The Story of Tom Brennan

by J. C. Burke

  '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.'

  'I fucked up everything. Everything.'

  'Daniel,' Brendan urged. 'Look at me. C'mon, mate.'

  Now I was glad these two had spent so much time together. Brendan was able to speak to him, and Daniel listened, hung onto every word he said. I think I did too.

  Finally Daniel raised his head off the table.

  'Hey,' Brendan comforted. 'The most important thing is you getting through this.' Brendan's voice was calm but firm. It made you believe he really knew what he was on about. I realised he'd become good at this. He'd had to. Like us, he'd been given no choice.

  I remember the morning after the accident, Brendan walking into our house and Mum folding into his arms. Dad was still at the police station with Daniel. Kylie and I stood there while Mum sobbed and beat her fists on Brendan's chest. He held her firm, rocking her gently, whispering things in the voice he now used with Daniel.

  'You're going to get through this, Dan,' Brendan said. 'There are so many people who love you, who are counting the days till you get home.'

  'I've got nearly a thousand days left in here, Brendan. Then what's going to happen? Who's going to want to see me? Fucking no one. Why would they?'

  'You've got to concentrate on getting through this now, not thinking about what's going to happen later when you're out. Hey? We'll all be there with you. Won't we, Tom?'

  'Yeah,' I nodded. 'Yeah.'

  'Do you hate me, Tommy?'

  His eyes were begging me, kind of dancing around in his head, desperate and terrified. I felt like I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and yet I had to keep my eyes on his. If I didn't it'd be like giving up on him.

  'Daniel.' I swallowed. 'You're my brother.'

  He didn't say anything for a while. I waited for Brendan, hoping he'd break the silence with one of his winning lines. But he didn't. And then, just like that, Daniel looked up and said, 'Who's playing five-eight, Tom?'

  'Huh?'

  'Who's playing five-eight with you?'

  'Um – a guy from my year. Rory. Rory Whelan.'

  'Is he any good?'

  'Can't kick with both feet,' I answered, blown away by the sudden change in conversation. 'Well, he can't kick with both feet like you.'

  'Yeah?' And he smiled, and just for that second he looked like Daniel. It hurt. Hurt like a sledgehammer slicing through my heart. But it was a good hurt, if there is such a thing.

  I smiled too. 'Yeah.'

  'You going to teach him?'

  'What?'

  'Kicking with both feet.'

  'It's a bit late for that, don't you reckon?'

  'Worth a shot,' he told me. 'You were pretty lousy for a while. Remember?'

  'Was not.'

  'Yeah, your left boot never made it over the fence, just used to get stuck in that bit of gutter down the side of the house.'

  'Once, I did that.'

  'Nah.' He shook his head. 'It was definitely more than once. I remember, 'cause I was the idiot who'd have to drag the ladder over, climb up and get the ball down.'

  'You're talking about when I was nine.'

  'So.'

  'Yeah, well, Rory's seventeen.' Now I was shaking my head. 'Err, bit of a difference, hey.'

  'Still reckon you can teach him, though.'

  I was still shaking my head. 'Nah,' I told him. 'Couldn't be bothered.'

  'Doesn't sound like you, Tommy.'

  From the corner of my eye I could feel Brendan watching me, and I could've sworn when Daniel said that, he smiled.

  A week after that visit, Daniel started at the Westleigh Peer Support Facility, and I started running with Brendan.

  Brendan was one of those fit blokes who could keep running on the spot, never puffing, just talking away like he was lying on a beach sipping a cocktail. Whereas I couldn't make it even halfway up 'the ascent' without just about chucking.

  'C'mon!' Brendan called. 'This must be, what, the seventh time you've attempted this hill? Do it without the theatrics. You're sounding like Daniel.'

  'Give us a break,' I puffed. I was doubled over, spitting the crap out of my throat. 'The ascent is not a bloody hill, Brendan. It's a mountain!'

  'Tom, there are mountains and there are mountains.'

  'Whatever,' I groaned, staggering to my feet and leaning against a tree to catch a breath so I could speak. 'Hey, Brendan, who was the old girl speaking to last night?'

  'Daniel's social worker.'

  'Yeah?'

  He turned and started to run down the hill. Now I had to force my legs to move and keep pace with Brendan so I could get the info. 'So what'd she say?'

  Brendan explained the main reason Daniel had been moved was his depressed state. At the Crisis Centre they could keep a closer eye on him. They had a program, the one Daniel had told us about, the Peer Support Program, working closely with the family, keeping them up to date with his progress and planning for the future.

  And that was what Daniel needed the most – a ticket out of the past.

  I collapsed on the grass outside Brendan's cabin while he leant against the wall stretching his calves. 'You should be doing this too, Tom.'

  'Yeah, in a minute,' I moaned, feeling like I was about to chuck again. 'So how long's he going to be there?'

  'Few months, I s'pose.' Now he was doing arm weights. 'Until the program's finished.'

  'Good.' I wasn't expecting to say that, but when I did I knew it made sense. Brendan was right. Daniel was depressed with a big 'D'. Him banging his head on the table, saying sorry over and over again, was an image I was still struggling to get out of my mind.

  'I think it's good too, Tom,' Brendan said. 'I actually think it's more than good. I think it's a big bloody relief.'

  'What does he reckon?'

  'It gets him out of the mainstream for a while, gives him a bit of breathing space,' explained Brendan. 'He finds the visiting hard. I mean, it's his lifeline, but the guilt resurfaces every time. That's what strangles him.'

  'Yeah.'

  'The program'll help him move forward, see that there's a life after the accident.'

  I sat on the grass as the morning sky turned into day.

  'Sometimes I can't wrap my head around it,' Brendan said, getting down on the grass next to me. 'Well, most of the time. Daniel in gaol. What it must be like for him when they turn the lights out at ten. For some reason that's one of the things I think about the most. Stupid, eh.'

  'Nah.'

  Brendan stared at the sky like he could see something no one else could.

  'I couldn't get into cars,' he finally said, 'my head in the bonnet all day. Boring. I think I knew I was destined to spend my life lying under tractors, maybe that's
what turned me off cars. But Dad loved them. They were like a luxury to him after working all day on a tractor. Do you remember that P76 he had? It was green with gold stripes down the side.'

  'Yeah.'

  'He taught Daniel how to drive in that car.'

  'Yeah? He never taught me.'

  'You were only about ten,' Brendan answered. 'I've still got this picture in my head of Daniel driving along the back track, swerving and braking all over the shop. I could hear Dad squealing like a kid. I remember thinking I never had that kind of time with Dad, but Daniel did. Maybe it was a grandson thing. Who knows.'

  'Pa loved Daniel the most,' I said.

  'We all loved Daniel.'

  'And Daniel loved his car, too.'

  Brendan nodded.

  'Brendan, why did you stay?' I'm not sure where that came from, but I waited, wondering if Brendan would answer my question.

  'Dad died, and I guess that gave me an excuse not to go to the city.'

  'Did you want to stay in Coghill?'

  'No.' Brendan stopped for a second, his eyes still on that same spot in the sky. 'It just got . . . complicated.' He stood up. 'Better get in the shower.'

  That was the most he'd ever told me about himself. Strange, you can know a person all your life yet not really know anything about them.

  I whistled as I walked back up to the house. I was hungry. Since I'd started running I seemed to be hungry all the time. It was like I had worms. I guess my body was making up for lost time. The knot in my guts had eased, not gone. There were still plenty of times I felt it tighten like a little tap on the shoulder, telling me not to get too comfortable.

  I wondered if there was the smallest chance Dad was cooking up a weekend brekkie. Unlikely, seeing it was a weekday, but you could only hope.

  When I walked into the kitchen there was no sign of a fry-up. Dad was sitting at the table looking grim. Kylie stood against the fridge, her arms folded and a dirty look pasted on her face.

  'What's up?' I said.

  'Oh, nothing much,' Kylie spat back. 'I probably just flunked my first home science assignment.'

  'Huh?' I shrugged at Dad. 'What's she on about?'

  'It seems . . .' Dad started calmly.

  'It doesn't seem anything!' Kylie shrieked.

  'Kylie?'

  'No, Dad, stuff the manners,' Kylie snapped, yanking the fridge door open, nearly taking the whole thing with her. 'My apple strudel.'

  I looked at the left-over strudel I had stuffed down my throat at 2 am when I'd got up to get a glass of milk.

  'I . . . I was hungry. I didn't eat it all,' I offered.

  'Look at that!' Kylie virtually shoved the plate in my face.

  A piece, well, not really a piece, more like a mouthful of apple strudel stared back at me.

  'I – I didn't know it was for your . . .'

  'Of course you didn't know! You're too busy being stuck in your own little world!' she shrieked, a bit of spit flying into my eye. 'You used to be able to read. But now you're a moron. A sad lump of a moron.'

  She slammed the fridge shut. Pasted up on the door was a sign written in thick black texta. 'KYLIE'S APPLE STRUDEL FOR HOME SCIENCE – DO NOT TOUCH!!!!!'

  'I'm sorry, I . . .' But she didn't let me go on.

  'If you didn't have your head up your arse thinking about rugby, rugby, and how much you miss St John's and all your mates, then maybe you wouldn't be such a dickhead.' Kylie's screaming was almost lifting the cupboards off the floor. 'Did you even notice I was up cooking half the night? No! Because you were locked away in your dark room in one of your dark moods not having a clue what's going on here.'

  Dad piped up, 'Kylie please!' But we ignored him.

  'You can talk,' I shouted. 'You're never bloody here. You're always at Brianna's doing some . . .'

  'Brianna's my friend! Maybe you should think about getting some.'

  'I have friends here. Rory, um, Dom . . .'

  'I thought they were just blokes you had to play football with?'

  I opened my mouth for a comeback but she'd blitzed me.

  'I'll have to explain to Miss Dunsmore, my sexually frustrated home science teacher, that my sulky stupid brother Tom, you know, the one repeating Year Eleven – oh, sorry!' she suddenly yelled. 'That's right! No one's allowed to know you're repeating Year Eleven just in case it blows your cover. Maybe you'd feel safer if I said . . .' Her tone changed to sickly sweet, stuffed with sarcasm, 'Tom, my brother, you know, the one who's going to save your football team, ate my assignment that took me almost three hours to make! Believe it or not, Tom, things could be worse.'

  'Yeah?' I scoffed. 'I'd like to see that.'

  'You could be Fin.' I felt my eyeballs bulge out of their sockets.

  'Well, stuff you,' I started. Now it was my turn.

  Then I saw her standing at the gauze door, watching us. 'Aunty Kath?'

  'Oh, my God!' Gran walked in from the hall. 'Kathleen!'

  'It's okay, Mum. I'm a bit early.' She gave Gran a peck on the cheek. 'Hi, everyone. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.'

  Then just to finish it off, Kylie walked up to Aunty Kath, wrapped her arms around her and started to cry.

  'Hey, Kyles,' she whispered. 'You've grown taller.'

  I don't think I had ever felt smaller than I did at that moment.

  ELEVEN

  Aunty Kath was staying a couple of nights while Fin got ready for his move to rehab. As always, I seemed to be the only one who didn't know she was coming. Maybe I would've been more on guard if I had. But I think Kylie's and my little spat was the last thing on Kath's mind.

  The bad start in the kitchen was forgotten once Kylie managed to stop bawling.

  'Go and have a shower, Kyles,' Kath said to her. 'Cool off a bit.'

  That left just Aunty Kath and me in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock: still half an hour till the bus left.

  'So, Tom, what's news?'

  'Not much,' I replied, pouring milk over my Weet-Bix. 'How's Fin?' You had to ask, even though the answer never really changed.

  'He's looking forward to getting out of hospital. I think rehab will be really good for him – start to rebuild his . . .'

  'Yeah,' I nodded, knowing she wasn't finished.

  'He'll have some independence there. That's why they like us carers to choof off for a couple of days, let them adjust to their new enviroment.' Every now and then Kath glanced over at the door that linked the kitchen and hallway together. 'He'll know lots of the fellas at rehab too. It's like a reunion for some of them.' Slowly the realisation sunk into my thick skull – she was waiting for Mum to walk through the door. After a couple of days here, she'd learn that wasn't going to happen. 'Fin's really looking forward to you going there, Tom. It's so much more relaxed than the hospital, and being in the wheelchair means he can get around and have . . .'

  I put my spoon down. Fin and wheelchairs: it zapped my appetite, just like that.

  '. . . some freedom. He even wants to have his birthday there. A bit of a get together, you and Kyles.'

  'Yeah?' I swallowed. Sticking pins in my eyeballs would have to be better than sitting around with Fin and his mates, trying to think of things to talk about, trying to find a safe place to look.

  With Daniel I felt different. I mean, it was bad – it was all bad – but even after the worst visits, there was still some hope when you left him, some hope in the realisation that one day Daniel'd be getting out of there, a free man.

  But Fin would never be free, and that was too enormous to swallow. I understood it was one of the many injustices in this whole fuck-up of Daniel's. How could I not understand it? But the truth was, it was easier to be with Daniel, even where he was, than it was to be with Fin. With Fin, it was hard core.

  Kylie came into the kitchen, her wet hair smelling of apples.

  'Here's the strudel recipe.' She glared at me as she handed Aunty Kath the bit of paper. 'Are you sure you don't mind making it?'

  'I'd love to,' Kath a
nswered.

  'You've saved me from Miss Dunsmore.' Kylie draped her arms around Kath's shoulders, nestling her face into her neck. 'Thanks.'

  I couldn't even mouthe 'crawler' to her, 'cause it wouldn't be true. Aunty Kath and Kylie were close, always had been. Kylie was born a few months after Uncle Roger, Kath's husband and Fin's father, died. Aunty Kath used to call Kylie 'the bundle of joy that helped find my smile' – some line like that.

  'When's home science, Kyles?'

  'Just before lunch. About 12.00, I think.'

  'I'll make sure I get it to school by then.' Aunty Kath had stopped checking the door every five seconds. 'It'll be good for me, pottering around in the kitchen. Something different. I miss cooking.'

  Kath was a top cook, she could make just about anything. Fin had the coolest birthday cakes – footballs, cricket bats, anything he asked for. One year she made him a ninja turtle with red licorice straps for the mask. I remember thinking it was the greatest thing I'd ever seen.

  I reckon Aunty Kath made a big deal with Fin's cakes to make up for the fact his birthday was ten days after Daniel's, and most of the family had had enough of birthdays by then. They say Christmas is the worst day of the year to have a birthday, but I reckon the week after Daniel's must run a close second.

  When I got home from school, Kath was still in the kitchen. Saucepans of her famous spaghetti sauce bubbled on the stove, making the kitchen smell the best it had in weeks. Plastic containers, some filled with food, some empty, were lined up along the table. Kath was down on her hands and knees, scrubbing the inside of the fridge like a possessed mad woman.

  'Hi, Aunty Kath.'

  She looked up, her face was red and sweaty.

  'Smells good,' I said.

  Kath got up off the floor and chucked the cloth in the sink. 'The fridge hasn't been cleaned in God knows how long. Half the food was covered in mould. I had to throw it all in the bin.'

  'Oh?'

  'Talk about a waste.' She slammed the fridge shut and the contents rattled inside. 'I don't know who's been doing the shopping.' She began to furiously stir one of the saucepans. The spaghetti sauce spilt over the edge, leaving a mound of squashed tomatoes on the stove top. She picked up the lid and slammed it back on.

  The air thickened with our silence. I stood there, staring at my shoes, wishing I'd had some late arvo activity that'd kept me at school. Like usual, Kylie had gone to Brianna's and I was here alone.