Page 49 of Calling Frank O'Hare

‘I’ve never really thought about it, but seeing as I don’t have anything else to do because you refuse to take me with you…’

‘It’s not safe for you to go.’ They’d been through this so many times. If she came back to his streets and the Balaclavas got wind that she was an English brigadier’s daughter, she’d be lucky to survive the first week. That was the truth of it. It was also a perfect excuse, because there was another truth Frank was keeping to himself. He was ashamed. Ashamed of the place he called home and the people who made that home. But he was also ashamed of her and everything she and her family stood for. He was in a state of constant conflict and guilt.

‘Okay fine. I’ll go to London instead. It will annoy the hell out of my parents.’

‘Hmm?’ Frank hadn’t been listening. He’d been watching Billy having a go at Adrian. It occurred to him that the one person who brought out that conflict and guilt more than anyone else was Billy Mac.

32

A telling omission – 1982

They were on the Liverpool to Belfast ferry. Considering he was going home, Frank was in a good mood. The weekend had gone better than expected. Once he’d settled down, Billy was less of an arsehole and when it was just the four of them, it was almost like it used to be. Another plus point was that Ellen thought he was an obnoxious fuckwit which pleased Frank no end. He’d seen Billy’s look when Ellen walked into the pub, so it was good to know his lustful thoughts weren’t reciprocated. Not that Billy would ever try to steal Ellen from him. That was more Martin’s style. Billy had principles when it came to doing the dirty on a mate, and they were still mates.

Another reason for his good mood was that Ellen was so excited about this modelling thing she’d stopped moaning about not being able to come with him. She was always banging on about the restrictions her parents placed on her, but Frank sensed she was used to getting her own way. She’d been a pain about it for weeks. At one point, she had the kind of tantrum you’d expect from a toddler and he didn’t see her for days after. But when she did return, it was as if nothing had happened. She was all kisses and cuddles again. This kind of behaviour was alien to Frank. In his house it would have gotten them a clip round the ear. Even Siobhan. There was no discrimination from Ma and Da in that regard. They were equally strict with all three of them. Well, sort of. Him and Siobhan didn’t agree on much but there was one thing they were united on, Ma sometimes let things slide with Martin that neither of them would have gotten away with.

Da met them from the ferry. He patted Frank on the back. ‘Your ma’ll be pleased to see you, son. Do you want a lift, Billy?’

Billy threw his bag over his shoulder. ‘Nah, you’re okay. I’ll make my own way. I’m not living near you anymore.’

Da would have known that, but he didn’t say. Everybody knew everybody’s business here, and Da always seemed to know more than most. Not that he ever let on. You had to watch his expression when someone told him what they thought was news. If you looked closely, you could tell his surprise was put on and that he’d probably known about it before it even happened. ‘Right you are, Billy. We’ll get off then.’ He pointed to Martin and Finn with what they always used to call the finger of death. ‘I’ll deal with youse two when we get home.’

Martin winced. He was bigger than Da now, but that didn’t make it any less scary. Finn gulped. His own da was long dead – one of the unfortunate innocents who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – so Frank’s da had become Finn’s proxy da. Finn always gave the impression he was happy with the arrangement, but maybe not today.

Frank sat in the front while the other two quivered in the back. Martin was in trouble and for once, Frank couldn’t be blamed. It was wrong to be pleased about it, but he couldn’t help himself.

Ma was too busy raging to express her delight at Frank’s return. She was in no mood to let Martin’s indiscretions slide this time. As soon as the front door closed, Da had Martin by the scruff of his neck and was battering the hell out of him. Finn’s ma was slapping him around the head with a rolled up newspaper, screaming about him being a waste of space. Determined not to be outdone, Ma added they were both a waste of space. Frank watched the theatrics with a warm glow. Maybe being home wasn’t so bad after all.

‘Frank’s got a posh Brit girlfriend,’ yelped Martin, on receipt of a spectacularly hard whack.

The battering stopped. The screeching stopped. Ma and Finn’s ma turned to face Frank, their mouths wide open. Martin was triumphant. The bastard had saved his own skin by throwing Frank under a bus.

Ma folded her arms. ‘Is this true, Francis?’

Frank cleared his throat. ‘Aye.’

‘How long have you been seeing her?’

‘About a year.’

‘A year, and this is the first we hear of it. This is how we hear of it. From your brother, who only spilled the beans because he thought it would get him out of trouble.’ Her head swivelled round to Martin like an owl. ‘Which it has not, by the way.’

‘It’s complicated.’ He’d have liked to have left it there but Ma was having none of it. The look of fury on her made that quite clear. ‘Her dad’s a brigadier.’

Ma clasped her throat. ‘A bri…’

‘She’s awful nice though.’ Finn got another slap around the head for his trouble.

Ma dropped down on the nearest chair. ‘This can’t get out, d’you hear me? This must not get out.’

The front door opened and Siobhan came in. She took one look at Ma. ‘What’s happened?’

When Frank came down in the morning, Da was reading the paper in his armchair. He’d taken the week off work to ferry Siobhan and Ma about in the build up to the wedding, and to stop Ma exploding with the nerves of it all. On top of that he was decorating Siobhan’s new home. Dermot, Siobhan’s fiancé was rubbish at that sort of thing apparently.

Da looked up from his paper. ‘Do you fancy giving me a hand finishing off at Siobhan’s?’

‘Sure. I’ve nothing else planned.’

‘Good man, we’ll get the place shipshape in no time.’

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