All language subtitles for Down.Cemetery.Road.S01E01.720p.x264-FENiX.srt - eng(2)

Careful. Be careful with that.
That's it. Mind the bump.

Take it right through to the end.

Yeah. That's it.

Fuck.

Sarah.

We're bringing all the Augustus Starcks
down here for safekeeping.

Had a tip-off about a protest group.

Right. Of course.

Wondered when he'd get canceled.

He hasn't been canceled.

Well, his wife was only 15 when
he married her. Just, you know, saying.

He was hugely influential.
These are worth a fortune.

Come along, come along. This way.

Actually, you could put that one
back on the wall.

Yeah, Augustus Starck
didn't use cobalt blue, but his wife did.

That's a Christina Starck.

Latterly, he claimed
a lot of her work was his.

Store it.

Shit.

Pace mine for you

Hold my horses

Patience

Every time the sun comes up
I'm in trouble

Every time the sun comes up
I'm in trouble--

- Are you okay?
- Yeah.

What have you got there?

I saved it.

Wow! Brave.

There you are.

- Sorry, she was just--
- Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's fine.

You'll be the death of me.

Come on.

Even when the sun comes up
I'm in trouble

Even when the sun comes up
I'm in trouble

- Here you are.
- Hey, Lenny.

Evening, Sarah.

Hey.

Smelling good.

What, me or the food?

All right.

You're not going for matching
wine glasses?

Well, I thought that random ones might
be a useful talking point. You know?

"Look. We bought this little tumbler
on our travels

from a man with a wanking marmoset."

Yeah.

Let's just use the posh ones though.

This is the bank's top client
we're talking about.

Can you do a salad dressing?

Sorry, hon, just quick work email.

Good day? Bad day?

Yeah, Keith Wang came in to talk
to the fund management posse.

The Wang man always delivers.

Okay. All right. All right.

Just get it all out of your system now.

There's gonna be loads
of investment talk tonight.

I really need you not to take the piss.

Gerard Inchon's a big catch.

Trust me, I'll be chatting acid peels
with the ex-model wife.

What time are Steve and Becca due?

Yeah… Can't come.

Babysitter bailed,
but don't worry, don't worry.

Replacements are sorted.

Who have you invited instead?

Sorry we're late.

Rufus just had to rush out
and buy some vegan lube.

Hello, everyone.

Gerard, Paula. Wigwam and Rufus.

- Wigwam?
- Hi.

And Rufus.

- Hi. It's lovely to meet you.
- Marvelous.

Sounds like a 1960's folk duo
or a pair of goldfish.

Gerard.

No, no. I'm just joshing.
Good to meet you.

Sorry…

Oh, no. Shit.

Oh, shit.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Fuck.

Wigwam and Rufus? Jesus Christ.

Sorry. Everyone else was busy.

They're sweet. It'll be fine.

Oh, fuck.

- Rufus has got his balls out.
- What?

- Wow. Goodness.
- And he can play the spoons.

Okay. Can I get anybody a drink?

- Yes.
- Finally.

Great veggie lasagna, Sare.

Yeah, lovely.

Especially that hint of…

What was it? Chernobyl?

I really love this salad bowl, Sarah.

Thanks.
Yeah, I got it from a local artisan.

Yeah, lots of creative people
live round here.

Why?

We're an alternative community.

- Yeah, I can see that.
- Yeah.

So, Mark, when are you moving back
to civilization?

Well, this is near where I work, so… Yeah.

You work? Let me guess.

Charity sector.
Environment. Ethical publishing.

- Sarah's an art conservationist.
- Right.

- I don't like to boast…
- Are you sure?

…but I've got quite
the impressive art collection myself.

Well, the bank has just started
a crypto art portfolio.

My dealer says to avoid it.

I think my kids' art
is just as good as the fancy stuff.

You know, our little Ziggy,
he designed these.

You have children already?

Yeah, yeah. Four.

Four? You starting a cult?

Well, they're not Rufey's,
but we're trying.

What about Sarah? Any plans for children?

Well, none that aren't private, Gerard.

I mean, we do. We definitely…
We do want kids though. Don't we?

Sares, I think you'll feel so different
when it's one of your own.

Yeah. So everyone says.

- But what if they're wrong? Hey?
- Treat it like an investment.

You can get a good price for kids
in some parts of the world.

I'm sorry, do you seriously think
that adoption's a business opportunity?

It bloody well should be.

Adoption process round here's gone mad.

Social justice warriors
screwed the system.

- More wine?
- This part of town's

crawling with disenfranchised youths
with daddy issues out for revenge.

Well, what's your solution, Gerard?

What? Put all the kids in private
orphanages run by creepy priests?

And if not, oh,
there'll be some massive urban revolt?

You may scoff, Sarah,

but come the revolution,
bloody good luck to you.

Least I'll be armed and ready.

- Have you got a gun?
- Got a whole collection, love.

So you see yourself
as some kind of suburban warlord?

Osama bin Businessman, that's me.

Oh, God.

My children. My children!

Have you seen my kids?
Has anybody seen my kids anywhere?

- Oh, my God. Wait!
- Wigs, Wigs. Who were they with?

- Mummy!
- There they are.

- Oh, God. Ziggy! Odin!
- Mummy!

Oh, thank God!

- Mummy?
- Yes, darling.

That's Dinah's house.

Please, God, no.

You go, babe. I'll stay and help.

Yeah.

- Come on. Quickly, darlings.
- You look after your mum.

Let's get you safe. Come on.

They found someone.

There's a child.

Now, come on. Take this.

Let me talk to them.

Sure.

Thank you.

Is she okay?

Little girl was saved by a wardrobe.

Plod said her bed fell
straight through the floor.

Wardrobe fell on top of her. Doors open.

- The wardrobe?
- Seriously?

- Poor little girl.
- Bloody miracle.

Firefighters think it's a gas main.

Jesus.

- Stop it, Mark.
- All right, all right.

The light has shone on you tonight

But I'll go walking through
The darkened streets alone

And fall asleep with a smile

Saving my pennies
'Cause the oracle told me so…

…WhatsApp or leave us a voicemail.

And for those of you just joining us,
we return to our top story.

The emergency services were called out
last night to a house in South Oxford,

the scene of a major domestic
gas explosion.

The extent of the damage
is not yet certain,

but a police spokesperson confirmed
the house was occupied.

There is a suspected fatality,

but as yet, no further details
have been released.

Police have secured the area--

You thinking what I'm thinking?

Well, if you're thinking,

"What is my husband doing sat on his arse
listening to shit local news reports

while he could be out collecting debts
for jobs he hasn't been paid for?"

Then, yeah, I am, which is spooky.

Actually, what I was thinking was…

this house explosion
could be a bit of a cash cow.

In what way exactly?

Well, due diligence.
Maybe the gas company didn't do it.

Maybe this case could go
all the way to the top.

Well, maybe sort of
all the way to the middle.

Bottom of the middle.

Middle of the bottom.

- Joe.
- No?

Anyway…

I might do a bit of sniffing around.

Oh, God.
When did you last sniff around these?

Spring?

I haven't had time to do the laundry.

I've been working on a divorce case.

Where do I sign?

For a client.

Is it another desperate damsel
in search of a knight in shining cardie?

Maybe.

Okay, well…

While you work out how her case
could bring down the government,

here are some actual invoices.

Traffic violation.

Background check. That was fun.

And… thrilling. Insurance fraud.

Paid, paid, paid. In Earth pounds.

Letter to gas company
RE: compensation claim.

What are you doing? We can't afford
a secretary to type that up.

I'll type it up.

So why don't you just type it while you…
What's the point?

Anyway, nobody's used
their Dictaphone since 1982, Joe.

No, you're right.

They use their finger.

The good news is that our latest tests
suggest delayed deterioration.

The slightly less optimistic news

is that without continued access
to our case studies,

we don't yet have enough data
to move into the next phase.

Hello. Hamza Malik,
Intelligence and Threats.

Thank you.

Well, the Ministry of Defence
can't hurry medical science.

Can we, Dr. Wright?

Although in this instance,
you're going to have to.

- Afternoon.
- Afternoon.

Thank you.

- See you at the club.
- Absolutely.

Sir.

Hello, sir.

Well, you've really bollocksed this one.

Haven't you, Malik?

I don't remember you receiving permission
to start a war in Oxford.

The department was given
carte blanche, sir.

Carte blanche?

Well, that does suggest
pretty wide parameters, I'll grant you.

Not wide enough to cover
barely controlled explosions

in densely populated university towns.

Who'd you have running this one?
Wile E. Coyote?

Well, our man on the spot is a--

A trigger-happy twat?

I assume the incendiary was his idea?

It was a field decision, sir.

- Is it a field decision, Malik?
- Yeah.

Well, I would love a heads-up on what

Wreck-It fucking Ralph
has planned for an encore.

Small nuclear device
in a crowded shopping center perhaps?

- Don't think so, sir.
- No.

You don't think so?

Well, that is very reassuring.

You need to get down on your hands
and knees,

and mop up this piss fountain
you've created

before it becomes a piss geyser
the size of Old fucking Faithful.

Yes, sir. Yes, sir.

Thank you, sir.

Hey! Don't go far.

Wig, so you said the people
in the house were your friends?

- Yeah.
- They were.

This time yesterday
we were all on the school run.

Dinah was running along with Ziggy.

I was just chatting to Maddie,
and now she's dead.

Wait. Did she wear yellow wellies?

Maddie? No, no.
She was more of a chunky trainer's type.

No, the little girl. Dinah.

Yeah, I think she did. Yeah. Why?

I think I saw them both yesterday.
Was Dinah's hair sort of, like a…

Like a halo.

Yeah.

Poor kid.

Where's her dad?
Was he killed in the blast too?

Not her dad, no.

- Maddie is a… was a widow.
- You look sad.

It's all right. Let's get you to school.

I don't think Dinah
ever really knew her daddy.

Is Mummy okay?

God, I just really hope that she's safe.

The kids are devastated.

Ziggy's in Dinah's class.

Look, he's made her…
He made her this card.

"To Dinah. Sorry your mummy did."

- He means died.
- Right.

Yeah, no, we don't correct spelling.
It's undermining.

- Hi, darlings.
- You good?

Yeah.

Mummy, can we post it to Dinah?

I could try the hospital.

You'll be late for work, Sare.

No, it's… you know, it's on the way.

Sort of.

Worth a go, yeah?

- Thank you.
- Yeah.

- Thank you.
- Okay. All right?

Okay.

- Hi.
- Hi.

I'm here for Dinah Singleton.

Yeah.

What's your name?

It's Sarah. Trafford.

Trafford.

- Kim.
- Yeah? Yes.

Is there any chance I could just
quickly nip through to the ward

and give this to Dinah?

Wait here.

Just take a seat.

Okay.

Is there a problem?

No, no. No problem.

I'm just here
to visit one of your patients.

Dinah Singleton.

You know,
the girl from the house explosion.

That's from your child?

No. No, it's from my friend's little boy.

They took her off in an ambulance
so we just assumed she must be here.

We're not authorized
to give out patient details.

So she is here? Is she okay?

I have no information.

Sorry…
Is that no information or she's not here?

Or she is here
but you just can't give out details?

Sorry, who are you exactly?

Who are you exactly?

I mean, are you in charge
or is there someone else I can talk to?

I think you should go, madam.

What? I'm just trying
to give her a fucking card.

Okay. It's time to leave now, please.

You need to leave.

Okay.

God.

Yeah, it's actually this way, the exit.

Thank you.

We just had someone inquiring about her.

- Yes.
- Hi.

Doors closing.

Lift going down.

Third floor.

Doors opening.

Doors closing.

Fu…

Lift going down.

What's he doing here?

Doors opening.

Shit.

Hi.

I thought you and Paula
went back to the Cotswolds last night?

We didn't.

Everything all right?

Now, isn't that interesting?

I wouldn't dream of
prying into your business

in case you were here
for some sort of lady test.

Lady test?
I was simply asking if you're okay.

Well, how kind. And I am.

You make that all by yourself?

Actually, Gerard, Wigwam's little boy
made it for Dinah Singleton.

Who? Doesn't ring any bells.

After the blast we saw that child
wrapped in a red blanket.

I thought she might be here, but I've just
been stonewalled by pediatrics.

Yeah, well, I know a few bods
on the board of trustees.

What a surprise.

And I'm sorry, but they can't dish out
info willy-nilly to every nosy neighbor.

I was just doing something nice for an
orphaned child who survived an explosion.

Maybe you could ask your bods
on the board if she's all right.

And thank you for dinner.

Food was to die for.

Almost literally.

Danny. Good to see you.

Police are squared away and the inquest
will bring down the curtain.

To be fair, it's come out
looking like an accident.

And you can offer absolute assurance
that the locals have been pacified?

Everything is tickety-boo,

as the old fart flannels
in this building would say.

- Yes.
- Splendid.

So I don't have to worry about
social services

sticking their vegan pasty-shoe
in the door?

That's very good, sir.

- No, sir.
- No.

Or maybe a nosy neighbor woman
hanging around the hospital?

I've just had a little chat
with my contact.

There it is.

I'll get eyes on.

Eyes on.

I'm not talking about sending in
a twitcher, Malik.

You'll shut this down, yes?
Total press whiteout.

I don't want to read about this
over my deviled eggs.

I'll order a D-notice, sir.

Have it slapped across the whole thing
before you can say--

- Do fuck off.
- Yes, sir.

Sir…

what would you like us to do
with the actual child, sir?

Move her, obviously.

But she's not quite ready to come out yet.

What is she, a cake?

SMO wants to keep her under obs
in the ICU.

Do stop speaking in tongues, man.
We're not the fucking SAS.

Smoke inhalation.

She's basically fine.

- It's just…
- She better be basically fine, Malik.

Because dead babies blown up
in cack-handed covert operations

run by psychopathic idiots
get entire television series dedicated

to their short, wasted lives.

So you will tell the chief medical officer

to pull his finger out of his arsehole
and sign her discharge summary

with his shitty finger
if it speeds things up.

Yes, sir.

And keep the twisted fire-starter
off the job.

Yes, sir.

…was often a woman.

On today's show, we'll be looking
at the role of women in literature,

and asking the question,
"Was it just that a patriarchal

and often misogynist society made it
impossible for women

to be open about their identities?"

Or is there something about
the creative impulse in general

that makes anonymity
synonymous with artistic freedom?

Were women victims, or was it liberating
for them to assume an alter ego,

an identity?

And is the current trend of authors

working with androgynous monikers
a sort of literary hoax?

Or are they asking us to judge the words,

and not apply preconceptions
about identity?

And talking of hoaxes,

we'll also be looking at what some women
are calling the biggest hoax of all,

the idea that women can have it all.

Work, children, and the relationship.

I'll be interviewing a highly successful…

Come on.

What? So is there
not like a family liaison officer

or, I don't know, just someone
I can talk to about Dinah Singleton?

It's a flagged file, madam.

What's a flagged file?

I'll take this one, Sergeant.

Wait. You were at the house blast
talking to Gerard Inchon.

I talk to a lot of people.

Yeah, I want to get this
to Dinah Singleton.

The girl from the house blast.

You know, the one
that was saved by a wardrobe?

I can't help you, I'm afraid.

There is nothing on the system.

Wait. How is that possible?

Okay, he said it was a flagged file.
What does that mean?

It means it's off-limits
to the likes of you.

- Sorry?
- Send my regards to your editor.

No. No, no, no. I'm not a journalist.

- I'm a normal person.
- Normal person? Right.

Well, you sure as hell aren't family.
Have you heard…

Well, no, because all her family are dead.

You heard any more on that burglary
in the sports store?

That's it so far, sir.

- Pillock.
- Did get a couple of calls.

Jesus.

Sorry.

Fifty quid on snacks
for your stupid games night.

It's hungry work.

We just got the electricity bill through.

How are we gonna pay for that?

- What? With crisps?
- I'll find the money.

You've not even been paid
for the last two weeks of work.

It's called a job, Joe. Have you even
asked her for the money she owes?

Well, I agreed with her. No win, no fee.

How could it be no win, no fee?

- You're not a lawyer.
- But she looked so sad.

I'll renegotiate. I'll write her a letter.

For fuck's sake, Joe. Not again!

Well, well, well. A customer.

Or have you taken a wrong turn
en route to the artisanal cheese shop?

Door was open.

I'm looking for…

Joseph Silvermann.

Let me guess. You've got a husband.
He's got a secretary. Am I warm?

No. Are secretaries still a thing?

Okay, well, not a secretary.

Personal assistant, posh secretary.

You seem like the type who might have
a handsy husband in the media.

What type is that?

Sort of, you know, doe-eyed and helpless.

Well, you seem like a bit of a cock.

I feel seen.

Hi. I'm Zoë Boehm.

Sarah Trafford.

- Don't smoke.
- Neither do I.

I just, you know,
I miss the paraphernalia.

Well, I don't really know
why I came in. I think I'll just--

Welcome to our humble detective agency.

Runaway teens, GPS tracking,
credit checks, missing tortoises.

- No job too small.
- Right.

Well, not just… I also find cats, cars.

- Keys.
- Missing people.

You do your own housework. And you paint.

Enough with the private dick shit, Joe.

God.

He's just trying to impress you, Sarah.

So, wait. What do you do, Zoë Boehm?

- Same job as him but better.
- Yeah, but your name's not on the door.

No, 'cause I don't go in
for the Philip Marlowe cosplay thing.

- We're married.
- Not really.

Right. Well, what,
you don't, like, work as a team?

Not if I can help it.

Don't worry. Joe's really good
at helping female clients.

The more doe-eyed the better.

Which is good 'cause I am shit at it.

I don't drink prosecco,
I don't bond emotionally,

and I'll probably end up
fucking the handsy husband.

Now that Cruella's gone
to hunt for puppies,

who's for a coffee?

And a Viennese whirl.

So you went to St Magdala's?

It's my sister college. I was at Oriel.

Are you any good at your job?
'Cause your wife was pretty scathing.

It's how she shares her affection.

I won't lie.

Philip Marlowe, I'm not.

But who is?

Well, no one. He's fictional.

There is that.

Did I mention wandering husbands
are a speciality?

Yeah. Especially if the wives are,
what was it she said? "Doe-eyed"?

To be clear,
I am not a sex pest, Ms. Trafford.

Obviously I realize saying
"I'm not a sex pest"

could be the classic double-bluff
of a sex pest--

Maybe just stop saying sex pest.

So a job takes roughly how long?

Well, you haven't said what the job is.

Well…

I want to find somebody.

I can do that.

It's actually quite difficult
to go completely missing.

Online footprints,
surveillance wherever you go.

You need to be an expert
to fully disappear.

Okay.

Right, I'm looking for
a five-year-old girl.

Her name is Dinah Singleton.

And I think
she's been deliberately erased.

Erased?

Well, she's been eradicated
from the news coverage.

The gas explosion…

And a nurse at the local hospital
was furious…

Of course she's furious.
She works for the NHS.

No. Furious when I asked him about her,
like he was hiding something.

And there's a dodgy businessman
called Gerard Inchon,

who I really do not trust.

Perhaps she's been erased
from public view,

moved to a private facility
by some press corporation

who'll pay for treatment,
photograph her at leisure.

She's five years old.

And there's been a police shutdown.

At the station they said
the file on her had been flagged.

Whatever that means.

It means the file's restricted.

What's your connection to Dinah Singleton?

- Is she a friend of your kids?
- No, I don't have kids.

No, my friend knows her.

Well… her parents are dead.
She's got no one.

What's your connection to her, really?

I saw her the day
of the blast and she was…

The sort of child you'd like to have?

No, the sort of child I used to be.

- Hi.
- Hello, Sarah.

Here's your update.
Sniffer's not giving up.

She's going off down rabbit holes
like Alice in fucking Blunderland,

and now she's called in the Light Brigade.

I am slightly struggling
with your mixed metaphors, Amos, mate.

My boy in the field tells me
the Trafford woman has hired

- some local private dick.
- Oh, shit the bed.

Okay, let's get the child out of there
before the target tries to play the hero.

Let's lock this thing down.

Sorry, was that a briefing?

Because,
with the greatest respect, Hamster,

I'll be handling this exactly
the way I fucking well want.

Here. Take this and clear up downstairs.

- All right.
- I won't be long.

Miss? All done. Do you wanna have a look?

You all right?

Don't worry. It's solid.

Phrase how I feel

Have you ever heard two turtledoves

Bill and coo when they love…

Well, thank you, Mum.

Twenty.

When we kiss

And there's a weepy ol' willow

He really knows how to cry…

- What's this?
- I'm just pressing my trousers.

Don't bother with personal grooming
on my account.

I've grown accustomed to you crumpled.

I'm going out for some drinks.

You don't drink.

I enjoy the occasional gimlet.

You've decided against
the traditional shower at home then?

Yeah. 'Cause the traditional water's
been shut off.

I found a letter from the water board
about nonpayment.

I thought I'd sorted and filed that?

Yeah, you had. Down the back of the sofa
with all the rest of the unpaid bills.

Don't use that on your face.

Come here, you little fucker.

You'll be pleased to hear
I've been balancing the books.

Oh, yeah? Great.

That mean you've given
that Sarah Trafford woman the heave-ho?

Or is that another no win,
no fee situation?

You look like Bambi
after his mum got shot.

Seriously, I mean the incompetence
I'm used to, but the lying, that is new.

Sorry, I just wanna look closely
at one more area.

Well, I'm resisting asking
if it's up your own arse.

If it's about that gas explosion,

I assume that you've followed
all the obvious lines of inquiry?

That's why I'm going to the pub.
Get a download from the nurses.

What's that gonna cost us?

Why can't you just look for causes
rather than chasing outcomes, Joseph?

When you call me Joseph,
you sound just like my mum.

Well sometimes I feel like your mum.

Picking you up from the fuckup crèche.

Maybe you'll get top intel
down at the pub.

But maybe it might be worth checking out

the big, exploded house
marked "crime scene."

That's where I'd start. With the victims.

Victim. There's only one.

Please don't tell me
you've started believing

everything you read in the papers.

Can I ask where you're going tonight?

You can ask.

Kiss goodbye?

There's a weepy ol' willow

He really knows how to cry

That's how I'd cry in my pillow

If you should tell me
Farewell and goodbye

- No. Just have a seat, please.
- I'm busy.

Trust me, it is a terrific opportunity.

I'm sorry, Trafford,
but this is not a good time.

Well, let me just look at the numbers
and I can revise the pitch.

I can… I'll speak to my team.
I think we've got…

Sarah. I just stopped by to grab my coat.

He left it here after the explosion.

How about we all have
a glass of this rather good red?

I won't, thanks. I'm driving.
But if I could just grab my overcoat?

- Yeah.
- And Paula's scarf.

The study.
I moved everything after the blast.

Right, yeah.

- Yeah.
- I… Just one second.

So, did you get any answers

from your big important cronies
at the hospital?

Or are you just gonna fob me off again?

The child's fine.

They'll keep her in the ICU
a few more days.

ICU, why? What happened?

Smoke inhalation, I gather.

Once she gets the thumbs-up,

they'll transfer her into the care
of the relevant services.

Okay.

Mystery solved, Miss Marple?

No, but if it's all so simple
and above board,

why did the police say
it was a flagged file?

You've been to the police?

Why don't they just release
a press statement and tell us she's okay?

What are they hiding, Gerard?

They? Tell us?

What, you and your tinfoil hat friends?

Leave it to the professionals.

Focus on your own problems, shall we?

How's it going
with the coat hunt, Trafford?

I'll give you a clue,
it's the expensive one.

Yeah. Won't be a second!

Your husband needs help.

Okay, Gerard.

That's not entirely what I meant, Sarah.

He's out of his depth
in shark-infested waters,

and there are no rescue boats.

Very cool garms, Gerard.

You should introduce me to your tailor.

It's a…

- Fuck.
- Mark, are you okay?

Mark.

I think Gerard's going soft
on the investment.

Shit. Paula's scarf.

Gerard! Gerard! The scarf!

Excuse me.

Hello.

Excuse me.

Sorry. I don't mean to be sexist
or heightist or anything-else-ist,

but would you like me to order for you?

- Yes. Vodka tonic, please.
- Okay.

- Vodka tonic. Thanks.
- Sure thing.

Great.

What you lot do, working through cuts
and pandemics and shortages,

you all deserve medals.

Not just a few middle-class do-gooders
clapping and rattling Le Creuset pans.

In fact, may I buy you your drink?

Thanks.

Guys! Everyone!
This geezer wants to buy us all a drink!

You do realize that my job
allows you to do your job.

Okay. I'm just saying that if your work
involves us having to

be beg buddies with Gerard Inchon,
then it's not worth it.

Mark…

Joe.

Hospital staff confirm
the little girl is there.

Yeah, and she's in the ICU,
but she's okay,

and I should mind my own business.

Yeah, Gerard Inchon told me
in his usual patronizing way.

Someone signed her discharge summary,
told the nurse to pack the kid a bag.

No one knows where she's going.

No one thinks she's ready,
but they're moving her tonight.

Fuck, Joe. Okay.

Sorry.

Hi.

- Intensive Care? It's urgent.
- Okay. Just through the doors,

- up there, you'll see the signs.
- Oh, for God's sake.

Doors opening.

Doors closing.

Sorry.

It's an emergency!
I need to get in there! Please!

- I need to see Dinah Singleton.
- No visitors.

You've gotta let me in.
Someone's gonna take her!

- Sorry.
- Let me in!

Attention, please. We have a fire alarm.

Everybody out! Everybody out!

For your own safety. Please. Come on.

- Is Dinah Singleton in there?
- Not now, madam. This is an emergency.

Dinah!

Dinah? Sorry.

Hey, hey, hey.

Let's go.

Okay, Dinah.

Dinah. Wake up, darling.

Dinah!

Keep on moving, please.

Into the car park
to the evacuation point, please.

Fuck!

Fuck.

Who do you work for, Gerard?
Where's the child?

Sarah, stop. Stop.

The child I care about
is the baby we lost today.

That's why I was here.

Joe? Oh, bugger.

You were right. They've taken her.
She's gone. She's gone.