Kookaburra (formerly untitled) Ch.SEVENTEEN

After pulling me up endless flights of dirty stairs, past breaking doors and broken windows, Callum finally stops outside a door.

“This is us,” he says, pulling a bunch of keys out of his pocket and shoving them into the lock. The door swings open, showing a small, dilapidated flat submerged in chaos. “Welcome to paradise, little brother.”

I stare around. The walls are painted brown, white and a nauseatingly calm blue. The carpet is rough. There are dirty dishes in the sink, and a general mess lies over everything. This has to be too much mess for one person.

“Hey, Callum?” I say as he disappears into the bedroom, pulling his coat off. “Is there anyone else here?”

“Well, there’s my roommates,” he says, coming back in, “but they’ll love you, don’t worry.”

“What are their names?” I say, shrugging off my backpack. I hate myself for asking such a juvenile question, but my mind wants – needs – to know.

“Uh…” he rubs a callused hand across his forehead. “There’s Oli, William, Mikey, Jack, Bert… a few others, sometimes.”

“You all live here?” I say, staring around the apartment in disbelief.

“Rarely,” says Callum, moving to the fridge. “Sometimes it’s only me. Sometimes it’s only one of them. Sometimes it’s a few of us. Sometimes, it’s whoever passes out on the floor and forgets to move in the morning.” My gaze switches to him. “What?” he says, then continues his explanation. “I think Will and I actually own this place. We pay most of the rent, anyway, and we’re here the most.”

I’m about to say something else, but it’s forgotten as a voice behind me calls out. I spin round. There’s a guy with long black hair walking through the door, shopping bag in each hand.

“Callum, you’d better be ready to go out, because I found this club that’s absolutely full of girls desperate to be-“ he stops, staring at me. “What the fuck is up with the kid?”

“Bert!” says Callum, trying hard to put some enthusiasm into his voice, “can I… talk to you a minute?” He ushers the new guy (Bert, I guess) into the bedroom. I flop down onto the lumpy sofa. Callum doesn’t fucking want me. Bert probably doesn’t want me. Dad doesn’t want me. No-one fucking wants me.

“Dude, he has nowhere else to go, what the hell am I supposed to do with him?”

Great. I’ve been here five minutes, and people are already shouting about me.

“Leave him on the fucking street for all I care, we can’t have a fucking kid here!”

“He’s not a fucking kid, he’s my brother. Which is precisely why he’s not going on the street.”

“I survived there for long enough, Callum.”

“Bert, are you gonna turn this into another fucking excuse to moan about your horrible upbringing? If you are, you can fucking leave right now, because whatever you say, he’s staying.”

With that, Callum storms into the room, and I try desperately to look like I hadn’t been listening to their conversation.

“Right,” he says, plastering a fake smile across his face, “want me to help unpack?”

“No, I’m fine,” I murmur.

He sits down next to me, and I feel the couch cushions sag. “Look, dude, I’m sorry. Bert’s a bit of an asshole, and what’s worse, he’s a stoned asshole. But fuck him, you’re going to stay, because you’re my little brother, and… and I love you.” The last sentence is pushed out, almost choked as he struggles to say it. But bless him, because he means it.

“I love you too, Callum.”

“Good. Now, you want to eat? I’m fucking starving.” Cal’s up now. The moment’s over.

I remember Kaden. I remember his ribs jutting out painfully as he lay on my bed, the paleness of his skin under my flushed hands. “No, I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” he calls from the kitchen, “but I make a mean beans on toast.”

I smile, despite myself. “Remember that time you almost burnt the kitchen down?”

“Oh fuck, yeah. You were like…”

“Six.”

“Yeah, and I was eleven, and Mum and Dad were both out…”

“And I was really hungry, so you decided to cook for me…”

“Thank fucking god for that sink.”

“Yeah,” I laugh, “remember the burns you got?”

“Remember them? Jesus, I still have marks up my arms.”

We both laugh together. Him and me. Me and him.

“Hey, Callum?” I look over. It’s Bert, the guy from before.

“Yeah?” says Callum from inside the cupboard.

“Mind if I take the kid out?”

“Depends,” says Cal, rising from the cupboard triumphant, clutching a tin of baked beans. “What are you gonna do to him?”

“Ha, ha, very funny. Nothing. I just want to show him around.”

“In that case, no,” says Callum, looking in a drawer for a saucepan.

“Why not?”

“Because, Bert, if I know you well enough – and I think I do – I can be sure you’re gonna take him to a] a strip club, or b] a crack house.”

“Damn. You do know me well.”

“Callum,” I say, causing Bert to look at me like he hadn’t quite realised I was there before, “I’ll be fine. Let me go?”

“No,” he says, placing the pan on the hob, “no way.”

“Aw, come on, Cal, give the kid a life.”

“Bert, don’t you have a prostitute to hire?”

Bert gives Callum a death stare, eyes like knives, before stomping out of the apartment.

“I want you to be careful with Bert, Scott. I mean, seriously. You just need to look at the guy, and you’re pretty much fucked. He’s dangerous.”

“Are all your friends psychos?”

“Most of them. Some more than others.”

I’m not sure if he’s joking or not, so I just smile a little and fiddle with the hem of my teeshirt. I can feel the fabric under my fingers, fraying and pulling apart.

“Who knows, if you stay here long enough, maybe you’ll turn into one.”

God, I hope not.

“We are the dead ones. We are the lost cause. We are the bend before the break.”