Page 15 of Calling Frank O'Hare

‘Tent. Yes. Come on, Frankie Boy. Where’s your sense of adventure.’

Frank eased himself out of the car and made for the toilet. Once inside, he glanced at himself in the mirror and noticed he was bent over. Road trip day one and he was nothing short of a wreck. Wait till he told Netta. Of course, he couldn’t tell her because he’d lost his phone signal ages ago. And now he was going to sleep in a tent. A fecking tent! And in the morning he probably wouldn’t be able to walk. This was all Martin’s fault. It was always Martin’s fault.

Finn was busy setting up the tent when Frank came out of the toilet block. Someone was helping him, a big guy maybe in his late thirties or early forties, his long hair pulled up in a bun. The motorhome that they’d parked next to was gone and in the space that would have been next to it, there was a yellow campervan.

Finn looked up as Frank got closer. ‘Ren, this is my cousin Frank.’

‘All right, Frank?’ Renegade stood up to his full height and dwarfed Finn. He even made Frank feel small.

‘You must be Renegade,’ said Frank in response.

‘I am, mate. Right, let’s get this baby up so’s we can get on with a few bevvies.’

They had the tent up in no time. Frank was relieved to see it wasn’t one of those little two-man things that only a small child could lie down in. That said, it was still pretty cosy. Not the comfy, put your feet up kind of cosy either.

‘I’ve got a chilli on if anyone fancies it. Come over when you’re ready, Yodes,’ said Renegade.

Frank waited for Renegade to go. ‘Yodes? Don’t tell me your nickname’s Yoda?’

Finn threw two sleeping bags into the tent and zipped it up. ‘Yeah. Like I said, I’m a different man these days.’

‘That bit I can believe, but Yoda?’

‘It’s just a joke, okay. Like Rebel’s not really a rebel, and Renegade’s not a renegade. Except for that time when he blew the whistle on his old company for bad practices, but that doesn’t really count because it was for the public good.’

Frank held his hands up in defeat. ‘Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry for taking the piss.’

Renegade made a mean chilli, particularly when you considered he’d done it in a little van with two gas rings and no space to speak of. Frank was a messy cook. He needed surfaces and lots of room. He couldn’t imagine himself whipping up a meal in what was basically a tin can on wheels. But he had to admit, there was a simplicity in it that he could see the appeal of, especially when you could eat the meal in surroundings like these.

Renegade was obviously from the Midlands. Just hearing his accent made Frank homesick. Partly because there was a nice comfy bed there, but mostly because he missed being with Netta. He knew that was a bit needy of him since he’d only seen her yesterday morning. Was that really only thirty-six hours ago?

‘The show’s about to start.’ Renegade pointed to a stretch of water down the hill. Four red deer appeared on the other side of it and started grazing. Another two were drinking the water. Just ahead of them, keeping a watchful eye was a magnificent stag.

‘Wow,’ was all Frank could manage.

Renegade poked at some coals he’d loaded into a firebox. ‘Yep. They come down from the mountains most nights. I stop off here just to see them. Never get tired of it.’

They sat around the fire, eating chilli, drinking beer and following the deer’s progress around the lochan. Before their eyes, the sky changed to the colours of a furnace, casting its fiery reflection on the water and Frank’s only thought of home was that he wished he’d brought his paints with him.

Frank had been on a high for the rest of the night and it was only now, as he wrestled with his sleeping bag and lay on the cold, hard ground that he was beginning to come down. Between him and the ground was a rubber mat, and it may as well have not been there for all the good it was. His back ached, every bone in his body ached, and he felt ancient. Renegade had offered him a camp bed but he’d refused, because he already felt like an old man next to him and the new, clean Super-Finn. Now he was wishing he hadn’t been such a twat and accepted the offer.

‘Are you awake, Frank?’ Finn’s voice sounded eerie, like it was stranded in the dark without an owner.

‘Yes.’ He could have added that he was so uncomfortable, he was likely to be awake all night, but he restrained himself.

‘I know we’re on a mission and all, but it’s good to see you again, FB.’

FB. He hadn’t heard that in a long time. Frank smiled in spite of himself. ‘Do you know what I was thinking about on the drive up? That time we went to see the Battle of the Bands. Do you remember it?’

‘How could I forget? What a night. I got drunk for the first time that night. Me and Martin stole so many drinks. The Undertones have a lot to answer for.’

‘Listen Yoda, the Undertones are beyond reproach. Don’t you be blaming them for your bad habits.’

Finn didn’t answer. Frank assumed he’d dropped off but then, out of nowhere, he said: ‘Wasn’t that the night you met Eve?’

11

The girl from the wrong side – 1978.

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