Читать книгу Mordialloc - James Maclean - Страница 12

Parties at the McGuinness house were always widely anticipated. Mordialloc was a fine amalgam of natural wonder and shrewd council planning – wide streets, large blocks, pristine beaches and crystal waters. Unfortunately though, a hotbed in the department of teenage entertainment she was not.

A lack of traditional discipline in the McGuinness house meant the level of parental interference at parties was generally marginal. Neighbours weren’t always thrilled, and the police were generally on stand by. However, following gut instinct instead of the conceited views of others had always been a hallmark of Helen McGuinness.

One previous male friend had actively tried to modify her approach. He was in it for the long haul, but it was never going to be an easy road. Closing ranks, Helen’s boys had quickly and efficiently cut him off at the knees. Douglas, Floyd’s elder brother, was the first to take offence. He didn’t like the idea of a set curfew. Floyd just hadn’t liked the guy’s attitude – a little too friendly and buddy like; strong aftershave not helping his cause. Working together it had taken the brothers all of about a month. They’d broken the bloke, sent him packing. Things soon degenerated back to normal.

Selectively blind to the glaring short-comings of her beloved sons, or perhaps her way of shouldering responsiblity for the destruction of the family unit, Helen McGuinnesss seemed blissfully indifferent to the calamity that usually accompanied her son’s parties. She did, however, ask that several things be taken into account.

Firstly – nothing stronger than beer or wine. She often cited the near self-destruction of her once dashing brother-in-law as a prime reason to avoid strong liquor. Her thoughtful contribution to festivities was an exceptionally timid ‘champagne punch’. Bulging with fresh fruit and colour but severely lacking in fire power, it was another hallmark of Helen McGuinness. It was alright to get a little happy, she reluctantly accepted, but there was no reason to get stupid and reckless.

Secondly – no cavorting in the master bedroom. That such a rule would even be necessary sounds absurd but for semi-inebriated teenagers on the make, any master bedroom was prime real estate. Squatter’s rights were often invoked.

The great Douglas McGuinness had all but written it into his manual under standard operating procedure. Well, that was before Helen finally relented, allowing him to have a double bed of his own. She had stipulated very clearly that he work hard and save the money. A well intentioned plan - very short lived.

Douglas arrived home a couple of days later lugging a tired old ‘four-poster’ that would have sat nicely in any 1940s Mexican Bordello. One look at the nasty soiled mattress accompanying the worn, cracked old mahogany frame told you it may indeed have been the case.

‘Bloody amazing what some people’re throwing away these days!’ Doug boasted proudly. He’d just returned from a thorough scouring of the local council’s Hard Rubbish Drive.

It was a valid point.

Helen was unsure whether to be impressed or horrified. There was no way the mattress was crossing the threshold of the house though. She’d been having enough trouble with white ant. Between the festering foam and the rusted protruding springs, the old mattress looked to be crawling. A compromise was quickly reached. Their next step was off to meet Bill the Mattress Man; to see if his terms and conditions really were the best in Bayside Melbourne.

They were.

Later the same afternoon Douglas McGuinness hit the big time on the back of a 180 x 200 budget special. Poor Helen McGuinness; she was left to ponder the burden of yet another bill on the ever growing mountain fast becoming the sum total of her life.

Floyd’s envy had been all consuming, and not just of the new sleeping arrangements. In his heyday, the commotion coming from the bedroom of Douglas McGuinness was akin to that of a runaway freight train. Three or four days a week the locomotive was running; rarely the same face twice. Even pleas from the neighbours for ‘Casey Jones to park his cabose elsewhere,’ went unheaded. The budding young engineer with the heroic exploits, was happy to show them all – some express trains did indeed pick up all stations.

How things had changed.

Douglas was now in a serious relationship. He had been for some time. His girlfriend Eliza wasn’t a bad sort. The sad reality was though, with such little noise emanating from the rail yard these days, Floyd had good reason to believe the old loco. might be up on blocks – presumed scrapped.

The third, and final, rule was no swearing in front of little Charlie ‘Champ’ McGuinness, Floyd’s five year old brother. Lately the little tike had been causing Helen no end of embarrassment. She was completely amiss as to where her youngest son could be picking up such foul language.

On three recent occasions she’d been summoned up to the creche. There were also some downright awful discussions with mothers of Charlie’s friends. With vigor, she’d defended her angel, but there was no getting away from the cold hard truth. The kid had a mouth on him like a sewer. Amusing initially, it gave his two elder brothers and fledgling uncle a wealth of cheap laughs. For Helen McGuinness though, the former society darling with the rusting silver spoon, it cut her to the very core.