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InPlay Burying Your Brother in The Pavement 3
InPlay Burying Your Brother in The Pavement 3
TOM: I first had the idea that I was the son of God, when I was nine.I’d just read the
Bible.Not the whole Bible, not cover-to-cover but – you know… extensive dipping…
Anyway, the more I read, the more it sort of made sense, that I was the second
coming. Jesus Christ. Two.The sequel. I mean, my mum a virgin? Well, looking at
her you could certainly believe so. Check. Dad not my real dad? We never did have
much in common. Check. Me leading a sad-and-tortured-life-where-everyone-hates-
me-and-I-have-to-die-for-the-good-of-humanity-who’ll-be-sorry-when-I’m-gone?
Check. But then I tried to cure a leper – well, a kid with really bad eczema… it didn’t
work. He just bled a lot. I tried to – rip some of his skin off and…Beat. I first got the
idea I might have Aids after a particularly aggressive sex-ed class – you know, the
sort of class where your teacher just repeatedly shouts –
So Aids – me? Unlikely! But then I had a tetanus shot and it took them ages to
find a vein and I thought – well, maybe I had a mutated version of Aids – the sort
where you don’t get to do anything good to catch it. ‘I caught mine through drugs.’
‘I caught mine through sex.’ ‘I just, well, I just sort of got it.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because I’m
unlucky. ‘There are loads of other examples – the time I thought I’d developed a
cure for blindness in biology class because I seemed to be able to see things with
my eyes closed – the time when I thought I may have inadvertently started a war
between Korea and the Isle of Sheppey with some stuff I’d written on my blog – the
time when I thought I’d accidentally castrated my dog –
Okay, well, I sort of did castrate my dog. That’s a long story… my point is this…
It’s normal to be centre of your own world, in your head, star of your… and me… I
don’t just star in my head, I kind of suffocate all other forms of life. But this – finally
– I’ve got the opportunity to actually be some kind of star and I’m –
Luke – my brother – always used to come up here when he was upset. I was – too
afraid – always thought there was something living up here. Something swimming
in the water tank, sliding through the pipes, nestling in the insulation. But now –
a n t h o l o g y
well –
Funerals – fun-e-rals – rals from the Latin meaning ‘the rule is’. The rule… is
fun. Great news for my little cousin Kevin, who has jam around his mouth and
mayonnaise in his hair and likes randomly launching into his world-famous
impression of Robbie Williams. And less good news for my mum who just wants to
cry – on me.
My brother died. Badly. It’s that simple really… You know why they call them wakes?
It used to be a time when people sat by the body waiting to see if it woke up. Before
doctors knew what they were doing. Some bodies did wake up – in which case they
were alive and mourning was kind of pointless – others didn’t – in which case…
well… Either way, everyone got drunk. I know that I can’t stay here. I didn’t mean to
– I was panicked up here when an auntie I barely knew, licked my face and told me
I was a good boy and then tried to give me a deep-fried-mushroom thing. And it…
Jesus didn’t have to deal with this rubbish, did he?
I need to get out of here. I mean… here. I mean, all of here. I mean, the house… I
mean, the funeral… I need to get out.