show with a bottle of Brown Brothers Riesling he turned to wink. Jenny was crying. Framed by the starlit night, and with Meatloaf crooning low on the car stereo, the scene was perfect.
‘Floyd … ’ she said sheepishly, choosing her words carefully, ‘we need to talk.’
Here it comes again; the old Engagement Talk. What is it with chicks; can’t they just put out in the back and be happy for the exercise? Why does it always have to mean something? Floyd steadied himself, and tried to push a tear to his eye. This was going to take some acting; Christ, he was toey.
‘Yes, the love of life, the brightest star in a moonlit sky,’ he replied. The analogy was a good one. He was getting much better at it off the cuff. Who knows, he thought, as her tears only seemed to intensify, perhaps one day I will marry her.
‘Floyd, Floyd please, there’s no easy way for me to say this, so I’ll just say it. I don’t think we should see each other any more.’
A long minute of silence followed. Jenny couldn’t look him in the eye. Her vision was glued to the horizon and the panorama of stars engulfing the Mordialloc pier.
‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ replied Floyd finally, dismissing the comment off-handedly. It was just the latest in a long line of recent over-reactions. ‘You’re pissed off at me, and I get it. We’ve been through times like this before though. We always bounce back; it’s what makes us such a great team.’
‘Please, Floyd. Don’t … ’ She was sobbing openly. ‘I’m so sorry, I really am.’
‘I’m the one who’s sorry!’ repeated Floyd, not really sure what he was apologising for. If he could just get half a bottle of that over-priced Riesling into her, it would make all this go away.
He moved in close to take her back into his arms. There was no shimmy this time. Feeling her body go rigid he stopped abruptly. He kissed her cheek and could taste the salt from her tears. Still she wouldn’t return his affections or alter her gaze.
‘Sweet Jesus, JJ!’ he exclaimed. He recoiled to the driver’s side of the big bench seat. Pressed hard up against the driver’s window, it only seemed to exaggerate the size of the old car. ‘Here I am looking at possible jail time. It’s my hour of need; and the one person who I thought I could depend on, the only person I need to depend on, wants to leave me on the friggin’ gallows!’
Floyd hit the dashboard in disgust. Jenny gasped. Meatloaf sprang from the cassette player. She still wouldn’t look at him, but at least she’d stopped crying.
‘When you calm down, Floyd, you’ll understand this is for the best,’ said Jenny, decisively. ‘I’m sorry, but this just isn’t working anymore.’
Enduring a barrage of abuse from a dejected Floyd McGuinness, Jenny Jones pulled the big Dodge door lever. She let herself out into the cool night. It was still well before midnight. The gentle breeze on her face felt soothing against the wet of the tears.
She thought about a taxi but decided against. The thirty minute walk back to her home would give her the time she needed. It hadn’t been an easy decision; they never were. It was one she’d needed to make though, and she’d known it for a very long time.
Her mother had sensed something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just the party. True, she hadn’t liked Floyd much from the beginning; but she’d stood steadfastly by her daughter’s choice. Through all the tears and anguish that followed Jenny’s first real love, mum was always dutifully by her side. Some lessons could only be learnt through experience. Jenny knew that now.
She cringed. Floyd’s abuse continuing unabated in the background. Working her way quickly across the oval that separated the car park from Beach Road Jenny didn’t look back. With each step her emotional load was becoming lighter and her mind clearer. Freedom had never felt so right.
Floyd was aghast. This certainly was a first. After all he’d done for the kid! Hell, he’d basically carried her for a month last year when her silly mutt got cleaned up by a truck on White Street. He accompanied her to her grandfather’s funeral wearing that stupid tie, then remained sober at the wake. He’d held her hand and looked solemn for what felt like hours!
Shit, then he’d all but pushed her over the line on her recent French exam. These were just the things that came to mind. Christ, could I have given any more? And now, finally it’s his turn. His turn to be shown a bit of compassion, a bit of tenderness. What does she do - she legs it!
His first impulse was to chase. He could catch her; he was certainly fast enough. Then he could patiently explain how irrationally she was behaving. If he could only get her in the back of the Dodge by eleven thirty. Even with the mandatory 25 minutes of cuddling, he could still get the car back by half past twelve. There was only one obstacle; an old white Holden station wagon. It had heavy condensation on the windows, and ladders on the roof.
Yelling was a big mistake, very unprofessional. For all ‘The King’ knew, he was just sending her on her off for a box of cigarettes. It was a long shot, but maybe his screaming tirade hadn’t even registered. From the movement of the old Holden the occupants definitely had their minds on other business.
Floyd crossed his fingers. Graham and Terry were still in occasional contact. If Graham ever found out, everyone would soon know. Christ, he’d never live it down! Deciding instead to play it cool, he pulled the cork on a bottle of Brown Brothers Riesling. Guzzling the cheap white, he lit a Marlboro and then launched poor old Meatloaf in the direction of Port Phillip Bay.
With the lyrics of ‘Paradise by the Dash Board Light’ going round in his head, and still wondering what the hell he was going to tell the boys, the old Holden spluttered to life. Its headlights cut across Floyd as it pulled out and made its way in the direction of the exit.
Floyd tried to glimpse the participant in the front passenger seat. He could only make out long curly locks and a rather generous nose. The brake lights came on. He watched Terry’s arm extend from the drivers window. It was a half wave finishing with a point of the finger. Bastard, he thought, the bastard’s giving me the salute!
CHAPTER sixteen
It was well after midnight when Floyd finally piloted the big Dodge back into the driveway of his uncle Graham’s unit. After polishing off two bottles of Riesling and half a box of Marlboro cigarettes, he’d been very happy for the power steering. The push button automatic transmission was another blessing. Jenny might have given him his marching orders, but Floyd really wasn’t feeling much pain.
‘So, what about it, ace?’ Graham stood by the doorway, like he’d been waiting especially. ‘Should I carve another notch in the old steering wheel or what?”
Floyd didn’t move. He just sat and stared. His uncle with his big stupid grin. He was sporting his favorite stained Hawaiian shirt too; the one that seemed to be shrinking daily, now Graham was substituting the bakery for the bottle shop.
He’d always been a big man, well for as long as Floyd could remember, anyway. A powerhouse in his playing days, still solid in his drinking days, now though, he was just another fat slug.
His shitty one-bedroom flat on White Street did little to help his cause. Floyd noted the boarded side window with a completely rusted eve. The split weatherboards were all flaking; abandoning their posts via a potent mix ultra violet rays and unforgiving exhaust fumes. Missing roof tiles completed the sorry picture. It was only a mile or two from the Beach Road apartment, with the lap pool and classic sea views, the big man had commandeered in his heyday. How far he’d fallen though, was really quite tragic.
To make matters worse Graham was smiling. Standing at his front door, with a flickering patio light about to descend them both into darkness, the fat fool looked genuinely happy.
Floyd daren’t even think about a so called “legends football league.” It was the often cited elusive comeback for a host of broken down old players; his uncle included. Fortunately though, there’d been a lot less