[At the racket Harry gets up and is abou...

[At the racket Harry gets up and is about to go to the Cell when his phone rings.

Harry: Hello? (shouts) Boys! Boys! Shut up yous two will yees I’m on the fuckin phone here! Christ! What? Oh – oh that’s fantastic news.

Tim: Yaasss!

Billy: What?

Tim: Dunno.

Harry: I’m relieved. (stunned) Bobby said that? Did he?

Tim: Bobby an all!

Harry: What did he say? What? Hold on I can't hear you. Can we? Will we? Did he say that? That’s great hen. Thanks for persuading him. When? Half an hour? No - half an hour is fine.

Tim: He’s goanny meet him! Bobby’s goanny meet him. Sounds like everything’s okay.

Harry puts the phone down. His warm smile changes to tears of relief. He thinks. Looks at his watch. Starts tidying up. Goes off.]

Tim looks out the cell left then right, left then right.

Tim: He’s f#%ked off.

Billy: F#%k!

Tim: Aw for f#%ksakes man! Ye know something – even in that top you still look like a proddie.

Billy: An you still look like a Tkmaxx shoplifter.

Tim: No - I mean it. Youse’ve all got wee fat necks an round shoulders the proddies – no offence like!

Billy: None taken - An youse’re aw wiry – built for diggin roads an knockin wanes oot yer wummin. No offence.

Tim: But look at ye – all that’s missin’s the bowler hat an the sash.

Billy: That’s a lot of sh#te.

Tim: Is it?

Billy: Aye!

Tim: Aye! Ye can’t change genetics.

Billy: Can ye no?

Tim: Scientific fact.

Billy: You’re talkin through your arse.

Tim: D’ye think so?

Billy: I know so! I could prove it.

Tim: Prove it then.

Billy: I could prove it.

Tim: Aye?

Billy: F#%kin shock ye!

Tim: Shock me well!

Billy: F#%kin would shock ye by the way!

Tim: Shock me well!

Billy: Cos ma Maw and Da were Catholics ya f#%kin dobber.

Tim: Now ye are talkin sh#te!

Billy: No – they split up – ma Da was a right fenian c#nt – every Celtic game – right roon the world. Blew aw the money oan it. Like a f#%kin addiction.

Tim: No f#%kin way.

Billy: Every f#%kin way – so when he left for a wee Irish burd - his Rose of Tralee - ma Maw called her the Hoor of Tipperary – She brung me up a Rangers fan. Just to f#%kin sicken him.

Tim stares at Billy a few beats then:

Tim: Ha! I knew ye had Tim blood in ye – that’s what I sayed – didn’t I – didn’t I!!? What did I say?

Billy: Ye’re a lyin c#nt – ye jist sayed I was a picture perfect proddie!

Tim: No, when ye sayed oul and then crack - I knew it!

Billy: Oh aye – that’s right – so ye did – ye’re a genius.

Billy sits beside Tim.

Tim: And - I clocked you bowing your head during my Hail Mary.

Billy: Did ye f#%k.

Tim: Ye did. I was like that – clock clock clock clock.

Tim: Automatic Catholic! Right enough see in this light - yer eyes’ve got a touch of Donegal blue – an yer neck (Tim puts his hands round Billy’s neck and measures) Not so fat after all.

Billy: So I’m no a fat Orange bastard any more?

Tim: Nothin a good diet an a Bowler hat ectomy wouldn’t fix.

Billy: So there ye go – aw yer sh#te aboot genetics.

Both sit in silence. Harry gets an idea. He takes out his credit card, lifts the phone again and dials a number.

Tim points at Billy:

Tim: (sings) Singin he’s no a Billy he’s a Tim – Singin he’s no a Billy he’s a Tim –

Billy: (sings) Singin I’m no a Billy he’s a Tim – Singin I’m no a Billy he’s a Tim –

They sing to each other. Eventually, Tim, in elation, stops Billy singing and blurts out:

Tim: (trying to force it out) Listen… listen… Ma maw’s a proddie.

Billy: Aw for f#%ksakes - now you’re makin it up.

Tim: She is. Honest to God, cross ma heart, hope to die.

Billy: You can’t see sh#te go past ye. I tell ye I’m a Tim an you want to be a proddie now, you'll be Charles greens wee paki pal next.

Tim: The whole family disowned ma Maw when she married a Catholic. (Tim is away in the past for a long time) Ma Da’s family disowned him an all.

Billy: Aye?

Tim: Aye!

Billy: F#%kin sh#te int it?

Tim: Totally sh#te.

Billy: My family disowned us first time one of them saw me doon the toon in a Rangers top.

Tim: Quite f#%kin right.

Billy: I was f#%kin six.

Tim: Aw!

Billy falls into thought.

Billy: F#%k sake Tim – we’re the only two c#nts in here.

Tim: Eh Hello – I can see that, its like a f#%kin celtic home game.

Billy: Naw that’s what we’ve got in common.

Tim: What?

Billy: This – (The Cell) us two - here! (Billy walks to a corner) It’s like poetic justice or something! We’re the only two in here Tim. Can ye no see it?

Tim: Bumpin yer gums about?

Billy stands up and evangelises.

Billy: Right - the rest of the guys have got their fines paid.

Tim: Aye?

Billy: Why?

Tim: Cos their wife's got the money.

Billy: Where but? Where did they get the money?

Tim: I don’t know? Cash for Gold or something?

Billy: No a f#%kin cash for gold! They’ve obviously got the wifes to go roon their families and beg a tenner here - a fiver there. Can ye no see it?

Tim: See what?

Billy: There’s nobody else in these cells but us. Tim! Come on ye must see it!?

Tim gets it suddenly.

Tim: Cos we’ve got nobody to get money off of?

Billy: But why Tim? How’ve we got nobody? (Tim shrugs) Cos our families’ve disowned us.

Tim: Cos we’re bigots?

Billy: No! Cos they’re bigots Tim! They are the f#%kin bigots.

Tim: Ye’re right Billy. F#%k – that’s smart. I sayed it earlier and I’ll say it again - for a half baked proddie ye’ve got a good head on ye so ye have. (He thinks about it a beat then) Bastards! F#%kin bastards.

Billy: Right f#%k it! Shake ma hand.

Tim: F#%k off.

Billy: Come on shake ma f#%kin hand!

Tim: No way!

Billy: We’re goanny be in here thegether aw weekend – might as well start the peace process - shake.

Tim: Ach. (They shake but Billy gives Tim the Masonic handshake) Ach! Ya c#nt! (Billy is laughing) Ya f#%ker. I knew ye were in the f#%kin Masons!

Billy: Shh – it’s a secret brother.

Tim checks for the all clear out the hatch then:

Tim: Wait till ye see what I’ve got down my secret sock brother.

Tim reaches down his sock.

Billy: What is it fags?

Tim: Better than fags.

Billy: Yer dick?

Tim: A wish..Ta naaa!

Tim produces a cracker of a joint.

Billy: A joint?

Tim: Popped it down ma sock when I seen the polis comin in the close.

Billy: Some spliff man.

Tim pops the joint in Billy’s mouth, sparks the lighter and lights the joint.

Billy: Be careful there’s a whole gram in that. (Billy takes a long hard puff) Peace be with you.

Tim: And also with you

Tim: If youd been to mass in the last year ya proddie bastard you'd know there's a new bit .

Billy: And with your spirit. Ahh!! Theres been a new pope allected.. That is a f#%kin joint man.Ye know - ma Da used to get stoned when we went campin in Donegal.

Tim: Campin in Donegal – I should’ve clocked on then you were a Tim.

Billy: An that is a great joint.

Tim: How d’ye know E.T.’s a catholic?

Billy: Dunno?

Tim: Ye jist need to look at him.

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