Confessions of a Liar, Thief and Failed Sex God

by Bill Condon

  'I always have a good time at weddings, Neil. I'm glad that you asked me. I'd be honoured to go with you.'

  'Really? You sure? Because you don't have to – you're not going to hurt my feelings or anything.'

  'I'm sure.'

  I know when she bites her bottom lip that she's going to cry. We both pretend it's not happening.

  'I'll put the kettle on. Do you take milk?'

  'Yes, thanks. You want any help?'

  'No. I'm good.'

  She's at the cupboards with her back to me, wiping her eyes with a hanky, trying not to let me see what is so obvious.

  'You okay, Sylvie?'

  Still with her back to me, she shakes her head.

  I always thought I'd be clueless in any kind of situation with a girl. But instinct kicks in and I walk over and put my arm around her shoulder. It's something I couldn't do at the movies but now it feels completely natural.

  'What's wrong?'

  She faces me, tears welling in her eyes.

  'It's Dad. He went for tests last week – he's had a sore throat for a long time now – Mum rang a little while ago with the results. I've just told Ray. He's taking it hard ...'

  That's as far as she can go.

  I don't even feel scared as I hug her.

  'Nothing's going to happen for a while. It might take a year. The doctors say there's no point in operating on him. It's gone too far.'

  Her chin rests on my shoulder. I feel her tears on my neck.

  'When you work in a hospital, Neil, you see so many people who have to go through this – being told what will happen.'

  I do listen and I care, but I've never been so close to a girl before.

  'You always think you're immune to it – that somehow it can't get to you, and even if it does, you'll handle it – but then it hits your own family, and you're a heaving mess, just like everybody else.'

  I take the big risk and touch her face. I can't compare it to anything. Nothing else is so warm and smooth. I'm like an alien who's never made human contact before. And I can't get enough.

  'Neil.'

  My hand glides in a circle around her cheek.

  'What are you doing?'

  'Nothing.'

  Now my fingers slowly flit across her mouth. She arches her neck. I trace a line around her nose ... touch her eyes.

  She clasps my wrist firmly. 'We can't do this.'

  Then she presses my hand against her face and holds it there. It feels like there's a fight going on inside her.

  She says, 'No' and so I keep still. I wait.

  Closing her eyes, she guides my hand.

  Then I start shaking.

  We lie there tangled up in our own thoughts. After being almost one person, now we're nearly strangers again. I don't know what she's thinking, but for me it's about capturing every detail: the date and the hour; the Beatles singing 'Yesterday', with the radio turned down to almost nothing; my fumbles and embarrassments – I must have set some kind of record – and her every word, every look, every shudder ... every bit of hope she gave me.

  All these years I've had the Brothers telling me about miracles, but they never mentioned this one. I feel sorry for them.

  'It's okay, Neil. It's okay. Don't worry. It's only me.'

  She whispered that, looking up at me and trusting. There was nothing but kindness in her eyes, and even now, she's still holding my hand.

  42

  Sylvie sits up and gives me a kiss on the forehead. 'You have to go. I'm sorry.' She hops out of bed, clutching a sheet around her. 'I have a lot of things to do, and you should be getting home.'

  I don't understand what's going on. Everything's changed, so fast. It shouldn't end like this – should it?

  'I'll have a quick shower and then if you want I can drive you home.'

  I have to know what she's thinking.

  'Did I do something wrong, Sylvie?'

  She comes back and sits on the edge of the bed.

  'No. Don't be silly. I'm not trying to get rid of you. I really do have a lot to do. Mum and Dad are expecting me but before that I have to go and see Ray. He's still cut off from Dad and that's really going to hurt him now.'

  'Ray'll be all right. He's tougher than you think.'

  'Yeah? I wish I could be so sure. He tries to hide it, but I know he's still churned up about being expelled from school... do you think he might do something to that Principal he fought with? He told me once that he would. The second he saw that I was concerned he wouldn't talk about it anymore.'

  That hits me hard. It's bad enough screwing up Zom's life, but now Sylvie's been dragged into this thing too.

  'No, he wouldn't do anything,' I lie. 'Don't worry, Sylvie. I'll go and sort him out – make sure he's okay.'

  She leans over and kisses me gently on the lips.

  'Thanks, Neil.'

  The shower beats down as I get dressed; a commercial blares on the radio. It's hard to believe my world has shifted so much, on such an ordinary day.

  When Sylvie steps out of the bathroom I tell her I'll pass up the ride home.

  'It's not far to walk,' I say. 'Anyway, I've got some thinking to do. It's been a big day.'

  'Okay then. Well, I'll ring you, all right?'

  'Yeah. That'd be great.'

  I get one last hug, and then I'm at the door, grinning like a dork who just found the golden needle in a haystack.

  'Hey. . .'

  'Yep?'

  '... You were great, Neil.'

  It's the sort of lie nice people have to say.

  But I could love someone for a lie like that.

  43

  Friday nights usually zoom. This one staggers along on crutches.

  I watch TV with Mum and Dad. There are about ten machine-gun killings during The Untouchables and Dad sleeps through the lot. I worry about him sometimes. Hanging up in his wardrobe there's a suit he's picked out to wear at his own funeral. Looking at him now, it's like he's practising for the grave. I think that's what I've been doing too. Until today.

  Mum's knitting needles click away feverishly. She makes shawls and blankets for poor people. If all her work was put together there'd be a blanket big enough to fit over the Great Wall of China.

  All my Friday nights have been like this, wrapped up safe and warm in the family cocoon. It's never bothered me before but tonight I'm restless. I wander around the house, lie on my bed, thinking. Be good if Troy was here. I wonder if I'd tell him? Probably not. I'd just smile a lot and he'd guess ... I jump up after a few minutes and go outside to play with Dusty. I don't know what I want – maybe just to be some place where I can yell at the top of my voice, a riotous, untamed noise to tell the world that I don't feel like a schoolboy anymore. I know I've got a way to go before I can say I'm a man, but at least now I reckon I'm officially alive.

  Back inside, in front of the TV again, Mum looks up from her knitting.

  'Is everything all right, Neil?'

  'Yep. Couldn't be better.'

  I sit there and do my best to act normal, but it's a tough trick when your heart's just been shocked out of a lifetime sleep.

  The only trophy I own is for soccer. I sat on the reserve bench for the whole season and my feet didn't touch the grass once. Probably because I left them alone, my team won the premiership and I got to collect my prized award.

  I deserve another trophy for today's effort – Best and Fairest Virgin, that sounds about right... Most Desperate? Most Bloody Grateful? I don't know, but there should be some way of marking the day as special. I want a way to remember so in twenty years I can look back on today and say 'Something Happened Here.'

  Maybe Kevin will celebrate with me. We can drink Dad's home brew and dance around the house naked. Or maybe he'll just talk to me ...

  He lobs home late after a night out with Rose, mumbles 'Goodnight,' but doesn't turn the light on, or bother about getting changed. Even his shoes stay on him as he flops face-down onto the bed like a worn-out sack of spuds.

/>   'Kev.'

  'I'm asleep.'

  'Okay. Forget it.'

  'All right – tell me quick.'

  'Um ... I don't know where to start.'

  He sits up in the bed and flicks on the light.

  'This better be good. I'm listenin'.'

  No. I can't do it. We haven't had enough practice at being brothers. Maybe when we're old blokes it will be easier to talk and be close.

  'It doesn't matter,' I tell him. 'Wasn't important.'

  'Bloody hell!'

  He snaps the light off and lies back down.

  'I know somethin's up with ya, Neil. Tell me.'

  In the darkness I sort out my words – groping, stumbling words – what I really need is Sylvie to put her arms around me and then I wouldn't have to say anything. Now everything is just a logjam; thoughts, feelings, words, a logjam stuck deep in my heart. Only one thing is clear. Dad says you can't live on dreams. Wrong. Tonight I can. 'I'm asleep,' I say.

  44

  Sylvie rings me in the morning. From the first words she says, I know something's wrong.

  'I took Ray to visit Dad last night. I thought now that he's sick it would be different. But Dad got upset and started yelling. Then he couldn't stop coughing. Mum was crying. It was horrible, and Ray was in the middle of it all. He just took off, Neil – wouldn't let me take him home. He failed his driver's licence too, so he's miserable about that. I'm so worried about him. I know he's working at the newspaper this morning. I have to drive to Newcastle for the baptism of a friend's baby so I won't be able to see him today. I was wondering if you –'

  'Sure, Sylvie. I'm on my way right now.'

  The Leader is closed on weekends but I notice a fan whirring inside. I knock on the glass door and soon Zom comes out to open up.

  'Sylvie sent you here, didn't she?'

  'She didn't send me. She just said you had a bad time last night with your dad – she's worried about you.'

  He gestures for me to come in, and when I do he closes the door behind us.

  'I know you're trying to help, Neil. I'm just a bit on edge today.'

  'Not a problem. I'm sorry your dad is sick.'

  Zom's never on edge, so I know something's up.

  'Have you ever been in a newspaper office before?'

  'No. First time.'

  'I'll show you around. I need a minute to think about what to say to you.'

  'Suits me.'

  I follow as he walks through the building.

  'This is where the journos work.'

  I see three desks weighed down by massive typewriters. The wastebaskets are flowing over with crumpled-up paper.

  Here the editor's office.

  There are the sales reps.

  'And this is the darkroom. Mind your head.'

  A tablecloth would almost cover the room. Black and whites are pegged up to dry, same as clothes that have just been washed. One whole wall is covered with photos. Most were taken by the paper's main photographer. Zom points to his own efforts, the way some parents show off the pictures of their babies.

  'You like this job, don't you, Zom?'

  'Yes, I do. It's .. .' He pauses to straighten up a photo. 'It's like the first place I've really belonged.'

  'Then why would you want to stuff things up when they're going so good? Wouldn't it just be easier to draw a line through Mick and forget him?'

  He shrugs, the way I have so many thousand times. It drives my mum crazy and now I have some idea why.

  In the staff room, he goes to a fridge, opens it and holds up a bottle.

  'Lemonade?'

  'For sure.'

  I take a chair. He sits at a desk.

  'Sorry you missed out on your licence,' I say.

  'Doesn't matter.' Big sigh from him ... 'Brother Michael – is that what you're here about?'

  'You know it is. You're always going on about doing something to him and now you've got Sylvie believing you really mean it.'

  'I shouldn't have said anything to her. I only said it once.'

  'You shouldn't tell anyone, Zom. It's a load of bull and you know it. Just get on with your life and forget about Mick. He's a mean bastard – so what? The world is full of them.'

  'Neil. I'm telling you because you're my friend. And I need to talk to someone ... Sylvie worrying about me isn't going to make any difference. Now I know exactly what I'm going to do. Brother Michael is not going to live longer than my father.'

  'That's garbage. No one kills a Brother.'

  'He disgraced me and my family. I lost my father's respect because of him. I was always going to do it. But after last night I want it more than ever.'

  'Zom, mate –'

  'It's tonight, Neil.'

  45

  I give him a lecture my mum would be proud of.

  'You do this and it's going to wreck your life. You'll end up in jail, Zom – bring even more disgrace to your family. What's your dad going to think of you then?'

  'No, no.' He purses his lips and briskly shakes his head. 'It won't be like that.'

  'It will. Believe me, it will.'

  'You want to hear it, Neil? What I'm going to do? Because all along you've known, you should know now. I trust you.'

  'No, don't tell me. I don't want to be part of it – and you shouldn't trust me.'

  He hops up from the desk and stands in front of me.

  'Of course I trust you. You're the only one from school who cared anything about me when I was expelled. I'll never forget that.'

  I sink into the chair. I feel like sinking into the floor. Zom deserves a real friend, not me.

  'All right, tell me,' I say, 'and then I'll tell you why it won't work.'

  'Okay.' He nods. 'Only you, Neil. I'm telling only you.'

  He drops to the carpet, sitting cross-legged.

  'It's a simple plan. There are two parts to it: first I steal a car, then I drive the car at Brother Michael. I hit him and I keep on going.'

  He says it cold and clinical – detached, like it's not a flesh and blood person he's talking about.

  'It isn't,' he says when I tell him that. 'It's Brother Michael.'

  As he fills in the details I try to pull the plan to pieces but every thread is stitched up tight.

  He knows how to break into a car – how to hotwire it.

  'I've met some police since I've been on the paper. Been over at the station a few times to take their photos. I ask lots of questions. Sooner or later someone gives me the answers I want.'

  He knows that every night just before 7 pm Mick goes for a walk on his own – always takes the same roads.

  'In the street where I'm going to do it, there are only factories. No one works there on the weekends.'

  He'll be wearing gloves so there won't be any fingerprints. And he's already got the car picked out, and the place where he's going to ditch it.

  'I'll be back in my flat in an hour,' Zom says, 'and when it's done, I won't miss any sleep.'

  46

  He's still the same Zom I know, except now he's talking like a killer and it doesn't bother him. I can only think of one way to change his mind. It's got to be the hardest thing I've ever done.

  'Zom, it's me you should kill.'

  He looks at me curiously. 'What do you mean?'

  I decided a long time ago that if it ever came to this, Troy wouldn't be part of it.

  'The wallet that Mick blamed you for stealing – I'm the one who took it.'

  It's as if I've told him some weird joke that he's struggling to understand. He almost smiles.

  'I never wanted you to get into any trouble. I was playing a trick on Paul Burke, that's all – nicked the wallet, meant to give it back – but before I could, Mick was belting into you. I should have said something straightaway. I was too scared. I was gutless, Zom.'

  The silence coming off him fills up the whole room. It crushes me.

  'Hit me. Do whatever you want. I mean it. I've got it coming. I told you not to trust me. Bloody hit me!
'

  'That's the only thing I'm sure of. I won't hit you, Neil.' He stands, his arms folded. 'I've only hit one person in my life – Brother Michael. You're not the same as him ... I knew someone had to have it done it, but I never once thought it was you.'

  'You must hate me. You should. I screwed up your life.'

  He ponders that, but not for long.

  'No. I could never hate you.'

  'Is that it? You're not going to do anything?'

  'Because of this I've come to know you, Neil. It might have started off bad, but you've been looking out for me ever since. No matter what, I think of you as my friend.'

  'Even after everything I've done to you?'

  'You made a mistake. I understand how it happened. You didn't mean to hurt me. It's all right.'

  'Zom, there's only one thing you should understand: I watched you going under and I didn't lift a finger to help. Don't kill Mick for something that I did. I'm responsible. I'm the one who should pay, and I will – any way you want.'

  His hands are knitted together. They rest under his chin, his eyes lowered; always thinking, Zom.

  'All right, Neil. You can repay your debt.'

  'What do you want me to do?'

  'There's one weakness in my plan. When I steal the car it will take me a few minutes to get it started. That's the only time I'm vulnerable. Stand at the back of the car. Whistle if someone comes. That's all you have to do. You've been with me all along, Neil, one way or another. Do this and then we're even.'

  47

  Any other time I'd have laughed if someone said that to me, but Zom is too serious to laugh at. He waits for an answer and I know it needs to be a good one. It can't just be a flat 'no'. I have to offer him something.

  'I've got a better idea, Zom. Will you listen to it?'

  'All right then.'

  'I'll go to Mick today – now – and I'll confess everything. I stole the wallet. I'll tell him straight. You had nothing to do with it.'

  'He'll strap you.'

  'Too bad. It's what I should have got from the start. But I'll clear your name, Zom. I'll tell him your dad's sick and I'll get him to phone him. I can make everything all right again. I know I can.'