Page 22 of Calling Frank O'Hare

‘I honestly don’t know. If I’d been unfaithful to her, I could understand it. But I haven’t. I’m not a gambler. I don’t do drugs.’ Martin nodded towards Finn. ‘Not since you left anyways. Sure, I like a drink, but no more than the next man. She just told me she’d had enough. Then she threw me out of the house. I mean physically pushed me out the door!’

Frank rolled his eyes. ‘Ah come on. You’re exaggerating. Bronagh’s a wee woman and you’re twice her size.’

‘That’s what made it all the more shocking.’ Martin shook his can to make sure it was empty then screwed it up in his fist.

‘She is a feisty woman,’ said Finn, as if it all made sense.

It made no sense to Frank. He wasn’t buying it. ‘You must have done something. From what I remember she was a very reasonable woman. Feisty, but reasonable.’

‘She is. And I’m sure you’re right, Frank. I must have done something wrong, but I haven’t a clue what.’

‘Have you tried asking her?’

‘I did, when I went back to pick up my clothes from the front garden. She just said to work it out for myself.’

‘Is that why you came over here? To work it out,’ said Finn. It made Frank think of Netta’s mum when she was in what Netta called her counselling mode. Perhaps counselling was another string to Saint Finn’s bow. Unless perhaps, he’d been counselled himself. That was always a possibility.

‘I suppose so.’ Finn’s suggestion seemed to come as a welcome surprise to Martin. If you were suspicious you might say it was a handy excuse to latch onto. Frank was definitely suspicious. He wasn’t sure if he was one hundred per cent signed up to this idea of Bronagh throwing Martin out for no reason.

‘Dinner’s ready.’ Finn loaded the food onto plates and passed them round. ‘Let’s get this down, have another beer, and work out what’s to be done.’

15

Oh Frank

Netta let herself into Frank’s house. He’d cut out midway through the call earlier, so she hadn’t had time to ask him if she should come over. She decided to come anyway, mainly to check the food he’d left behind. It was all very well leaving stuff when you were expecting to be back in a couple of days, but if he ended up staying for the whole of the Easter break, some of it wouldn’t last.

A quick scan of the fridge and cupboards produced a small assortment of fresh stuff that she’d need to use up before they went bad ways. The bin would also need emptying before it started to smell.

She checked his studio and found the wastepaper basket nearly full with chocolate bar wrappers and crisp bags. ‘Tsk tsk Mr O’Hare. Up to all sorts of naughtiness when I’m not here to keep an eye on you.’ The thought made her smile. Never mind the food going bad ways, Frank was doing a decent job of sliding into it himself.

His unfinished painting caught her eye. As with all of Frank’s paintings, the colours arrested you, they drew you in, just like the photo he was taking inspiration from. She recognised it as one she’d taken when she’d visited Doogie in the Scottish Highlands. Frank had printed it out. His response had been quite muted when she’d sent it to him and even more muted when she’d suggested they went up there together. He’d said something about not feeling confident enough to meet Doogie. Before then, Netta had never seen him as anything other than a man comfortable in his own skin. It seemed there were some things that even Frank wasn’t immune to. Or rather, some people. All the same, the photo must have triggered something if he was trying to capture it on canvas. The snap didn’t really do it justice. Seeing it in real life was a much more sensual experience, and Frank could be finding that out himself right now.

The evidence of Frank’s food indulgences were emptied into the kitchen bin. Netta filled a jug with water and fed the wilting basil plant on the window sill, then moved onto the lounge where a few cacti lived.

Most of the time, the lounge was kept reasonably tidy so it was a surprise to find records spread across the floor. She noticed there was a single still on the stereo turntable, ‘Teenage Kicks’ by the Undertones. Netta put it on and sang along as she checked out the other records. Some of the covers were pretty battered. He’d obviously had them for years. They were probably bought in Belfast when Frank was a kid. She didn’t know all of the names. Perhaps some of the bands never made it out of Belfast. She slipped one of the unknowns on and realised it was the background noise in the message Frank had left when she was in Brighton. Like the first one, the song was over in a few minutes and she had to look around for another. She’d forgotten how attentive you had to be with singles. It was quite tiresome now that she thought about it. No wonder albums took off.

She flicked through the albums and picked out one calledThe Undertones. As the vinyl slid out of its cover, one of those old handwritten fanzines came out with it. She’d bought some herself back in the eighties. This one was written in 1978 and was calledCan. Next to the name was a drawing of a half-open tin can on its side with worms spilling out of it. Worms with Mohicans and safety pins, no less. It was, by all accounts, the first edition and was priced at 20p.

Netta put the album on and sat on the floor for a read. It was just like the ones she used to buy, mostly pictures of punk bands of the day, some gig and record reviews, and one full length article,‘Battle of the Bands: Was I in Punk Heaven?’by someone called Ana Manic. She wondered how long it had taken to come up with that name. The other names listed on reviews were far less on trend for the time – FB and Billy Mac. Ana Manic sounded much more interesting.

Her phone rang just as ‘Jimmy Jimmy’ began. It was Robyn, Frank’s daughter. ‘Hi Netta. Sorry to bother you. It’s just that I can’t get hold of Dad and I promised I’d let him know we got to Thailand safely. I’ve messaged and called but he’s not picking anything up, so now I’m worried. Is everything all right?’

‘Oh yes, no need to worry. He’s had to go up to Scotland. His brother’s there.’

‘What’s Uncle Martin doing in Scotland?’

‘I think that’s what your dad’s trying to find out. Martin left Belfast without telling anyone apparently, but then he turned up in Glasgow at Cousin Finn’s.’ Netta still couldn’t say the name Cousin Finn without wanting to laugh. She hoped that wasn’t evident down the line. ‘They’re up in the Highlands now, trying to track Martin down.’

‘Oh yeah, I heard Finn had moved to Glasgow.’

‘Oh. I don’t think your dad knew.’

‘No, I didn’t mention it to him. Is dad okay with all of it?’

‘I’m not sure. I think he’s finding it a challenge.’

‘That makes sense. He kind of went off them, don’t know why. Has he still got that crappy old phone?’

---