Читать книгу Mordialloc - James Maclean - Страница 9

‘Where on God’s green earth have you been?’ exclaimed Helen McGuinness angrily. She’d spotted him from the overlooking kitchen window as Floyd made his way gingerly down the side of the house. ‘Don’t you have school today?’

Christ, not only school but a biology exam, thought McGuinness. He tripped slightly on a rusting old lawn mower. With a struggle, he regained his balance. Knowing better than to engage his irate mother, he kept his head down and his feet moving until safely locked in the back bathroom.

Temporary respite from the thumping headache and blurred vision, fresh thirst-quenching liquid flowing over furry teeth, the ceremonious washing away of the sins; the beauty of the cool shower couldn’t be overstated. It’d been a big night. It also provided a lengthy opportunity to reflect.

Not much to teach Floyd McGuinness anyway, he mused, cataloging the previous night’s events. Just accounting for my performance with the old bird up against the bar last night they should be presenting me with an A. It’s only a matter of time before they add “dry humping” to the curriculum.

So she wasn’t the prettiest girl in the place; probably closer to my mother’s age than mine, and breath a tad nasty. It was dark. She did have a big old rack though. Yeah, I’d probably drop a few points for presentation but definitely an ‘A’ for prac. work!

Exams; totally over-rated. They should be reserved for the blokes that can’t get the runs on the board – Oooooh yeah!

Finally shutting off the faucet and reaching for his towel, the nausea and cramps subsiding, Floyd McGuinness was feeling quite accomplished. A well-oiled plan; beautiful in its simplicity, brilliantly executed. If they’d been handing out medals, he’d have taken two.

The clean school uniform was a blessing. Stuffing in a piece of toast to cushion the hand full of pain killers and deaf to the barrage of abuse from his tired, frustrated mother, Floyd scampered out the door. Finally putting some distance between himself and his antagonist, he really wasn’t feeling too bad. Shit, if he could just get his head to stop spinning he might actually pull this one off.

The ornate gates of St. Stephen’s College looming large in the distance were enough bring on a burst of mild nausea, forever dismissing the shower as an elaborate hoax.

Trudging purposely on, counting his steps to coincide with his breathing, the gap slowly closed and the hot flushes started. Pondering the worthlessness of a Catholic school education and weighing up his options to run, a high pitched voice caused him to flinch.

‘Explain the process of photosynthesis in 200 words or fewer!’

Kenny Coen, Floyd’s oldest and most loyal pal seemed to spring from nowhere. His blatant, yet very poor, impersonation of their full-chested biology teacher was wasted on a fragile McGuinness. Even a few ripe melons up Kenny’s jumper failed to crack Floyd’s waxy disposition; the teacher’s buxom figure the sole reason science was making a come-back at St. Stephen’s College.

As the timbre of the squeal felt like it might lead to a partial decapitation, the question itself began to tear at the fragile fabric of his brain. Floyd struggled to shake off the futility of it all.

‘There’s gotta be more to life than this!’ he concluded with a wince.

His friendship with Kenny Coen had stood the test of time. It went all the way back to kindergarten. Originally enemies, battle lines had been drawn when both four-year-old boys proclaimed themselves captain of a tired old row boat adorning the backyard of the centre. Along with a slide that gave you splinters and a rickety flying fox, it represented the typical line up in outdoor entertainment for pre-schoolers at the time.

It wasn’t the most renowned pre-school centre in the area but it wasn’t the worst either. Being partially funded by the Catholic Church sealed it. With living in the general vicinity and producing a valid certificate of baptism being the only prerequisites, it was amazing the number of young families returning to the faith on account of a discount in child care.

The boys had squared off, neither giving an inch. The ensuing fight resulted in a distraught and very underpaid teacher actually walking off the job. Parents were called. Threats were dispensed. Floyd knew he wouldn’t be sitting down for a week but it was a successful mediation. The young boys became co-captains. Then, by working tirelessly together ensuring no other kids could get near the old boat, the foundations of friendship had been forged.

‘Please, I’m begging you, turn down the volume!’ pleaded Floyd, pivoting to confront his former co-captain. ‘Can’t you see I was up all night studying!’

‘Well, you’ve got the bloodshot eyes, my friend, and the pallid complexion of one who has pulled an all-nighter under cheap florescent light. I’m afraid though the fragrant aroma of sickly sweet elixir gives you away. My guess is that you were embarking on, shall we say, less noble pursuits!”

Floyd was about to protest his innocence when Kenny burst out laughing.

‘So what was the name of the wild cougar that attempted to tear the stuffing out of our most intrepid adventurer?’ Kenny smirked with pleasure. ‘It is Dr Livingston, I presume?’

‘Doctor what?’ asked Floyd innocently. The strain was obvious. ‘You idiot, what the hell are you even talking about?’

‘That’s exactly what my father asked you, when you called our house at about quarter past twelve last night! You don’t remember, do you?’ ribbed Kenny. He was trying hard to contain himself. ‘You informed my father that you’d found the woman of your dreams. You said that she was about 40 years old, but age wasn’t important. You were going to marry her anyway!’

‘Yeah, well nice to see you made the wedding,’ grimaced Floyd, the memory of the drunken phone call returning. ‘I guess I couldn’t go through with it in the end; not without my best man there to hold my hand, anyway!’

‘What is it with you? Don’t you give a shit at all about your final exams?’ tested Kenny wearily. It was text book McGuinness though. He’d seen it all a million times before; falling to pieces at the first sign of pressure.

‘My little friend,’ recovered McGuinness, shaking his aching head, his tone ardently low. ‘my sad, soft, pathetic, little friend. Now haven’t I always told you there was more than one way to skin a wild cougar?’

And with that he flashed his miniaturised notes. They were expertly crafted to fit snugly into the palm of his hand. Kenny wasn’t impressed.

‘All the time it took you to prepare those and if you’d actually studied instead, you wouldn’t even need ’em!’

Now it was Floyd’s turn to grin.

‘What do you take me for?’ he asked; a curt nod then a wink of a bloodshot eye. ‘They aren’t my notes!’