'No running,' one of the lifeguards yelled, but we were too busy splashing and dunking each other.

'Watch out, here comes the human whale,' shouted Rory.

Brad Wiseman was walking towards us. You could almost feel the ground vibrate with each step. He was huge. He had to be over six foot one and I reckon there wouldn't be much change from 115 kilos. He'd been the firsts' prop for the last three years. Rory reckoned he's repeated that many times he must be almost twenty.

'Arrrr-a-arrr!' he bellowed, thumping his fists on his hairy chest.

'Go the flop, Wiseman,' called Soupe.

'The flop, the flop,' the boys started chanting.

Brad took a few steps back, paused, then ran, throwing himself into the air. Whack! – the biggest bellyflop I have ever witnessed. The water sprayed up and over the edges of the pool. Everyone started clapping and cheering, even me.

Rory swam over to me and mumbled, 'They reckon Wiseman's been shaving since he was nine.'

'Yeah?' I said.

The bloke at the desk was right about his chlorine miscalculation. My eyeballs felt like they'd been rolled in chilli and were sticking out of the sockets on toothpicks.

'Don't rub 'em,' Rory warned.

'They bloody kill.'

'They've been dumping so much chlorine in this pool lately.'

'Why doesn't someone do something about it?'

'I'm planning on it.' Rory stopped at the queue by the shower. It seemed like everyone at the Coghill Pool was lined up, bloodshot eyes staring. We looked like a bunch of aliens from some sci-fi movie. 'Just stand in there and let the water rinse your eyes. It's the only cure.'

A girl waited in front of me. She was tall, her shoulders broad and strong. Her hands reached up over her head as her fingers squeezed the water from her ponytail. I watched as the drops slid down her smooth brown skin, slipping under the tie of her bikini top, down her back and into her bottoms. I felt movement in my shorts, and before I had a chance to think of sledging baby seals, she'd turned and was looking at me.

'Tom? Hi!'

I gulped.

'Chrissy. Jonny's sister.' Her white teeth grinned at me. 'Remember, you came over the . . .?'

'Y-yeah.' I think my face was as red as my eyeballs. 'The Bart Simpson slippers.'

She nodded.

'Hey, Chrissy.'

'Hi, Rory.'

'You guys know each other?'

'Yeah.' She smiled and softly said, 'How's your grandad, Tom?'

'Um?' I felt my jaw suddenly tighten. 'Fine.'

She took her turn in the shower, while I stood there, the black curtain descending down on me.

The weekends seemed to drag the most.

Saturday, Dad drove Gran up to Aralen to see Fin while Brendan and Mum went to visit Daniel on their own. It suited me 'cause Kylie was at Brianna's and that meant I could leave the cave and have the house to myself.

I played a bit of PS2 but just couldn't get into it. I switched the TV on and off but there was nothing to watch. I went through the fridge 500 times in case there was something I felt like eating. But mostly what I did was pick up and put down the phone.

Finally I flopped onto the couch with the receiver in my hand. I hadn't answered Matt's emails. Too much to say and yet nothing to say. Maybe I wasn't an email sort of bloke.

I pressed the phone. The dial tone buzzed in my ear. I switched it off and pressed the earpiece against my forehead as I tried to think straight. But the thoughts were colliding in my brain like shocks of electricity, too fast for me to really figure what they were, just that they made me feel lousy and confused. My fingers kneaded the skin on my forehead. I wanted to make a decision but I couldn't. 'Just do it, you loser,' I finally heard myself announce.

Matt's number rang and rang. I was about to hang up when a breathless voice answered.

'H-hello?'

I swallowed quickly. 'Mrs O'Rourke?'

'Yes.'

'Um, it's . . .'

'Is that you, Tom?'

'Yeah.'

'Oh, it's so lovely to hear your voice.' It sounded pathetic but I felt like bursting into tears. I didn't. 'How are you, Tom? How's it going? We've been thinking of you.'

'Oh, it's okay. Thanks.'

'Matt's walking in the door now. Matt! It's Tom!' she called. 'We just dropped Louise at school. She's got the Year Eight camp-out tonight at Watto's Creek.'

'Yeah?' My heart began to ache.

'It seems just yesterday I dropped you and Matt off there. You two were so excited.' Mrs O'Rourke sighed. 'Anyway, you want to speak to Matt, not me. I don't want to waste your money. Give my love to Mum and Dad. Hang on, darl.'

'Hey, Tommy!'

'Matt.'

'Thought you'd forgotten me.'

'Nah.'

'Thought maybe your gran had pigeon service.'

'Wouldn't surprise me.'

'Yeah.'

Silence.

'Did you get my messages?'

'Yeah, just, you know, busy and stuff.'

'Did you like the joke about the guy who wanted to be a monk.'

'Err?' I couldn't tell him I hardly read his emails. 'Yeah.'

'Did you tell Brendan?'

'He pissed himself,' I lied.

'So how's it going, Tommy?'

'Oh, you know, fucked.'

'It must be a bit like . . .'

I cut in, 'Footy trials on Tuesday.'

'You'll shit in, mate. A Brennan not playing for St John's, though. You'll feel that, mate. In fact we'll all . . .'

'You had your footy trials?'

'Last Tuesday.'

'Right.'

'Miller's half-back. Whitaker's five-eight.'

'You – captain?'

'Yep.'

'Good man.'

'Owen's going to be second coach.' Matt paused. 'He's still a bit spun and all. They reckon that might help him.'

I pressed my lips together.

'Tom?'

'It's sweet,' I mumbled. I could sense Matt shuffling about in the chair. I didn't want to do this anymore. It was too hard. 'Well, um . . .'

'Peter Macken's coaching.'

Peter Macken was Luke's old man. Suddenly I saw him in my head, sobbing in the courtroom as the judge read out Daniel's sentence. The tears rolled down Dad's cheeks too. So clearly I remember thinking how different the pain was for these two fathers and that I couldn't believe this was happening.

'Have you seen . . . Dan?' Matt asked.

'Not lately.'

'There's another fund-raiser for Fin tonight.'

'Really?'

'At the Billi council hall.'

I swallowed. Saturday night, they'd all be there.

'Tom?'

'Yeah, mate. It's, um, it's good. I saw Fin last weekend.'

'How was he?'

'Same.'

'There was an article about Fin in the
Billi Weekly
.' I heard Matt's hesitation. 'Just, just a little one. It mentioned you guys had moved . . .'

'Oh, look Matt, I gotta go. Gran's, um, waiting for a call. You know.'

'Yeah, mate.'

'Okay.'

It took all my energy just to press the off button. I sat there thinking that must've been one of the stupidest ideas I'd had. What did I really think it was going to do? I curled myself into a little ball, hid my head in my knees and let the darkness suck me deep into its belly.

The noise of the screen door swinging, then banging shut, woke me. I was lying in a pool of sweat. My mouth was dry and my back ached. Someone turned the lights on in the living room and I slapped my hand over my eyes.

'Tom!' It was Dad. 'Been asleep, mate? You okay? I got some T-bones to grill for dinner.'

I wiped the dribble off the side of my chin. 'What time is it?'

'Almost six. I'll put the steaks on.' He walked over to the window. 'It's stuffy in here, mate. You probably just need a bit of fresh air.' His fist thumped along the timber frame. 'These need some WD-40. Fin sends his best. He was hoping you were coming up too. I told him next week for sure you would. Hey?'

I got off the couch and walked to the door. 'You have tea without me, Dad. I couldn't eat nothing, bit crook in the guts. I think I'll take myself off to bed. Night.'

'Tom?'

'Say good night to Gran.'

I kicked off my shorts and crawled under the sheets. Even in the dark I could see the grime on the walls of my bedroom, or maybe it's that I could feel it pasted and crawling on my skin.

Saturday night and I was where I wanted to be. Alone. Sunday nights were downers for most people. Daniel used to hate them 'cause it meant the end of the weekend. They never used to bother me. Now they do. Not just Sunday nights, but Sunday mornings. Especially Sunday mornings.

Sunday the 28th of August marked the first day of my new life. Even though so much bad stuff was to follow, I still think of that day as the worst. It was one punch after another as each fact and its reality were realised.

Brendan got to our place at about 9.00 and took Mum to the police station. Daniel and Dad were already there. I hadn't been to bed, I hadn't even had a shower – I just didn't have the energy. I'd changed my clothes 'cause Fin's blood was on my jeans and jumper, but still I could smell him on my skin, especially my hands even though I'd washed them a hundred times.

Kylie and I sat at the kitchen table. The only time we spoke was when the phone rang and we begged one another to answer it. Matt came over and sat with us for a while. He'd been at the police station making a statement. He said Snorter was going in that afternoon to make his, and that Snorter was in a bad way.

'What'd you say?' I asked him. 'At the police?'

'Oh, you know, just what happened. That kind of stuff.'

'You mean when we found them?' I felt the panic rise in my throat as my brain pieced together what this was going to mean for Daniel. For our family. 'Did they know about – the fight?'

Matt nodded. 'They seemed to know about everything.'

'Did they say anything about,' I swallowed, 'about Luke and Nicole?'

'My dad saw Luke's father when he took me down.' Matt's voice was soft and his bottom lip trembled uncotrollably, but I desperately had to know it all. 'He said . . . he said . . .'

'What'd he say?' I jumped in. 'Did your dad talk to him?'

'He was pretty cut up. Luke. Fuck.' Matt folded his arms over his head and started to weep. 'His old man was talking about . . . about all kinds of stuff.'

'Like what? Like what sort of . . .'

'Stop it, Tom!' Kylie shouted. I think I'd forgotten she was even there. 'Stop it! Can't you see it's not . . .'

Matt's back and shoulders jerked in rhythm with the loud sobs erupting from his body. 'Oh, oh, he was saying they couldn't take Luke home and bury him. That the police said they had to have one of those coroner's reports.'

Kylie had her arms around his shoulders. The tears were spilling down her face.

Matt kept talking. 'He was saying that Daniel was really drunk and there were skid marks all over the ground and that they . . .'

'They what, Matt? They what? Tell me!'

'That they, that they – should lock him up and throw away the key.'

Daniel was given bail. I don't mean having to pay money bail; this bail had terms and conditions. He couldn't drive, I guess that was obvious, and he had an 8 pm curfew. Basically the cops advised him not to leave the house except when he had to report to them three times a week. The bail was also on the condition that he'd turn up to the local court on Tuesday the 13th of September to enter a plea.

Kylie asked Dad what that meant and I'll never forget Dad's reply. Not just the words but how his voice sounded when he said it.

'It means, Kylie . . .' As Dad spoke I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he struggled to control his voice. That was the first time I noticed it, a sight I would grow to dread. The thought of Dad hurting and the possibility that he could drop his bundle at any moment was too much for me to swallow.

'A plea means he has to say,' he gulped it down, 'if he's guilty or not guilty.'

I don't reckon anyone in the house slept that Sunday night. We were exhausted but the understanding of what had happened made it too scary to close your eyes, and waking up was worse.

When I closed my eyes all I could see was Luke and Nicole and the terror in Fin's eyes.

Each phone call or knock at the door was more bad news. Fin was in a critical condition in intensive care. Dad told us the doctors said he'd most likely be paralysed. Daniel cried so hard I thought my head was going to explode. Dad didn't tell us at the time that they didn't expect Fin to live.

Early Monday morning Brendan left our place for Aralen where Fin was. Someone had to be with Kath, and for obvious reasons it wasn't to be any of us.

That Monday was the first of many days of not going to school, and also the day a bloke called Dennis Talbot walked into the kitchen. He was to be Daniel's solicitor.

One of the first things he said was, 'Apparently your son Tom still hasn't made a statement to the police.'

'Yeah.' Dad rubbed his temples as he spoke. 'One of us was going to take him up today.'

That's what I'd been dreading, going up to the cops and telling them what I saw, what I knew. Daniel was my brother. How could I 'fess up to what state I'd left him in at the party? But they knew it all already.

'Tea or coffee, Mr Talbot?' Mum asked, or rather whispered.

'Black coffee with two'd be great.'

'Joe, I'll take Tom up to town.'

'You sure, Tess?'

It was a fifteen-minute walk or three-minute bike ride downhill to the police station, but I had to go with an adult as I wasn't eighteen. To be truthful I wouldn't have gone anywhere on my own. I was shit-scared of opening that door and walking into town. What would I say if I saw someone, and worse still what would they say to me?

It was late afternoon by the time Mum and I got our acts together to drive to the police station.

'What's going to happen?' I asked. My guts were churning.

'I don't know, love,' she sighed. 'Hopefully Mr Talbot will be able to tell us that soon.'

The clouds were out and a storm was threatening. Not that we'd get much rain, it hardly ever rained in the Billi. Mum wore big black sunnies, and the whole time inside the police station she never took them off, not even when she cried.

On the way home, Mum drove down to the industrial estate. It was dark and all the gates were locked. There wasn't a soul in sight. She pulled the car into one of the driveways, turned off the engine and made me go through it all over again.

'So you're sure it was Daniel who was driving?'

'Mum.'

'Well, none of you were there when it actually happened. I mean, maybe Luke or Fin or . . .'

'Mum! It was Daniel. I – I saw them, remember.'

Mum wrapped her arms around her chest. 'But how could he have driven if he was so . . .' She rocked back and forth in the driver's seat. 'Are you sure?'

'Mum, you heard everything I said to the police.'

'But the fight.'

'Mmm?' I sighed.

'Are you sure Dan started it?'

'He was in a mood. You know all this. Why are you . . .'

'But what about Claire?'

'Mum!' My hands pulled at my hair. 'Stop! Why are you . . .'

'I need to . . . make sure.' She started to cry again. 'And – Fin?'

'Fin?'

'Was . . . was he drunk?'

'Fin hardly ever drinks.' I shut my eyes and stared at the black. 'You know that.'

'Well, what about drugs? Dope and stuff. Maybe he was egging Daniel on to . . .'

'No!' I shouted. All these questions! My head felt like it was going to explode. 'I can't believe you're asking me this!'

'I need to know if there was anyone else who in some way . . .'

I cut her off. 'I know what you're saying. There was no one else. It's the truth.'

Mum gripped the steering wheel. 'God help him,' she whispered.

That week after the accident, our house was chaos. The washing-up hadn't been done for days. The kitchen looked like every cupboard had been emptied into the sink. I don't know who Mum was more pissed off with: Daniel, us, Claire, Fin, herself? But she was mad. Daniel was crying non-stop, saying he didn't deserve to live. The only food in the house was the beef casseroles Matt's mum kept bringing over.

Meanwhile two kids we'd known all our lives, kids whose parents were friends with our parents, were buried in Saint Martha's cemetery. Nicole Munroe, Year Ten, member of the choir, and Luke Macken, Year Twelve, Daniel's best mate, captain of St John's first fifteen and all-round sporting hero, had their funerals in the same church in the same week. Dad and Brendan stood in the back row. We stayed at home listening to the sounds of Daniel chucking in the bathroom. The town of Mumbilli was bleeding.

'To be honest,' Talbot said the day before Daniel's appearance at the local court, 'the only thing we have going for us is the guilty plea.'