Saving Jazz (17 page)

Talk about awkward! It was extreme. Tommy ordered and paid for the coffee, refusing my ten with a quick shake of his head. I sat there silently as we waited for the coffee. I couldn't look at him, yet I was totally aware of him. Where he was, what he was doing. And it was so weird. I wanted to know everything. What had been going on in his life — how he was here, now, with a respectable career and looking like everything was tickety-boo, when last I'd heard he was in the gutter, smoking himself to death. What had happened? The coffee was a welcome distraction from the tension. I stirred mine vigorously as Tommy added sachets of sugar into his. Screwing up the third he laughed lightly, ‘Always replace one addiction with another,' he said, ‘and you're guaranteed success at quitting the first one.'

‘But what about the second one?' I asked involuntarily.

He shrugged. ‘Replace it with something else, more benign. Until what you've replaced it with is something normal and functional in society.'

‘Like sugar?' I asked.

‘Better than ice,' he said. ‘I have to watch the
sugar — diabetes, etcetera — but it's a lot less to worry about than meth.'

‘Why?' I blurted finally.

‘Why sugar over ice? Or why — what — everything?'

‘Everything,' I mumbled, ‘but start with the ice.'

‘Sure,' he shrugged and sipped his coffee. I was too scared to pick mine up, my hands were shaking so hard. ‘When I was in Juvenile everything changed. It was hard, Jazz — and I'm not looking for sympathy — but it was so fucking hard. I had no idea. I thought I was tough. Some king shit who could do what he liked — walk over anyone, just do whatever the fuck I wanted. But in there I was nobody. Nothing. They were bigger and stronger and meaner than me. Some of them were evil.'

I couldn't help myself. ‘You were evil, Tommy. What you did was evil.'

‘No,' he shook his head. ‘I wasn't evil. I was fucking stupid. I was nasty. I was mean — but I wasn't evil. I didn't do that shit for Annie to kill herself. I did it because it made me feel important. I wasn't evil. I was just a fucking mean bastard.' He paused and stared into his coffee. ‘But I saw evil. There was
a guy in there who would slit your throat for nothing. Just because he wanted to. Because he could. I was so scared. It was easy to get into the homemade shit they were cooking up — an easy escape. And so when I finally came out, I was a junkie. And I hadn't finished school. I didn't have a job. I had a record as a sex offender. I'd steal cars, break into houses, take jewellery, small electronics, whatever, just to flog them and get a hit. I went back inside — but this time I was in the real prison — and that evil bastard from Juvenile? He was chicken feed compared to these guys. The meanest and most evil guys in the state. I knew that if I didn't do something this would be it — my life. I made a decision — get off the shit and use the time to get some certificates and qualifications. So I did.'

I didn't want to congratulate him. His little road-to-redemption story. He had dragged us all down and we were all still struggling along. His success seemed unfair.

‘Mum picked me up from prison. The whole time I was in, she visited me. Encouraged me, helped me achieve everything I wanted to. Her brother helped get me the job at the dealership, and I'm making
good money, I'm clean and working towards real goals.' He sat back and looked at me. I didn't know what to say. There were so many things to say. But they were spiteful. Vitriolic. He was appearing like this Zen Buddha and I was going to go all psycho-crazy on his arse? I didn't speak but stared stonily into my coffee.

‘So,' he said eventually, ‘the why to everything?' I couldn't look at him. This was it. It was the moment. Why had he done it? ‘I guess I've got no real explanation.'

I sighed loudly. Seriously?

‘Well, nothing that sounds reasonable. There is no reason, other than what I just told you. I was a mean and nasty person. I was so angry. I blamed Mum for driving Dad away. It was easy to hate her, she was always on at me, all the time. I didn't realise then that it was only because she loved me and wanted the best for me. I was in a state of rage. I hated everyone. I didn't care about who got hurt. I just wanted respect.'

I looked up sharply. ‘Respect?' I spat. ‘How do you figure abusing, exploiting and raping girls is going to get you respect?'

‘It was fucked up,' Tommy agreed. ‘Even now,
when I think back to the pictures of Casey, I just wanted to humiliate her — like
I
felt all the time. I was a nasty piece of work — I hated everyone. Women the most.'

‘But what you did to Annie …' I shook my head. That wasn't misogyny — that was criminal.

‘I didn't think it was rape,' he said, and held his hand up when he saw my curled lip. ‘I know it sounds like bullshit, but I didn't. That word never occurred to me. She was drunk and she deserved it. She led me on. She was a cocktease. It wasn't like she hadn't promised a whole pile of shit before she passed out. And then when she was out, it was like, you said it was okay — so I'll do it.'

‘That's disgusting,' I said.

‘I know that now,' Tommy said. ‘Look, Jazz, I'm not trying to get forgiveness here, I just need to explain, and I need you to know that I'm not that person anymore.'

I don't give a shit, I thought. But why was I still here? What did I want from him?

He continued: ‘I would never have sent those photos — or the video — if I'd thought I'd committed a crime. You knew me, I wasn't a total moron. I
wouldn't have knowingly incriminated myself — got charges and time — if I'd really thought it was rape.'

‘So why?' I was still totally confused.

‘To show everyone what a hero I was,' Tommy said, ‘to show that I could get with whatever chick I wanted. I wanted their respect, the other guys.' He shook his head. ‘I was a total fuckhead.' I nodded in agreement. ‘I know you won't forgive me for what I did. I got us in so much trouble.'

‘Trouble?' I said. ‘You ruined lives, Tommy.'

He dropped his head. ‘I know.' When he looked up he had tears in his eyes. ‘I ruined Annie's life and Jack's and yours. I know.' He was right — I wasn't going to give him my forgiveness. How could I? Annie was a portion of the person she should have been, Jack — well, there was another story — and as for me, I couldn't forgive myself for the part I'd played, so how was I ever going to forgive him? We were drunk, we were young, we were totally stupid, agreed, but it was still unforgivable. I guess some things just are.

‘I've got a girlfriend,' Tommy went on. ‘Ciara. She knows about what I did — where I've been. She knows who I am now. I got lucky.'

I could feel myself nodding again. ‘You did,' I agreed. ‘You got luckier than most of us.'

Later that night, when I couldn't sleep, I thought about his words. ‘I got lucky.' It was so unfair, that out of all of us Tommy seemed to have come out of it best. He didn't seem racked by guilt, like I was, when a day couldn't go by that I didn't hate myself. He wasn't mentally altered, like Annie, living in a perpetual childhood, for the rest of his life. And he'd escaped far more lightly than Jack. Jack. Just thinking about it all — my red-haired Jacky Boy, who had held my hand and had always had my back — made me cry again. Jack had suffered far worse than either Tommy or me.

After seeing Casey and learning about Annie and then running into Tommy, Greenhead was in my prefrontal cortex. Everything had come back, with a vengeance. Frank supported me in talking through most of it. I still saw Karan, but once a month — not anywhere near the frequency I used to. It was Jack. I couldn't forget about Jack anymore. Frank understood, and offered to go with me, but then he also understood why I needed to do it alone.

I knocked on the front door and waited nervously. After what seemed like ages I heard footsteps and some shouting. A figure loomed behind the glass and the door opened to a heavily bearded, burly man.

‘Yes?' he said, sizing me up. I clutched at my
handbag and immediately felt prissy. I glanced around. What the hell had I been thinking? The overgrown lawn, the bags of rubbish spilling out. Behind the man the hallway was strewn with rubbish, pizza boxes, empty beer bottles. Jack's nan had warned me not to go alone. ‘It's not a nice place,' she'd said tearily over the phone. ‘His roommates are not very nice.'

I'd had a burning need to see Jack, before it was too late. I was already feeling the fear that I had abandoned him, like I had Annie. Now a part of me wished I'd brought Frank with me. ‘Is Jack here?' I asked, finally finding the courage to speak.

‘What's ya name?' the man asked.

‘Jazz,' I said.

‘Wait here,' he pushed the door shut in my face.

I waited, it seemed for hours, but it was probably only ten minutes. I couldn't believe this was it — this was where Jack had ended up. I had Aunty Jane, Uncle Rob, the kids and Frank, Annie had her family, Tommy had a girlfriend and a good job and it was Jack who was living in absolute squalor. Back in Greenhead I would never have believed in a million years that this would have been Jack's future. Never.

The door opened again and despite having prepared myself, I wasn't really prepared. I knew it was Jack, but he looked so old. So worn and lined, with a straggly goatee and filthy old clothes, and while his arms and legs were scrawny, he had a round belly pushing against his t-shirt.

‘Hi,' I said, but I couldn't step forward. His eyes narrowed.

‘What do you want, Jazz?' he asked.

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘I wanted to see you. See how you are.'

‘Well,' Jack opened the door wider. ‘Welcome to my home then. Care to come in?'

The last thing I wanted to do was walk down that filthy hallway, but I had come here to see him. I followed him into the gloom and we walked through a filthy kitchen to a sleep-out on the back verandah.

‘Make yourself at home,' Jack said, sweeping a pile of clothes onto the floor. I perched on the edge of his bed. The foam mattress was sheetless and ripped and stained. ‘It's not the Taj Mahal,' Jack said, putting a cigarette between his teeth. His beautiful, straight white teeth were varying shades of yellow and one of his eyeteeth was snapped off. He lit the
cigarette and drew in a huge lungful. ‘What's new with you?'

‘I start uni in a couple of months,' I began, but the minute the words left my mouth I regretted them. I sounded boastful and proud and totally disregarding of Jack's situation.

‘Oh yeah,' Jack scratched his arm where a faded blue tattoo curled over his forearm — it looked like a homemade job. ‘Whatcha studying?'

‘Psychology,' I said. He laughed loudly, and for a second I had gone back in time with the sound of Jack's laughter.

‘You know what they say,' he said, ‘those who study psych only do it to figure out their own shit.'

I nodded. Of course it was true. I was fascinated by behaviours, why people made the choices they did despite knowing it was a bad idea. I laughed too. ‘How else do you think I'm ever going to figure out my family?'

‘Yeah,' Jack scratched again. ‘Heard from them? How's your dad?'

‘Nah.' I said it lightly, as though it didn't bother me, but since the day of the court case I hadn't laid eyes on either one of them. Aunty Jane kept me
updated — she was in phone contact with my mum — and lately Mum had been making murmurings that she'd like to visit me. But I wasn't sure. It was like I didn't even exist to them anymore — they had wiped me away when I needed family the most. As for Dad, the last contact I'd had with him had been my day in court. It was like he'd disappeared. Or never existed. And I had a sense of loyalty to Aunty Jane and Uncle Rob, despite both of them (and Frank too) saying it was okay to reacquaint with my parents. ‘They're on a cruise. You?'

‘Yeah.' Jack shook his head. ‘Mum and Dad both been round. Asking me to come home. Like I even have a home. Can't go back to Greenhead. Blew it at Nan's. This is it, this is where guys like me end up.' He scratched even harder at his arm. ‘Fucken scabies.'

‘What happened at your nan's?' I looked at his arm, razed with tiny red marks, some weeping and irritated. I was pretty sure scabies was highly infectious. I wriggled uncomfortably on the bed.

‘She reckons I took money,' Jack looked away. ‘She didn't believe me. Said it was me or me mates. Things got a bit heated.'

‘What did you do?' I almost whispered. Jack
shrugged and looked at me from under his brows. I knew that look. It meant he was about to lie.

‘Nothin', it was an accident. I put my hand up and accidently hit her. She fell and broke her hip. After that she had to go to hospital and Uncle Mick told me I had to get out. Like I done it on purpose. It was bullshit.'

‘Is she alright?' She hadn't mentioned it to me when I'd spoken to her. She'd said the broken hip was because of a fall, but didn't mention Jack. He was still being protected by people who loved him.

‘Yeah,' Jack shrugged, ‘she'll be fine.' We sat in awkward silence for a while. I wanted to study Jack, but I didn't want him to see me watching him. I glanced at him several times, but he was more interested in his cigarette and scratching his tattoo than making small talk. It was palpable — the strangeness between us. ‘So,' he said finally, ‘I gotta get going. Work.'

‘Oh,' I gathered up my bag. I don't know why but I'd assumed he was unemployed. ‘What do you do?'

He lifted an eyebrow at me. ‘Really, Jazz?'

I shook my head, perplexed. What was so obvious? He lived in squalor, his teeth were rotting,
his clothes filthy — what could anyone do for work and still not have any money?