All language subtitles for Birds of a Feather s02e15 Someone Elses Baby.eng

What will I do when you are far

away and I am blue?

What will I do when I'm alone

with only dreams of you

that won't come true?

Do you want a bite?

Looks like a duper pint of grupo.

Sharon, I've got a migraine.

No, you ain't.

Yes, I have.

Look, it's my head. I think I know
what's going on in it. And what's going

it, right?

Impressive headaches, that's all.

If you had a real migraine, you'd be
laid out.

You'll be laid out in a minute.

Now, Mum, she used to get proper
migraines.

I don't remember.

When she was a girl.

Aunty Sylvie says... Oh, Aunty Sylvie
says, the world's great authority on

everything. Nothing wrong with Aunty
Sylvie. A brain transplant wasn't put

right. I mean, who was it saw Princess
Margaret down the pie and mash shop last

Easter?

It could have been.

She could have a secret passion for
jelly deals and liquor.

Then she'd have had it sent in, wouldn't
she?

Oh.

The reason you get bad headaches is
because you feel sorry for yourself all

time. And the reason you feel sorry for
yourself all the time is because you've

got low self -esteem syndrome.

How dare you sit in my kitchen, wolfing
down my bangers and having the brass

knicks to tell me how to lead my life.
Your life's a complete mess. But the

difference between us being that I know
I'm a complete mess.

You ain't faced up to it yet.

It's like a pig in mud.

It knows it's a pig, it knows it's in
mud, but it's still happy.

Meaning?

Well, it don't mean nothing, does it?

It just goes to show that we're like
chalk and cheese, you and me.

Optimist, pessimist.

Happy as Larry, miserable as Sin.

Pig in mud, headache in bed.

That's the first good idea I've heard
from you yet.

What? Bed.

I'm going back there.

Call me when Daryl gets there.

Well,

I'm a Dorian. When I woke up, it's a
Russian samovar show.

Almost certainly from the Imperial
Silverworks at St. Petersburg.

And definitely typical of the Catherine
the Great period.

Lovely.

What's it for?

For making tea, of course.

Partial to a cuppa, was she, Catherine
the Great?

I've got the kettle on. Let's try it
out.

Sharon, no!

This is a treasured family heirloom.

My grandma over Sholom left it to Mummy.

Why, don't she like her?

Sharon, I'll have you know this is
priceless.

Well, I certainly won't give you nothing
for it.

You'll change your tune after the
Antiques Roadshow.

I? You don't know.

They're coming to Chewell tomorrow.

The BBC, the cameras, all those
distinguished, sexy experts in their

socks.

Oh, I get it.

This is Dorian Green's big chance that
they have features on the telly.

Nonsense!

I simply thought I would take this
opportunity of having Mummy's prized

professionally evaluated.

I know how your mind works, Dor.

Get on the road show, make a splash.

Next stop, blankety -blank, eh?

Sharon, I am horrified you think me so
vain and superficial.

It's only because I know you.

Charlotte, how do you manage to get on
this road show, then? Just bring

something old? Old and precious.

No problem.

Tracey's got all Mum's things in the
loft.

Bands me, send it out there.

Mind the wonky steps.

Oh, I do miss having the use of my lot.

All that fuss Mark has made about
converting it into a billiard room is

are still in the box they came in.

Oh, look, I remember this.

This used to hang over the fire.

Ah, pity it never fell in.

Helen, where's those medals?

Medals? Now, they are very collectible.

someone paid an absolute fortune
recently for a VC.

Oh, unfortunately, my dad missed the VC
by just one letter.

Sorry? Yeah, so was he.

Well, luckily, they invented penicillin
just in time, so it cleared up in the

end.

In fact, it cleared up all over.

Well, I don't know about the Antiques
Roadshow, but there is a car boot sale

the Baker's Arms on Sunday.

Oh, no.

This is nice.

An Edwardian lady's travelling writing
box.

Yeah, I remember that.

Someone gave that to Mum when she left
being in service.

It's locked.

What the hell do you think you're doing
up here?

Oh, hiya, Trace.

We're just going through Mum and Dad's
bits and pieces. Oh, really?

And what do you think gives you the
right?

Well, my parents and I, weren't they?
Yes, well, Mum made me promise to look

after everything.

She entrusted the lot to me as the
eldest.

bonfire, you know. We're simply looking
for something that Sharon can use to get

on the Antiques Roadshow.

They're coming to Chigwell tomorrow.

And we found this rather attractive
little box, which might just scrape

if they're slack.

Put that box down. It's private, that
is.

What's in it, Trace? Nothing.

Just duds and thuds.

Let's have a look, please.

I don't know what I've done with the
key.

Oh, not to worry.

The same sort of lock Marcus has on his
secret five -year diary.

Oh, look, letters.

I love letters, judging by the colour of
the ribbon. Yeah, well, they're

probably from Dad.

You must be joking.

It was about as romantic as a wet
Wednesday in Walthamstow.

It took him all his time to fill in his
pools coupon.

Look, he might not have been very good
at showing his feelings, Sharon, but he

did love Mum.

Yeah, at least twice.

USAF, Lake and Heath.

From US Air Force Corporal Melvin
Halliwell.

Oh, very Elvis Presley.

Maybe Mum should have teamed up with Top
Gun there, Trace.

Don't be a div, she must have been twice
his age.

So?

Did you know about him?

Mum may have mentioned it once, but they
were only pen pal.

Now come and put them all back.

I wonder what happened to him.

Got sent to Vietnam, Mum said. Trodden a
landmine.

Oh, how awful. Was he badly hurt?

and Dorian blew him halfway back to
America.

A friend of his wrote and told Mum.

Oh, what a sweet little cameo brooch.
Replica, of course.

That story really got to you, didn't it,
Dorian?

Come on, let's put it all away now,
shall we? No, no, hang on. Here, cop in

for a minute.

Glad to hear the trip to the orphanage
went so well.

She sure sounds like your kind of kid.

Send me a photo of her as soon as you
can.

What do they mean, orphanage?

You know what an orphanage is.

Of course I know what an orphanage is.

So what was Mum doing in one?

I don't know.

You know she used to be a dinner lady.
She probably did a stint there once.

What does it mean?

You're kind of kid.

You knew about these letters, didn't
you?

Look, I may have glanced through them
once before I lost the key, but it don't

mean nothing. Now give it here.

Don't mean nothing?

You're kind of kid?

An orphanage?

Well, it probably means that they were
thinking of adopting a kid after they

us. That's all.

I don't believe you, Trace. Neither do
I.

Who asked you?

Right, come on, give it all back.

No, I'm looking for more clothes.

I'll help.

Look, you mind your own.

In fact, you can sling your hook and get
the hell out of my loft where you

weren't even invited.

Tracey! Come on, out!

Out! Out! All right, I'm going.

I'm going.

Eat up, shall we? It'll get cold.

I'm not hungry.

It's unusual for you.

Yeah, well, it's unusual for me to have
the entire foundation of my life and

personality destroyed, isn't it? Oh,
leave it at.

You just don't understand, do you?
What's to understand?

I'd read some letters you hadn't. Poor
Sharon.

You're just being deliberately dense,
Chase.

I don't know who I am anymore.

This morning I thought I was Sharon
Theodopoulopoulos, knee -racker.

And who do you think you are now?

Annika Rice.

Can't it bother you that one of us might
be adopted?

Look, on my birth certificate, it's got
Mum and Dad's name right where it should

be, and yours exactly the same.

How do you know? Because I remember.

Well, I don't. Well, then go and get it,
then. I can't, can I?

I haven't seen it since me and Chris got
married.

He said he needed it to take up the
Greek Orthodox, and he never brought it

back.

Probably flogged it to some illegal
immigrant knowing him.

Then apply for another one.

This goes deeper than birth
certificates, Trace.

I've always had this deep down feeling
that we were different.

Our lives, our looks.

The reason why you're thin and I'm fat.

Lookie, that's what's bothering you, go
on a diet.

And that's another thing that's
different between us. I couldn't be as

you if I tried.

I've always had this feeling that I was
different.

A sort of piece.

Missing a... a lost connection.

Shouldn't that be loose connection,
Sharon?

Sorry. But we all feel like this
sometimes. It doesn't mean to say we're

adopted, though God knows sometimes I
wish.

I think I've always known, really.

It explains everything.

It's why me and Tracy are so different.

But you aren't so different. You've got
the same colouring, the same eyes. When

Mr and Mrs Rackham... Who?

Tracy's parents.

When they went shopping for little
orphan Sharon, they chose a baby that

resembled the little girl they already
had.

Are you familiar with the word paranoia,
Sharon?

My mum weren't my mum.

I don't know who I am anymore.

Sharon, listen.

Why are you so sure it has to be you?

Because bad things always happen to
Sharon, that's why.

No, no. I mean, why assume that it was
you who was adopted?

I mean, this doesn't name names. It's
not even dated.

For all you know, it could be Tracy who
was adopted.

But she's the oldest.

So? It happens all the time.

A couple think they can't have children,
adopt, stop trying so desperately, and

then bingo, an £8 surprise.

Yeah, it's possible.

Maybe that's why she's so defensive
about the letter.

Because deep down, she's worried that
she's the one.

Yeah.

How do we find out which one of us it
is?

Well, don't you have anyone you can ask?

What about the infamous Auntie Sylvie?

Of course.

Well, there you are, then. Problem
solved.

I should counsel for a living.

Oh, get that for me, would you, Sharon?
It's probably my masseur.

He promised to try and squeeze me in
this afternoon.

Or vice versa.

Oh, for me?

Ha ha, very funny.

Dorian, how are you feeling?

Better than I thought after plummeting
eight feet onto a hard parquet floor.

I'll get some flowers.

Yes, I can see that, Tracy.

The fall didn't damage my eyesight.

Put them in the kitchen, will you?

I'll try and arrange them later when the
throbbings subside.

Ah!

What's she doing round here? Bending
your ear all about those stupid letters?

I can quite understand why you feel so
insecure, Tracy.

Me? Obviously you realise that either of
you might not be the natural child.

Might not what?

Look, it's Sharon who's got the identity
crisis. I know who I am, thank you very

much.

Don't you dare involve me with your
pathetic fantasies.

I've already told you I don't want to
know. Well, I do want to know. More than

anything else in the world. And you're
not going to stop me finding out.

Here you are. I've been up the town. I
want to apply for another birth

certificate for you. They'll put it in
the post first thing tomorrow.

And then maybe we can put an end to this
nonsense once and for all.

This has gone beyond birth certificate,
Trace. Oh, don't talk. Oh, no.

over here.

We always go to her. She never comes to
her.

Only because you never invite her.

This is Barmy.

She's... She's what?

She's old and she's smelly.

And she's completely off her head. You
know she is, Sharon.

No, she's not.

She's our oldest living relative.

Probably.

Oh. What's she doing in there?

She'll bust me low -level flush.

She's probably never laid eyes on one
before.

You've got a real problem with old
people, you have.

You'll be a wrinkler yourself one day,
Tracy Stubbs.

And she ain't smelly.

It's just her ashes of roses thing.

Always reminds me of death.

There's nothing wrong with your
lavatory.

Decided what to do with this Marriott,
Tracy?

I've got a postcard, please.

Best one off the allotment, so make sure
you do it justice.

Hello, Sharon.

Nice house you've got.

Lovely countryside.

Aunty, can I ask you something? Just a
second, Tracy dear.

I'm sensing the atmosphere.

I told you, bar me.

There's a strange vibration in here.
It's the washing machine. It's on rinse.

Oh, no, there's something else.

An intimation of death.

She's right. Only it ain't happened yet.

Maybe she's picked up the vibe from
Melvin's letter. Oh, leave it out.

No.

Aunty, do you still do that?

What do you want to call it? Holding
things and feeling their auras. Oh, you

mean tactile communication.

Well, it doesn't always work, Tracy,
does it?

Surprise, surprise.

Here, try this letter.

Oh, very interesting.

A definite feeling of friendship and
shared secrets.

Say it.

It's a personal letter, Sharon. Of
course it contains shared secrets and

friendship. Brilliant, my Jack, thee.
I'm picking up a sceptical aura, Sharon.

You should come down the spiritualist
church of a Wednesday night. What for?

The bingo?

All unbelievers may scoff, but you'd be
amazed at what passes through us

sometimes. Your mum believes in the
spirits.

Whereas my dad was happy with a pint of
Red Barrel and the black and white

minstrels on the telly. It'd be a better
country if more people believed.

No matter what inn, so long as they
believed.

Oh, I do believe the kettle's boiling.

A cup of tea, auntie? What sort you got?

There's typhoon, some Earl Grey.

No nettle?

Nettle?

I had a premonition you wouldn't have no
nettle.

Oh, now, that's really spooky, that is.

Here you are, Sharon.

Don't fit six times in a cup of hot
water.

Hot water, ma 'am, not boiling.

Tracy. I'm Tracy.

Auntie?

ask you about the old days?

Yes, of course you can, dear.

Do you remember when me and Tracy was
born?

Well, you must do. I mean, you was
around after all, weren't you?

Won't be a sec, auntie.

What do you think you're doing? This has
gone on long enough. Do you hear me?

I'm going to ask her. You can't stop me.
Ask her. A dozy old bat who's two sizes

short of a toast rack.

And you're going to ask her if one of us
was a freebie from a kid's home. And

then you're going to believe her.

Get real, will you, Sharon?

You don't have to listen if you can't
face the truth. The truth?

The truth?

She wouldn't recognise the truth if it
bare on her bum.

Oh, yeah?

So what are you so scared of, then?

Oh, come on.

Answer it.

What's the matter?

Frightened your missed stomach?

What do you want? I thought you were
coming with me to the road show.

What?

How did it go, then, Mum's pregnancy?

Was I an easy baby?

Did she get a lot of morning sickness?

How was the labour?

Well, as far as I recall, Tracy, dear...
Sharon.

I'm Sharon.

I see the identity crisis has cleared
up.

Come and share. We've got to go to the
Antiques Road thingy with Dorian, like

promised. You'll be all right, won't
you, Aunty? We'll call you a minicab.

So, don't introduce me.

Dorian, this is Aunty Sylvie. Oh!

Oh, delighted.

I've heard so much about you.

Sharon tells me you're a little bit
psychic.

Oh, I'll have my moment.

I've always been fascinated by the
paranormal.

I don't think Aunty Sylvie wants to hear
about your sex life right now, Dorian.

Come on, we'll be late.

Blimey, oh, Rosalie.

I never thought I'd lay hands on one of
them again.

What? Can I have a proper shifty?

Pardon?

Show her your urn, she may. Oh!

Here, why don't you use your six cents
on it, aren't they? Oh, Lord love us,

this takes me back. To where?

To the Imperial Court of the Russian
Empire.

Acme Empire, more like.

Your Uncle Russell used to work a stall
just over the road from where they

knocked these out.

Solomon's his name was.

Jewish fella.

Can't remember his Christian name.

Lovely bloke. He knocked out all sorts
of things.

Trophies, fish kettle. Men did an old
zinc bucket for me once.

Fish kettle.

Zinc bucket.

I'll have you know this was created by
the Russian imperial silversmith and has

been in our family for centuries.

All right, calm down, doll.

Anyone can make a mistake.

Especially if you're totally harpic.
What?

Harpic. Clean round the bend.

I'm translating.

That's all right, Tracy. Sister's just a
bit upset.

See? She can't even get her names right.

She doesn't know what day it is, what
year it is, come to that.

How dare you come into my house
uninvited with your stupid marrow and

nasty, smelly tea bags, complaining
about bad vibrations and stinking my

out with that horrible, that revolting
scent what Mum used to wear.

Tracy! I've got to get to the roadshow.
I'll show myself out.

It's only ashes of roses, dear.

Her favourite scent, that was.

She loved roses, did your mother.

I think I'd better be going home now. No
problem.

I'll get your coat.

You stay where you are, Arnie.

You can't let her go on there. Not like
this. She'll never speak to us again.

Oh, who gives a toff? And the next time
we get to see her...

Sure she's there, auntie. I mean, maybe
she's your auntie and not mine.

Or maybe she's mine and not yours.

Maybe one of us is really heir to the
throne of Transylvania.

She's there, auntie, all right.

Look, let's forget about this adoption
business.

Just like that.

I'll tell you what.

We'll settle her in front of the telly.

We'll go down the roadshow for a bit and
let the air clear here.

Then we'll come home, cook her a nice
tea, and say no more about the A word,

okay?

Promise.

Yes, well, this is solid silver.

It's Edwardian. It's a dressing table
set, probably given by a scholar.

Excuse me.

Who's that?

Who's that?

With a plain coat security.

Where's Aunty?

I'm watching television. Well, she'll be
able to watch me on the television

soon. My samovar passed the weeding out
test with flying colours.

So much for Aunty.

This looks a beautiful piece.

What have we here?

Dorian Green.

Very pleased to meet you.

My friend means what have you brought
for us to look at?

Apart from her cleavage.

I'd like to think how many experts have
handled that.

It's Russian.

A samovar, of course.

Late 19th, early 20th century.

Nickel -plated. Beautiful piece of
workmanship.

Would you like me to make a stab at its
value?

Only if you want to.

Well, I think we're talking somewhere in
the region. If I might interrupt you,

Michael. I think you'll find it's not
quite what it seems.

You see these marks?

They're absolutely perfect.

Which, of course, is a giveaway, because
the original Russian models would have

had hand -stamped marks, whereas these
brilliant 20th -century copies were

always stamped by machines.

Copies? Yes, they were made between the
wars in the east end of London by

Immanuel Solomon, using, behind, a stamp
brought over by his grandfather during

the Russian pogroms.

So much for Aunty's cred then, Trace.
All right, you win.

But look, you promised not to bring it
up again.

Yeah, but that was when we thought she
was due, Lally. But now... But now what?

So she recognised the bit of old tin.

She's still too brick -short of a load.
No, she's not.

Oh, hello, girl. Tea's nearly ready.

Aunty, which one of us is adopted?

You can cut out the act, can't you? I
know you're no loopier than I am. What

does that prove?

It says in this letter, Mum went
shopping up the children's zone.

Now, which one of us did she buy?

What letter's that, then?

The letter some young careforsman wrote
to Mum.

Oh, yes, I remember.

She lied about her age to him, of
course. She was a one.

Who the hell is it?

It's me, isn't it? Oh, don't be dull.

Oh, God, it's...

of you.

She went up the orphanage.

I know it's me.

I've always known it was me. Oh, Sharon,
you promised.

You promised to let it drop.

Oh, please, girls.

Here, don't cry, Tracy. I'm... Tracy.

You got it right.

So who the hell is it?

Your mum made me promise the last time
they took her in hospital.

We knew it was the end. She wouldn't
pull through this time.

Sylvie, she said, Promise me you'll not
tell the girls. Promise me. Tell the

girls what?

Oh, you don't know how much I miss her.
We always looked out for each other. I

only started the spiritualism to try to
reach her.

You don't want to fall out, you two.

There's nothing like sisters.

Of course we don't want to fall out.

If we are sisters.

What did mum make you promise, auntie?

A promise is a promise. Miss Sharon,
dear.

Look, don't be frightened.

It don't matter which one of us is
adopted.

We grew up together.

We love each other like sisters.

We're going to stick together till the
day we die.

It don't matter what you're going to
tell us, but we've got to know. She just

said we were sisters, Cloughies.

Yes, you are sisters.

They adopted the pair of you.

You see, your mum and dad couldn't have
kids.

Try till they was blue in the face.

And keep in mind, there was both the
wrong side, of course.

So, they went up the kids' home and
there you were.

Who was?

Well, both of you, like I said.

Two little girls, one barely three years
old, the other no more than a baby.

Your dad couldn't bear the thought of
splitting you up.

Gladys only really wanted the one of
you.

Which one?

Oh, God.

That we don't want to know.

But your dad talked her through. It's
all or nothing, he said.

You mean her dad?

Mr. Call Me Irresponsible. Out of gold,
he had.

Oh, I'm sorry, Gladys. But I had to tell
them. And I'm glad I did.

God, I think that marrow's catching.

Hang about, hang about.

Certificate? I mean, they're all in
order.

Of course they are, dear.

Me and your Uncle Russell fixed them.

Had a lovely copper plate and your Uncle
Russell.

Considering he left school at 13 and bit
his fingernail, and as I used to char

down the old town hall.

What are you on about now, are they?

Well, your mum and dad was old
-fashioned, dear. They thought being

would hold you back in life, so I got
hold of a couple of blanks for them.

Blank what?

Blank birth certificates you did.

That's right. It was easy.

Filing cabinet weren't even locked.

Uncle Russell filled them in and I
signed for the registrar.

It was a doddle. Did it for loads of
families.

What? You could have gone to prison for
that.

I did.

Of course she can.

Can't you sleep?

No.

Funnily enough, I seem to have rather a
lot on my mind.

Me and all.

I can't seem to take it in either.

What? That our mum and dad ain't really
our mum and dad?

No, that Aunty Sylvie was an old leg.

Anyway, mum and dad were mum and dad to
us.

Yeah, of course.

Ed, try... Sharon, don't. Whatever it
is, Don't. No, listen a minute.

Well, it must have occurred to you and
all.

Would you like to find out who our real
parents are? Sharon, don't you dare.

But we're entitled to find out. No, not
if they abandoned us. I don't want to

know. But it could have been some young
girl on her own.

Didn't have no choice. Thought it was
for the best.

On the other end, we could find out we
would relate to someone really

Oh, yeah?

Like who?

Don't you think there's a distinct
resemblance?

Shambolic sketches, bizarre behaviour
and impeccable impersonations in the

possible taste.

Obviously, it can only be the Kenny
Everett television show coming straight

you after the advert.

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