All language subtitles for goodnight_sweetheart_s05e09_love_the_one_youre_with

Good night, sweet heart.

All my prayers are for you.

Good night, sweet heart.

I'll be watching over you.

Tears and fighting may make us alone.

But with the dawn,

a new day is born.

Right, on the tiles again.

Oh, Cleary!

Shh, shh, shh.

Michael's asleep.

I'll just leave him here for now.

Look.

Good enough for Lord Irvine.

Oh? Um, just an interior decorator, I
know.

What do you think?

It's a bit modern, for my liking.

Modern? That's a traditional Victorian
design.

Well, it's too old -fashioned, then.

Phoebe, wallpaper doesn't grow on trees.

Yes, it does.

Well, yes, it does, but they have to.

Well, whatever they do before.

I'll leave it on the piano.

See if you can grow to love it, eh?

Where have you been?

I am allowed out, you know.

It just so happens I've hopped up to
Noel Coward's for tea.

Oh, terrible nights.

And what have you two been up to?

Up to?

Nothing. What do you mean?

We're just teasing him.

So, what did our Noel give you to eat,
eh?

Carrot cake for gentle nuts.

He has Viennese fingers, actually.

Probably why he's so musical.

That reminds me, Margie's birthday.

Oh, you hadn't forgotten?

Um, no. No, of course not. Gary, she's
40.

The surprise party.

I've ordered a cake from Harris. You
were supposed to be bringing a nice tin

biscuits. I told you.

Sorry, I don't know how I forgot.

I do.

You've got a lot on your mind, what with
the water when and everything.

Are you taking the mickey? But you will
be here, won't you? Tuesday, with a nice

big tin of chocolate assorted.

Margie and Reggie would be ever so
disappointed if you didn't make it.

They think the world of you.

So, just to recap.

That's your crime prevention posters,
your security code in leaflets, and your

direct line to the Police Complaints
Commission.

Oh. Just one more thing before I go. I
hope you don't think I'm banging my own

trumpet, but I think I'm going to be on
Jill Dando next week.

Well, then you'll be the envy of
millions.

Yes, you know.

Crime Watch UK.

There's an item on that raid in the post
office on Valence Road.

With a bit of luck, I might be on a
security video.

Courageously foiling the crime?

Buying a postal order.

Cheerio, then.

Lord help us.

Blackout torch.

My grandad had one of these when he was
on the force.

97, next birthday, you know.

He's still alive.

If you don't mind my saying so, that is
a very silly question.

Dead people don't have birthdays.

No. He was in that home in Cuthbert
Street.

Poor old chap doesn't know what's what
anymore.

Anymore? His mind's sort of gone back to
the war.

Well, you mustn't keep me here, chap.
Then I've got villains to catch.

Now, remember, look it up.

Or lose it.

Look, my autobiography.

I wanted you to have the first copy.

Go on, open it. It's got some words
inside, words I've written.

That's sort of traditional.

Written to you. Just go on, open it.

To Gary, who was always there for me and
who I love more than words can say.

Do you really love me more than words
can say?

Yes, of course. I love you loads.

If I was a poet, I suppose words could
say.

But I'm not, so my words can't say.

That's what I'm trying to say.

That's very sweet.

Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy
it.

What?

That's my soundbite for the book
signings.

Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy
it.

My PR girl says I have to have a
soundbite. Something short and sweet.

It's a bit boring, though, isn't it?

Woody said he'd come up with something
funny, but so far, nothing.

Woody Allen?

It's all there in black and white.

Aren't the photos great, though? Look,
there's me as a baby, there's me with my

best mate at school, oh, and there's me
with Cherie Blair when I won New

Businesswoman of the Year Award.

Quite a lot of me's, then.

Well, that's sort of traditional in an
autobiography, isn't it?

Don't worry, there's a photograph of you
as well.

Where? Where is there a photograph of me
as well?

Page 42, you and me at our wedding.

Here, I can see you. Where am I?

Well, that's your hand next to mine on
the cake knife, is it?

I could have sworn the last time I saw
this picture there was a body attached.

God, did you really write all this
yourself?

Yeah, well, of course, Gilly had a small
contribution to make.

Gilly? My ghostwriter.

Oh.

It was while hacking through the almost
impenetrable undergrowth of the upper

Amazon basin that I discovered the rare
medicinal fungus that became the basis

of my range of natural exfoliants.

The Amazon?

I remember a weekend in Centre Park.

I'm sure he's got a good imagination.

It's a tissue of lies.

It's a box of man -sized tissues of
lies.

Which will sell!

Gary, you may be as honest as the day is
dull, but when my fans fork out £15

.99, they want to be entertained.

Oh, Jilly wrote a great bit on page 151
about my whirlwind romance with Arnold

Schwarzenegger.

Does Arnie know you said all this about
him? Oh, it's all right. We've got the

same agent.

I mean, I wish you wouldn't do that. Why
don't you knock?

I could have been romping in the nude
with Julia Binoche.

No, you couldn't.

Well, I see you've done a lot to the
place. It's great round here. I was born

live in Mayfair.

No, you were born to live in Toxteth.

Excuse me, sir, but do you have a purple
Laguna?

Well, that's for me to know and you to
find out. Well, it's blocking a

resident's parking space.

I'm a resident and Mr Sparrow is
visiting me.

Nevertheless, unless he shifts it, I'll
have it clamped.

Because I now have that authority.

A little power to make up for my paltry
wage.

In fact, Mr Sparrow is a resident. Ron,
I don't actually live here. My

grandfather used to live here during the
war.

Which flat?

Well, this one, if it's any of your
business.

Number 15?

Oh, dearie me.

What are you on about?

Well, of course, I never met your
grandad. I was only five when the

occurred.

Accident? Yeah, it was 1944, it was.

23rd of July, I remember, because my
birthday's the day after.

We lived down the road, see. Me old man
had an ironmonger's.

I used to love to count out nails for
people. Yeah, what happened?

It was a Tuesday afternoon.

I had nightmares for months.

Me old mum was sick to the stomach.

And I never played hopscotch again.

Yes, well, it's been very good talking
to you. I'm a great believer in caring

the community. Keep taking the medicine.

No, no, here.

Well, what it was, right.

The bloke, what used to live here.

It's Strandad. He was crossing the
street just outside when this bus

Oh, it was horrible.

Me old mum... Yeah, well, I think we've
heard enough about her digestive system.

...was mangled with that limb.

On his head?

Well, you'd hardly call it a head.

It looked more like an overripe
watermelon that you drop from the top of

building.

Cheerio, I'm off for my lunch now. And
check that car.

54 years ago next Tuesday.

He was talking about me, Ron.

I was that watermelon.

And yesterday.

In 1944, Phoebe and I were talking about
the new wallpaper.

We didn't put it up, did we?

I must have been killed before I could
do the decorating.

Not necessarily.

Maybe she just didn't like the
wallpaper.

Or maybe I'm dead.

Well, if you're determined to look on
the gloomy side.

Oh, come on, Ron. You heard him. The man
from flat 15. That's me.

I am.

I'm dead. Gary, calm down. Deep breaths.

Put your head between your legs. What,
so I can kiss my arse goodbye?

Mr. Deadman.

Oh, Mr. Deadman.

You've got a visitor.

Try not to tire him out.

Rightio.

Gary, my son.

How are you?

Nice to see you. Come in.

Take a pew.

I'll leave you two together, then.

Rightio, Constable.

Make sure we're not disturbed, will you?

Get WPT Ellis to bring us some tea and
some custard creams this time.

You could get a biscuit now I'm in
charge of things here at the yard,

you?

Yes, of course.

Must keep you very busy.

Why?

Why must you keep me very busy?

No, I just meant... Do I know you?

It's me, Reg.

Gary. Remember?

Gary and Phoebe?

Gary and Phoebe, yeah, of course.

Hackney Empire.

He was a fire -eater and she juggled
axes.

No, not that Gary and Phoebe.

The Royal Oak?

Oh, I remember.

Oh, you were dead, Gary, old mate.

Why?

Because of some terrible bus accident
and my head was crushed like a melon?

What happened, Reg? What was I doing?

No, I thought you'd have passed away by
now.

Everybody else I knew's long gone.

You've hardly changed.

You've taken in monkey glands, have you?

So you don't remember a bus accident?

What do you mean? A squealing brake and
a scream and a horrible mess like a

melon. What happened?

Who was it? The melon? Melon?

In wartime? Poor the other one.

He walked the length of Petticoat Lane,
not find a melon.

No, Reg, listen.

I know there was an accident, and I know
that I... My grandfather was killed.

But I don't know exactly when, or where,
or how.

Accident? Yes.

Someone killed, you say?

Yes, me.

Well, you'd better let me have the
details, son.

Start with your name first.

Oh, I know you.

Who brought the biscuits?

Marge, it's been a long time.

Vivi?

Oh, flowers.

You don't miss a thing, do you?

Who are they from?

Why do they have to be from anyone?

I just thought I'd buy myself some
flair.

Are you all right?

Yeah, of course.

I just... Get a bit overwrought
sometimes, looking after Michael and the

Oak. I know.

I'm sorry. I expect it's worse for you,
having to be on duty so much and missing

little Michael growing up.

Yeah.

Um, talking of duty... You're not about
to tell me you can't make it to Margie's

party. Phoebe, I have to go to Brussels.

German resistance in Belgium has
crumbled much faster than we thought.

The Third Light Walloon mounted rifles
have made a brave breakthrough. I don't

give a fig!

You promised!

Phoebe, it's only Margie.

I know we like her and everything. It's
not only Margie.

Oh.

Um, has this got something to do with
the time of the month?

Yes.

Yes, it has. Ah.

The time of the month that is Margie's
birthday and you were supposed to be

bringing the biscuits.

I'll still bring the biscuits, I
promise.

I'm going out.

Can you bear to look after your own son
for a couple of hours?

Yes, of course.

Well, where are you going?

Out.

She's never bought herself flowers
before in her life.

Hi, how was your day?

I'm knackered.

It's not easy being the most thought
-after new author in Britain, you know.

No, it must be a real drag.

It is!

Everybody wants a piece of you.

Radio stations, newspapers, magazines.

You're surrounded by people, but they're
not interested in you as a person.

You're just a product to them.

Now I know why rock stars throw TVs out
of hotel windows.

Too many repeats?

I wish you'd come with me once in a
while.

Really? Yeah, to a book signing or
something.

Keep me company.

It'd make a nice change to have somebody
there who really cares about me as a

person. You do, don't you? Well, of
course I do.

But wouldn't I be in the way?

No, my fans would love to meet you.

And how are they going to recognise me?
By my wrist?

Well, no, actually, I am at a bit of a
loose end on Tuesday.

Tuesday the 23rd.

Brilliant. I'm doing a big book signing
in Piccadilly.

It's just down the road from the Ritz.

We could go there after for tea or
dinner or maybe even stay the night.

Hmm.

Night in five -star hotel with
glamorous, best -selling authoress.

Um, yes, all right, twisted my arm.

Oh, get that, would you?

And if it's Yasser Arafat, tell him his
aftershave's in the post.

Hello.

Hello, Rob.

So what was it you couldn't tell me on
the phone?

Well, I've been sitting here mulling
over your dilemma.

Ah, no, I no longer have a dilemma.

Just told Phoebe I couldn't go to
Margie's party.

She was a bit upset.

Well, extremely upset, actually.

Virtually homicidal, but I'm sure she'll
get over it.

So, I am going to a book signing with
Yvonne on the dreaded 23rd, followed by

night at the Ritz, and everything is
under control. You're a sort of moral

hole, aren't you?

No.

It's like fox hunting.

How? How is four -dimensional bigamy
like fox hunting?

Well, foxes have to be kept down, don't
they?

And lots of people say that hunting is
the best way.

But I think what protesters object to
isn't the hunting at all. It's the

enjoying the hunting.

You know, the red coats, the stirrup
cup, the thrill of the chase. The ritual

bloodlust. The symbolic suppression of
the weak by the strong.

The whole nauseating up until I splatter
the stomach.

I'll put you down as an ante, shall I?

So you're saying that since through no
fault of your own you've got two wives

different decades, that you might as
well try and enjoy it?

Oh, wouldn't you?

And once July 23rd passes by and you
don't wake up with your head in your

you'll just toddle back to the war
years.

Naturally. Well, you might suddenly and
painfully discover that, in fact, the

bus ran you over on July 24th.

What do you mean?

Well, what I'm getting at is, how can we
be sure the porter was right?

He's trying to remember something that
happened over 50 years ago.

If he got his dates wrong, we could be
having melon for afters after all.

Oh, great. Thank you.

Bear with me.

Now, the one thing that laughing boy was
really clear about was that it was the

man who was living in this flat who
caught the bus.

Or vice versa, yes.

So all you have to do is get rid of the
flat before next Tuesday and everything

will not only be hunky, but also dory.

Ron, you are a genius.

I should never have doubted you.

But I'm afraid the property market's
still rather flat.

The flying bombs don't help. I don't
care about the price. I just want to get

rid of it by Monday. May I ask why? No,
you may not.

There are matters of national security
involved.

Well, that doesn't enable me to conjure
up a buyer.

Oh, God.

Of course, if you're prepared to seek a
sublethi... A what?

A tenant.

A tenant? A tenant would work. Can you
get me a tenant by Monday?

No. You're not being very helpful.

Price is immaterial.

Price is never immaterial. No, no,
really. I really don't want any money at

Surely, sir, can't be serious. Sir
promises you this is not a wind -up.

A what -up?

Leg pull, a jolly jake.

No rent at all?

Well, I... Well, in that case, I do have
a professional associate who's looking

for a pied -à -terre.

He's a decent sort. He lives in Dorking.

He often has to stay in town, but he
can't really afford it.

He's got a chronically sick wife. Look,
put the violin away and get it sorted by

Monday. May I make a local telephone
call? As far as I'm concerned, you can

the Pope.

to make sure Gary doesn't find out.

I didn't expect to see you.

Obviously. What was all that about?

Mrs Sparrow, may I say, you look
radiant.

Now, Mr Sparrow, I've spoken to the
gentleman concerned and he can take the

over tomorrow afternoon.

Oh, great.

What? Um, I'll explain later.

You're right, you will explain right
now.

Well, I'll bid you good day.

Yeah, I'll drop some keys in.

What the hell's going on, Gary Farrow?
Nothing.

We've got to move out.

No. No!

I just bloody won't! It may only be for
a few days, but we simply cannot be here

next week.

Why?

It's top secret.

Don't give me that again. I'm fed up
with top secret.

Phoebe, even if I told you, you
wouldn't... All right, look, we think

Germans may be dropping a new sort of
bomb round here.

Its code name is... Watermelon.

Sorry, Gary, but all this on top of
everything else.

Yeah, talking about on top of everything
else, what was all that about we

mustn't let Gary find out?

Think I've got a fancy man, do you?
Well, I definitely heard a man's voice.

That's right, you did.

It was Mr Coward.

Noel.

Well, you are serious.

Oh, there's more to him than meets the
eye.

Well, there'd have to be.

No, I'm sorry, it's just Noel. Why all
the secrecy?

Maybe because he's capable of giving me
something I could never get from you.

What? Phoebe.

Phoebe. Oh,

I wasn't expecting you.

It seems nobody was.

Phoebe, your diary.

You left it upstairs.

And as dear Oscar used to say, I never
travel without my diary. One should

always have something sensational to
read on the train.

What the hell is going on?

It seems our little secret is out.

I penciled in a quick session for
tomorrow afternoon.

Practice makes perfect.

You and Phoebe?

Good God.

And everybody thinks of you as a... As a
brilliant dramatist and songwriter.

But all the time you've been giving
Phoebe... Singing lessons.

Singing lessons.

You brilliant dramatist and songwriter.

Have you?

It was supposed to be a surprise.

She was going to be performing at
Marjorie's birthday soiree on Tuesday.

Except now you're not going to be here
on account of some Belgian surrendering

or something.

I've never had much luck getting
Belgians to surrender myself.

Well, it's all been a waste of blooming
time. Now we've got to move out the

flat. Yeah, but Phoebe, Belgium's off.

And we can still have the party at the
Royal Oak. Why not?

An East End public house.

Yes. Not your cup of tea, I suppose.

Full of rough and ready, coarse
-tongued, but good -hearted, horny

costumongers.

Eight for 8 .30?

Can't wait.

Gary, it's not your problem.

I can't stop thinking about it.

I've put the poor sod who's living there
now under sentence of death.

No, I'm going to have to go back
tomorrow and warn him.

But tomorrow's Tuesday.

If I don't tell him, I won't be able to
live with myself.

If you do tell him, you might not be
able to live at all.

It'll be OK.

Look, I'll just nip back to the flat,
tell him to stay indoors and then

Making sure to avoid skidding buses.

Quite. I thought you said he was an
estate agent.

Yeah, he is.

So what's the problem? It'll just be one
lap.

of people on the planet. They're up
there with Feng Shui consultants, Sun

reporters and people called Kevin with
company vectors.

Don't do it. I'll be okay.

You heard what the porter said. The man
who lived there. I don't live there

anymore, do I? You still own it.

I wouldn't be prepared to risk my life
in the hope that the Grim Reaper is

intimate with the intricacies of the
laws of landlord and tenant.

I've got to do it.

Okay.

Well, good luck.

There's something I should have put in
the book.

Whereas Greco -Roman wrestling is more
like that. Right, yeah, he's going to

stay. Hi. Bye.

Rusty. Oh?

It'll be a big day tomorrow.

Sorry? The book signing.

Oh, yeah.

They've won something to crop top. I've
got this urgent delivery. Gary,

everything has been arranged at the
Ritz, including a four -poster bed.

Turn up or prepare to meet thy doom.

Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy
it.

Thank you very much. Hope you enjoy it.

Would you put the date? It's my
birthday, the 23rd.

Thank you very much. Hope you enjoy it.

Yvonne... Thank you very much. Hope you
enjoy it.

Thank you very much. Hope you enjoy it.

God, I'm too late.

Oh, thank God you're here. Yes? Mr
Sparrow!

Mr Rutley!

Oh, my God. If I can just come in.

Who told you? What?

Oh, I shall lose my job. All right. All
right, then.

Your wife?

Yes. Yes.

Well, no.

What are you doing here? I thought you
had a colleague moving in. No, I was

talking about myself.

It's my wife who's been ill and has been
for years.

Oh, I know that to a young man like you,
I may not look the sort who needs to

seek solace in the arms of another
woman, but... Oh, I do love her.

I love my wife, too.

I love both of them.

I just want them both to be happy.

Oh, tell me about it.

When you told me you wanted to get rid
of the flat, it was a godsend.

I mean, you don't know what it's like,
skulking in corners, grabbing love

wherever you can, and then there are the
lies you have to tell.

I know.

Excuses, the broken promises.

Trying to be in two places at once.

Because you're in love with two women.

Well, it's not a crime.

There's nothing in the Bible that says
you can't. But the Bible is full of it.

It's virtually compulsory in the Old
Testament.

Anyway, the reason I've come here is to
warn you that something... Good grief.

Oh, my God.

Oh, heavens.

It's poor Mr Foster from number 16.

16? Not 15.

Bloody Porter.

Are you all right?

Yeah, yeah, terrific.

And you're terrific, so everyone's
terrific.

Well, for the poor soul down there.

How can you tell that's Mr Foster? I
mean, his head is all... We belong to

same lodge.

There was a meeting last night.

I'd recognise the socks.

Great city, locally enchanted, taken so
for granted for a thousand years.

Phoebe, this is so wonderful of you.

You've really made me feel part of the
family.

You are, love.

And Noel Coward.

And I don't believe it.

And in the flesh, he's so manly.

If I didn't know who I read, he could
hang his smoking jacket on my peg any

night.

Tongue sandwich, Mr Coward?

Oh, yes, thank you.

My favourite.

Phoebe, I'm sorry that we had to move
out.

It's only for a fortnight. I should have
consulted you, though.

I'm sure that sometimes you don't think
I'm a very nice person.

And you're supposed to say something
there.

Come here, you slobby ape.

I just wish it was normal.

That we could be like other couples
instead of scooting around all over the

place. We will, after the war.

But... First... You've got to scoot off
and liberate Brussels.

Shh. Carrie, you can't possibly depart
before Phoebe does her pièce de

résistance. Oh, no, Mr Cowder, I
couldn't.

Don't take the resistance too far, my
dear.

I could buy you spoons, if you like.

No!

Well, it's your loss.

Thank you very much.

Hope you enjoy it.

Whenever spring breaks through again,

time may lie heavy between.

But what has been is part forgetting.

This sweet memory across the

years.

I haven't suffered from claustrophobia
since I was 15.

Then after I'd finished
hyperventilating, I looked into the

didn't see much point checking in on me
own.

No. Sorry.

I suppose I'm just not cut out for all
the glamour in your life.

Glamour? You must be joking.

I had to sign 273 copies today. Me right
hand will never be the same again.

That's a shame.

Meet you here now.

Yeah. This is better than a night at a
writ, isn't it?

Not really, but it'll do.

Finish the bubbly upstairs, if you like.
Yeah.

Oh, um, one minute. Just want to watch
this. Crying watch? Yeah. Where were you

on May the 19th? That day, two men
wearing sky blue balaclavas made an

raid on the Valance Road post office in
Bethnal Green.

But could they have had an accomplice?

Police are very keen to interview this
man.

But of course, Greco -Roman wrestling is

quite different.

Good night, sweetheart.

Sleep well, banished heart.

Sweetheart, till we meet again