The Story of Tom Brennan

by J. C. Burke

  EIGHT

  On the Tuesday of the Bennie's footy trials, Brendan gave us a lift to school. Kylie sat in the back putting black shit on her eyes. Brendan kept checking her out in the rear-vision mirror, a smirk sitting in his lips.

  'You glamming up for someone?'

  'No.'

  He gave me a nudge. I shifted across in my seat.

  'Piss off, Brendan,' Kylie whined.

  'Can't your uncle ask you a question?'

  'Yeah, right.'

  'Well, you're a pretty girl.'

  'Brendan!'

  'Don't boys like pretty girls?'

  'You tell me.' She turned around and leant out the window.

  If he knew what was good for him, he'd stop, now.

  'So, footy trials this arvo?' Brendan turned to me.

  'Yeah.'

  'You'll be fine,' he said. 'You should start running with me in the mornings.'

  'What?'

  'Running in the mornings,' he repeated. 'I've just started again.'

  'Dunno,' I shrugged, contemplating whether a 'piss off ' was in order.

  'At least think about it,' Brendan said. 'It's good for the mind too, being up early, getting in a bit of exercise.'

  My knuckles tapped the inside of the door.

  'And you know where I run? Up the you-knowwhere.'

  'Up the ascent?'

  'Yep.' Brendan nodded. 'Knew that'd get you. Right to the top, I go.'

  About a kilometre past Gran's place was not a hill but a mountain, and a steep one. Gran named it 'Ascension Hill'. She reckoned it led all the way to heaven. We just called it 'the ascent'.

  When we were kids, Brendan and Pa would take us there for picnics. The old truck Pa called Betsy would jerk and groan up the dirt track, winding its way through the spotted gums, Pa changing to the lowest gear. Almost at the end of the track the truck'd give up. It never made it to the top.

  Out we'd all pile, fighting about who'd carry what while Brendan and Pa looked for heavy rocks to lodge behind the back tyres.

  'Come on,' Pa would say to us. 'Who's coming up the ascent? I bet fifty cents Daniel can't go up without a belly-ache.'

  It was probably only a ten-, fifteen-minute walk but Daniel whined the whole way.

  'If it's this hard to get to heaven,' Daniel'd whisper so Pa didn't hear, 'I'd rather go to hell.'

  He had a thing about walking uphill. That's the reason we called the hill in our street 'Daniel's Whine'. Walking home from school, Daniel'd reach the bottom of the hill, plonk himself down on the curb and say, 'Get Mum to pick me up, will you, Tom.'

  So I'd walk up, most days with Fin, and when I'd get home I'd yell, 'Mum, he's down there,' and she'd go and get him.

  But when Daniel got his car, he fell in love with that hill. Luke and him would fly down, Daniel never letting his foot touch the brake.

  Brendan pulled up outside Bennie's. 'Start running tomorrow with me. Get fit. I've never seen you so . . . stationary. You're looking bloody awful.'

  I shut the door of the car.

  'Tom?' Brendan called.

  I kept walking.

  'So what do you reckon?' Dad asked me on the way home from the footy trials. 'Good turn-out, hey? I bet Harvey was pleased.'

  'The field's like a cow paddock.'

  'I reckon with a bit of practice Charlie Soupe's line-out throw could be okay.'

  'It'll never come close to Matt's.'

  'Different sort of player, I guess. Good in the tight stuff.'

  'You've only seen him play once.'

  'Jimmy Rogers is an outside centre for sure,' Dad nodded. 'He's fast. And that Harrigan's gutsy. Harvey says he's perfect for the open-side breakaway and Tonelli's a real ball player. He keeps his cool, I noticed.'

  I couldn't believe Dad's enthusiasm. He had to be putting it on.

  'Harvey says you'll definitely play half-back. Good, eh?' The hope in his voice lingered in the front seat like question marks jumping all over the dashboard. 'Hey? That's what you want, isn't it?' He squeezed my shoulder. 'It's a chance, Tommy.'

  I looked away.

  'And Rory played five-eight last year,' Dad kept on. 'He'll be kept in that position.'

  'He can't kick with both feet.'

  'Give him time,' Dad answered.

  I yawned and wound the window down some more. For me, playing footy would never be the same. Here in Coghill, it would just be something to fill in the time – the endless, endless time.

  'Harvey says the strong part of Rory's game is being able to read the play. I think you'll be a good pair. I can see a real partnership developing there.' Had Dad and I been at the same footy trials? 'It'll be good for you, Tommy. Pep you up a bit, you'll see. It's in your blood.'

  I watched the sun sinking lower in the sky before disappearing altogether. There was nothing in my blood – nothing. I knew, 'cause I could feel the emptiness pumping away in my veins. 'What do you reckon, son?'

  'Dad?'

  'Yes?'

  'I want to see Daniel this weekend.'

  Silence.

  'Okay,' he finally answered.

  I was exhausted. Gran was fussing around the kitchen as one of her culinary disasters bubbled in the oven.

  'Have you taken . . .' Gran looked down at my feet. 'Oh, good boy, you've taken your boots off. The last thing I need is you traipsing dirt all through the house.'

  I could feel my legs stiffening up. Brendan was right, I was unfit. I sat at the table and rubbed my calves.

  'Dinner's ready,' she called. 'Tom, are you going to have a shower?'

  'Later.'

  'Dinner!' she called again.

  When Mum used to call us for dinner, we sounded like a herd of buffalo charging through the house. Here it was answered with silence.

  Gran disappeared down the hall. She came back shaking her head.

  'Your father's with your mother. He says he'll eat later.'

  Soggy meatloaf was the meal of the evening. Gran cut me an enormous piece. I gulped and watched the steam twist up from the centre like a whirligig.

  'There we go.' She pushed the plate to me.

  'Where's Kylie?'

  'She'll be home soon.' Gran covered the rest of the meatloaf in foil. 'Brendan's picking her up from Brianna's. She's working on some project over there.'

  Sure, I thought, swallow the other one. Kylie was up to something. That's probably why she was putting the crap on her eyes and spending ages on her hair. At least Brianna was keeping her trap shut. I still wasn't comfortable with her knowing, but maybe Kylie could trust her not to blab.

  Gran sat down with her dinner and gave a little cough. I'd been mashing the meatloaf around and hadn't eaten a mouthful. I guess it did look rude. But at least I was sitting at the table. No one else was.

  I took a deep breath and lifted the fork to my lips.

  She coughed again. 'Haven't you forgotten something?'

  I put my fork down. I just couldn't get in step with life here.

  'Sorry,' I mumbled.

  'That's all right,' she whispered. 'How about you saying grace tonight?'

  NINE

  Lunchtime the following Tuesday, the list for 'St Benedict's First Fifteen Rugby Union Team' was pinned up outside Harvey's office.

  The fellas pushed and shoved trying to get a geeze. I stood back and watched.

  'Yes!' Someone yelled.

  'Soupe, hooker?'

  'No way!' a couple of them scoffed.

  'Way to go, Tonelli!' and, 'Good man, Harrigan!'

  A bit of the regulation slapping on the back and a couple of high-fives, and the lads were off. I went over to check it out for myself.

  1. Joe Hickie / tighthead prop

  2. Charlie Soupe / hooker

  3. Brad Wiseman / loosehead prop

  4. Jonno Deakin / second row

  5. Marty Donohue / second row

  6. Dominic Finch / breakaway

  7. Miles Harrigan / breakaway (vice-capt)

  8. Ben Gonzales / lo
ck

  9. Tom Brennan / half-back

  10. Rory Whelan / five-eight

  11. Marcus Frahle / winger

  12. Anthony Tonelli / inside centre (capt)

  13. Jimmy Rogers / outside centre

  14. Dean Nolan / winger

  15. Harry Weaver / full-back

  Reserves: Sammy Hutchens, Henry Fletcher, Paddy O'Maera

  Training to commence Tuesday 24 Feb 3.30 pm sharp till 5.30 pm and will continue every Tues & Thurs for the duration of the season.

  Michael Harvey – Coach

  Joe Brennan – Assistant Coach

  So there it was, my year mapped out before me.

  I snuck up to the library. Everyone was going on and on about the selections, but I couldn't share their enthusiasm. If anything, it pissed me off. I wanted to shout at someone, anyone, 'I don't want to play. Don't you understand, this isn't my life anymore!' But I couldn't do it to the old man.

  I needed to get away and find some space. It doesn't matter what school you're at, the library's usually the safest bet. I found a chair down the back in the corner and sat there with a book. If anyone walked past I picked it up, scanning my eyes along the page, acting like it was the greatest read ever. I don't think I even checked the title.

  My mind was far away from Bennie's school library – I was back home kicking the footy with Daniel in our backyard.

  Nearly every afternoon after school, and weekends too, Daniel and I'd practise passing the ball on both sides, then kicking with left and right feet. It never got boring, it was just something we did over and over again. Sometimes it felt like an understanding between us, not that we ever actually talked about it, but we knew, if we wanted to be really good players, this was what we had to master. I think even then we could feel it in our blood. I know I could.

  I had an awesome season playing half-back in Year Nine for the 15As. Scored nine tries, kicked thirty-eight goals plus two field goals. We didn't lose a game and won the Wattle Cup, the junior division trophy. I was awarded best and fairest for the third year in a row. God, I remember how stoked I was.

  That summer, Dad and Daniel got me practising my passes with a brick. They'd line them up along the yard and I'd have to pick them up and pass them, bang, bang, bang, one after the other. Mum'd stand at the back door shouting, 'Watch your toes, love.'

  'He's right, Tess,' Dad'd call back, with Daniel adding, 'He needs toughening up, Ma.'

  It was hard work but it paid off. Year Ten I was picked to play half-back in the firsts for St John's. The youngest ever. Daniel was in Year Eleven playing five-eight. That year – just two years ago – the 'legend of the Brennan Brothers' began.

  We were like men with a mission. Well, almost men. Daniel was shaving, and I was too if I spotted something that vaguely looked like a whisker. We kept practising each arvo, even if we'd just trained, and videos – we'd watch them a hundred times, rewinding and fast-forwarding moves that we wanted to practise.

  Our gurus were Farr-Jones with Ella, Larkham and Gregan, and we were suckers for the Johns brothers. Always a half-back and a five-eight, that was our inspiration. That was our pledge – anticipating what the other intended to do on the field, like a sixth sense.

  The back page of the Billi Weekly ran a photo of me throwing a dive pass to Daniel who was almost on top of our try-line, ready to kick. The headline read, 'The Legend of the Brennan Brothers.'

  And if you'd asked me then what I thought, I would've said nothing or no one could take that away from us.

  It was a while after the accident before we could go back to school. Kylie and I had endless counselling sessions, but nothing can prepare you. It was hard, really hard, but not for the reasons I thought it'd be. The teachers and most of the kids were okay. Matt and Snorter acted like we were Siamese triplets. It was hard because everything was a reminder of what life had been like just weeks before. There were so many times when I just couldn't believe this'd happened, happened to me, to my family. This sort of thing happened to other people, not the Brennans.

  Each day at school was just another day closer to Daniel's sentencing date. It'd been set for the 19th of November, and life seemed to stand still until then.

  The monotony of school – and let me tell you, my brain was seriously AWOL – was broken by various visits to the school counsellor, the grief counsellor and anyone else they thought I should talk to. Never to the oldies, though, they were too busy with Daniel and the battle to keep him out of gaol.

  But as D-day got closer, Talbot pretty much popped the bubble on any hopes we had of Daniel not going to prison. Instead, it became a matter of how long he'd get.

  Talbot estimated it could be as long as eight years but nothing less than three. Then he'd talk about the non-parole term, which was the minimum time he actually had to stay in gaol.

  Daniel had done all the things he was meant to, things to show 'remorse', that he was sorry. And of course he was sorry. He'd been absolutely ripped to shreds. He didn't sleep, eat, hardly spoke, never smiled. The only thing he did a lot of was cry. He cried buckets.

  He wrote a letter to Luke's and Nicole's families. Daniel'd spent a lot of time at Luke's place. They were best mates.

  I don't know exactly what Daniel wrote in the letters he sent, but I know every word of one he received in reply. I think out of many, many low points this was one of the lowest.

  It was during dinner one night. We were actually all sitting down like a normal family. Gran and Brendan had come up to Mumbilli that weekend so they were with us too. It was a week before the sentencing.

  Gran reckoned she heard someone at the front door. We thought she was being paranoid – that was before we realised we had reason to be. Dad got up to see if anyone was out the front and came back with an envelope. 'Someone must've slipped this under the door,' he said.

  Slowly Mum said, 'Who's it for?'

  'It just says "The Brennans".' Dad started to open it. He unfolded two sheets of thin paper, the colour draining from his face. 'It's from Nicole's family.'

  Dad started reading it to himself. We watched him, waiting for his face to tell us just how bad it was. 'They thank Daniel for his letter and words of remorse.'

  'Read it,' Daniel said.

  'Read it?'

  'Yeah.' Daniel spoke with zero expression. 'Read it aloud.'

  'Mate, you might want . . .'

  'Can you just read it, Dad?' he murmured. 'It's addressed to the Brennans. So they must want us all to hear it.'

  'I'll read it,' said Gran, holding out her hand to take the challenge.

  'To the Brennan family and to Daniel,' she started.

  'We thank you for Daniel's letter and words of remorse. It can't have been easy for him to have written those words. I don't suppose it's easy for any of us.

  'We understand the court likes a letter of remorse, that it is looked upon favourably. We also understand from our solicitors that, letter or no letter, it is most likely Daniel will be sent to prison.

  'This is our letter of remorse. To tell you, even if they locked you up for the term of your natural life, Daniel, it wouldn't bring Nicole back, and that is what we are sorry for.

  'Daniel will be lost to you for a while. At worst you may lose his "spirited" outlook on life, an outlook the town has come to recognise.

  'We have lost Nicole forever.

  'The hardest part is the silence in our home. Nicole was always singing. She loved to sing, but we will never hear her voice again. Think of that sometimes. We will be thinking of nothing else.

  'And words for you, Daniel.

  'You are now a man. A handsome man, a sporting man. A man who likes to enjoy life. But remember your fellow man, Daniel, because life is more than just a one-man show. Everything we do in this life affects others. Did you think of that the night you got behind the wheel, your trusting passengers the loved ones of others? We think probably not.

  'We leave these words with all of you, the words of a respected citizen of this t
own, words that seem to represent what so many of us feel – "Daniel Brennan was an accident waiting to happen." What a shame his accident happened to others.

  'Our family will be there in court next week, yet no sentence will be long enough.

  'Please send our thoughts to Kath and Fin. Our prayers are with them in this difficult time and our prayers are with your family too.

  'Keith, Rosemary, Peter and Annie Munroe.'

  Like I said, that was a low point.

  After the local court hearing, no one really came to the house anymore. The oldies' only visitors were Talbot or the parish priest, Father Simon. Mum and Dad had always gone to the club on a Friday night with friends. Saturday had been sports day, Dad coaching and the old girl buzzing around organising the sausage sizzle and chatting to everyone. Sunday was mass, and maybe people over for lunch. Then the week would start all over again.

  That all stopped.

  Becky still hung around. She and Kylie should've got married. If I wanted to get out of the house, I'd go to Matt's, I was always welcome there. I avoided going to Snorter's. Snorter, like all of us, had been badly shaken by the accident and seeing all that stuff. Since then he'd been pretty quiet, at least quiet for Snorter, which was still loud for some. Sometimes I felt like his oldies kind of blamed me for the way he'd become. They never said anything, it was just a vibe I got when I was there. So I stopped going.

  In the beginning Owen came to see Daniel a few times, but that dropped off. Claire visited for a while. It must've been hard for her at our place. Mum could barely look at her, let alone speak to her.

  Kylie avoided Claire like she had some terminal disease. Once or twice I saw them trying to talk, but Kylie always ended up running to her room in tears. But I liked Claire being around the house, and so did Dad. It was about the only normal thing left.

  Mostly Claire'd be in Daniel's room with the door closed. Maybe they just talked? I don't know. Once when Claire was there I walked past and heard him sobbing but that was nothing new. Sometimes when she left her hair would look messy and Daniel would actually eat something.

  I overheard Daniel and Mum talking, late one night, when I went for a piss. Mum was using her new angry, spiteful voice that was becoming the norm.