Page 10 of Calling Frank O'Hare

She answered straight away. ‘Morning. I was just having breakfast.’

‘Me too. Granola, yoghurt and fruit.’

‘Isn’t that a bit healthy for you?’

‘Yes. Cousin Finn appears to have been taken over by some health cult. He’s doing a spot of yoga as we speak. It’s all quite surreal. If I had my way I’d be running for the airport before you could say hot buttered toast, but I have to stay up here. We’re going on a road trip. Martin’s made off with Finn’s campervan and we’re about to follow his trail. In a Mini, no less.’

‘All sounds very exciting. How long will it take?’

Exciting wasn’t the word on Frank’s lips at that moment. Annoying more like, and that was putting it mildly. ‘Not sure. Not too long I hope. Finn’s confident he can find him.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘North. The Highlands. Finn’s got it all in hand. I’m just following his lead.’ The irony of that made him laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ said Netta.

‘Nothing. It’s just that Finn was always the loser who followed us around. We were always having to get him out of trouble. It’s crazy and more than a little scary to think he’s the one I’m relying on now.’

There was a cough behind him. It was Finn. Despite his yoga and meditation, he wasn’t looking very zen.

Finn had filled every vacant space in the Mini except for the two front seats. He’d done it without uttering any more than a few words, and those words had been: ‘I’ll try not to get you killed,’ although he’d sounded very much like getting Frank killed was currently high on his priority list. Possibly even higher on the list than getting his campervan back.

Frank didn’t answer. He was too busy being piqued by the fact that Finn had left no room for his small suitcase. He pulled the passenger seat forward and the contents in the back shifted enough to allow him to shove his case in. Before everything toppled, he rolled the front seat back and jumped in, only then realising it was now so far forward his chin was almost resting on his knees. All attempts to push it back were met with resistance and Frank realised the contents had shifted because they’d fallen into the space behind the seat.

‘Do you want me to take everything out and repack?’ said Finn, looking more than a bit pleased with himself.

‘No. I’ll manage.’

Finn switched on the engine. ‘Okay then. Let’s go’

They stopped and started, weaved and wound through the busy Glasgow streets, until they reached the motorway, passing places Frank had heard of but never visited. Within an hour they’d reached Loch Lomond. It took a while to get to the other end but Frank was so lost in the beauty of it that he didn’t care. The gloriously clear day helped, but the images, the light bouncing off the water, and such colours. The blues – cerulean, ultramarine, midnight. The greens – sap, viridian, phthalo. His head was full of compositions.

‘Quite a sight, eh?’ said Finn.

‘Indeed.’

‘There’s more to come. This is just the beginning.’

They carried on until they stopped to stretch their legs in Glencoe, its snow-capped café au lait and moss green mountains dwarfing the Mini. Frank imagined all the great artists that would have travelled here in the past to capture it and the awe they must have felt on their first sighting.

‘I love this place. The power of it, it’s just breathtaking,’ said Finn.

If one of his colleagues from college had said that, Frank wouldn’t have batted an eyelid but this was Finn, although not the Finn he used to know. ‘I’m sorry I called you a loser.’

Finn rolled a stone around under his foot. ‘You were only telling the truth. But that was a long time ago, Frank. I’m a changed man now. I guess I was just hoping that wasn’t how you still saw me.’

‘Finn, I haven’t seen you for years. Give me a chance to get used to the new you.’

Finn nodded. ‘I was sorry to hear about Ellen. I would have come to the funeral but I didn’t think you’d want me there.’

‘It was in France. No one came. There was just me and Robyn, some French people, and the man she’d left me for.’

‘Oh. I thought she came back to you.’

‘She did. And then she left again.’

‘Okay. Well I’m still sorry she died. I liked her.’

---