Читать книгу Mordialloc - James Maclean - Страница 20

Floyd’s return to the manor was far from a hero’s welcome.

Not that he was expecting the red carpet and the tika-tape, but the boys had survived the odd brush with the law before. They’d always managed to come out in front. He recognised the silver Ford Fairlane of Max the lawyer immediately.Why didn’t the old prick offer me a lift back?

Some silly bastard had decided to give his uncle his license back too. The hulking great ’61 Dodge Phoenix of Graham McGuinness, in all its rusting glory, seemed to take up half a block. There was a rough looking old guy in the passenger seat. Floyd didn’t recognise him but that was no surprise; his uncle had always run with a pretty wild crowd. Now, with the A.A. meetings, they were only getting wilder.

How he’d loved that big Dodge as a youngster; all his uncle’s tales of intergalactic travel. He now understood the stories about the girls who’d seen the stars from the back seat; black holes and The Milky Way no longer held the same appeal. It took longer for the “penny to drop” on the owner of the other vehicle parked directly out front. It was a shiny red MGB hard top.

‘Floyd McGuinness, get your sorry backside in here this instant!’ demanded Helen. Her fury was unmistakable. Floyd made his way slowly in the back door. He was listening for something to tell him she thought this was all a big joke. He didn’t hear it. Looking at the floor in disgrace, purposely taking the vigor out of his stride, he did as he was told.

On this particularly sullen Sunday in downtown Mordialloc, the McGuinness lounge room was packed. Helen looked like she had been crying. Max sat next to her and seemed a little uneasy. Floyd guessed the reason for his anguish when he recognised the owner of the red sports car.

Uncle Gus, as he liked to be called by the boys, was a childhood friend of Helen’s. He had since gone on to become a fairly prominent psychologist and could sometimes be heard consulting openly on the radio. Having always carried a torch, he appeared intermittently when Helen needed a bit of support. Try as he might though, he could never cement himself in as a permanent fixture.

Maybe Gus is back on the scene, though Floyd. God, I hope not!

Gus wasn’t a bad guy really. In fact, he’d been perfect in the early days following her separation. Gus’s problem though was that he was very heroic in very low doses. There was nothing he didn’t know, nobody he hadn’t met, and you name a place; he’d been there. He was cashed up too, which had also held great appeal at that time, and made his stories more believable.

Unfortunately though, when you better got to know the bloke you soon realised, stories were all he had. He was sitting beside Helen in his matching lemon polo shirt and deck shoes. Floyd eyed him with suspicion. He was almost as pathetic as Max.

Next to Gus was Douglas, and he was clearly enjoying himself.

‘Man of the hour, our resident rapist, the back-door bandit himself!’ Douglas proclaimed happily. ‘Somebody give this man a Bondi cigar!’

This wasn’t the first time he had laughed at Floyd’s expense, and it wouldn’t be the last. When was the idiot going to wake up to himself? He was already 18, and if he didn’t make his move soon, he never would. The die would be cast. Doug knew what he was talking about too; he’d once travelled a similar road. It was amazing the effect of a good, steady woman though. Never one to admit it publicly, but when Eliza arrived on the scene he’d never been so miserable.

Floyd was tempted to laugh at his brother’s feeble wit. After observing the concerned looks on all the other killjoys in the room however, he refrained. His best chance of coming through this, with any family support at all, was to play it straight and serious.

He did notice that Eliza had done a fair job covering over her bruised face. Big Glen had certainly done a number on her, but you wouldn’t know it at a glance. She mightn’t get up in the stirrups too often these days but she certainly knew how to hold her tongue. There was no doubt in Floyd’s mind – she’ll make some prick a damn fine wife one day.

He looked across at Max just in time to see the lawyer’s top denture fall free. He remembered the pathetic performance at the police station and shuddered in disgust. Sitting next to Max was his uncle.

Graham McGuinness was wedged in a lounge chair and doing his best to look concerned. He was probably glad it wasn’t him in the hot seat for a change. Floyd nodded in his uncle’s direction and Graham nodded back. He knew his mother was reaching when she called in Uncle Graham. The bloke might be a far cry from the legend he’d once been, but Floyd was glad to have him there anyway; sober at that.

It didn’t take long for everybody to give him their ten cents worth. Floyd kept to his story; he had had nothing to do with anything untoward. However though, after some pretty intense grilling from his uncle, and some seemingly innocent questions from his mum’s friend Gus, he did have to concede.

‘Although he couldn’t remember much, the guy in question, Tim, had been at the party.’

Douglas continued relentlessly with the stupid jokes. Helen was pushed to the brink of tears. Floyd persisted with his act. Most were buying it, but not all. Gus had him under close observation. His keen eyes were quietly and methodically taking it all in. Floyd was under no illusion, Gus knew he was lying.

He’ll be sure to play along though; he couldn’t be stupid enough to come between mum and one of her boys. Gus’s wasn’t the only doubting face in the crowd. Eliza, even through the thick make-up and bloodshot retina, didn’t look to be believing a word either.

To say the vibe was negative would be a gross understatement. Floyd was just cursing his own stupidity for about the tenth time that day when his uncle Graham threw an unexpected life-line.

‘Floyd, we all believe you.’ Said Graham, getting to his feet. ‘You say you don’t remember anything, and I for one know how that goes. I’ve been down that road a few times myself.

Before this goes any further though, I think there is someone you should have a chat with. He helped your father and I plan our finances in the early days of the restaurant. Then later, we all danced together with the dreaded Health Department. I know that’s ancient history. He’s certainly changed a little since those crazy days, but he’s still got a finger on the pulse. You can trust him.’

‘I didn’t know you knew Batman!’ exclaimed Douglas.

His youngest brother cheered at the mention of a favourite super hero. Helen rolled her eyes in disgust. It got a few smiles though.

‘Well, where is this caped crusader?’ asked Floyd. He was thankful for a crack in the shroud of negativity. He’d take any option of escape.

‘He doesn’t wear a cape,’ muttered Graham cautiously. With a slight struggle, he freed his generous bulk from its position wedged in the Jason recliner, ‘and he’s waiting out in the car.’

Silence decended as Floyd and his uncle vacated the room. It didn’t last till they were out the front door. Max mentioned something about the jail time, and it was Doug’s laughter that expelled Floyd from the old Californian Bungalow..

Sitting in the passenger seat of the old Dodge was the same man Floyd hadn’t recognised earlier. A similar size frame to Graham, but definitely a lot finer. He could have been 50, or 75 for that matter. Either way, the years had been hard.

A set of cobalt grey eyes bored into Floyd as he nodded politely through the open window. They were searching eyes, the eyes of a gold prospector or a Grand Prix racer, and had obviously seen a lot; both good and bad. Locked in their crosshairs, Floyd felt totally exposed.

His face didn’t look real; so wrinkled and marked it could have been on a promotion banner a for western movie, or a poster boy for Marlboro cigarettes. Crowning it was a mane of greying red hair, partially slicked back, and “mutton chop” side burns running wild. He had one sleeve rolled up. An old tattoo was revealed; stretched and faded. His tough demeanour broke as he attempted a smile in Floyd’s direction. It caught Floyd offguard; a perfect set of teeth in stark contrast to the rest of him.

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ muttered Graham. Floyd was in the driver’s seat. Graham was behind him. ‘Who were you bloody expecting; Adam West?’

For a moment nobody said a word. Like a couple of gunslingers, the two men on the front seat were sizing each other up. Graham finally broke the spell from his position on the rear bench.

‘Floyd, this gentleman here’s Frank Cook.’