Page 62 of Calling Frank O'Hare

‘Feck off.’ Martin blew out a raspberry, presumably to emphasise the point.

A woman came out of her adjacent motorhome and shot them a dirty look.

‘Apologies,’ said Martin, not looking at all sorry.

Frank made himself a coffee. ‘Where are we off to today then lads?’

‘Up towards Morar,’ said Finn. ‘There are more great beaches to explore there, if you’re up for a walk. I know a couple of spots where we can wild camp.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll walk with you. The exercise will do me good.’

Martin gave him a look that said too true and Frank reminded himself to talk to Finn about wellbeing, as soon as they’d got rid of Martin.

They stopped at a beach that was another silver-sanded knockout, about fifty miles from Grace’s farm. Frank half-wished he’d elected to stay behind and paint, but he’d already taken time out of the road trip yesterday. Another day wouldn’t have been fair on the others. And anyway, he didn’t want to give Martin an excuse for not boarding the plane. He made do with taking photos and when he got a signal, sent a couple to Netta in the hope it was far enough away from Doogie for her not to guess where he’d been. He’d decided to draw a line under Doogie Chambers, or rather, his stalking of Doogie Chambers. It was best to erase it from his memory banks, seeing as it was just a blip on his part. A brief spell of ridiculousness that he’d since got under control and would never mention to anyone. Not even Netta.

He was feeling quite pleased with himself after this morning. That dip had dislodged something in him and he could sense a change coming. A good change. A positive one. He could definitely do this. Whatever “this” was. He hadn’t worked that one out yet but he was prepared for it to be anything. In that spirit, he decided to send a couple of pictures to Siobhan as well, with a quick message:

‘Will call when I can.’

Ellen would have liked it here. In the early days, she was always dragging him out to the country. She loved open spaces. The world was never big enough for her. Life wasn’t either, it seemed. And people never met her expectations. Funnily enough though, she really liked Eve. After she called Billy an obnoxious cretin, they got on swimmingly. Perhaps that was their common ground. Frank was never sure if Eve actually liked Billy. From that night on, the four of them saw a lot of each other.

Billy and Eve didn’t so much have a wedding as get married. Martin and Finn were the only ones who came over the water for the occasion. They hadn’t invited their own families. Frank and Ellen were the witnesses and, aside from a few of their London friends who Frank didn’t know, that was it.

If Frank hadn’t loaned Billy the money to buy the ring, it would probably have been touch and go whether the marriage would have taken place. Billy and Eve were always broke, even though they both had decent jobs. She was a reporter for one of the tabloids and he worked in a recording studios. His was a relatively junior role but it paid a good wage and he was something of a rising star in those days. Billy never did pay Frank back.

In spite of announcing she was going to give up modelling, it had taken Ellen another six years before she did it. And in the end, it was only because Gavin used his inevitable connections to get her a column in one of those magazines written by the rich for the rich. She wrote about art. Real art, as she often reminded him. Not the sort Frank did as a hobby. She enjoyed picking holes in his amateur attempts. It started as a playful joke that he’d laugh off, but you can only laugh so many times before it stops being funny.

She also liked to criticise his career choice. Teaching had made everything too structured for her taste. It dictated when they went on holiday, when they went out and, the worst crime of all, it gave Frank a sense of purpose. In the space of a few years, he came to care about his pupils a little too much, in her opinion. In 1984, he’d been the man who could do no wrong. By the end of that decade, he’d turned into the man who could do no right. If it had been an overnight change perhaps he’d have noticed the deterioration sooner, but it had been a gradual drip, drip erosion of their marriage, and his confidence.

All credit to her though, she stayed away from drugs. At least that’s how it looked to Frank. If Martin was right and Frank only saw what he wanted to see, she could have been having countless drug-fuelled frenzies, right under his nose, and he wouldn’t have known. He was too busy with his sense of purpose. Maybe Martin had a point.

‘You’re quiet,’ said Finn.

‘I was just thinking about when I started teaching.’

‘That was a tough gig, wasn’t it?’ said Martin.

Finn, naturally, wouldn’t remember since he’d been going through his own drug-fuelled frenzy at the time. But Martin was right. His first job had been in Leyton. For the first term, the kids had made mincemeat of him. He’d found his feet after that but it took a couple more years before they began to take him seriously. Even then, it was, as Martin put it, a tough gig. They were also the best years of his teaching career.

‘I remember Ellen used to complain about it. She hated you working there,’ said Martin.

Frank stiffened. Now that he had Netta in his life, Ellen had been consigned to the past, and yet he still couldn’t talk to Martin and Finn about her. ‘I wonder if the sea’s warmed up yet.’

Martin did a fake shudder. ‘Doubt it.’

Frank arched an eyebrow. ‘Wanna find out?’

‘You’re fucking kidding me?’

But Finn already had his jacket and jumper off. ‘Let’s do it.’

Martin shook his head. ‘No way. I am not going in there.’

Frank took off his trousers. ‘Who’s the boring ould fart now, Marty Boy?’

‘Right, that’s it.’ Martin pulled off his clothes.

They ran towards the sea, Finn way ahead of them and Martin lagging behind Frank. When the water hit them they squealed like wee girls. It hadn’t warmed up in the slightest.

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