Page 13 of Calling Frank O'Hare

Martin folded his arms and stuck out his chin. ‘I would so.’

‘Jeez, you’re a bag of shite. You know that, don’t yer?’ Billy pulled the door further open. ‘You’d better come in. We’re going to have to do something about Finn. He’s never gonna get in.’

Inside the house, Frank changed into the ripped jeans and T-shirt he’d stashed there. For Martin and Finn, they tore into two of Billy’s T-shirts and scrawled‘Anarchy’ and‘Bollocks’across them, then added some safety pins. Then they mixed up sugar and water and pasted their hair to make it stick up like Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious.

‘Sure, don’t we look like proper punks.’ Finn was bouncing off the ceiling with excitement.

Billy checked himself in his ma’s dressing table mirror. ‘We are proper punks. Well, me and Frank are. Youse two are just hangers on. Aren’t they Frank?’

Frank gave Martin a shove. ‘Too right.’

Martin looked a bit hurt but it was his own fault, he deserved everything he got.

The concert was at the university, nearly an hour’s walk away. They added a bit more time in case they got held up at the checkpoints. You never knew. As they walked, they talked tactics and kept their eyes out for trouble. It was pointless trying not to draw attention to themselves. Belfast was a city full of big ties and flares. How could they not get noticed?

When they got closer to the university hall they started to see other lads dressed like them. Girls too. Frank recognised one girl from Good Vibrations, the record shop where he’d heard about the Battle of the Bands. He wasn’t sure but he thought she might be one of the enemy. She caught him looking at her and stuck out her tongue and laughed. He grinned and looked away, embarrassed by his burning cheeks.

‘Who’s she?’ said Martin.

Frank shrugged. ‘Dunno. Just someone I see around.’

‘She’s awful pretty.’

‘You can’t call a punk girl pretty. That’s a real insult.’ He tutted to emphasise just how stupid Martin was. Secretly though, he agreed. She was awful pretty.

When they got to the hall, they circled around Finn. Frank and Martin lifted him by the elbows to make him look taller. When one of the bouncers on the door noticed Finn rising up, it occurred to Frank that he would have been less conspicuous if they’d left him to walk.

‘How old are you?’ said the bouncer.

‘Eighteen.’ Finn put on a gruff voice which was actually pretty impressive.

‘Oh yeah? I suppose if I asked your date of birth you’d have one ready to go?’

‘Yeah,’ said Finn.

The guy shook his head and laughed. ‘On your way, big man. But if I catch you at the bar, you’re out.’

Walking into the hall was like they’d crossed the pearly gates and gone to heaven. Punk heaven to be precise. Their parents would probably think it was hell. Frank, Martin and Finn’s parents that is. Billy’s ma probably wouldn’t have noticed either way, and his da didn’t count anymore.

Billy’s eyes opened wide. ‘Who’d have thought there were so many of us. Makes you feel special.’

The other three nodded, too awestruck to answer. Up on the stage, the record shop owner made an announcement they couldn’t hear properly over the noise. Four lads came on and took their places. The drummer’s sticks crashed into the opening bars and the room vibrated with thundering guitars and hundreds of people bouncing up and down.

‘I can’t see,’ shouted Finn.

Billy was already pogoing. He grabbed Finn’s arm. ‘Do this.’

They all started leaping and crashing around, knocking into the other punks. Everyone was doing it. No one seemed to care which side you were on. They were too busy having a good time.

Somebody leapt onto Finn’s shoulders and sent him tumbling down. Frank pulled him up before he got crushed. ‘You okay?’

Finn’s eyes were wild. ‘I’m fucking fantastic, Frankie Boy.’

Frank laughed. Only Billy called him Frankie Boy. But it was okay, he’d let it ride for tonight. Finn was just a kid trying to be one of them.

In the break between bands, Frank and Billy pooled their money together. They only had enough to buy two pints so they’d have to share. Being taller than the others, Frank looked the oldest so he went to get them. He waited to be served, memorising in his head what he had to ask for. He didn’t want it to be obvious it was his first time. The girl he’d seen earlier was at the other end of the bar with a group of lads he knew for sure went to a Protestant school. That was it then. She was almost certainly the enemy, so she wouldn’t be interested in him.

‘Yeah?’ said the barman.

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