Page 43 of Loving Netta Wilde

Frank snorted. ‘You getting all religious on me?’

‘The first coming was before she met me, when she was with him. The second was when he came back and took her from me.’

‘She’s not a possession,’ said Frank, even though he’d been thinking virtually the same thing not that long ago.

‘I know that. It was a figure of speech. Besides, it’s not possible to possess Netta. Not even Chambers can do that.’ Colin emptied his beer bottle and took out two more from the fridge. ‘You should have seen her back then. She was sublime. Perfect in every way. But different, you know? Not like beauty-queen perfect. Different-planet perfect. Funny and quirky and so, so beautiful.’

‘I can imagine.’ Frank didn’t like the way the conversation was going but he felt compelled to stick with it.

‘So was he, unfortunately. Perfect, I mean. The kind of guy you’d expect to be a film star or something. Good looks and brooding intensity. You know the sort. What’s that term? Golden couple. They were a golden couple. Everyone at uni wanted to be them or be with them, but they were in their own orbit. I don’t think it was deliberate. They just didn’t notice anyone else, except the chosen few, like Claire. The rest of us mere mortalscould only look on in awe. Even when they broke up, they were totally consumed by each other. It was frightening to watch from the sidelines.’ Colin stared at the bottle in his hand, his earlier jauntiness all gone.

‘Sure, it was all a long time ago. People change,’ said Frank, the doubts already piling up in his head.

‘They do. Not so sure about them though. I knew she was having an affair. You can tell, can’t you? They leave little traces, the unfaithful. Changes in behaviour, the smell of someone different on them.’

‘I couldn’t say. Ellen, my late wife, had an affair and I didn’t have a clue.’

‘Then you weren’t paying attention, my friend. Maybe I wasn’t either because I didn’t, for one minute, guess who she was having the affair with. I had to wait until she was in the hospital, having just lost his baby, to find out.’ He raised his bottle in the air. ‘The second coming.’

They’d run out of beer and had moved on to wine. Two old drunks sitting on the floor in the living room, sorting through Frank’s records.

Colin picked out an Undertones album. ‘Can we play this one next?’

Frank remembered Netta saying how Colin only pretended to like her music to wheedle his way into her affections and that, given the choice, he preferred eighties pop. ‘I thought Rick Astley was more your style.’

Colin giggled and hiccupped at the same time. ‘I suppose Netta told you that? It was when I met her. I’d led a sheltered life. Very much under the parents’ thumb. But contrary to popular opinion I like lots of different music, including punk. And by the way, there is nothing wrong with Rick Astley.’

‘The man’s an icon.’ Frank was slurring, but at least he was sitting upright which was more than could be said for Colin who was almost lying down. There was a question he’d been wanting to ask all evening. If he didn’t ask now, the opportunity would be lost. They’d be too far gone. ‘Why don’t you paint anymore?’

Colin shrugged. It made him slide down further so that he was very nearly horizontal. ‘I don’t know. I just know I can’t do it.’

‘Can’t do it as in physically unable, or can’t bring yourself to?’

‘Dunno.’ His eyes were almost closed now.

‘C’mon. I want to show you something.’ Frank pulled him up. Together they stumbled into the kitchen.

When they got to the studio door, Colin came to an abrupt halt.

Frank gave him a gentle tug. ‘You won’t want to miss this.’

Colin shook his head. ‘Can’t.’

‘It’s only in there.’

‘Can’t. Can’t go in.’

Frank put his arm around him. ‘I’ve got you. It’s okay.’

It needed some persuading but eventually, Colin let Frank lead him into the studio. They took small, slow steps and stopped in front of a head and shoulders portrait.

Colin opened his eyes wide. ‘It’s me.’

‘Yep. What do you think of it?’

‘It’s very good. You’re very talented.’

‘Not me. Liza.’

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