Page 16 of Calling Frank O'Hare

When they’d got home after the Battle of the Bands, Finn’s ma wept tears of joy. She’d been convinced he’d be dead, ‘or worse.’ Frank couldn’t imagine anything worse than being dead, but expressing that opinion would have been the final nail in his coffin, so he kept quiet and hoped for the same response from his own mother. As soon as he saw her, that hope crumbled. Ma was in such a rage she was practically foaming at the mouth. Da walloped Frank in every room of the house, with Ma bringing up the rear, screaming ‘Hit him harder, the worry he’s put us through.’

Nobody had thought to do the same to Martin. Apparently, it was considered enough of a deterrent to watch his big brother being battered. Martin wept like an eejit, even though no one laid a finger on him. Although to be fair, when questioned, he didn’t let on where they’d been. Da had been round to Billy Mac’s so they knew they weren’t there, but Martin said they’d been in the park. He was a dab hand at the lying. But Martin, being Martin and never knowing when to call it a day, added bells and whistles. He told them they’d taken the drink Billy’s ould fella had left behind and drank so much they lost track of time. The result was another battering for Frank and more tears from Martin, even though everybody knew that couldn’t have been true because Billy’s ma would have downed the lot before Mr Mac had quit Belfast.

Before they’d left Billy’s, they’d changed their clothes back, and washed the sugar out of their hair so no one would be any the wiser. Five days later, they were still congratulating themselves on the parents believing Martin’s story when Siobhan let it be known they’d been seen by her friend’s brother at the university. In a forbidden zone, no less. Before Frank knew it, he was getting another walloping, and even Martin got slapped for lying.

Frank was still feeling battered, bruised and resentful. It was a Saturday afternoon and he was stuck in the house, helping his dad decorate the living room. It had been nearly three weeks since that night and he was still under house arrest. Not Martin though. He was off the hook and was out with Finn and Billy. Ma was out doing Ma things with her sisters, and Siobhan was out doing Siobhan things with her friends. It wasn’t fair.

Da threw a rag at him. ‘Stop moping and wipe down the table like I showed you.’

Frank wiped away the sticky wallpaper paste that had left a rectangular outline along the table. ‘I’m just saying, it’s not fair that I’m the only one.’

‘You were supposed to be minding your wee brother and cousin, and you got them drunk. And could have got them killed. Fairness doesn’t come into it.’

‘Martin’s only a bit younger and–’

‘Francis, I do not want to hear any more of your nonsense. You did wrong, now take your punishment like a man. And fetch that roll of wallpaper.’

Martin was looking awful smug when he got back for tea. It was only when they went to bed that Frank found out why. ‘We went to that record shop, Good Vibrations.’

‘You’re not supposed to leave the area.’ Part of Frank wished Martin would have been seen there like they’d been seen at the concert. Maybe then he’d get what was coming to him for once, because no one could blame Frank this time. But then Martin was just the kind of jammy bastard that would find a way to turn it round and get the finger pointed in his direction, just like he always did.

‘So don’t say anything. Otherwise, I can’t be your go-between.’

‘My what?’

‘That girl was there. The one from the concert. She was asking about you.’

Frank shot up. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said you were busy. Better to play it cool,’ he said, like he knew anything about playing it cool, but at least he hadn’t let on that Frank wasn’t allowed out. That would have made him look like an absolute kid. ‘She asked your name.’

‘What did you say?’

‘FB. Her name’s Eve, in case you’re interested.’

He had to wait another two weeks before he was set free. Two whole weeks. It should have been a week, a month’s house arrest in all, but he’d made the mistake of asking when he could go out again. Apparently, that meant he’d shown no remorse, so Ma extended it for another week. Frank insisted he was the most remorseful fella in Belfast, but she stood firm and two weeks it was.

It was Saturday. His first day of freedom and he knew exactly where he was going to spend it. For the last two weeks the boys had been coming back with news from their secret visits to Good Vibrations. At school, all they talked about was who was there, what they were wearing, and what the latest records were. Billy had found out that there was a pub called the Harp Bar where punk bands played. He brought flyers in to show who was on. He’d even been there. It was easy for him. He didn’t have parents who ruled him with an iron fist. He didn’t even have parents half the time.

According to Martin, Eve was usually in the shop when they went, and she always asked about Frank. Frank was going to make sure he was there today, even if he had to wait all day to see her.

They got changed at Billy’s again. His ma was back from her travels but she wasn’t at home. Billy said she’d got herself a fancy man, the sort it was best not to look in the eye. No one wanted to be in that house when she and her man returned, so they got ready and got out pronto.

As usual, they walked into town, steering clear of places they were likely to be seen in and reported back on. Anyone that looked like they might know Siobhan was avoided like the plague, being as she took great delight in dobbing them in for entering any of the parents’ designated no-go zones. Great Victoria Street was definitely a no-go zone but it held the place that was their mecca and their sanctuary, so they went anyway.

Eve wasn’t in the shop when they arrived, but Frank had plenty to occupy him while he waited. He had five lost weeks of new releases to sort through.

She sneaked up on him while he was looking through the singles: ‘So what does FB stand for?’

He swung round and nearly smacked her in the face with the record. He was about to tell her but then she might think it was stupid, or that he had something to hide, which of course he did. His actual name would have immediately marked him out as being on the wrong side. But maybe she knew that already.

She looked straight into his eyes. ‘Aren’t you gonna tell me?’

‘Frankie Boy.’ His throat had gone dry and it came out like his voice hadn’t broken yet.

‘So your name’s Frank?’

He coughed and tried to sound like a man rather than a pipsqueak. ‘Yep.’ He wasn’t lying exactly. Frank was his preferred name. It was nice and neutral. A no man’s land of a name.

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