Page 23 of Calling Frank O'Hare

‘Afraid so. That’ll be why you can’t get hold of him. But I did manage to speak to him earlier. He’s alive and well, although not particularly happy.’

Robyn laughed. ‘He’ll be all right once he gets used to the idea of seeing Finn and Martin again. Can you tell him I’m okay and having a great time, and I’ll call him when I get back?’

‘Will do. Bye. And enjoy your holiday. Give my love to–’ Too late. Robyn had gone. Netta had been too slow, distracted by something tucked away in the gap between the stereo cabinet and the sideboard. A closer look told her it was actually two things, one empty wine bottle and one that was almost empty. The not quite empty one was just cheap plonk Frank normally used for cooking.

Netta sat back on the floor and chewed on her lip. ‘Oh Frank. What on Earth is going on with you?’

16

The new road trip

‘I’m not saying youse fellas are wrong, but it has to be The Clash, October 1978.’ Martin was waving his plastic glass in the air, as if he was about to raise a toast to The Clash. They were arguing which was the best gig ever. Frank and Finn had said Battle of the Bands, no question, but Martin disagreed.

Frank poured them all another whisky. They’d run out of beers pretty quickly, but Martin had bought a couple of bottles of whisky somewhere on his journey to the top of the country. ‘So you are saying we’re wrong then.’

Martin thought for a minute. ‘I suppose so, now you put it like that. C’mon now, FB. Surely you remember that buzz.’

Frank smiled. ‘I do. The Clash were special, I agree with you there. But Battle of the Bands. The Undertones. That was our first. The first is always the most memorable.’

Martin tittered. ‘Sure, you never forget your first.’

Frank rolled his eyes. ‘You’re like a big kid, you know that?’ As soon as he said it, he thought of Billy Mac telling him he was such a kid sometimes. He considered asking about him, then stopped himself. What would he do with the information if he got it? Probably beat himself up with it. It wasn’t worth the effort.

‘Will you shut up and look at that sky,’ said Finn. ‘Forget the past. Focus on the here and now.’

Easy for him to say. Most of his past was best confined to life’s waste disposal unit. But certain things, certain moments were worth remembering. For Frank anyway. Martin caught his eye for just a beat and then they both looked up to the black viscous sky encrusted with endless sparkling diamonds. Frank heard a gasp. At first he’d thought it was Martin, but then he realised it had come from him.

‘All this must really stand out to you, with your artist’s eye,’ said Martin, quietly.

‘It stands out, but I can’t say whether it’s more or less than you,’ said Frank.

‘We’re all unique,’ said Finn.

‘Fuck off, Yoda. Next, you’ll be telling us you believe the children are our future.’ Maybe it was the whisky he’d just swallowed, or maybe it was because the other two laughed at his joke. Whatever it was, Frank felt all warm inside.

‘It’s great to be back together again,’ said Martin. ‘The old gang on tour, eh?’

‘We’re missing–’

‘Let’s do this one road trip back down the coast.’ Martin cut Finn off before he had a chance to finish the sentence.

‘We’re supposed to be getting you back home,’ said Frank.

‘One week. That’s all I ask. I’ll go back after then. You can spare me a week, can’t you Frankie?’

The answer was no, he couldn’t spare a week. He had paintings to do, coursework to prepare for the new term, and a woman to see. One he cared for very much. All the same, there was something about this country that made you hanker after losing yourself in it. Then again, did he really want to spend a week with Finn and Martin? And how was he going to manage with the few clothes he’d brought with him in his overnight bag?

‘I’m up for it.’ Finn was looking at him. The years fell away and all Frank could think of was the wee boy who would do anything to be one of their gang.

Frank sighed. ‘Okay. But only if we square it with the demon sister and mother. And only if there are showers involved, and somewhere I can wash my clothes.’

When Frank had woken up, his first thought was his back, but he’d had no sense of pain coming from that area. Whereas his head had been a different matter altogether, and his tongue appeared to have acquired a fur coat overnight. What’s more, he was still in yesterday’s clothes. It had been a long time since he’d gone to bed without getting undressed, but this is what he’d come to. This mad trail was taking him back to his youth, and not in a good way.

Now he was driving the Mini behind the campervan. Finn was driving the van, adamant that he was not going to let Martin back behind the wheel, and Martin was in its passenger seat. That suited Frank. He welcomed the solitude. He was happy in his own company. Not a hermit exactly, but there were definitely times he liked to retreat into himself. Just him, a canvas and his trusty young dog at his feet. He sometimes thought Fred was the ideal companion, although he didn’t tell Netta that.

Seeing Martin again hadn’t been as bad as he thought it would be. Perhaps the distance of time had been good for them. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too awful to spend a week with him and Finn in this place. He could do worse things.

There was another deer up on a ridge ahead of them. It reminded him of the stag from yesterday, the way it looked straight at him, taking the measure of him. That must have been why he’d thought of Eve’s dad. Although it could have easily been Ellen’s father too. He’d only seen Eve’s dad once. That had been enough.

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