Confessions of a Liar, Thief and Failed Sex God

by Bill Condon

  There's a code you don't break. Whatever happened, it stays between me and Troy.

  'No ... nothing.'

  At last we're led to the front desk. The cop's tie is back on.

  'This job's all about paperwork.' He pushes open the door that leads out onto the street. 'Cross your t's and dot your i's. Bloody routine. Drive a bloke up the wall, it would.'

  He shakes Dad's hand. I wipe mine on my pants to get rid of the sweat, but there's no need – he only nods to me.

  'A couple of higher-ups still have to sign off on this, but my report will say it's an accident. No one's fault, really. Dreadful business. Anyway, thanks for coming in.'

  Going home the words from the police interview keep pounding me.

  This young fella just lobs onto the road in front of her – not walking across the road – not running. One second the road is clear, nothing but daylight, the next – bang.

  'Neil?'

  'Yes, Dad?'

  'If there's ever anything you want to talk about – with me or your mum – you know you can, right?'

  'Sure.'

  I see Troy clearly at that moment before it happened. When he stepped onto the road he was looking at me.

  'Good, mate, good. As long as you know we're here for you. Always.'

  A handful of seconds go by, a lot of images and thoughts ...

  'Dad?'

  He faces me, waiting.

  I grope for the words but they're too hard to say. I don't even want to think them.

  'It doesn't matter,' I tell him. 'It's nothing.'

  When it's near dark I go for a run. It can get pitch black and I won't care. I could run these streets in the middle of the night. I did it once with Troy, for a dare. It seemed like every dog in town woke up to bark at us.

  There's peace in running. You switch off your brain and concentrate on the next step and nothing else. It's like putting yourself on an island. If you really get into it, you don't hear your shoes hitting the ground; after a while your breath has no sound, or your heart. Sometimes you can just about disappear. The one thing you can't do, though, is outrun a ghost.

  27

  The funeral is in three days' time. That's too soon, but even if it was a month away I wouldn't be ready for it. Brother Mick decides my class can't attend the service. It's just for the family, he says. I'm too weak to stand up to Mick. Even though I want to be there, and I feel like I should, a part of me doesn't really mind. I don't know if I could handle it.

  The senior classes are to form a guard of honour outside the church.

  Mick rams home our instructions. 'Every boy must be in his proper uniform. That means a clean school blazer, no matter what the weather is like. I want to see your ties straight and your shoes shined. You will be representing your school. There will be no excuses.'

  I hate him standing over us for something like this. 'Just once,' I tell him in my head, 'leave us alone – let us breathe.' It makes me want to turn up in shorts and thongs. Troy would probably think it was a fantastic idea. But Mick wouldn't be too thrilled.

  Now it's 10 am. Funeral day. We're lined up in two long rows, one on each side of the church door. You always get some fool sneaking a few whispers and jokes out when the Brothers aren't looking, but it doesn't happen today. We stand there close to an hour, baking under the sun but barely moving. I look down the row and see it straight and solemn. Like we've all grown up in just four days. Then they carry out the box and it's got flowers heaped on it. I see Troy's mum and dad and his two sisters and they're all hanging on to each other, like that's the only way they can stand up. They slide the box into the black car and we watch it drive away. I decide I'm glad we're all polished up and clean. A life has to be worth that much.

  That afternoon at home, Mum uses hugs on me like they're bandaids and I'm cut to pieces. Dad isn't into hugging. His way of getting close is playing backyard cricket with me. He does it now and it's not even Sunday. Kevin joins in. There must be something he could be doing with Rose, but he stays with us. They let me hog the bat. Kevin's the wicketkeeper. Dad trundles down his old-bloke spinners, which usually end up as wides. Mum stays on the verandah. She's the crowd. Her job is to cheer every time I make a run, and hang on to Dusty in case she chases down the ball and eats it.

  The cricket is like a small, delicious square of chocolate. In the moment there's nothing better in the wide world. I don't think of anything but the game and the fun. But it's gone too fast. Soon it's night again and I'm in my bed; eyes wide, thoughts tearing me up.

  28

  First day back at school after the funeral: awkward is the only word for it. I get consoling pats on the back and lots of questions, all asked out of duty, trying to do the right thing.

  'What's happenin', Neil? You goin' all right?'

  I know they're desperate for me to say I'm fine, so that's what I tell them. I'd be the same if I was in their place. Death's too hard for any of us.

  Bails walks beside me and for once he spares me his corny stories. He just walks. It's good to have some back-up as I move past the sea of curious faces. School has been my world for so long and yet today I feel like a stranger. Your best mate dying changes things.

  We're on our way to Assembly when I hear a cold, familiar voice behind me.

  'Leave us for a moment,' he tells Bails.

  And then I'm alone with Delaine.

  It's ten to nine in the morning on an overcast day, but he's still wearing his sunglasses. Behind the glasses I make out black pits; two crocodile eyes, just below the water, waiting ...

  'Son.'

  I hate him calling me that.

  'I want you to know that I'm sorry about your friend. It was a tragic thing.'

  He stops. That's it. He's run out of nice things to say. Now he's waiting for me to say something back. I'm too stunned to answer; amazed that he's talking to me – amazed that he thinks I'd talk to him.

  He stares at me and I hold my breath, the way you would if someone had a gun to your head.

  At last I hear: 'Go on now. Don't be late for Assembly.'

  As I walk away I sift through Delaine's words, his tone, trying to find the sarcasm, the menace. There isn't any. I'm surprised and, in a way, disappointed. Anger has been festering in me. I need someone to blame. I'll never know for sure what happened on the road that day, but I know it was Delaine who was on Troy's mind in the moments before he was killed. I keep thinking that if he hadn't come to our school and gone on the rampage the way he did, Troy would still be alive.

  But then, he didn't have to say he was sorry about Troy. And he wouldn't have said it unless he meant it. I look back at him and see just another teacher. He didn't push Troy under that car. It isn't his fault.

  It's hard to let go of the anger. It's all I have.

  Still, I force myself to walk back and stand in front of him.

  'Thanks, sir.' He stares at me. 'For saying that about Troy. It means a lot.'

  He replies with a microscopic nod and one gruffly spoken word: 'Assembly.'

  29

  In the early days after the funeral the teachers hit me with the Invisible Ray instead of the strap. They know I was closest to Troy, so maybe they think I've caught enough hell for a while. They don't see me when the hard questions are being asked or the punishments are being meted out. I expect Delaine to be the exception, but he leaves me alone too. It feels as if I've been given a free pass from real life.

  Troy's desk remains empty for a day, and then a new kid moves in and treats it like he's the only one who's ever sat there. He must wonder why I stare at him sometimes.

  At home, my parents excuse my rotten temper and surly grunts as all part of the grieving process. When I get away with it, it only makes me angrier. I can't explain why.

  Even Kevin steps around me instead of stomping all over me like he usually does. One time, when I'm sure he's watching, I twist the mirrors on his bike – I'd break them off if I could. Any other day he'd pummel me, now he just shakes his h
ead, sets the mirrors back where they were, and strolls off.

  The anger I've been feeling over so many things explodes.

  I go after him, jump onto his back, hit him everywhere I can.

  He didn't do anything; his only crime is that he's closest.

  At that moment Kevin is Delaine. He's Death. He's God. And he's Troy – Troy who ran out on me.

  I hate him.

  In an instant my head is trapped inside his arms and all his weight bears down on me. He grinds my mouth into the grass and I taste dirt.

  'What is your problem, Neil? You want to die? I can arrange that for you. Just say the word.'

  Maybe that is my problem.

  'Do it!' I yell back. 'Go on, do it! You gutless wonder! Do it!'

  He lets me free. I jump to my feet, ready to go on with it. He stays down.

  From nowhere he says, 'My number's come up for Vietnam.'

  All of a sudden I don't want to fight him anymore.

  'Mum and Dad don't know yet. Only found out today. I'm telling you first. Even before Rose. You know why?'

  'No.'

  'Well, here it is – take it or leave it. I'm pissed off at your mate Troy.'

  'What? He's dead – and you didn't even know him.'

  'Yeah. But I know how you feel about him. You're in a bad way. But if I was dead you'd say good riddance.'

  'No I wouldn't. I wouldn't.'

  'Well, you should. I've never been your friend.'

  'Sometimes you have.'

  'Not enough. Anyway, I'm going off to Vietnam and blokes get killed over there. I wanted to give you something special before I went so that's why you got told first. You can be a pain in the arse sometimes, Neil, fair dinkum – but I wouldn't swap yer. I want you to know that. You're my brother. And that's okay with me. All right?'

  'Yeah, Kev ... it's okay with me, too.'

  'And look, if I do get killed, you can have my bike.'

  'Don't say that stuff.'

  'It could happen, Neil.'

  'Well, if it does, I don't want your stupid bike. You can shove it!'

  'It's not stupid. You are. And you're havin' it whether you like it or not. So shove it yerself!'

  'That's so typical, Kevin, even when you're dead you'll be bossing me around.'

  'You better believe it – loser.' Grinning, he presses his fist to my nose. 'You're never going to get away from me, Neil. Get used to it.'

  It's exactly what I needed to hear.

  30

  Another morning. Another Assembly.

  'Mr Bridges! You are chewing gum!'

  Clementian swoops down on me like a killer crow.

  'Get rid of that disgusting thing, right now. You know the rules.'

  'Sorry, Bra.'

  'Yes, you'll be sorry, all right. See me in my classroom after Assembly.'

  I wait outside Clementian's door. Four others are lined up behind me. He marches briskly up to us as if he can't wait to use the strap. At least we can always count on Clementian to get it over with quickly.

  'Inside. All of you.'

  I step up first. Only two cuts. It stings like crazy but I've had worse.

  Afterwards we gather briefly in a circle outside; spitting on our hands, locking them together and blowing in air to cool them – the usual things you do when it feels like your hands are on fire. Then someone shrugs it off by saying, 'Didn't hurt', and that makes it compulsory for all of us to say the same. As we saunter off to our classes I pass around the chewie.

  I guess Clementian hitting me means the Invisible Ray has been lifted. I'm fair game again. That's cool with me. I want to be like everyone else, whether it means getting the strap or not. I'm ready.

  31

  On Saturday morning I'm on my bed bopping along with Janis Joplin. She's sex on vinyl; frenzied and passionate.

  The sound's up high. Rocking the house. It's the only way to listen to Janis.

  'Neil.' Mum pounds on the door. 'Neil.'

  Later, Janis. I switch her off and open the door.

  'Yeah, I know, Mum. Turn down the music. Okay. Already have.'

  'That's a very good idea, but it's not about that – yet. There's a young lady to see you. Do you know someone called Sylvie?'

  'Yeah. Sort of.'

  'Well, don't keep her waiting. She's in the lounge room.'

  'Now?'

  'Yes. Now.'

  'Jeez. Can you stall her, Mum?'

  'What on earth for?'

  'I think I need to have a shower. I'll be real quick.'

  'Goodness me. You'll do, Neil. Just get out there. Go on. Shoo.'

  'Hi.' Her face lights up. 'I hope you don't mind me calling in like this.'

  'Nah, that's okay.'

  I shrug – trying to give the impression I have beautiful women dropping by all the time. I do, too, but not when I'm awake.

  'You told me to look you up if I was ever in the area – so I did.'

  'Great. It's good to see you, Sylvie.'

  'You too. Ray's out in the car. I'm giving him a driving lesson. He's determined to get his licence. I was wondering if you felt like coming for a drive with us. It would give you and him a chance to catch up. What do you think?'

  It's a really tough decision.

  'Hey, Neil.'

  'G'day, Zom. You reckon it's safe for me to be in the car when you're driving?'

  'No,' he says.

  Sylvie arches an eyebrow. 'Just curious, Neil. Why did you call Ray, Zom?'

  I wish I had a rock to burrow under.

  'No reason. Just a nickname,' I say. 'I can't even remember what it stands for now.'

  Zom decides to be helpful.

  'It stands for Zombie,' he says. 'I don't mind it. If you get a nickname it means at least you're not totally ignored.'

  Sylvie gives me a long hard stare. I think how good it would be to have her on my side in a debate. She wouldn't need to speak. One look from her is like a blast from a flamethrower.

  We cruise around the quiet back streets as Zom has his lesson.

  He does a reverse park – almost crashes on the third try. After that I can't bear to look. He does a hill-start and stalls it. We nearly roll back into another car. He's dangerous.

  At last we turn onto the expressway.

  'I'm better at going straight,' he says, grinning.

  'Thank God for that,' I tell him.

  Sylvie leans her head back. The breeze throws her hair around and she looks like one of those girls in the shampoo commercials. I could watch her all day.

  Zom looks at me in the rear-vision mirror.

  'I heard about Troy. That was really bad. I'm sorry, Neil.'

  Sylvie swivels around. She says sorry too, without speaking. Like so much with her, it's in her eyes.

  We drive on, mainly talking about school.

  Zom asks about some of our classmates, some teachers.

  'They're all the same,' I say.

  'And Brother Michael?'

  'Yeah, he's still there. Worse luck. No one's killed him yet.'

  Zom doesn't respond.

  I decide to stir him a bit: 'I don't think anyone ever will.'

  He nods, that's all.

  A little further on Sylvie gently punches him on the arm.

  'Hey, you,' she says. 'Isn't it about time you told Neil your big news?'

  'Aw yeah – I suppose.'

  She turns to me. 'It's the best thing that's ever happened to him and he's so casual about it – "I suppose" – tell him, Ray.'

  'Okay. I've got a new job.'

  'What doing?'

  'The editor at the Leader's taken me on as a photography cadet.'

  'Good one.'

  'Isn't that great?' Sylvie smiles at me. 'It's awfully hard to get a cadetship, but Ray's so keen – he's always loved photography.'

  'Yes, it's really top stuff,' I say. 'I'm impressed.'

  "Thanks, Neil. It's a good place to work and I'm learning heaps ... it's almost everything I could want.'

&nb
sp; 'Almost?'

  'Well, it would be good if I could share it with my father.'

  'He's still not talking to you?'

  'No. I don't exist to him.'

  Sylvie uses a thumb to wipe the corners of her eyes. She catches me looking.

  'A bit of dust,' she says.

  After a few moments of silence, she twists around and leans over the back seat.

  'Hey, Neil,' there's brightness in her voice now, 'Ray's brought some of his photos to show you. They're in that folio beside you. Take a look. I think he has a lot of potential.'

  I flick through photos of sunsets and clouds and trees, all in grainy black and white. And then I turn a page and see the Brothers' house, taken from several angles. In each photo is Brother Mick – wheeling out the bin, looking in the letterbox, reading a paper on the back porch – every photo unposed, the photographer unseen.

  I close the book. In the mirror, Zom watches me.

  32

  We turn off the main road.

  'I thought we'd head for the dam,' Sylvie says. 'Be good to cool off on such a hot day. It's not far now.'

  Zom follows her directions and the car winds into the bush, traffic noise fading behind us. We stop in a clearing when the road won't let us go any further.

  Sylvie takes her swimming costume from the boot.

  'Down this track,' she says. 'The dam's at the end of it. Keep an eye out for snakes.'

  The snakes don't bother me as much as Zom. Those photos. That look he gave me ...

  Sylvie ducks behind some trees to get changed.

  'We've got to talk,' I mutter to Zom. 'What's with all the pictures of Mick? How'd you get so close anyway?'

  'That big tree in the paddock behind their place – climbed it.'

  'You're freaking me out.'

  'I took some photos, that's all. There's no law against it.'

  'They just weren't any photos. Why would you do that?'

  'I needed to do some research.'

  'By climbing a tree?'

  'I wanted to see if there was a pattern that I could use ... something that I could be sure he would do every day. If I can find that out I'll know how I'm going to do it.'