59. Frank’s shifting perspective
59
FRANK’S SHIFTING PERSPECTIVE
Well that had been a day! Frank could not believe the madness of it. Operation Reclaim had taken a few unexpected turns but they’d secured the house. More importantly, crazy Arianne was out of harm’s way. And yes, Frank was aware that he wasn’t being very politically correct there, but the woman had been as crazed as a rabid dog. Frank had seen the whites of her eyes when she went for Netta. His response had been instinctive. He’d been aware that Doogie was also racing to save her, but Colin had beaten them to it. That was kind of appropriate really, and he didn’t care who got there first, as long as someone had.
Talking of crazed, Colin was doing a pretty good impression of a madman himself at the moment. The fella had been shaky as hell, even after the police had left, but something had changed in him when he opened up the fridge to get the milk. An odd kickstart to a frenzy but there you go. Sometimes the strangest things can tip a person over the edge. That business with the éclairs had to be one of the maddest things Frank had seen in a long time. Geraldine was great the way she handled it. It was ridiculous and incredibly moving. Frank thought he was going to cry. Instead, he’d applauded. It seemed the right thing to do. All the same, the image of Geraldine’s face bursting with cake and cream would stay with him for a long time. Without a doubt, she was the most amazing woman. As was her daughter who seemed to be taking her near-death experience in her stride. Not Frank though. The incident had shaken him to the core, and the prospect of losing Netta had shifted everything into perspective. He never wanted to have that feeling again.
Colin muttered something derogatory about purple curtains and pulled a laminated card from the wall as he marched out of the kitchen with Liza and Merrie following in his wake.
‘He’s lost it again, hasn’t he?’ said Doogie.
Geraldine picked up a black bag. ‘At least he’s not crying this time. Let’s indulge him. Arthur, love, will you check the garden? I can see at least two wind chimes out there. I suspect they might fall into the hippy shit category. Also, they can be very grating after a while.’
Netta took another bag. ‘I’ll do the lounge and get rid of the nets. Doogie, can you do the dining room? Frank, would you do the studio?’
Frank opened the door to Colin’s studio. He wasn’t expecting to find anything offensive in here but it was a good excuse to look into another artist’s workplace. He’d been in here once before in 2018, the year Netta became his neighbour. He’d come with her to meet an estate agent. She’d been threatening to sell the house if Colin didn’t buy her out. Colin had been a different man then. Nasty. Not dangerous like Arianne but unpleasant, nonetheless. Frank had come along as Netta’s wing man in case she needed back-up. She didn’t, of course. Netta Wilde didn’t need anyone really. But lucky for him and the others, she allowed them to swim in her slipstream. He still couldn’t believe he’d almost lost her.
A film of dust had settled on Colin’s paint and tools. It looked like no one had been in here for a while, possibly longer than the time Colin had been away. The beginnings of a painting sat on an easel. It was another of the street scenes that Colin did so well. Netta had admitted that they weren’t to her taste, but Frank could appreciate the work that went into them. Colin was a good artist. Not in Liza’s league, but then neither was he. Liza would be a great painter one day, he was certain of it.
He wandered over to a stack of finished paintings resting against a wall. More street scenes and a few portraits. All accomplished works. The stack to the side of it was covered with cloth. Frank lifted it and found a painting of Birmingham on a rainy night. He flicked idly through two more, then stopped, his mouth parting at the shock of this new painting, the portrait of a frail and broken old man. He recovered and moved on to the next one. The same man but younger. Next, another of him cowering in a corner. Then another, and another. Six self-portraits of Colin in various states of distress. They were Colin’s private thoughts and Frank knew he shouldn’t have looked at them. It had been wrong of him to carry on after he’d found the first one. He covered them back up and left them in their hiding place.
He took a wider look around the room and saw that even here in what was probably once Colin’s sanctuary, the offensive hippy shit was evident. There were several laminated cards dotted about. Just like the one Colin had torn down in the kitchen, they espoused the importance of this or that. It was quite bizarre. Like being caught up in one of those weird cults. He removed them all. One final sweep of the room yielded one tatty, cobwebby dreamcatcher in the window. They were supposed to protect you from evil, weren’t they? Frank tossed it into the black bag.
Netta had taken Merrie and Liza home. Arthur and Geraldine had left too. Liza would be back tomorrow but tonight, Frank and Doogie were staying with Colin. Frank had the feeling it would be some time before Colin would be truly independent again. Neil and Chris had stayed behind too. They didn’t live far away. Neil had cooked dinner using the food that Arianne and Byron had left behind. Now, they were sitting around in Colin’s not particularly comfortable living room, drinking beers.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot to give you your new keys.’ Chris threw them over to Colin.
Colin caught them and kissed them. ‘These mean so much to me. Thank you.’
‘That’s okay, bro. It really wasn’t hard.’
‘You said your dad’s a builder. Mine was too. Retired now,’ said Doogie. ‘He built houses from scratch. Small plots of two, three or six. He was a self-made man.’
‘He did well to come up the ranks like that. My dad’s always saying how hard it was in those days,’ said Chris. ‘Was he a bling man?’
Doogie laughed. ‘Fucking hell, yes. Rings and chains.’
‘Yeah, my old man too. Did he get you on the sites? I tell you, every summer holiday my mates were playing football in the park and me and my brothers were hauling bricks.’
‘Only once. It didn’t work out well. My half-brothers did though. They followed him into the business.’
‘When did your parents divorce?’ asked Colin.
‘They didn’t. He was married to someone else. He never left his other family.’
‘It happens,’ said Chris.
‘My dad used to take me into work with him,’ said Colin. ‘He was an accountant. Had a team of them. Told me that’s what I was going to be. So I was. And I hated every minute of it. First chance I got, I ditched it to become an artist. Don’t know what I’m going to be next. But I do know I’ve got people to help me work it out. That’s new.’
Doogie bumped his can against Colin’s. ‘Take your time getting there though. Make it count.’
‘Good advice. I will.’
Frank took a sip of beer. He’d never in a million years have imagined this scenario. He often spent time with Neil and Chris, they were friends, but chewing the cud with Colin Grey and Doogie Chambers was way beyond the boundaries of his imagination. Yet here he was. Somehow, they’d become friends. Family even.
His thoughts went back to 2018. Colin had told him he measured his life before and after the second coming, which was his way of describing Netta’s affair with Doogie. If Frank had to measure his recent life, it would be before and after Netta’s coming in 2018. He’d been alone, somewhat set in his ways, and missing his daughter. Then one day a shy, almost broken woman came to view the house next door and that was it. Netta Wilde walked into his life and changed it forever. And he knew it would carry on changing, because things never stood still with Netta. It would always be filled with people like Doogie and Colin. Like Neil, and like Kelly too, that sweet mixed-up kid with a whiplash tongue who’d adopted Netta as her surrogate mum. Their family would keep on changing because people were drawn to Netta Wilde, and she had a heart big enough for all of them. Including him.