Kookaburra (formerly untitled) Ch.FIFTEEN

“Hey Cal.”

“Scott?”

“Yeah, Scott.”

“How’d you get this number?”

“Yellow pages.”

No point sparing the truth.

“Wow. I – I mean, wow. How are you, little brother?”

“I’ve been better.”

Silence. I can hear his breathing on the other end of the phone. This phone call cost me the last of my change. I’m not going to waste it.

“I need help, Callum.”

“What kind of help? Psychological?”

“I’m serious Cal, I need some fucking help.”

“Girl trouble?”

I sigh. “Sort of.”

“Sort of in a not-really kind of way?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“You’re being very vague here, Scotty boy.”

I rub a hand against my forehead. Just say it. Say it. “I… I’m… Dad kicked me out.”

“Do I want to know how this fits under ‘girl trouble’?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Silence.

“Where you living now then?”

“With Matt.”

“Cool. Ryan’s little brother, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Ryan’s a lost cause. Be careful of him. Promise me you’ll watch out, Scott.”

“Watch out for what? Doing what you did?”

“Scott…” there’s a warning edge to his voice. “Don’t go there, seriously.”

Oh no, I think to myself, don’t you tell me where to go. “Why’d you leave us, Callum? Why’d you leave me?”

“We’ve been through this, Scott. It wasn’t about you.”

“No, it wasn’t, was it? It was about Mum. You couldn’t cope when she died, and you couldn’t cope with Dad, so you just left, left me alone with him.”

“Scott, I’m warning you-“

“Warning me of what? My chance of turning into you?” my voice is raised. I can feel the yelling at the back of my throat.

“Is this all you fucking phoned me for? To tell me what a crappy brother I am?”

“No!” I scream, “I phoned to say I have nowhere to live, I think I’m gay and the boy I love – fucking love, Cal – the boy I love is in hospital about to die. But I doubt you care about any of that, so I’m just going to fuck off quietly and find a nice little gutter to kill myself in. I’ll score some cheap pills; disappear into an alleyway, simple, job done, case closed. You’ll be pleased not to have to care about me anymore. Goodbye, Callum, you fucking bastard.”

I slam down the phone, secretly hoping for a bang, crash, wallop, anything remotely satisfying. Instead, I get an infuriatingly fragile ‘ting’. With nothing to show off my adrenalin other than that one sound, I lash out my right fist into the side of the phone box.

“Fuck!” I yell as pain shoots along my arm. I clutch my wrist at stare at my limp fingers, willing them to move. They won’t.

There are people outside staring at me who probably think I’m fucking insane. After all, I’m standing in a phone box, swearing (loudly) at my hand.

I stumble out of the cubicle, losing my balance and staggering to the side a little. My head is spinning, streetlights that lined the road so calmly suddenly my worst enemies, glaring painfully against my eyes. There are sirens in the distance, the sound distorted, echoing through my empty head. Everything seems so hollow.

Everything is so hollow…

***

“Thanks,” I smile at the nurse bandaging my arm. She’s young, and fairly pretty. Her hair is red and cascades in curls, hidden by her ponytail.

“You’re welcome,” she smiles back. Her eyes are green, and remind me of Kaden. “Mr Willis, I understand you’re sixteen?”

“Yeah.”

“In that case, we have to contact a parent or guardian before we can discharge you.”

My smile drops. “Why?”

“Because it’s the law, Scott,” she says, softening her expression. “Is there anyone we can call? Your mother or father, perhaps?”

“My mother’s dead,” I say quietly, my eyes falling away from hers.

“Oh… I – I’m sorry.” Of course she’d say that. She’s a nurse. She must see thousands of people die. I bet she uses that recycled apology almost every single day.

“Don’t be. You didn’t know her. Hell, you don’t even know what she died of.”

“Then tell me,” she says, then looks away, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m being too involved, too forced. You don’t have to tell me.”

“No,” I say, voice drifting quieter. “It’s okay. It was cancer. Cancer killed her.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven. Callum – my brother – Callum was sixteen. He moved out right afterwards. Left me alone with Dad.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry. That’s awful. But – but Scott, I hate to have to bring it up, but we really need to call someone for you.”

“Callum?”

“Your brother, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, unless he’s officially registered as your guardian, that’s not enough. It might have to be your dad. Is that okay?”

I sigh. “You really have to?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then do. But – call Cal too? Please?”

“Of course.” She smiles as she leaves the room. “You know, my parents died when I was fourteen. You’ll pull through, Scott, I promise.”

I can’t tell if her words are meant to inspire hope, awe, or sympathy, but somehow, I’m glad she said them.

“If you’re alone, and I’m alone, let’s be alone together.”