Page 53 of Calling Frank O'Hare

‘She’s fine. It’s his brother.’

‘Martin?’

‘You know Martin?’

‘I do. I know them all.’

‘All?’

‘Martin, Finn, Billy Mac.’

Billy Mac. Where had she heard that name before?

Adrian’s brow furrowed. ‘Haven’t seen the lads in a while though. Must be … ooh, 2007? Around that time anyway.’

2007? Just how long had Frank known Adrian? She knew they were friends and Frank had been going to Adrian’s pub for a long time, but neither of them had ever said how far back they went. ‘I didn’t realise you’d been friends that long.’

Adrian laughed. ‘That long? Net, we’ve been mates since university. Met on the first day. Has he never told you? I’ll have him about that when I see him.’

‘Oh he probably did and I just forgot. So you would have known Ellen then?’

‘Yeah. She was a good friend. She was bonkers but, you know.’ He looked down at his mug of tea. ‘Anyway, what’s this family emergency? What’s Martin been up to this time?’

Adrian had stayed for an hour during which time he’d told Netta more about him and Frank in their university years. She couldn’t believe Frank hadn’t told her they’d known each other that long. The other thing he hadn’t mentioned was that Adrian and Ellen had been great friends. Again, why not? Surely he didn’t think it would trouble her. It wouldn’t have, but she was troubled now because she thought she knew everything she needed to know about Frank O’Hare, when she clearly didn’t. What’s more, she was beginning to wonder how much Frank thought he knew about her, if he really thought she’d be jealous of his oldest friend and his dead wife. Because that was the only reason she could think of for his silence on the matter.

She let herself into Frank’s house. Adrian had also given her a few more details on Martin and Finn and the other person who, so far, hadn’t appeared on the scene. Billy Mac. Apparently he’d been Frank’s best friend in Belfast and a bit of a wanker, in Adrian’s opinion. That was when Netta remembered why the name was familiar. It had been on the fanzine she’d found in the record sleeve the last time she was in here. She pulled it back out of the sleeve and took it home to read properly.

When she got in, she tapped out a message to Frank, read it, deleted it, and tapped out another. By the fourth attempt, she was reasonably happy that she’d written something that didn’t make her sound annoyed, hurt, or accusing:

‘Hi. Just to let you know, Adrian came round. I filled him in on your trip. He mentioned he’d known you since uni. I didn’t realise. How lovely to have been such great mates for so long. All’s well here. Fred’s okay xx’

Message sent, she stretched out on the sofa, surrounded by dogs and began to readCan.

She read it from cover to cover, twice, and concluded the article by Ana Manic was by far the best. Whoever she was, she had a way with words that really brought the experience to life. Frank had once told Netta he’d seen the Undertones in Belfast. Perhaps he’d been at the Battle of the Bands too. Perhaps he’d been there with Ana Manic, or Billy Mac. Or both.

So now she knew who Billy Mac was. The dots were beginning to join up. But the other two were still a mystery. Netta had a feeling FB might be Frank, although she didn’t know what the B stood for. But who was Ana Manic? She’d only know that if she asked Frank, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit she’d been snooping around in his personal things.

She flicked on the TV and wasted a few minutes channel surfing, quickly coming to the conclusion that there was nothing worth watching. She was bored. Late at night kind of bored, when you were too tired to do anything productive but not tired enough to sleep. She should have been snuggling up to Frank right now, or maybe doing the Sunday night quiz with him at the Hope and Anchor, not moping about and feeling sorry for herself. And certainly not worrying that Frank might not be the person she thought he was. In her heart, she knew he wasn’t the secretive sort. If he’d neglected to tell her things, it was probably because he'd either forgotten or it wasn’t important. Unless. Unless it was something he preferred not to remember. No. Not Frank. Not solid, dependable Frank. She was being silly.

Netta hauled herself off the sofa and let the dogs out for a final toilet trip before locking up for the night. Maud curled up in her usual armchair and the two younger dogs sprawled across the floor, their long legs criss-crossing each other.

‘Just staying down here then, are you? Nobody wants to join me upstairs?’

Maud ignored her. At least Betty and Fred had the good grace to look guilty.

‘Right. Just me then. All on my own in that big bed.’

They weren’t moving. Netta gave up and switched off the light. Even the dogs didn’t want her company.

An hour later she was still tossing and turning, unable to get Frank out of her mind. She knew the only thing that might settle her was to speak to him. It wasn’t quite midnight. Late, but worth a try.

It went straight to voicemail. She put on her cheeriest voice and tried not to sound too desperate. ‘Only me. I was just lying in bed thinking of you. I suppose you’ll be on road trip day five when you pick this up. Or maybe day six. You really must get a better phone. Anyway, sleep tight, my love. I miss you.’

She lay back down and closed her eyes, but her head was too full of names that a week ago, she’d never heard of. And she couldn’t stop wondering why.

35

That’s where softness gets you

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