RIP Walter Flavahan

Annie Flavahan’s budgie died last week. Walter, he was called. Worst bird in the world for swearing. You should have heard him. Feckin’ this and feckin’ that. He’d learnt it all from Annie, of course, but even so. I reckon he just liked saying the words, because he used to swear way more than Annie. Anyway, he’s dead now. Annie wanted him buried in a garden, so I took him up to the cottage and tossed him well up into the heather. It wasn’t out of disrespect or anything like that, just that there was no point in digging a little grave somewhere. Bisto’d have had him out of the ground and swallowed up before you could say RIP Walter Flavahan.
 

Mind you, she was sad enough with the bird gone, so I thought I’d get her another. I was hoping for a white one like Walter but Gerry in the pet shop said they were hard to come by and that all he had left were blue opalines, whatever they were. I googled ‘Budgerigars for Sale’ but the one I fancied was halfway up the country so in the end I went back to Gerry. Shop local, as they say.

We’re in the flat, Annie and me, having a mug of tea. I try and pop in once a week, even when things get really busy. She’s gives out to me fast enough if I miss a visit. We’re gazing at the bird. It’s making a racket alright, twitttering away, but you wouldn’t call it talking.
 

‘What sex is it?’ she asks.
 

‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask. Does it matter?’
 

‘Of course it does. Males are better talkers.’
 

‘I’ll give Gerry a ring.’
 

‘You’re wasting your time with him. He wouldn’t have a bull’s notion. Most of the pets he sells have more brains than he has.’
 

She can be harsh, can Annie, but I wonder if she’s feeling alright. She’s a bit hunched up today and slow to drink the tea. ‘How’s the arthritis?’ I ask.
 

‘Never mind about the arthritis.’
 

I shrug and try to make it casual. I get roared at if I fuss too much.
 

‘Anyway, I’ll know soon enough what sex that budgie is,’ she says.
 

‘How’s that?’ I say. ‘They all look the same.’

​

‘They don’t act much different from people.’ She eyes the bird a bit more closely and flicks at the bars of the cage with a finger nail. ‘If it does feck all and just sits with its beak in the feeder, it’ll be male, won’t it?’
 

I suppose I asked for that.
 

‘Will I pick up the new zimmer frame from the agency?’ The one she has isn’t that old but she’s always washing the wheels and they rust like crazy. I’ve tried oiling them, but then the oil gets all over the floor.
 

She gives me a flicker of a smile. ‘You’re a good man, Mally.’
 

I push the mug of tea towards her.
 

‘They promised me satnav this time,’ she says. ‘Make sure it’s been fitted.’
 

‘Yeah, that and autopilot.’
 

We grin together.
 

‘Who’s it to be then, Mally,’ she asks, totally out of the blue. ‘Mary or Yvonne?’ It’s nowhere near the first time she’s brought the subject up and I usually ignore her but this time I don’t.
 

‘Chance’d be a fine thing. What makes you think I’m their only option?’
 

She does the hand on the hip thing and strokes her chin and I know I’m in for a ragging.
 

‘Now that’s a difficult one. When it comes to Mary, I’d say it might have something to do with her five favourite words.’
 

I try to look disinterested and manage to stop myself asking what she means, but she tells me anyway. ‘Have you seen Mally, lately?’
 

                                                                         ***

​

Brian’s had the teeth done. What a difference. To be honest, I think they’re a bit on the bright side but the gaps have gone and they’re all nice and even. Annie reckons it makes him look like an American. Anyway, he’s delighted with them and I guess that’s the main thing.
 

Talking about Annie, if you think she can be harsh, you haven’t met Yvonne. Right after the business with Claude and the insect bite, she was a bit softer with Brian for a while. She even said hello one time without him having to say it first. But it looks like the default settings are back. Mind you, Brian’s his own worst enemy even though I take a bit of the blame myself. It all started with me encouraging Claude to do some planting. Well, the boy took to it like a duck to water. Every day after tea, he’d come over for an hour or two and help.
 

Unfortunately, his smart denim jacket was the first casualty. He’d done a Brian, taken it off and left it on one of the asparagus beds. Around comes Yvonne, sees the dog asleep on it and goes spare. Things sort of went downhill from there. You could see she didn’t like her son being with Brian. It could have been a mother’s instinct. Who knows? She turned out to be right, mind.
 

At the time though, I thought she was just being snobbish. Maybe that was the nub of it, and maybe what happened wasn’t on her radar at all. As I said, you wouldn’t know.
 

I don’t think there’d have been any trouble if I hadn’t brought Annie round for a walk in the garden. The weather was grand, dry and warm, and even though her arthritis was bad, she wanted to ditch the zimmer and just use a stick. I didn’t like the idea … one slip and who knows what she could have broken. Anyway, she was determined.
 

‘How’s it going, Annie?’ says Brian, poking his head round the door to the polytunnel.
 

‘It’s going shite,’ says Annie. ‘I need some more of that weed cream.’
 

‘Jeez Annie, I’m sorry. No can do. I don’t knock around with that crowd anymore.’
 

‘Oh, I see. We’ve gone up in the world, have we? Who is it now? The Pope and Mother Teresa’s ghost? You’d see a poor old woman suffer, would you?’
 

I stand behind Annie and mouth to Brian, ‘I’ll sort it. Go on.’ He nips back into the polytunnel, but I can see from the grimace that Annie’s words have hit home.
 

‘You can’t be using that stuff for ever,’ I say to her. ‘I’ll make an appointment with the doctor for you.’
 

‘You will not. I’m staying well away from those fellas. Before you know where you are, it’s a saucerful of tablets for breakfast, and none of them doing you any good.’
 

I don’t know about poor old woman. Stubborn, more like.

                                                                        ***

In spite of Annie’s go at Brian about the weed cream, if I hadn’t gone to see Mary Healey, it would never have happened. There’s an old saying round here. If it wasn’t for bad luck, we’d have had no luck at all. It certainly felt like that, at least for a while anyway. A very unfortunate chain of events, you might say, starting with me leaving Brian on his own in the polytunnel. At the time, I didn’t know he’d already been round to his druggy buddies for Annie’s weed cream.

​

And would you think they might have sold him a bit of dope at the same time? For his own personal consumption? You would, of course.
 

So, while I’m drinking tea with Mary Healey, Brian’s getting as high as a kite. Claude comes by after school and … you’re way ahead of me. He gets as high as a kite as well and then Yvonne appears. ’Course, she goes ballistic and calls the guards. Fortunately, though, that was where the bad luck petered out. Which just goes to show that old sayings don’t last forever.
 

I’d been back a good while from Mary’s and it was nearly dark when the guards eventually turned up.
 

‘Jaysus, Mally, long time no see,’ says Garda O’Sullivan.
 

‘Must be five years, Ronnie.’
 

He used to be John when we were kids at school, but once he got to fifteen, his Dad would take him down to the local snooker club most evenings. He got to be pretty good, so everyone called him Ronnie after that.
 

Claude is back in the big house with his mother. It’s not a bad evening now. The rain’s eased, it’s just a bit damp. Brian’s going through the motions of forking over a raised bed and trying to look normal. I’ve already told him to let me do the talking.
 

‘Must be,’ says Ronnie. ‘Yeah, at least five years.’
 

The other guard’s in the car eating a sandwich so the atmosphere is nice and relaxed.
 

Well, until Yvonne appears with Claude in one hand and an umbrella in the other. I just hope I managed to persuade her.
 

‘Good evening, officer,’ she says. ‘I think there may have been a mix-up. I won’t be pressing charges. There was something I didn’t take into account.’
 

‘You’d be Mrs. Ryan? Yvonne? The lady who made the call about some illegal drugs?’ She nods.
 

Ronnie dips his head and eyes the boy. ‘And you must be Claude.’
 

Fair play to him, the boy straightens his back and looks up. ‘Of course, Claude Dubois.’
 

‘You are the boy’s mother, Yvonne?’ Ronnie has his notebook out and is jotting away.
 

‘Yes, we used to live in France …’
 

She hesitates a bit like she’s thinking of something else, but she doesn’t say any more.
 

‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Yvonne, that wasting garda time is a serious offence. What was it that you didn’t take into account?’

​

‘That Claude was on Mr Spillane’s land at the time. He …’ She hesitates again. ‘Claude also asked Mr. Costello if he could share his cigarette. I feel Claude bears some responsibility.’
 

Ronnie closes his notebook and slots his pencil into his top pocket. ‘I’d say you bear a bit of responsibility as well, Yvonne. You’re his mother.’ He goes back to the garda car, takes off his hat, swipes away the moisture on it and tosses it onto the back seat. He gives Brian a good, long look. ‘Still acting the maggot, I see, Brian? One of the lads back at the station said you’d cleaned up your act. I’ll have to tell him he was wrong.’
 

‘It was just a one off, Ronnie,’ I say. ‘I’ll vouch for him. He was just trying to do someone a favour.’
 

‘Road to hell is paved with good intentions, Mally.’
 

‘Too right, Ronnie. Too right. I owe you one.’
 

                                                                      ***

It’s been two weeks since Garda O’Sullivan was round and Annie’s rolling back the years.
 

‘It’s mighty stuff is that weed cream, Mally. I threaded a needle yesterday, no bother at all.’
 

‘Well, enjoy it while you’ve got it, because there’ll be no more.’
 

‘Oh, so that’s the attitude is it? You’re going to let me suffer.’
 

‘Stop. There’ll be no suffering,’ I tell her. ‘We’ll get you the correct medication without breaking the law. It was only me knowing Ronnie O’Sullivan that did the trick. With Brian’s history, he’ll get no more chances.’
 

‘He was always a sharp one was Johnny O’Sullivan. He could have done anything. His mother, Connie, was as bright as a button. I’d say he’s a bit wasted as a guard.’
 

‘I don’t know. He’s pretty good at it.’
 

‘How did you persuade Yvonne not to press charges?’
 

‘I’m not sure I did.’
 

‘The boy?’
 

‘I’d say so.’
 

Annie’s called the new bird Terence after her third husband, which is a bit strange because according to Annie’s theory of budgie sexing, he doesn’t fit the bill at all. He still hasn’t said a word, even though he never stops twittering and he doesn’t seem particularly greedy. But then I watch as Annie picks up a biscuit crumb from the plate with nimble fingers. She offers it to Terence through the bars of the cage. He does a bit of flopping and flapping, you wouldn’t call it flying, but he’s across from the far perch in no time. He grabs the crumb, swallows it down and chirps up, ‘Have you seen Mally, lately?’
 

Annie and I look at each other.

‘He’s a bit of a late developer,’ I say, ‘but it looks like you were right, Annie.’