— Yir no welcome here, nane ay yis, Moira goes, pittin her weight oan the door, but ah’ve goat a shoodir n hip in, n ah’m no budgin. The tin’s in ma hand, oan the inside, n ah’m worried she’ll snatch it so ah push intae the flat. The birds are oot ay the aviary, flappin aroond ma fuckin face! — Dinnae lit they burds oot! Moira screams, now pillin us in n shuttin the door behind us.
It’s a mental scene: a few budgies and a zebra finch flutter aroond Moira; one’s oan her shoodir n another lands oan the back ay her hand. She’s wearin an angora cardigan, but wi nowt else oan underneath, nae blouse, jist a bra, n the cardy isnae buttoned up right cause ah kin see a faded rid scar gaun doon intae her padding, n ah’m sure ah saw something move doon thaire, like her tits. She pills her cardy thegither n fastens a couple ay buttons, n wi baith look away, mortified. Jimmy’s standin sheepishly in front ay the staircase, wi his mooth turned doon. The birds cheep aroond us, urgent and demanding. — C’mon, Moira … Jimmy, ah appeal, ah jist want tae see Keith …
Then ah hears this scream: — MARK! GIT THE FAHKIN POLIS!!
The bird leaves Moira’s hand as Jimmy looks tae the kitchen n roars, — SHUT IT!
— Jimmy, what’s the fuckin Hampden …
Fuck sake, ah’m strugglin tae take aw this in, but ah can see that they’ve constructed a wire fence, like a giant cage, tae divide the stairs fae the rest ay the hoose. There’s newspaper aw ower the stair cairpit wi bird shit layerin it. It’s like they’ve made the entire doonstairs ay the hoose — the living room, bedrooms n lavvy — intae a giant aviary, wi thaim just huvin the upstairs hall n kitchen! Moira looks poisonously at me, wi Keezbo shoutin for help, as she opens the cage tae the stairs, guiding the flocking birds through. They follay her like rats wi the pied piper, then she deftly moves oot the wey n shuts them inside, turnin tae me.
— Go, she sais, openin the front door.
Keezbo’s still shoutin, but it’s like it’s comin fae ootside the hoose. It hus tae be the auld balcony aviary at the back ay the kitchen! — MARK! HELP US! THUV LOAKED US OOT HERE!
— What the fuck? Ur you oot oan the balcony, Keezbo?
Then his sister Pauline appears, standing on the stairs, inside the cage, as yellay n green n blue n white budgerigars flock, chirpin aw aroond her. — They locked him oot oan the balcony. She turns tae them. — Ye cannae keep him oot thaire, Ma, n she starts sobbing.
Moira’s still hudin the front door open, shoutin, — GIT OOT! and that nosy Margaret Curran cunt pokes her neb in, the hatchet-faced cow a picture ay misery. — Wi cannae stand it, Moira, we’re gaunny huv tae phone the polis if the noise doesnae stoap. It’s been aw day now! N they birds … ah nivir minded the aviary oan the balcony but no in the hoose! It’s insanitary! How much longer?
— As long as it takes, it’s ma laddie’s life!
They start oan at each other, but ah cut in and ask Moira, — What huv youse fuckin done tae Keith?
— They’ve locked him oot oan the balcony, Pauline blubbers, her anguished face pushed against the mesh ay the cage, surrounded by fluttering birds.
Ah push past Jimmy and Moira intae the kitchen. The wire n dimpled glass that divides the room fae both the aviary and the walk-out section ay the balcony has been removed and boarded ower. Keezbo’s ootside, batterin oan it and screamin, — HELP US, MARK … FUCKIN HELP US!
— He’s no comin in here till that poison’s oot ay his system, Moira says.
Ah whip roond, right intae her face. — Are you fuckin mental?! He’s in withdrawal, ah say, thinking aboot Nicksy. — He’ll jump oaf or try n climb doon! Let us see um!
Ah turns back n ah’m fighting tae get the big bolts oan the door open. Jimmy isnae stoaping us but Moira’s white scraggy fingers wrap roond ma wrist. — No … no … wir pittin um through that wild turkey –
— Yir killin him, he needs proper fuckin rehab! HE’S SEEK ENOUGH TAE JUMP! ah scream intae her face, and she suddenly relents, loosenin her grip.
That mawkit-pussed hoor Curran’s goat intae the hoose. Ah hear her moanin away at us fae the hall. — You left here! You’re no welcome back! Away tae yir ain bit doon the river, tae the hoose we should’ve goat!
— We’re no thaire any mair … moved oot, ah tell her n watch her stupid bovine coupon hing slack in uncomprehending shock, as ah work one bolt open. Ah kin hear Keezbo groan oan the other side. — They gave us a better place doon by the Shore, ah lie tae Curran, as ah work on another bolt. — Aw the windaes face oantae the river … n thaire’s a private balcony that fair catches the sun … lovely spot …
She’s choking in fury. — Balcony … river … how the … how the bloody hell … how the hell did youse …? she stammers, then a glint snaps intae her eye. — Your auld place … it’ll be empty now then, eh?
Ah click back another bolt. Fae the corner ay ma eye, ah notice that one budgie’s still attached tae Moira’s angora cardigan just oan the ootside ay her placky tits. Jesus fuck …
That angora cardy’s worked its wey open again n thaire’s some baby birds in her tits, ye kin see thair wee heids poking up, mooths open, demandin tae be fed. What the fuck … Ah look at her, n she gies us a hard, tight-moothed stare, that says, ‘So?’
Ah turn back tae the last bolt … ah cannae watch this …
— Your hoose! Margaret Curran insists, — that’ll be it empty then!
— Naw … a Paki family moved in last week. Ah work the bolt loose as Jimmy says something tae Moira aboot makin herself decent.
— How did they … how in the name ay Christ did they …? Curran’s freakin oot n gittin ready tae visit the Housing Association. The bolt snaps back n the door flies open.
Keezbo stands in his long coat, lookin like a big pink sausage wrapped in black puddin. — They tried tae fuckin kill us! Youse! He points at Jimmy and Moira, — YOUSE!
The big budgie on Moira’s jumper flies up as she looks at Keezbo in horror, pillin the cardigan tae her tae conceal the nest ay birds in her tits. She realises that he’s ripped doon the mesh they pit ower the balcony. — DINNAE LIT CHEEKY BOY OOT! THE WILD BIRDS’LL KILL UM!
— FUCK YIR BUDGIES! YOUSE TRIED TAE KILL US!
— WE’RE THE BUCKIN YINS TRYIN TAE BUCKIN WELL SAVE YE! Moira roars back in his face, n ah realise she’s no goat her teeth in, n she turns tae Jimmy: — TELL UM, JIMMY!
— Ah wis cauld, Keezbo moans in desolation, — cauld n hungry!
— Hungry fir buckin drugs, drugs, drugs! Moira squeals, — TELL UM, JIMMY! BE A BUCKIN MAN, BI CHRIST, N TELL YIR LADDIE WHAIRE HE’S GAUN WRONG!
— Moira … c’mon …
— Ah’ve goat poppy, Keith. Ah shakes the boax. — We’ll open it up n git sorted oot!
— Ah ken how tae open these yins, Mr Mark, he goes, his eyes huge and luminous, as Moira scowls at Jimmy n slams the balcony door shut, enticing Cheeky Boy back tae her false bosom.
— Now everybody hus tae calm doon … Moira — Jimmy pleads.
— CALM BUCKIN DOON! AH’LL GIE YE CALMIN BUCKIN WELL DOON, JIMMY YULE! IT’S YOUR BLOODY LADDIE!
— Nae time, ah goes tae Keezbo, lookin ower the balcony tae see Matty standin aroond oan the concrete forecourt. — MATTY! But it’s windy up here n oor voices get carried away as we shout. — MAH-TAY!
Eventually the daft cunt looks up wi a scoobied coupon.
— What’s gaun oan here? Jimmy demands, stepping oot ontae the balcony as Moira’s blusterin aboot where she went wrong. Then she suddenly threatens, — Ah’m gittin the buckin polis oantae the baith ay yis! See how yis like that!
— That’s right, Moira! Margaret Curran shouts.