Page 21 of Calling Frank O'Hare

‘Sorry. Sorry I nicked your van, Finn. But I had to do something drastic to get us back together again.’

Finn sighed. ‘Could you not just have called and suggested a holiday, or emailed a proposed itinerary?’

Martin shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t have come. Frank won’t even answer my calls.’

Finn screwed his face up. ‘Sure, that’s not true. It’s not true, is it Frank?’

Frank looked out to the sea and kept his mouth shut.

‘Tell me it’s not true, FB,’ said Finn.

Martin filled in the gap that had been left open for Frank: ‘He’s not returned my calls for years.’

Frank scooped up some sand and let it run through his fingers. It left a silver residue on his hands. Finn and Martin were staring at him, no doubt waiting for an answer. ‘You make it sound like you’ve been calling every week. It’s only been a few times, and I was busy.’

‘I’ve called you at least twenty times in the last three months. You must be a very busy man.’

‘Why?’ said Frank.

‘Well if you’d picked up the phone, you’d already know wouldn’t you? I was calling because I needed to talk to you. And I wanted to see you.’

‘Now why would you want to see me? It’s not like we’ve ever been close.’

Martin stood up. ‘Never mind.’

‘Well, we’re here now,’ said Finn.

‘And we’re sending you back home,’ cut in Frank.

Martin was staying in a field belonging to a crofter who was amenable to them pitching the tent up. Finn’s campervan turned out to be pretty high spec. It had what Da would call, all the mod cons, as well as its own small bathroom. Small being the operative word here. It was a squeeze for big men like Frank and Martin to get in. Aside from that, there were no other amenities. Frank would have dearly loved a shower. There was one of sorts in the bathroom but after a thorough inspection, Finn announced that they were low on water and a shower was out of the question. There was some good news, however. Finn insisted Frank have the bed, on account of his dodgy back, and the crofter sold them some lamb steaks. Frank was not going to argue about the bed, and he tried not to look at the poor wee lambs in the next field.

Surprisingly, Martin had stocked up well on food and drink. It was almost as if he was expecting them, which of course he was. As he’d already said, he’d hijacked the campervan for the sole purpose of getting the old gang back together again. Except for Billy Mac. Perhaps Martin had a plan to get him over here. Surely even Martin wasn’t that stupid?

Finn was clearly happy to be back in his van. He soon had a barbecue set up and was whipping up what looked like a very decent meal. Like his home, the van felt very much like a man’s space. Frank wondered if there was anyone in his life. He’d always had girlfriends. They didn’t last long but there were plenty of them.

Martin handed Frank a beer. Frank waited for an accompanying smart arse remark but none came. He just settled himself down in the chair next to him. In the end, it was Frank who spoke: ‘We have your phone in the car. Just thought I’d let you know in case you want to call home.’

Martin didn’t answer. If he was trying to niggle Frank, he was succeeding. ‘Have you called home since you left?’

Martin took a mouthful of beer. ‘Nope.’

‘Do you not think Bronagh deserves to know where you are?’

‘You think she wants to know?’

‘She’s your wife, man.’

Martin laughed. ‘That counts for nothing. You of all people should know that.’

‘That’s not the same. You can’t just walk out on her and say nothing.’

‘I didn’t. Bronagh threw me out.’

Frank frowned. ‘Siobhan didn’t say. Ma didn’t–’

‘Well that doesn’t make it any less true. My wife is sick of the sight of me and she doesn’t care if I’m alive or dead. So don’t you be telling me to go home to the family. Fuck the family.’

‘Oh Martin, what have you done this time?’ Finn said what Frank was thinking.

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