Original subtitles

What can I say about Niall Kennedy?

He's funny.

He's odd.

He's awkward.

He's determined.

He's devoted.

He's self-sacrificing.

He knows what he wants...

and he takes it.

I remember the first time I met Niall Kennedy.

I was only a kid, around seven at the time.

The wee bastard was terrified of me.

I suppose it didn't help that I would terrorize the wee fucker...

but he was such easy prey.

Always wore a shirt with the top button done up.

Made his head look massive.

We'd play hide and seek, and he was so scared of me,

I would find him in the most random of places.

Under cars, on top of bookcases,

at the end of the road in other people's gardens.

I remember this one time, it was raining,

and I'd long given up finding him,

but the poor wee bastard was so committed to the game,

he developed pneumonia.

And there was this other time.

He said, "You hide, I'll seek."

And I hid up in the attic space under some random tarpaulin.

But he never came.

When I walked down the stairs half an hour later,

the wee bastard was tucking into my birthday cake.

But that's Niall Kennedy.

He knows what he wants.

And he takes it.

Here, stand.

Come on. Stand.

Come on, how long's it been?

Let's go.

All right. That's it.

Mm-hmm. Hmm.

So...

here's to Niall Kennedy.

A man who knows what he wants...

and he takes it.

- Call me Daddy. - Yes, Daddy.

Yes, Daddy.

- Hey, can I print something off? - Mm-hmm.

Oh, you are out of credit, I'm afraid.

Look.

This is the proposal to my follow-up novel.

I don't wanna send it over email

'cause I don't trust my publisher

to read it properly on screen. Can you do me a solid?

Just this one time?

I don't know, Niall.

The boss hates it when I do this.

Well, the boss is a prick.

Come on, do this for me. Hmm?

Promise I won't ask again.

Fine. Last time, okay?

Thank you. Thank you.

So, what do you think?

Um...

Just not really sure what it's all about, you know?

I mean, the journey the main character goes on.

Well, you know, it's all about being true to your roots,

not selling out on yourself.

Well, I mean, if getting an Oxbridge education

is selling out yourself,

I hate to think what other impossible standards...

this guy holds himself to.

Look, it's a proposal.

All these things will come out in the wash.

Mm-hmm. Yeah, you said that about your last book,

and I hate to break it to you, buddy,

but I think there might be a problem with your filter.

Not to mention the fact

that it's clearly been cobbled together between one too many nights out.

What? No, it hasn't.

You spelt "Glasgow" with a seven.

Look.

All we're looking for here, Niall, is a little more...

authenticity when it comes to your writing.

My writing is authentic. Come on, Daniel.

You read my first book. It was straight from the heart.

The one about the boy who tries to communicate

with his deceased father. What was authentic about that?

Well, all of it.

My dad died when I was young. I never knew him.

Well, that was evident from the reviews.

Look, you've just got to try opening yourself up

a little bit more.

It's what they all say, Niall.

The key to a good career, in all of this,

is learning how to tell your own story.

Oh, do they now? And why's that?

Well, it's quite simple, really.

Write about what you know.

Hello. How you doing?

Yeah.

Fuck!

Fuck! Gus!

Wait! Wait! Niall! Please! Please!

Well, this has got to feel good, right?

Not really.

You won't tell anyone, will you?

No.

But only because describing it would place me at the scene.

Yeah, yeah, I hear you.

Plus, it's the doggers’ code, isn't it?

"Wherever we wheel, our lips are sealed."

I've never heard that before.

No, it's because I made it up.

Look. Do you fancy going for a pint or something?

- Uh, no. I should, uh... - Come on, man.

I've just been caught buggering in a car park

in the dead of night by the kid I bullied at school.

I'm standing here with no shoes on.

Look at my socks, Niall, for Christ's sake.

Wallace and Gromit.

Accept my humbling, will you?

Come for a bloody drink.

- Fuck, I hate lager. - Me too.

So, are you, um...

- out? - No way.

I'm not even gay.

You sleep with men all the time, don't you?

- I mean, you must do, going to a place like that? - It doesn't mean I'm gay.

Would be gay if I fell in love with them.

Oh, you're one of those, are you?

A man so straight, he fucks men.

Are you so vegetarian too you eat meat?

Yeah, it's a fucking mess is what it is.

Ah, you're fine. It could be worse.

Could be married with kids.

I always had my suspicions, you know?

You used to love a wedgie.

Yeah, it was a whole mix of things.

Plus, your brother put me bang to rights over all that, remember?

Pissed sideways for about three months afterwards.

I didn't condone that, really.

I saw him the other day, you know.

Still puts the fear of fuck in me.

Sorry, what did you say?

Your brother. I saw him just the other day.

What?

- Where? - In the street.

No, but wait, it can't have been him.

- He's still inside. - Well, nah, mate. He got out.

We spoke for ages in the end.

He'd met some chick. He was working...

Wait, I'm sorry. He's working?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Up on the rigs in Aberdeen.

Three months on, three months off.

Even gave me his card.

Jesus Christ.

What the fuck's a slinger?

I've no idea, but you can keep it,

just in case there's a tracker in it or something.

You're not winding me up here, are you?

- He got out? - Yeah, mate, I promise.

He got out.

It's Ruben. He's out. He's out of prison.

What do you mean you know?

- I know. - How?

What, did Maura tell you?

You're not still speaking, are you?

- Kind of. - What do you mean "kind of"?

- I thought things were finished. - They are, Niall,

but we still see each other from time to time.

Yeah, but you didn't think to tell me

that any of this was going on?

Well, how could I, Niall? You're never bloody well here!

- Well, you could have phoned. - You never pick up.

I leave you four voicemails a week

and never get anything back. The last one,

I pretended I'd fallen down the stairs

and was on my last dying breath, and you still didn't call.

Well, I knew you were faking it.

Was I faking my birthday, too?

Wait!

I just don't understand what the plan was here.

Were you just going to plot and scheme

and hope I never found out?

Oh, you make it sound like I'm enjoying it.

I have deep facial contours

devoted to the pair of you bloody idiots.

I felt nothing was to be gained from you

knowing anything about each other.

It runs the risk of him killing you,

or you dying from the worry.

Yeah, but what if he finds out where I am

and he comes looking for me?

I highly doubt that.

He's hardly going to bump into you

on Brunswick Avenue, is he?

Or in Kelvingrove Park men's toilets at 2:00 p.m.

with your pants around your ankles?

And you wonder why I don't come around here anymore?

No. Wait, wait!

I'm sorry!

Everything I did, I did to protect you, Niall.

But I... I still don't understand.

- When did he get out? - I don't know.

- Two years, maybe. - Two years?

- Are you kidding me? - That's a good thing.

That's two years where he hasn't come looking.

But...

Have you seen him?

Yeah, a few times.

Right. And did you mention me?

- I may have. - Well, come on. What did he say?

He didn't say anything. He just smiled.

Okay, that's good.

That's good.

Was it like a... like a nice smile? Like a fond one?

Oh! Look. I can't lie to you.

Well, what kind of smile? Come on.

I don't know!

Sort of with his mouth and not with his eyes.

You know, the one he tends to do before he kicks off.

I've only got ten minutes.

Darren has to visit his mum's today,

- so I've got the kids. - Yeah, no worries. Um...

Well, look, Joanna, I don't want to worry you.

Ruben.

What? How do you know?

Look. I didn't want to say,

but I bumped into him not too long ago.

He was doing this thing where he was going round

apologizing to people he'd wronged in his past.

Christ, this is crazy.

I mean, going round and saying sorry to people,

that doesn't sound like Ruben.

Well, he's been in prison for God knows how long, Niall.

- That's bound to change someone. - No.

No, people like him don't change, Joanna.

Come on, you know that better than anyone.

I don't know.

- He seemed different. - Right.

Wow, Jesus.

He must be coming to me to apologize next, then.

No. He said I was the last one.

- Well, that's bullshit. - How?

Because he owes me the biggest apology of his life.

Don't do that, Niall! It's embarrassing...

He messed up my life, Joanna.

And I dropped out of Oxford, I was so stressed with it all.

I thought you didn't like the snootiness.

No. That too.

It was... It was a combination of both.

Look, I think you'd better put this out your mind, Niall.

But how can I put this out of my mind?

I mean, I just found out he's working some

- fancy job on the rigs. - Well, what's wrong with that?

Everything! What does it teach him about life

if he comes out to some cushy existence?

Meanwhile, I work my arse off every day

and I'm rewarded with what?

Dreg payments, handshakes and promises.

Look, I get it, Niall.

It's hard seeing someone you have so much history with

doing so well.

But maybe it's not the fact he's changed that bothers you.

It's the fact you haven't.

Shut the fuck up!

All right, chill. Breathe. Here.

Let's get your stuff out.

Come on. Here. Put this on.

- There you go. - Thank you.

I think I know what this is about.

- My comments the other night. - No, actually, it's not.

I don't mind you being gay, Niall.

- It's the way you go about it. - It's about Maura.

Ah.

What happened, Mum? Did the cancer come back?

No. Um...

She hung herself, as it happens.

The rope snapped after about a minute.

Left her near brain dead.

Oh my God. Mum, that's awful.

It's life.

I mean, did she leave a note?

Kind of. It was more of a list of things to do.

"The cats are in the shed,

the keys are under the plant pot."

There was something so matter-of-fact

about the whole thing, which...

made it all feel worse somehow.

Like it was just another thing to do that day.

Well, look, I'm...

I'm sorry I haven't been around much.

I mean, you get it, right? The way you reacted?

I was just shocked.

I mean, how was I supposed to feel

when my brother calls me to say

he found you rogering another man in a public toilet?

I blame myself, really.

Should have spotted it sooner in you.

It's like looking for my glasses,

only to find they were sitting

on the bridge of my nose the entire time.

So, that's why Ruben got back in touch?

Yeah, he contacted me from prison.

He needed my help looking after her.

So, all this happened whilst he was inside?

Yeah, but don't go blaming yourself, okay?

She was in debt, she had aches and pains,

all kinds of things.

Niall, I want you to promise me here

that you're not going to go blaming yourself.

I promise.

Hey, Stefan.

You couldn't do me a favor and print this off?

Sorry, mate. The boss was raging last time.

Well, you couldn't ask, could you?

- Nigel? - No chance.

Sorry, bud. No can do.

You're a sad man, Nigel.

A sad, sad man.

So...

would you like to tell me

why you were in the toilet cubicle

with another man this afternoon?

Well, it's quite simple, really.

We were talking creative ideas, and we didn't want to disturb

the rest of the library.

You must think I was born yesterday.

No. Don't worry, Nigel. I've never thought that.

Look, you can't keep me.

- So, if you're going to ban me, just ban me already. - No.

It's a little more than a ban, actually.

I was all for sexual liberation until it started seeping its way

into our public services.

I started doing it when I saw the library coming up

on Google searches, "Renowned cottaging spot."

What are you intending to do with this footage, Nigel?

Upload it online. Make an example of you.

Stop anyone else trying it.

What? No! Please.

I mean, why me? I'm not the only one.

You let the other guy go straight away.

I know. Because you're the constant.

Okay, look. What can I do to make you not do this?

You can pay your fine.

What, my... my printing debts? Well, that's easy.

What is it? Like, 20 quid?

No.

I'm looking here and the computer has it down

- at 2,000 pounds. - What? That's ridiculous!

Where you're getting those figures from?

I don't know.

All those books you sold online, perhaps?

Okay.

I'm sorry. I've been in a bad place.

But listen, there's no way I sold

thousands of pounds' worth.

No.

But that's the rate I'm charging to buy them all back.

Oh, come on, Nigel.

You're a librarian, not a bloody lawyer.

No.

I'm just a sad, sad man.

I just need two grand.

- Two grand? - I know it's a lot,

but I'll pay you back ten percent on every pound.

See it as an investment. Don't be like those stockbrokers

who chose not to invest in Amazon.

You have a high opinion of yourself, don't you, Niall?

For someone caught buggering in a public toilet yesterday.

Oh, come on, Joanna. I am begging you here. Please.

Don't make me go to my mum. You wouldn't believe the things

she said to me when I got caught the last time.

Like what?

She called me a pervert.

Said she didn't mind a gay son, she just didn't raise a deviant.

She said that?

Go on, Bubby. Run to Auntie. Go play.

Look, Niall.

I still have a lot of love for you,

but bailing you out every time you're in a tough spot

is clearly not helping you turn your life around.

Whoa, whoa. Wh... Where is this coming from?

I can't do this anymore, Niall.

I have three kids to look out for.

I can't handle one more.

Please don't visit us anymore.

What happened?

Gay stuff?

Don't say "gay stuff," Mum.

Well, come on, what was it?

Gay stuff.

I was caught in the library toilet having sex with a man.

And now, the manager's threatening

to upload the video unless I pay him off.

Which library?

Clyde Park Library.

Jesus, Niall! They do school trips there.

- What's your excuse this time? - I was just exploring myself.

Exploring yourself? In a library?

Yeah, it's not as crazy as it sounds.

Oh, I don't know about that, Niall.

I mean, would you bring a book to a fucking brothel?

Look, I get that it's hard for you to understand,

but I'm almost there in terms of figuring myself out.

Are you now?

You got caught shagging a man in a library ten yards

from where they stock Peppa Pig!

Great to hear you're almost there!

What's it gonna take to push you over the edge, then?

A fucking intergenerational gangbang?

You're insulting my struggles here, Mum.

I'm insulting my struggles. They're my struggles, too.

At least you're the one cumming. Jesus Christ.

What do you need?

- Two grand. - Impossible.

I'm a social worker. I couldn't get you it

if I robbed all the people I work with.

- You don't have a pot somewhere? - I used the pot.

I used the pot the last time you had a breakdown

when you needed to go into the madhouse.

Hospital, Mum. It was a hospital.

A hospital is for arms and legs. It was a madhouse.

You sat around in circles talking about God.

You don't get much madder than that!

Enough of the jokes, Mum! I need money.

I'm not ready for the public to think I'm gay!

Then stop having sex in it. There's your answer.

Mum, I am begging you, please.

Surely you know someone that can help?

I do, but you won't like it.

Ruben?

Are you serious?

How can you even ask me that?

After what he's done, putting me in this position!

Oh, yeah? He put you in a public toilet, did he?

I suppose he pulled your cock out your pants, too!

I am talking about the turning point,

the... the... the... the seed of all of my issues.

Oh, the seed.

You're always talking about the seed, aren't you?

First it was Dad, after Dad it was Maura,

after that it was Ruben,

then it was the court case and the Oxford elite,

and now we're back to Ruben again.

Great! Glad you see it so clearly.

Turns out your glasses have been on your face

this whole time, too!

See, this is your problem.

You are too busy blaming everyone else

for your issues

because it's easier to point the finger

than turn it back on yourself!

You're acting like my breakdown was my fault!

It was! You made yourself sick.

"Mum, was I right to tell the truth on the stand?

Mum, I had to, didn't I?" You became obsessed with it.

Nothing I said would help.

- I was ill! - You were self-involved!

Now, as far as I can see, you are out of options here.

No doubt about it.

So, either you let me ask him for money,

and I will disguise it by saying it's for me...

or you can face the music on your own this time,

because I won't be helping.

Wait a minute.

Have you done this before?

Well...

You've used his money to pay for things for me?

Well, of course.

Where did you think it was all coming from?

Well, you remortgaged the house.

I thought you had stuff left over.

I mean...

What else has he paid for?

A lot of things.

My bedsit?

Yes.

- My car? - Yes.

- My therapy? - Yes.

The therapy I use to talk about him?

Yes, love, everything.

Your clothes, your Christmas presents.

Converting your bedroom into an adult's room

so you can come back every time you have a breakdown.

Oh, is that right, is it?

Well, I hope he accepts fucking refunds!

Oh, Niall! Wait! Niall!

Wait!

- Niall! - I don't fucking need him!

- Stop this! - This clock?

- Did you buy it with his money? - Yes.

Done.

Jesus!

- This CD player? - This is ridiculous.

Did he buy the CD player?

- Yes, he bought it! - Fine!

This... This signed Harrison Ford poster?

Yes, Niall.

Really?

He bought the poster?

Yes, Niall.

Okay. That's fine.

- No. You know what? Fuck this. - Stop!

You're out of control!

You don't know what you've done!

- You've made me his bitch! - Oh my God!

- You're losing your mind! - Well, good.

If Ruben's anything to go by,

perhaps you'll start paying me some attention!

I hate him. I fucking hate him.

- No, you don't. - I do.

- I'm his bitch! I'm his bitch! - Hey.

Come here.

You are nobody's bitch, okay?

I sometimes wish he would just kill me, you know?

Put me out my bastard misery.

He doesn't need to.

You're doing such a good job of it yourself.

I have lost sleep over you, Niall.

I keep thinking I'll wake up one day

to find you've taken too much,

or contracted HIV...

or done a Maura.

I think you need to move back in here and calm yourself a bit.

Meet someone.

They don't have to be perfect, they just have to be steady.

Settle down. In life. In yourself.

Give up these silly writing dreams.

They're not doing you any good.

I can't.

You can.

One of the most lethal acts of self-harm you can commit

is convincing yourself

you're worthy of a higher purpose.

You were published five years ago.

You sold less than 100 copies.

You live in a bedsit in a shitty part of town.

Don't make me tell you to get a job, Niall.

At least have the self-respect

to land on the conclusion yourself.

Hey. Come on.

Fuck all this stuff, let's get inside.

Lemme get that.

Oh, shit!

Hey! Oi! Get back!

Get back here! Hey!

I can fucking see you!

Get back, you little fucking shit. Hey!

Hey! Get back here!

Hey! Where the fuck are you?

Yeah, I can fucking hear you!

Hey! Hey!

Oi!

What are you doing?

Oh, sorry, I, uh, I kicked my ball in here.

It's, uh... It's Ruben from down the road.

Oh, yes. Hello, dear.

Sorry, I didn't recognize you with your top off.

Here, I'll let you out the front of the house.

You can get your ball back tomorrow.

Don't move.

Don't make a fucking sound.

- Ruben, please... - What did I just say?

Are you going to kill me, Ruben?

Is that it? 'Cause you shouldn't.

You have your whole life ahead of you.

Don't you talk about my life.

Not after what you did to it.

Oh, come on, Ruben. This is ridiculous.

- I mean, what's it been now? - Fourteen years, seven months,

23 days.

You've been counting, have you?

You're damn right I've been counting.

So, what is this?

What are you looking for here, huh?

- Revenge? - Revenge?

Now, there's an idea.

Ruben, please, this isn't right. We should just stay apart.

You have your own life to worry about now and I have mine.

That's why you were in my driveway, was it?

That's why you scared... my wife...

in the dead of the night?

I wasn't on your driveway.

- I was just passing through. - Oh, yeah?

Explain this, then.

Explain it, you little rat...

or I'll twist it up your fucking arse without lube.

All right, Ruben!

I didn't know it was your driveway.

- Honestly, I didn't... - Have it your way, then.

- You fucking little fucking rat! - Jesus! Fuck's sake!

Hey, hey, this is what you came back for?

Wasn't it, Bambi, hey? This is what you wanted,

- isn't it? - Help!

- Fucking shut the fuck up. - Help!

Shut the fuck up. Shut up, you little fucking rat.

Trying to take something from me, were you?

Hey! Hey! Come here, you little fucking rat.

- No! - Yes!

- Hey, this is what you've always wanted from me? - Don't, please!

Isn't it, Bambi? Yeah? Yes!

Come on, then. Hey?

Are you ready for this, you little fucking rat?

- Help! Just wait. - Shut the fuck up!

- Shut... Shut the fuck up! - Wait. Stop. I'll tell you.

I'll tell you. I'll tell you! Wait, I was angry!

I wanted to take something from you to...

- to get a win, you know? - A win?

Don't you have enough wins, you fuck?

Taking my life not enough, you wanted a piece of my car as well?

Well, no, no, I didn't...

I rotted in a prison for over a decade

- because of you. - No, no, fuck! Wait!

Just... Ruben!

Look, I'll talk!

No, wait! Ruben... Ruben, please, I'll talk.

I'll do anything you want.

I'll beg for forgiveness if that's what you want.

Just don't do this, okay?

Why'd you do it?

Ruben, it was 14 years ago.

Why'd you fucking do it?

I guess I felt I owed it to justice to tell the truth.

Justice?

Justice is letting a recently diagnosed

cancer patient watch her son go the clink?

I felt like it at the time.

No, I don't think it had anything to do with justice.

I think you couldn't stand to see me doing well.

- You were bitter. - Bitter? I was off to Oxford.

What did I have to be bitter about?

My real life. Your fucking fake one.

Living in my shadow.

You wanted me out of the way so you could flourish.

How's it been in my absence, eh?

Flying, are you? You little fucking cuck!

Or did you realize the hard way,

when you try and walk in my boots,

they're always gonna slip off at the heel?

Ah! You didn't like that, did you?

You know, it kills you, doesn't it?

To know that even in my absence,

with all the fucking opportunities

in the world at your feet, all you've done is kick up dust.

While I, with my back against the wall

and a glass ceiling above my head,

and a fucking army in my way, clamber over you to the top.

I don't know what you're talking about, Ruben.

I'm doing just fine.

Oh, I know from your mum that's not the case.

As she comes begging for money

to solve all your pathetic little problems,

your printing costs, your therapy.

- She told you that, did she? - Oh, she told me everything.

You know, I have to bite my lip from laughing

as I hand over the money. You should see me.

"Well... Well, Ms. Kennedy,

I hope he gets himself back on his feet soon."

I mean, imagine it.

I go to prison for 13 years, and you go to Oxford,

and I'm the one lending you money.

And you wonder if I'm here for revenge.

Shit, son. Don't be ridiculous.

It's already mine.

Is that what you want, is it?

Me to just admit that you're doing better than me?

Well, you can have it. You're doing better than me, and I hate it.

I hate that the scum always sits at the top of the water.

But no, I'm not bitter. I'm gleeful.

Because when you inevitably fuck it up,

and you will fuck it up,

I'll be the one grabbing the popcorn, watching you fall.

Say it.

- Say you were bitter. - No chance.

I wasn't bitter in the slightest.

I did what was right

and you can beat me all you want.

I'll never admit it.

Okay.

I admit I was bitter. Please don't hit me again.

Fuck! I was bitter, okay? I was bitter.

Bitter that you put me in that position

in the first place.

Bitter that you kept doing the same old shit.

Never learning, never growing, never accepting responsibility.

Always smashing shit up and expecting others

to pick up the pieces.

Well, I wasn't gonna do it over the Alby stuff.

Not when it put my freedom in danger.

What would that teach you about life, anyway?

Life? I don't need to learn about life, rat boy.

- I wrote the fucking book on it. - How?

You've done fuck all! You never applied yourself.

You never got an education, or a degree, or a proper job.

I've never got a degree or a proper job?

Why the fuck would I need to do that?

I think you're forgetting, son. I don't need to work for status.

I was born with it.

I mean, why be a general manager or an academic

when you're king of the fucking world?

"King of the world." That's a joke.

I'm not jealous of that.

I'm jealous of the fact that you can so willfully think that

- without irony. - Challenge me on it, then!

Prove me wrong! I'm your fucking muse!

I'm the reason you have meaning in your miserable life!

Don't tell me you sit there telling people about that time

you... you... you fucking aced your exams,

or you smashed out your dissertation.

No. No, you tell them about that time

we egged that house, we slashed those car tires,

we took mushrooms down the lake and saw the water shoot green.

I'm the soundtrack to your greatest moments.

And it pains you to know

that all your achievements fill you with a void,

whereas a smile from me fills you

with all the fucking energy you need.

You might be the painter, Niall,

but I'm the rolling hills.

So, you can point at my CV, my 13 years in prison,

and all the bullet points you need

to think you're better than me.

But you know fine well, you'd do 40 years

in a windowless fucking cell...

just to walk in my shoes for the day.

I mean, look at you.

I went to the clink for over a decade,

and you didn't even do something worthwhile with your life.

You didn't even give me something to take from you when I got back out.

And just as I stop thinking about you,

just as I pull my life together,

you appear like a rat...

on my driveway.

How dare you appear like a rat on my driveway?

Come on, Ruben, with all due respect,

- you broke contact first. - How did I?

You talked to my mum about Maura.

You don't talk about my mother, all right?

You don't mention her name.

But that's what I'm talking about.

You and Lori in cahoots behind my back for four years.

She didn't even tell me Maura was sick!

What did I just say?

What? I'm saying...

I'm saying I could have been there.

Been there? Are you kidding me?

She's half-brained because of you.

Half-brained because of me?

I haven't seen her in 14 years since the court case.

Well, it started with that, didn't it?

The separation from Lori not long after?

Because they couldn't come to terms with what you did.

- You fucking did that! - I did that?

Or was it looking after a fucking animal for a child?

Oh, you're talking real talk now.

Yeah, well, what do you expect? You're blaming me

for your mother's suicide attempt?

Oh, spare me the self-pity, you little prick!

She did it while I was in prison!

I mean, I couldn't even get to her!

I couldn't even phone!

I mean, imagine it!

So, if you don't want to take the blame for it...

at least admit you wished it upon her.

I didn't.

She wished it upon you.

You know what she used to call you?

King Rat.

You know why?

Because you act like royalty...

but you belong in the gutter.

You're a gutter rat who looks in a mirror

and sees a king.

- Is that right? - Yeah.

So, come on, gutter rat, come back at me.

I know you want to.

Well, it's a little glass house, isn't it, Ruben?

If I'm in the gutter,

I hate to think of where you both ended up.

Yes! That's what I'm talking about!

Come on, more of that, please.

The gutter is something you and your mum can only aspire to.

Beautiful. Let's have it. Come on.

The court case was convenient

'cause she could draw an imaginary line

between past and present

and assuage her own responsibility

in raising a fucking monster.

"Oh, it's an illness," she would say,

time and time again.

"Oh, it's just an illness. He can't help it."

But when on the fourth, or fifth,

or even sixteenth time you stamp someone's head into the floor,

does it stop being an illness and become some sick, sinister,

fucking gleeful act of perverse violence?

I've never once seen you show

an ounce of remorse for what you did

to that poor Alby boy, whose face, I hear,

is still mangled, by the way. The callousness you possess

is born straight out of your mother's heart.

So, yeah, I hate her. I hate everything about her.

I hate how she let you get away with near murder,

but if I did anything minor, she was on me like a rash,

turning my mother against me, squeezing the life out of me

because I was her second-chance child,

seeing as how she so royally fucked up the first!

But I mean, I don't expect her to be anything less

than blinded by you.

I mean, you hit her enough times to forget, didn't you?

And the worst part about all of this...

is you are totally right.

I would face 40 years in prison to walk in your shoes for a day.

An hour even.

To feel what it must be like to be you.

To look the way you look.

To fuck the way you fuck. To talk the way you talk.

Hell, they can lock the door and throw away the key

for all I care.

Because I would be happy to lie back on the bed

and feel what it must feel like to be the center of the universe

for a change rather than some cunt

standing in the queue outside.

I hate everything about you

and the giant shadow you cast which seems to turn with the sun

whichever way I'm walking.

But that doesn't stop me...

wanting every bit of it.

So, yeah, I'm bitter.

I'm bitter that I'm alone.

I'm bitter that I have no money.

Bitter that no matter how hard I try,

how hard I work, sweat, and toil,

I just can't find the click that's gonna make me happy.

And I'm bitter that you went around

apologizing to people

and you didn't think about apologizing to me.

And I'm bitter that I'm being blackmailed

by some cunt.

I'm bitter that I can't pay him off

'cause I'm broke or threaten him because I'm too pussy.

And I'm bitter that I had the whole world

at my fingertips.

Scholarship, Oxford education, all of it.

And I squandered it all thinking about you.

What the fuck are you talking about?

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't do fuck all 'cause my mind was still reeling

from that bastard court case.

I couldn't get it out of my mind.

Your words, your screaming as you left.

That you would make me ugly.

I've seen you make people ugly, Ruben.

I know what it means!

I lived in fear of you from that point on.

Just imagining all the things that you might do to me,

that you might tell one of your prison mates about me

and they would come looking for me when they got out.

I woke up in the night once,

convinced that you'd bugged the flat,

that you were monitoring my every move.

I started to sleep in the garden.

I wandered the streets pulling up phone wires.

I went through about 30 pen lids,

swallowing them down whole

because I would chew on them when I wrote.

And throwing them away wasn't safe enough

because you might find them and use my DNA

to pin a murder on me. I ended up in a madhouse.

I had to have an operation on my gut.

Why?

Because I was telling the truth!

And then you appear, out of nowhere,

with a six-figure salary and a house

and a girl and a car.

How dare you appear out of nowhere

with a six-figure salary and a house

and a girl and a car?

So, just be safe in the knowledge

that when you're imagining the worst kind

of revenge for me,

nothing can come close to the damage

that I've unleashed on myself.

So, go ahead, Ruben, fucking kill me.

I don't give a fuck.

I'm already dead.

I didn't know any of this.

Yeah, well...

Your mum never said that part.

The part about the hospital.

It's good to know she still has some respect for me left.

Hmm.

You sound different.

You talk different.

I've done a lot of reading, Niall.

Oh, great. So, now you're cleverer than me too.

Yeah.

You're getting blackmailed?

Yes, sort of.

Do you know their name?

No, not like that.

What do you need?

Money.

I've got money.

What do you want in return?

An apology...

for what you did.

That's it?

It's a lot, Niall.

It's a hell of a lot.

I'm sorry.

Hmm.

Hmm.

Well, I'm sorry too.

Missed you, yeah?

Missed you.

Right, now, a proper toast.

Come on, Alby, stand.

Come on.

To the happy couple.

On their special day.

At the start of a beautiful journey together.

Hand in hand.

Heart to heart.

Forever and ever.

Amen.