Original subtitles

♪♪

[Heart beating]

♪♪

[Dog barking in distance]

♪♪

It was when he winked at me, I knew he had to be stopped.

I'm not a snitch, but there comes a point,

and it's a sharp one,

when you can't ignore things any longer.

Huh, 14:52, White Vest is back.

On the dot as usual.

Say what you like about him, and I do,

the one thing that I can't fault is his time keeping.

Shoot.

Shoot, for God's sake!

[Camera shutter clicks]

[Sighs]

Every day, the same agonizing performance.

A slow, painful walk around the block

with that stick of his.

Every afternoon, the same, hm.

At 14:54 precisely, he limps back into his house,

pulling his trousers up over his...

considerable backside, as he goes.

I know a faker when I see one.

We're all meant to be good little lambs,

tripping off to slaughter...

but it's a criminal act we're taking about here.

I simply can't let him get away with it.

He's back out again.

He never comes out at this time.

Shoot!

14:55, White Vest walking with stick.

See, it's not even touching the ground.

There's no weight on it at all,

and he's wearing a jacket over that vest of his.

Going somewhere smart are we?

Hm, if I didn't know better,

I'd say someone was off to meet a lady friend.

[Doorbell rings]

♪♪

He looms over me like a shadow, on stilts,

and despite watching him day-in, day-out,

we've hardly ever spoken.

"Alright," he says, trying to make it sound casual.

"Yes, Mr. Giles, were you and your stick just passing?"

"Look, I know it's a big favor,"

he says, gripping his stick tighter,

and I wonder if he might strike me.

"But could I borrow your wheelchair?"

"It's broken, sorry."

This isn't a lie.

The battery's kaput, and I haven't had the energy

to get another one.

Some days I just can't be bothered.

Rage and fatigue fight it out in my body,

and the fatigue wins.

Fatigue always wins.

White Vest comes straight back with,

"No problem.

I can soon get it fixed up for you.

What are neighbors for?"

I don't know what to do with my face,

so I study the carpet intensely as he barges his way in.

Well, his eyes are gleaming now.

"Had my eye on one of these babies,

on the net for a while," he says.

"But then I thought, why don't Igo and see my old friend, Sue?"

"Meg" I correct him, "but my name's Miss Davis."

Well, White Vest plays with a bit of mucus on his finger,

as he studies my chair, and me in it.

"Yeah, I could soon get her fixed up,

even got a battery at home.

Just don't ask what lorry it fell off."

I want to shout, "Look here, Mr. Giles,

my wheelchair is not a baby.

It's functional, to get me from one place to another."

But before I even realize what's happened,

White Vest has literally taken my chair from under me.

"You're a brick, Sue," he says.

"Good thing I came over, isn't it?

Your knight in shining armor."

Bloody cheek.

"You haven't said why you want it," I say.

"Did I not mention?"

White Vest tries to look innocent.

"I've got my face to face PIP assessment tomorrow,

and, well, you got to up your game, haven't you?"

He lets the word "assessment" fizz like a tablet dropping

in water, and, God, I need some pain killers.

My whole body burns.

"But you don't need a wheelchair," I say.

"Not at the moment," he says, dramatically.

"But in a year, who knows?

I mean, they don't know how degenerative this condition

of mine might be."

I feel sick.

"I'll bring it back," he shouts,pushing it down the drive.

"A deal's a deal."

"Thank you," I call, as if he's done me the favor.

Why the hell did I say thank you?

♪♪

White Vest makes me feel like they did

at the Assessment Center.

From the moment the X-ray eyed receptionist smiled at me,

I knew I'd lost.

I tried so hard to look capable, smart,

even though I felt like an impostor.

When my letter arrived, I knewwhat it said without opening it.

Just be yourself, Meg. Sit tall, smile.

My mother's voice comes through, as always.

But, as I sit there, I think of how it was

because I attended her funeral that I lost my benefits.

I chose her over them, and now I'm paying for it.

Of course, X-ray eyes sees right through me,

my guilt, the fact that I felt I didn't deserve it.

For hours the night before,

I made a listof all the things I couldn't do,

and in the morning, I felt worthless.

I held it tightly in my hand,

but the more questions they asked me,

the more my hand went into spasm,

and the paper crumbled.

I crumbled.

The next day, you-know-who is back,

zooming down the road, running down my new battery.

"King of the Road, me," he shouts from the street,

like a Pit Bull with two tales.

I want to punch those yellow teeth of his,

as he jumps nimbly from my wheelchair.

There's not a shred of decency in the man.

I brandish my assessment letter at him.

"Look," I shout.

"It's so bloody unfair.

I go to them, they give me nothing.

You go to them, they hand it to you on a plate.

Just leave me alone."

Well, he lands on the assessment letter

like a hungry vulture, and for the first time,

I see a genuine light shining in his eyes.

"You can appeal," he says.

I feel all the air go out of me like a deflated balloon.

"It's so humiliating," I say.

"You have to fight."

White Vest grabs me by the shoulders.

"You know your trouble,

you simply don't look disabled enough."

My jaw hits the floor.

"You dress too smart."

"I have my pride," I shout.

He just shakes his head.

"And where's pride ever got you?"

Without warning, he waltzes in and starts

rummaging through my dirty washing basket.

I desperately try to stop him, as bras and knickers fly.

But finally, he holds up my oldest, dirtiest blouse.

"This is the one," he says,

salivating like a huge, horny Doberman.

"Wear this to your next assessment,

and they'll never be able to turn you down."

Then White Vest tips the whole basket on to the floor,

going through it like a pig searching for truffles.

Out come some sweat pants thatI'd wet myself in last week

and hadn't been able to wash.

"Lovely," he says, smelling the crotch.

What White Vest is suggesting is terrible.

I mean, horrible, wrong.

But they are my clothes after all.

I mean, it's not exactly lying.

Stop it, Meg. Don't even think of it.

But in that terrible moment,I just know White Vest is right.

"You need to be more disabled,"

he shouts, our daily training session.

"I amdisabled!" I screamed in his face, and I felt it.

"I don't think you really want this."

I wanted to forget I even existed.

I could feel my old friend, fatigue,

taking over, and White Vest was ready to take full advantage.

"Don't sit tall, slump.

Dribble a bit, Oh, they love that.

Slump more.

More.

Look pained.

Look vacant.

Don't shake hands.

No makeup.

No sleep the night before.

Now you're the real deal.

[Chuckles]

But, most important of all, don't speak.

I'll do all the talking."

The easiest part of White Vest'splan was the not sleeping.

By going blithely along,

had I made myself exactly like him...

...a good little lamb to the slaughter?

White Vest told a pack of lies, of course.

But they believed every word

that came from his silver tongue.

"No, Miss Davis can't wipe her own ass.

No, Miss Davis can't fold her own sheets.

No, Miss Davis can't cook a meal.

Miss Davis can't stand up,sit down, or do the hokey cokey.

Don't you understand, Miss Davis couldn't even

open the envelope your letter arrived in?"

[Chuckles]

When we got out, we celebrated.

Actually, we celebrated all afternoon.

White Vest even bought me champagne.

Okay, it's cheap supermarket stuff,

but I'm not complaining.

When it was time for him to go, I said,

"Mr. Giles, thank you."

And he said, "Call me Nigel."

Hm.

And then he winked at me again.

That was your mistake, Nigel.

You've made me see things clearer

than I have done for weeks.

You've made me feel alive again.

You've reminded methat you can't get away with it,

and I am the real deal.

♪♪

[Computer whirrs]

♪♪

[Chuckles]

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