Читать книгу Mordialloc - James Maclean - Страница 24

His brother Douglas was the first to notice the conspicuous absence of Jenny Jones. Floyd had done his best patch things up but it was proving a tough gig. She wasn’t taking calls. He’d even tried the direct approach. Following a few shots of Jack Daniels, he arrived at her front door. With a dozen orange roses in hand, he was intercepted by her old man. Not only was he refused permission to enter their premises, he was told in no uncertain terms, ‘not to come back.’ The door was then unceremoniously slammed in his face.

Floyd’s first inclination had been to kick the door in. He could drag the bastard out onto the front lawn. Give him a good old fashion battering; teach him a hard lesson. He’d been offering roses, for Christ sake!

Instead though, he just apologised profusely. Then he had slunk off, like a thief, into the night. What humiliation!

Next time, he promised himself, he’d be drinking Bundy!

‘So what is the story, Casanova?’ asked a bored Doug McGuinness. He was keen to engage his younger brother as a means of light entertainment. ‘The grass is definitely looking pretty dry on your side of the fence these days. Where is the mysterious Jenny, anyway? Don’t tell me that she’s shot through for the holidays; left her knight in shining armour to rust?’

‘Oh, how funny, you should be writing that down; real comedy gold!’ replied Floyd. He continued to eat his cornflakes. Then, looking up from the classifieds of the morning newspaper, he took the bait.

‘Listen, Dougie boy,’ he began, ‘even when I’m on a drought, I get more action than you. But, if you really must know, I decided to cut the kid loose. It’s not a big deal. St. Stephen’s is behind me now so I’ll either be working, or off to university next year. I think I just out-grew her; need to spread my wings a little. A rude, basically married bloke like you probably wouldn’t understand.’

‘Well, you certainly spread something at our little party the other week. It definitely wasn’t wings. You might want to add prison time to your little list of options there tough guy. If you flick to the employment section in those there classifieds, under positions vacant, I think you might find Pentridge is looking for a new soap boy!’

‘What are my two favorite men in the world laughing about?” asked Helen McGuinness, entering the kitchen. She was struggling to control two big bags of groceries. Champ was clasping onto her dress so tightly he was getting airborne at the top of her stride.

‘We were just discussing Floyd’s holiday employment prospects,’ replied Doug with a smirk, ‘weren’t we, mate?’

‘That’s fantastic! Have you found a job, Floyd?’ asked Helen excitedly. ‘I thought you were going to go camping down the Great Ocean Road with Jenny and your friends?”

‘Not exactly.’

‘I really am sorry that we can’t afford to send you up to the Gold Coast,’ explained Helen. ‘I know. I know that that’s the big thing these days. Unfortunately though, with all the unforeseen expenses we’ve been incurring recently, things are a bit tight.’

Floyd knew alright!

There were options though; they weren’t exactly destitiute. How many times does a bloke finish secondary school. Uncle Gus should have been good for a loan. He also had his rich grandmother, rich uncle and cousins all living very comfortably on the other side of Melbourne. If he went to them “cap in hand” it was a fair bet they’d give him the money for schoolies week; especially now that his dad had shot through. His mum would never forgive him though. She hadn’t spoken to any of them since the funeral.

Floyd couldn’t see the big deal; if they were family, they were family. He often recalled the last time they all came together; what a disaster! It was his grandfather’s funeral, and although he’d only been seven at the time, the memory was vivid. Both his father, with his uncle Graham there to show support, were so drunk at the church that it had almost come to blows.

Their slurring rendition of “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” as they were carrying the dead man’s casket out to the hearse, was so badly received that they were forbidden from attending the wake. Helen had pleaded apologies to her horrified mother, but was left speechless herself. Her mother turned, fury in eye, and hissed viciously, ‘Wasn’t it enough just to kill him?’

It had taken his mother a while to get over that particularly nasty affair. As usual though, her faith and loyalty to her immediate family gave her the sustenance needed to see her through. Even now, once Floyd protested his innocence, she was angry, but she’d also become his biggest supporter. Her belief in all her sons was unwavering.

Floyd was thankful for the support. He only wished he could share her positive sentiment; he couldn’t.

His hopes rested squarely on the sagging shoulders of his recently reformed Uncle Graham, and his very odd and rather frightening mate – Frank Cook.