J. C. Burke - The Story of Tom Brennan

'Who's going to say grace?' announced my grandmother, a self-appointed messenger of God.

It wasn't really a question. She'd already decided I was the one as she was glaring in my direction.

'Thank you, Tom.' She smiled. 'That would be lovely.'

Thanking God was about the furthest thing from my mind but choice, your standard, everyday human right, was something that didn't exist in my grandmother's house. She probably considered it 'indulgent', one of her favourite words.

I began. 'In the name of the...'

She interrupted before my finger had even reached my forehead.

'I'm sorry, Tom.' She shook her head. 'I don't think everyone's ready for grace. Kylie, where's your mother?'

My younger sister looked at Gran as if she'd really lost it this time. Sure, Dad, Kylie and I have had the last twenty-one weeks to adjust, but Mum's condition was hardly subtle. Since Daniel had gone, Mum hadn't eaten at the table once. Gran was in for a rude shock if she thought it'd be any different at her place.

'Theresa!' Gran called.

The rest of us sat there in silence, watching Gran pretend there was nothing wrong.

'Theresa!' she called louder. 'We're not starting lunch without you. Come on, girly, don't be so indulgent. Life goes on. Be thankful for your food.'

Too tired to argue, Mum shuffled in, taking the same place at a table she'd sat around for the first twenty-two years of her life, a table we now had to join whether we liked it or not.

'Thank you, Tom.'

'Huh?'

'Grace,' she reminded.

'In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.' I wanted to get it over with quick, but no such luck. Gran's eyes were glued to mine, her lips big and stretched as she silently mouthed the words with me like I was a kid in the school play about to forget my lines.

'Thank you for the food we are about to receive,' I said. 'And, and... thank you, for...?'

Australia, she mouthed.

'Australia?'

She nodded as her lips continued, On this special Australia Day.

'On this special Australia Day...?' I frowned. Again she nodded. 'And...?'

She mouthed the next words wide and clear. I understood them straight away. But I closed my eyes, shutting her out, and fought the lump that was rising in my throat. 'And God bless Daniel,' I said as loud as I could manage.

'And God bless Daniel,' my family echoed except my grandmother. She made sure her words were heard over ours.

'And God forgive Daniel,' she boomed.

I didn't want to open my eyes and see my mother's face, nor watch the Adam's apple in my father's throat bob up and down in his struggle for control. I wanted to be back home having a barbie. Having our normal Australia Day. Our Brennan Australia Day, the way we always did.

If I kept my eyes closed, I could see everyone sitting around our backyard except Aunty Kath and Mum, they'd be in the kitchen buttering rolls and making salads. Me, Daniel, my cousin Fin and sometimes Kylie would start our game of cricket in the backyard while listening to the Adelaide Test on the radio. I could almost hear Kerry O'Keefe's classic laugh.

Dad was the barbie man. He'd cook the steaks, have a beer and field. After a few wines Mum'd stir him, saying it's the only time he could do three things at once.

Later Matt, Snorter, Luke, Owen and whoever else was around would turn up and our cricket game would become the sledging, raucous match that made everybody love Australia Day at the Brennan's.

But we weren't home. We were here. Here in my grandmother's dark, stuffy dining room, her gallery of saints watching us. This was now our reality. Matt, Snorter, Luke and Owen were a thing of the past.

I looked over at Kylie. She was staring with horror at the thing that sat in the middle of the table the thing that was our lunch. It was meant to be roast pork but it looked more like a charred slab of cow's shit. I wasn't hungry anyway.

Uncle Brendan stood up and leant over the carving tray, a big knife in his hand. He tried to slice through the roast but the knife got stuck. Over and over he twisted and turned it while the lump of meat sat there not feeling a thing. I watched it, thinking, you can stop feeling pain after a while. You shut down and it can't get in. Maybe I was more like that sorry piece of pork than I realised.

'Sit down, son, you're hacking it to pieces! Joe,' Gran directed, 'take over from Brendan and carve the dinner.'

I hated the way Gran called lunch 'dinner'. When we were kids, Daniel and I reckoned it was her way of trying to trick us into bed early.

Uncle Brendan passed Dad the carving knife. 'All yours, Joe.'

Uncle Brendan was okay. I don't know how he managed to put up with Gran. At least he lived in a separate cabin at the other end of the property, but in my books even that was too close. In fact, just living in Coghill was too close. If I was Brendan, I would've left this dump quick smart.