All language subtitles for Tamara.Drewe.2010.1080p.BluRay.x264-SECTOR7.eng

And love slipped
the bonds of restraint.

His touch was like a cosmic "yes."

"Fuck you,"
screamed Kelly. "Fuck you to hell."

Scott stepped back from the cell door
as the gob of spit flew. "Fuck you."

This matrix is what Hardy
meant by "the ache of modernism."

Crap.

Inchcombe knew too well
the dreadful mundanity of murder.

But Patel was stricken.

Inchcombe realized
his lack of feeling was almost…

Pathological.

"I've been wearing the wrong size
all my life" says Katie.

"I was always popping out.
Turns out I'm a 30 GG" she says.

'Now my bras finally fit.

Though Simon prefers me
without one."'

We can go round mine, if you like.

And watch your dad
farting into a sofa?

A taxi?

In Ewedown?

Come on.
Where are we going?

Nowhere.

Glen, can I tempt you?
Oh, wow, thank you.

Uh, I often take something snacky
to Nicholas this time of day.

I know how the brain needs feeding.
Mm.

So how you settling in?

Great.

The last writers' retreat I was at, I
kind of froze my balls off, you know?

Screeching fire doors
and curried lasagna,

and a needy poet,
from whom I still bear the scars.

Well, we try to keep it peaceful here.
Far from the madding crowd.

May I?
Oh.

Well, it's paradise.

In Ewedown?
What are you doing there?

I haven't told her yet.

Why not? You keep saying
you want to be with me.

Well, I can't tell her just like that.
It's 25 years. A marriage.

Ah. Come on, Nicholas.

Or I'm gonna get in a taxi
and find your farm.

No.
Come up there and I'll drag you out.

No, don't.

I wanted to be with you.
I thought you'd be pleased.

Well, of course I'm pleased.

Nadia, go to the pub and stay there.
I'll come when I can.

Are you going to tell her?

Just give me a couple of hours.

Cock pie.

How's the worker?
Good, actually.

Just about to embark on forensics.

Well, give me your pages
and I'll get started.

Reckon I might pack it in
a bit early today.

Need to think about my blood smears.

Might take a drive, have a pint.

Stir the old grey matter up.

Who were you talking to just then?

Judy. She said the Impala contract
should be through in a day or two.

I could come with you.

What?
For a drive.

I don't know when we last went out.

Mm. This is absolutely yummy.

Or we could go into Hadditon,
get a meal.

Yes.

But what about the guests?

Mary's got Casey to help.

But I… I'm supposed to be thinking,
you know, about…

You can run it by me.
I'm good at forensics.

Andy, can I tempt you?

Oh, uh, we've got a new academic.
Glen, American.

Turns out he's working
on Thomas Hardy.

Said he might have
some farming questions.

Needs an expert yokel, does he?
Would you mind?

Oh, and the… The writers are
eating alfresco tonight.

Could you check there's no
bird shit on the seats? Sorry.

You okay?

Yes.

Nicholas and I
are going out to dinner.

Now.

Fucking bingo.

What a dump.

Yeah.
We could walk up the garage.

Oh. I'm supposed to be helping
my mom up at Stonefield.

They keep you busy.
Yeah.

You never stop, you.

Bet them writers are wankers.

It was called From Hearth to Heath:

The Doomsday and Revelation
in Victorian Verse.

What was it about?

Well, you know, pale poets on laudanum
and dark towers and sunless seas.

A little "Sturm und Drang" in a teacup.

Did it sell?

Well, of course, my kind of books aren't
about sales, that's not why I write. So, no.

So, what are you working on next?

Thomas Hardy.

Is there anything left to say
about that maudlin bore?

Excuse me, but there's nothing dull
about Hardy. That is a misconception.

At least you've been published.
I'm seething with envy.

I'd love to be published.
I publish myself on the Internet.

Oh, do you earn money doing that?
No.

What do you write?
Lesbian crime.

I'm here picking up tips
from the master.

- Beth?
- Yeah?

Why don't I just pop out on my own?

Well, I'm ready now. Come on.

Is that…?

I mean, are you wearing that?

Oh.

It just looks a bit hot.

You know, Hadditon's always packed
with pissed Londonites on a Friday.

I doubt we get a table anyway.

Let's do it properly next week.
Make an occasion.

I'm always taking you for granted.
I'm vile, I know.

You should kick me, really.

Who is she?

What?

Oh, come on, Beth.

Tell me who.

Look, it's nothing.

It's been once or twice, that's all.
It's just…

Beth, it's not anything.
Who is she?

So she's on her way in,
the bride and groom are…

Just a researcher on Radio 4.
What's her name?

Nadia. Nadia Patel.
Patel? She's in your book.

No. No. I met her when I was on
Desert Island Discs.

You put her in your book.
Well, just the name.

Desert Island Discs was a year ago.
Yes…

So "once or twice"?

I was going to tell you.
Ha-ha!

In the book, from your woman,
Shh! Shh!

Saying that they're coming
to the par…

I've had enough of this.
Beth. I'm a ruin, I know.

But I've been in a real state
about this.

I… I didn't want to hurt you.
Oh!

How could you lie to my face?

Can we talk calmly?
There are people out there.

You looked me in the face and lied.

For God's sake,
we're surrounded by novelists.

You bastard.
Beth,

we're like a pair of compasses,
Oh, don't you dare.

Joined solidly at the top,

but with the ends
able to roam in freedom.

That's her, isn't it?
Are you keeping her waiting?

We've talked a lot
about the creative mind,

and we agreed it needs a
certain freedom to explore.

Take your freedom.
I can't live like this anymore.

It makes me feel worthless.
Calm yourself down.

Go set up home with Patel.
See if she does your tax returns.

Do you love her? Is she young?

For heaven's sake…
Is she?!

Yes!

If you leave here tonight
to be with her, don't come back.

Beth, you're making fools of us both.

Liar!

Fuck.

I didn't know
they provided material too.

Beth does everything for him, you know.
Types his manuscript,

deals with his agent, makes his
female characters convincing.

She even came up with the name
Dr. Inchcombe.

No wonder he's bored.

I hope she takes him
to the fucking cleaners.

At the end of the day,
this is why I'm glad I'm single.

Will she take him back though?
That's the question.

Would you?
Well, I'd be torn.

He's far too up himself.
Yeah, but what about their farm?

Splitting up all this?
Must be worth a fortune.

Nadia Patel.

"Gazelle eyes." "Tantric sex."

She's very rash, making him choose.

Why would he choose me?

I thought you weren't going to come.
I was busy. Rowing with my wife.

Where are we going?
Home.

To your farm?

We could have gone on just as we were.

Yes, but you said
you wanted to be with me.

Yes. In London.

Now and then.

Big glass of Rioja, please.
And I need a room.

Sure. How many nights?

Don't know. Just one?

Are you here for the writers' retreat?
No, but I'm a writer.

Well, journalist.

I don't mean to pry.
I'm just really nosey.

I'm from here. Sort of.

Well, it's a nice place. I love it.

I keep meaning to leave, but…
Hard to get away.

My mom's house is just up the road.

You're not staying with her?
She's… She died.

Have that on me.

And here's your key.

Up the stairs, right in front.
You can't miss it.

Thanks.

Didn't think I'd see you tonight.

Bit of an atmosphere at Stonefield.
Tell me everything.

Marriage. Remind me never to try it.

Andy, you're just a sex object.
No one would have you.

Ahem. So the Hardiments have
lived here for centuries, huh?

No. About 20 years.

Still strangers, by local standards.

Andy, uh, come look at Ingrid.
I, uh…

I think she's coming into heat.

She's very nice, Beth.

Yeah. I owe her a lot.

Husband's kind of a sleazebag, huh?

We'd say "prick" here, actually.

Or wanker.

That's good.
We might even call him a fuck.

That's good too.

Can I help?
It's going rotten underneath.

Can I have a look at Ingrid?
Look, it's… It's falling apart.

Yeah, well, I can do that. Beth…

He won't last five minutes.

Oh, Jesus. He's been translated
into Icelandic and Swahili.

What an output.

I need my book to be a success.

I need a tiny reward
for all my endeavors.

I need a dump.

- Beth.
- No, don't touch me.

Don't you dare.
I'm sorry.

Not good enough, not anymore.
I'm sorry.

You do what you like,
then you're sorry?

I hate myself. I hate myself.

Where were you?

I drove her back to London.
Took all night.

You drove her home?
I finished it. She was in a state.

- So it's over?
- I'm sorry.

I don't know why I'm like this.

I couldn't manage without you.

I've got to go to the bottle bank.

Okay.

- Let's talk later.
- Yeah.

- The goat's come into heat.
- Has it?

I love you so much.

Me too.

I've just seen the Hardiments kiss
and make up.

The hat's on.
Looks like she's taking him back.

When the hat's on,
it means don't speak.

So peace is restored.

Oh, for fuck's sake!

I don't like cows.
Yeah.

They exude bovine malice.
Yeah.

These girls are killing machines.

They don't like Americans either.
Very funny.

It's Winnards Farm.

Lady there died a while back.
Place is empty.

Think it's being robbed?
Nah.

Probably just kids.

Nothing to do around here
except make trouble.

What if it's bad guys?

Don't you have a blunderbuss
or a fowling piece or something?

Used to belong
to my dad, this place.

Really?
But it all went tits up.

The land was flogged to a consortium
and the house sold to Londoners.

The Drewes.
So this is your ancestral pile?

Was.

Born in that room up there.

You must have been pretty resentful.

Oi! This farm's mine, big nose.

Hey, what are you doing?
Who are you?

Andy, you moron. It's me.

Tam?

I didn't even recognize you.

Well, you won't do it that way.

Then help me.

Used to do bits of work for your mom.

Been keeping an eye on the place
since she died.

What kind of work, graphics?

No, I do horticulture now.
You're a gardener?

Wow, this is a great old house.

Thanks. Do you want to buy it?

I'm not the property-owning type, no.
I prefer my life to fit in hand luggage.

That why you're back, to flog it?
Yep.

Make a nice second home
for some banker wankers.

Look, Andy, if you want it,
why don't you just make me an offer?

Because, sadly,
I'm still prey to the economic forces

that threw the peasant classes
off the land.

Unlucky.

Tam.

What the fuck have you done
to your nose?

Oh, come on, Andy.
Aliens came and took it.

She's completely different.

What was she like before?
What's the story?

There isn't one.
Oh, come on.

It was nothing. Decade ago.
Just a teenage thing.

You should find someone
you're in love with.

Stupid prick.
You saying you love me, frosty tits?

You first.
You're the girl, you say it.

I love you.

Fuck off. I love you!

Romeo and Juliet, huh?

Something classy
in the wood shed, huh? Heh.

Would you do him?
No.

What about him?
He's gay, you dobbin.

So?
Oh.

Swipe.

Ben Sergeant.
I'd walk through fire to do him.

- The drummer?
- He's not just the drummer.

He writes all the lyrics. It's his band.
He's the fucking genius.

Not Steve Culley,
or any of these wankers. It's Ben.

Okay, yeah. I… I'd do Ben.

I wanna be her, in that dress,
with him licking my teapot lids.

Yeah, me too.

So has the muse shone on you, Greg?

I've been pretty distracted
most recently

by those delicious cookie things
Beth brought around this afternoon.

Oh, yes. Of course,
we call them biscuits here.

And by the place itself, the people.

I sometimes wish
I could get distracted.

Ten-page-a-day man,
rain or shine.

Wow. That's scary.
Ten pages a day, how do you do that?

Oh, Greg, Glen.

I wouldn't presume
to give an academic tips.

Matter of fact,
I read one of your books…

Another distraction.
…I thought it was decent stuff.

Well, how do I do it?
I just get on with it, Greg.

"We call them biscuits here."

To the muse.
The muse.

However you find her.

Cheers.

Who's that?

That's Tamara Drewe.

- No, it isn't.
- I met her with Andy.

Good God, what's happened to her?
She had a nose job, Dad.

She's completely different.

That's what Andy said.

Poor Tamara, she's such a sad girl.

She used to come help you wash
the car, didn't she, Nicholas?

When she was a teenager.

She liked a bit of family
after her dad left.

Is that Tamara Drewe
that writes a column

in one of the Sundays?
Used to.

Writes for The Independent now.
Oh.

She spent weeks going
on about her nose job.

Was her old one an awful conk?
Yes.

She's poured herself
into those shorts.

Hope they don't give her thrush.

Hello. Sorry to intrude.

Hi, Tamara.
Poppy. How are you?

I love your new hooter.

Thanks. It's not actually new,
it's just smaller.

Tamara. So sorry about your mom.

Thanks.
Are you staying down for long?

I'll have to.
There's so much to be done.

Well, let us know if we can help.

Could you spare a pair of strong arms?

I've got a skip coming tomorrow,
and…

Nicholas?

I'm available.
I do skips.

Nicholas?
Oh, bug…

Oh. Um…

Thank you, everyone.
You're very kind.

Is Andy around at all?

Oh, I… I can't spare Andy.

He's making a new coop
for my Buff Orpingtons. Heh.

We'll soon have that dry,
don't worry. Heh-heh.

She's had Glen down there
helping her all morning.

I hope she realizes he's here to work.

Can't believe what a difference
her nose makes.

I think it's a mistake.
Taken away all her character.

Come on, she looks 10 times better.
Huh.

And she knows it.
I found those shorts really irritating.

Going around with half her bum
hanging out. I mean, why?

To annoy people like you.
Hmm.

I might get a pair myself.

Of course you wouldn't.
Why not?

Because you're not desperate, are you?

There was always something
desperate about Tamara Drewe.

Why did you change your face?

Changing my face
is the best thing I ever did.

I don't care what anybody else thinks.

You think it would work for me?
Maybe, if you did the wrinkles too.

Oh, you're just coming on to me now.

In your column, you write about yourself.
Does that come easily?

Not easily. It just feels right.

My first novel is definitely
going to be autobiographical.

Your first novel? You're gonna
dash one off, just like that?

Heh. Ideally, I'd like to make
it into fiction before I'm 30.

Then maybe a swimwear collection,
chat show, pasta-sauce range.

What?

Life sure comes easy
for the beautiful.

You know, before I had the nose job,

I had no problem
being taken seriously.

Maybe when they removed
that bit of cartilage,

they pulled out my brain by mistake.

What do you think?

Thank you.

She's single, you know.

Well, it's not exactly a relationship.
We have an occasional thing.

Zoe doesn't wanna be tied down…
Not Zoe.

Tamara.

You should get in there.
Marry the girl. Then you could live

in your ancestral home again.
No. Not her type.

Andy, you know, the trouble with you
is that you think like a loser.

I know this because I'm the loser
that all other losers come to for tips.

I am a loser's loser.

I'm a pedigree loser.

Had a graphics business, went bust.

Then with my great business acumen,

I invested in a poly tunnel
full of ganja.

Spent six years stoned out of my box.
I'm only just getting it back together.

Besides,

even if I was the last man
in the world,

Tamara Drewe wouldn't have me.

Why not?

I dumped her.
Oh, you are a loser.

I was 20.

And my mates thought
I was cradle-snatching.

And they used to call her Beaky.
Beaky?

Beaky?

Boys know nothing.

I've been reading Inchcombe's Dose.
The bit where Dr. Inchcombe

finds himself having thoughts
about the dead guy's daughter.

You describe her light smattering
of freckles and her striking profile.

So who did you base her on?

Have you noticed me?

Because I've noticed you.

You're making yourself ridiculous.

Nichol-arse!

A man can dream, huh?

No.

Oh, write, you numbskull.

- The best ham I've had in ages.
- Good.

How's Thomas Hardy?

I'm wasting my sabbatical.
Oh, dear.

I've been writing this book forever.
Don't know why I can't finish it.

Two years behind on my delivery date,

and Fantail could ask
for their chickenshit advance back.

I can't write. I'm fucking constipated.

It's a disaster.

Crikey.

Oh. Uh, sorry, Glen. Um… I've gotta
grab Andy before he rushes off.

Tamara's asked him to do up her house.

Why? She knows
how hard he works for me.

Is this all his fan mail?

Yeah. I do a couple of sessions
a week to keep on top of it.

Pretty good
at forging Nick's signature.

Why don't we have
a proper chat about it?

Always used to help Nicholas…
You'd do that? You have time?

I'll just, uh…

Tam?

Got some color charts for you to see.

What color do you think
it should be in here?

Well, I was thinking, um,

this one for down here.

And, um…

This one for the bedroom.
Okay.

So, uh, what do you have to do
to get a cup of tea around here?

Make it. Tea, sugar, fridge.

I'm off to work.

Hey!

- This is our village! Our fucking field!
- Go on.

- Get off!
- Come on, bastard. Let us in!

Kiss your mother
with that mouth? Fuck off.

Get on, shove it.

Bullshit! Fuck off!

Swipe is fucking finished!
Steve Culley is a…

Fuck off.
Fran has been shagging that tosser.

Steve, stop it!
Come on then.

Stop it!
Uhn!

I'm Tamara Drewe.
What?

I'm supposed to be interviewing you,
for The Independent.

It was scheduled for later,

but is now a good time?

Swipe! Swipe! Swipe!

Swipe! Swipe! Swipe!

- They should let us in for free.
- Too right.

They come here, drink our water,
use our fields.

And they leave all their crap
in our drains.

Nice girlfriend, mate.

Ben. Ben!

What are you doing?
That's Ben from Swipe.

And he's got his dog. Ben!

Ben! Ben!

That's Boss.

Up.

Boy. Come on.

Hi, Boss.
There.

Not allergic, are you?
To indie drummers?

Maybe.

Who the fuck's she?

I've seen her up at Stonefield.
She's got a nose made of plastic.

So who are your influences?

Everyone asks that.

I mean, what do you want me to say?
Phil Collins?

Animal from The Muppets?

This your house?
Yeah.

Do you want to buy it?
No.

I want something else.

How come she gets Ben?
I've loved him since March.

Would you like a beer?
Yeah.

Maureen Tucker.
Who?

Moe Tucker. The Velvets.
Five-foot-nothing.

Used to stand up to play.

Put the snare drum on its side and
whacked it with mallets. Mentalist.

You write a lot of songs.
That's pretty rare for a drummer.

Yeah, well, everything you've heard
about drummers is complete shit.

You mean they don't
spontaneously combust?

No.

Only sometimes.

Any more questions?

Jesus. Oh, my God.

Hello.

Who are you?

You know anything
about this dog, Tam?

You want some breakfast, Tam?

Tam?

How goes the opus?
Fine, Nicholas, just fine.

It's his most obscure
novel, The Well-Beloved.

Most people have never
even heard of it.

It's about a young guy of 20 who falls
in love with a beautiful young woman.

Then when he's 40, he meets the woman's
daughter and he falls in love with her.

And finally, when he's 60,
he meets her granddaughter.

Oh, he doesn't.

Yeah. Falls in mystical love.

Hardy was the same in his life too.

Even as he aged,
he only had eyes for young women.

It's like, in one essential way,
he never grew up.

In his trousers. Ha.
Yeah.

He was still at it in his 80s,
you know.

Snow on the rooftop,
fire in the cellar.

Ha-ha.
Why won't it come for you, Glen?

The way you talk about it
is so engaging.

Do you wanna try?

Well, there's an academic style,
you know?

Who are you writing for?
Who's your ideal reader?

If wrote the way you spoke,
you'd make me want to read Hardy.

Really?
Yeah.

If you wrote like you were talking
to a friend. Try it again.

Oh.

Oh! Ha-ha-ha.

No, no, no.
It's not as if I'm avant-garde.

I simply pander to popular taste.
Your books are far more than that.

Just airport fodder. I think
I write them in my sleep sometimes.

I wish I wrote so well awake.

Your prose are so economical,
so vivid, like the greats.

Like Raymond Chandler.
Oh, come on.

Graham Greene.
I'm just earning a crust.

You created Inchcombe.

If only he were real.
He's my kind of man.

Yes. Sophisticated, jaded,
but so vulnerable.

Cynical, but a man of total integrity.

My books don't say anything
remotely profound.

I can't pretend to be an intellectual,
not like the professor here,

illuminating our ignorance
with his critical glow.

I love prose. I turn a decent plot.
That's pretty much it.

- Excuse me.
- People like crime fiction,

because no matter how violent
or shocking, it comforts them.

Secretly, Nicholas hates all this.

These crime weekends
really take it out of him.

…In my case, a jaded doctor.

Let me help.

Oh, well, they need dusting with this.

Restoring order to…

I went to my room today,

and I wrote for three hours.
The time, it just vanished.

That's great. That's brilliant.

I feel like a man who's just
passed a gargantuan stool.

Oh, super.

Oh! Uh…

Sprig of mint on top.

Of course, my life isn't like
that, so I just make stuff up. Ha-ha.

The real secret of being a writer
is learning how to lie,

because that's what storytellers are,
thieves and liars.

"The basis of all excellence is truth."
Samuel Johnson.

♪ I met a girl on a farm ♪
♪ Her name was Tamara ♪

Ben, I'm trying to write.

♪ I wanted to write her a song ♪
♪ But one thing caused me alarm ♪

Please, Ben, it's a new story.

♪ Her name didn't rhyme ♪
♪ With anything ♪

♪ Not a single thing ♪
♪ I wanted to sing ♪

It comes from my heart,
it's about my mom and dad.

♪ All she wants to do is type ♪
♪ It's making me want a little bite ♪

♪ So cook me pasta carbonara ♪
♪ Because I'm ravenous, Tamara ♪

♪ Then shag me ♪
♪ Wearing your tiara ♪

Andy.

Let me dog in, will you?

Cheers, mate.

He must like kissing plastic.
He doesn't really love her.

He's just on the rebound
from losing Fran.

Numbing his pain
with loads of empty rampant sex.

What he really needs…

Is a 15 year old from Ewedown?
So? Stranger things happen.

He's only 10 years older,
and that's nothing. If he met me…

If he just met me…
It'd be love, right?

Yeah. But I'd settle for sex.

Cooer, in your parents' bedroom?
Still, I suppose being an exhibitionist

is part of his job,
strutting about on stage.

He doesn't strut. He's a drummer.

He sits on his ass.

He's very good-looking, isn't he?
Poppy YouTubed him.

We both got quite hot and bothered.

Is that his car? The yellow Porsche.
Yep.

Yeah, a bit brash,
vrooming through the village.

Fancy our Tamara bagging
a bona fide rock star.

She was such an ugly duckling.
She must be thrilled to bits.

We're not open for another hour.

Good.

I mean, she used to be so funny.
So human.

What does she see in that London knob?

He even wears fucking make-up.
How did she get so shallow?

Andy, are you really
going on about her now?

Oh.
Where are your manners?

I'm sorry.

Bide your time, you big prick.

Oh, Ben.

Come here, you wretched beast!

Stinking animal!

Filthy hound!

Fuck soup.

Here.

What's this?
What does it look like?

Ben.

Which finger?

Wherever you want.

That one's nice.

Stick it on that one.

Those girls could have aborted.
Calm down, Penny. I'll sort him out.

It beats me why you people
want to live in the country.

You have no sense of responsibility.
It's not our dog.

Hello, Penny. How's tricks?

Oh, Nicholas.
You're looking good. Terrific coat.

Oh, what, this old thing?
You look like royalty.

Well, I try.
Can't wait for your next book.

Inchcombe's such a sauce pot.

Giles always says,
"What are you reading, Penny?

You've got steam
coming out of your ears."

What's the ring saying, Ben?

"Hello, I'm a ring.
Will you marry me?"

What?

I didn't know.

Didn't know what?

That you're in love with me.

The ring is saying,
"I'm platinum with a long guarantee.

Will you marry me?"

Yes.

- What?
- Oh, is Tamara there?

She is being proposed to.

Shh. There are writers here
trying to write.

Hello.

Oh, um, this is, uh, a Buff Orpington.
He's a bit peaky today.

They're not great layers,
but they're very decorative. Heh.

We're, um…
We're fully organic here.

Though, uh, I like to think our champion
product is, uh, the written word. Heh-heh.

The famous Ben.

Swipe, eh?

No, Swipe's over.
I thought the whole world knew that.

It wasn't on Newsnight, no.

Ben's engaged to Tamara.
Isn't that lovely?

He'd just popped the question
when I rang.

And she said yes?

We're delighted for you both.

Why is he on a fucking chain?

He was out of control.

How would you like to be chained up?

He was chasing livestock.
He could have got shot.

They shoot him,
I'll fucking shoot them.

Unbelievable.

Here, pooch.
I think the word is gobshite.

I hope he makes her happy.

It's hard for girls
when their dads walk out.

Gives them bad taste in men.

What's that supposed to mean?

Oh, just saying Tamara's father left
when she was a girl and…

That is 10-pence psychology.

You don't know
what you're talking about.

Poor little man.

"My Buff Orpingtons."
"Oh, the written word."

What a fucking freak.

It's a shame the ring doesn't fit.

Why didn't you bring one of mine
along when you bought it?

I didn't know you then, did I?

So when did you buy it?

Was it for someone else?

You bought it for Fran, didn't you?

So?

It's yours now.

She never wore it. She didn't want it.

Did you ask her to marry you?
Just as a gesture,

when she started seeing Steve.
That backfired.

Look, it's you I wanna marry now.

The ring… The ring doesn't matter.

The ring's just
a consumerist piece of zinc.

What matters is that I love you.

Do you?

Yes.

With my whole heart.

And all the other stuff.

Like me brain, me entrails.

Me pancreas.

It all wants to marry you.

Hmm?

She wondered if you had a delivery
date in mind. I said Easterish.

Oh, mind that cocoa, it's hot.

There's a few invites.
I'll pop them there.

You just tick the ones
you want to go to.

Oh, and, uh, Tim wants to know if you'll
do your Christmas signing in Hadditon.

I know he's always ungrateful,
but I think it's so important

to keep these little bookshops open,
don't you?

Mm-hm.

Come in soon, my love.

Look at that cellulite.

She been sitting on a bead car seat
or what?

"Her latest tattoo count was nine,

including a Sumatran tiger
and 'eternity' written in Sanskrit."

She'll be getting a bar code
done next, right across there.

And Judy Garland's face
right on there.

Nice baby, though.

I'd like one that color.

Shut the fuck up.

That Ryan's a dick.
I think he's cute.

No, you don't. Would you snog him?

Maybe.
Be like having a slug in your mouth.

Shit.

Shut up, fat arse. It ain't funny.

Ben.
Ben?

Come on, let's do some messing.

What about you, Glen? Sorry.
Where will you be?

In London
with a collection of spare academics.

We'll be decking the halls
in our own erudite way.

I'll miss our chats.

Yeah. I've been in a state
of writerly bliss these past weeks.

I hope I get to come back.
Oh. Me too. We'd love to have you.

You know, these are the best
mince pies I've ever had.

If it were possible
to have an orgasm from food,

these mince pies would do it.

Golly. Heh.

Fuck.

She keeps this here for Andy.

What if she's got an alarm?
Soon find out.

What if they come back?
If you're too chicken, go home.

What the fuck are we doing here?
It's kind of research.

I want to write about them.
They're funny.

Come on, Ben.

2001 was the best year.
I just sold my last three cases.

It's a perfect wine for the price.
Besides, I want to show you off.

What am I, arm candy?

More like arm fungus with that face.

I got her this gorgeous
Rajasthani Ghagra skirt.

Divine.

She'll probably loathe it. Ha-ha.

But if she does, I'll have it.
Glen.

Hi.
Meet Ben. Ben, Glen.

Hi, Ben.
Ben's my fiancé.

You're getting married?
Uh-huh.

Okay. Beautiful dress,
magazine photo shoot.

Everything
the aspiring novelist needs.

I knew you'd be pleased.
Have a mince pie? No.

Congratulations.

Can we get the fuck out of here?
Wait.

In Field of Tares,
you made Fred a corporal,

but there's no such thing
in the Royal Artillery.

They call them bombardiers.

Oh, thank you for that.
Very good.

Sorry.

Hello.
Tamara.

Would you make that out for Ben?

To Ben.
My fiancé.

We're getting married in the summer.

So I hear.

My heartiest commiserations, Tamara.

Merry Christmas, Nichol-arse.

Casey, look.

The sticks.

No, don't touch.

Pour Homme.

Smells like men.

Live the dream, Case.
Live the dream, Jode.

His boots.

♪ This is a call ♪
♪ for a domestic dispute ♪

♪ She's got me in the corner ♪
♪ And she's put in… ♪

Ben.

Oh, my God.

Look, stop going on about it.

I've invested a lot of time
into this house.

Why don't you sell it, then?
Because I've started writing.

You can write anywhere.

Yes, we've done it.

No, Ben, this is proper.
It's not just stuff for the paper.

It's about my teens,
and it's actually working for me here.

I'm glad it's memory lane for you,
but it's doing my fucking head in.

I want some London.
Some noise, some urban.

I've had enough.
Are you with me or what?

Of course, I'm with you.

It's depressing here. It's boring.

And every time I look out the
window, I see Andy Cobb's arse.

What's that about?

Oi!

Tammy says you got Christmas geese.

Yep.

We're leaving, thank fuck.

Well, give us one then.

Right now?

Yeah.

That one's spare. Help yourself.

You having a laugh?

What?
It's fucking alive.

I suppose you'd better kill it then.

How?

Gently put its head down there.

Quick in the back of skull with this.
Pluck it while it's warm.

Little pot to catch all the blood.

You enjoy that?

No.

But in my low-wage economy,
this flock's worth a lot.

You are one sick fuck, Andy.

Grow up.
What, mate?

I said, grow up.

Little drummer boy.

Tam phoned this morning.

Told me to finish the house.

Goes on the market in the spring,
and that's it. Over.

Why does the asshole
always get the girl?

Come on, or you'll miss that train.

Andy.

So, what about this shed?
Am I dismantling it or mending it?

Hang on.

I don't know. The shed.

What do you think?

I recommend preserving it.

Really?

Always useful, a good shed.

Well, then keep it.

Oh…

Classy job, Uncle Andy.

It's like, transformed.

Ben won't like this.

Bit boring.

Bit old folks.

I like those curtains. And I like that.

No, don't like those lamps,
or that paper.

I'd have gold leaf embossed
all round there,

and a wall of flamingo.

Ben would like that.
That's a lovely chair.

What's under here?

I'd have a bead curtain.

And the bathroom needs to be darker,
like deep chocolate or velvet plum.

And I'd bathe in scented oils.

And then I'd be ready for Ben.

It won't just be a shag, Case.
It'll be an event.

I'll be wearing, like, a gossamer
shirt and a bra set, Prada.

And he'll be wearing a black T-shirt.

And it'll be all taut over his buff bod.

And underneath,
Calvin Klein boxers, black.

And he'll have a tattoo of my name,
and lush pecs.

And I'll smell of Allure by Chanel.

And he tries to resist me
but I'm a vision.

And it will be like: "Ahh."

But also respectful.

And my V plates will melt
into nothing.

Are you listening?

I like this.
What?

There's this bit where Tamara's dad
takes her out for dinner,

and she thinks it's some big treat,
but what he's doing, right,

is telling her that he's leaving them,
and she… Right, she's gutted.

She yaks up her food into her napkin
and puts it on his plate.

So?
It's painful.

But funny.
It's about her, Plastic Fantastic.

Jode, she's sad.
Sad? She's a lucky cow.

I've been re-reading
Inchcombe Etherised,

one of Nicholas's early books.

There's a character, Theo,
who's an adulterer.

And Theo has a list of golden rules
called Lulling the Spouse.

"To allay suspicion," he says,
"you must first arouse it."

Nicholas rang me earlier
to say he was going to be late home.

Yeah, I just bumped into
Raoul and Celia.

I said, "Oh, that's nice."

And thought, "Have you?"

And I couldn't shake the suspicion.

So after an hour, I phoned Raoul.

Hello? Yeah, he's right here.

And he put Nicholas
straight on the line.

Hello.

He's been telling the truth a lot
recently.

Is he lulling me?

I might remind him
that in Inchcombe Etherized,

Theo's wife runs him through
with a carving knife.

What are you doing?
Just messing.

I got three valentines.

One from Mom,
one from that peanut Ryan,

and a mystery one from Ben.

I sent you that.

Is that theirs?

It's my mom's.
They don't drink this shit.

Come upstairs
and look at what I'm doing.

I've got into her e-mails.
We have to get Ben to come back.

I'm sending him a valentine.

No, you're not.
From her address.

Then he'll think it's from Tamara,
you dipshit.

But I know it'll be from me.

Subject: Hot love.

Oh, God. Jody.

"Contacts." Where are you, Ben?

There's that bloke my mom works for,
Nicholas Hardiment.

Let's put him on. Who else?

Uncle Andy.
Andy Cobb.

Come to Winnards Farm.

I'll give you the biggest shagging
of your life.

Love, Tamara. Kiss, kiss, kiss.

Don't ever, ever send that.
I just did.

What the fuck is this?

"Come to Winnards Farm,

and I'll give you
the biggest shagging of your life."

"I'll give you the biggest shagging
of your life."

Are you listening to me?

Ben, will you stop drumming?
I didn't write that e-mail.

Why don't you believe me?

When Fran started
fucking Steve Culley,

at least she had the decency
not to tell the whole world.

What's that supposed to mean?

She must want a foursome or something.

You fancy a foursome
with Nicholas Hardiment?

Bugger that.

What was she thinking?

Well, maybe she's trying
to make you jealous.

Or maybe she's trying
to make the boyfriend jealous.

Or maybe she's just trying
to give him a really big hint

that she's not getting enough.

Or maybe she's just a bit kinky.
Or maybe she's crazy.

Or maybe she was off her face.

She was pissed.

I wasn't
pissed or depraved or anything.

It's okay. It's okay.

Can you go look at the house?
To make sure no one's been in.

No problem.
Thanks.

Ben's really pissed off.

He's massively got the hump.
Have I?

I've just asked Andy
to have a look at Winnards.

I've got to go, I'm sorry.

Are you a fucking idiot?
What?

Are you thick? Isn't it obvious who wrote
that e-mail? That tosser Andy Cobb.

Andy wouldn't do that.
Making himself cozy in your house,

going through your stuff.
Probably got a pair of your pants on.

Bet it was him who nicked
my black T-shirt.

Of course, he didn't.
Oh, that's it, jumping to his defense.

He hasn't done anything.
Boss. Boss.

What are you doing?

You know Fran's having a baby.

She wanted to see me.
I wasn't going to, but now,

why not?

Come on, Boss, let's go for a crap.

Come on, mom, she's just stirring shit.
Tamara's always done that.

Yes, but why?
You know how subversive she is.

She once sent me a valentine
from Prince Harry and I believed it.

It's her sense of humor.
She likes causing trouble.

At school, she used to give us
first-years tips on how to shoplift.

She taught you how to shoplift?

Mom, she's marrying Ben Sergeant.

Why would she look at an old git
like Dad?

Hmm. I just don't get the joke.

And why is your father on the e-mail?
And Andy?

It's so tasteless.
Help me out with these, would you?

I have to work on
my thesis on the Taliban.

Taliban, I know.

What do you make of that e-mail
from Tamara?

Don't make any sense.

That London boyfriend's trying
to fuck her up. That's my theory.

She could do so much better.

I couldn't agree more.

It's Ben.
"Who's the Daddy?"

"Steve Culley and Fran Redmond

recently announced
they were expecting.

But in a valentine-tryst shocker,
Fran is snapped with ex Ben Sergeant.

Ben and Fran, we say, 'Get a room."'

He's back with Fran?
After you sent that e-mail, Jode.

No way. No way.

There's Plastic.

Oh, my God, what have I done?
What have you done?

What if Ben's dumped her?

What if he never comes back?

I'll never see Ben again
and it's all my fault.

What's all your fault?
None of your business.

I'm bloody sick of you looking
like a wet weekend.

Who's Ben?
No one.

What have you done?
Nothing.

You in trouble?
No, leave me alone.

You take care with boys, Jody.

You know what can happen.

What can happen?

What can ever, ever happen
in a place like this?

Hello. I thought you were in London
with Ben from Swipe.

I'm looking for Andy.
Well, he's not up at Stonefield.

So where's this shag
you've been offering me?

Fuck off.
Come on. I saw that e-mail.

Well, I didn't send it.

And I wouldn't shag you if you were the
last man left after a nuclear winter.

I'll come round tomorrow then,
about 3?

Drop dead, you smug prick.

Watch out.

Yeah, I'll… I'll probably stay at
the library another hour or two.

Yeah.

Yeah, just checking some law reports.

You're a marvel.

Okay.

Hello.

So,

Nicholas.

You can tell me to leave.

You can throw me right out.

Just say the word,

and I'll go.

Do you smoke after sex?

I don't know, I've never looked.

I used to watch you out of my window,

helping your daughter
skateboard up the lane.

Bit of an obvious crush, wasn't it?

Is that why I'm here?
To expurgate the crush?

I don't know.

Or as revenge on your ex?

I don't know, Nicholas.

Why are you here?

I should have thought
that was obvious.

Since you climbed over that stile
in the summer,

I haven't thought about
very much else.

When can we do this again?
What about Beth?

Beth and I have this kind of open…
Bullshit.

Thursday?
Isn't life complicated enough?

Don't put me in your column.

In your dreams.

Structure can be so sterile, can't it?

I always think of it
as a 3-dimensional…

- Oh.
- Oh, here he is.

Oh, poor you. Was it awful?
I was starting to worry.

Bloody terrible. Didn't move
till well past Chiswick, but look.

I popped into Fortnum's.
My favorite teas.

Oh, my goodness, you feel like my buzzy
toothbrush just after I've charged it up.

You should go to London more often.
Well, maybe I will.

Oh. Sorry, everybody. Traffic was a pig.
Do carry on. What have I missed?

Well, I'm trying this magic realist bit
at the end of Chapter 3.

Oh. That sounds very innovative.
Oh, you think so?

Yes. I think I've always been waiting
for the, uh, magic realist crime novel.

Wuthering Heights, it's
kind of Angel of the North.

So after two years of radio silence,
I contact my editor,

and she loves… I mean, she loves
the chapters I did in the fall.

Oh, Glen. Ha-ha.

I tried writing at the library

but I could feel that awful paralysis
descending again.

I missed everything that I've been,
you know, finding here.

Oh, my God.

It's so beautiful.

Well, I'm very glad you've come back.

Yeah, in a few solid weeks…

Holy cow!

- Idiots!
- Ha-ha.

Morons!

Ha-ha.

Hey, writers, let's egg
the self-regarding sacks of shit.

It's half term, they're just bored.

There's this theory that Hardy
gave his wife syphilis, you know.

No evidence, but the symptoms fit.
Poor woman,

she starts to get eccentric and then
she moves her bed up to their attic.

The bastard.

Meanwhile, Hardy falls in love with
a woman 39 years younger than him.

I don't believe it.
Yeah, he was 65 and she was 26.

Geoff.
Glen.

Henry James?
Thomas Hardy.

That's it, a Hardy book.
Coming well?

Yes, actually.
He gave his wife syphilis.

Jolly good.

Oh, he… He's completely distracted.

He's up and down to London
all the time.

This latest Inchcombe's
taking everything he's got.

It's really preying on him.

Is it any good?
Because I keep changing things

and…
NICHOLAS: Shh.

It's brutally candid.

You lay yourself completely bare.

It's a bit over-written.
It needs a good edit, but, uh,

it's very moving.

Thank you.

So,

have I done my duty?

Admirably.

Now do I get my treat?

You are so cheesy.

Zero Ben sightings
in two whole months.

Last time I saw Plastic,
she looked like a minger.

All red-eyed and gutted.

Ben's a love rat.

You gotta face it, she should move on.

She's probably topped herself.

I would, if Ben dumped me.
Jode, don't say that.

What if she's done something?

Like got in the bath
with her heated tongs?

Like taken a stack of pills.
Think she might be lying there,

all choked in vomit and drug froth?
That'd be dire.

If we find her, we'll get in the papers.
Oh, my God.

Rock chick dead at Winnards Farm.

What's Uncle Andy doing here?

Ass biscuits.

No answer.

She could've been there days.
She could be all putrid-like, rancid.

Oh, no, gonna chuck.

All bloated and all greeny.
Uncle Andy will find her by the smell.

Ugh. Shh.

Andy.

- Oh, bollocks, she's alive.
- Haven't seen you for a while.

Thought you might be ill
or something, or depressed.

I've had my head down, writing.

Come for a drink.

Let's lighten up.
I'd love to, but,

I'm kind of on one with my writing,
and…

Can we do it soon, though?

I really would like to.
Just not right now.

Sure.

What is he doing here?

Oh, he just came by
on the off-chance.

Off-chance of what?

Something about the roofing
for the shed.

Do you think he's in with a chance?
No way.

Why not? He's fit. I'd do him.
Jody, he's my uncle.

She'd be mad not to have him.
Bet he goes like a train.

Let's go, my knickers are wet.

Wait, wait.

Oh, my God.

Nicholas, go.

"Prolific author
of intelligent crime novels."

Fucking D-list.
How could she do that after Ben?

He's not even a proper celeb.
Maybe she's numbing the pain.

Trying to tear love…

Oh, shut up, Case.
She's just a slag.

She went out and pulled a married man.

Like that bitch
that went off with my dad.

I know who I feel sorry for.

Then there'll be the divorce
and acrimony,

and Beth's world will fall apart.
Yeah.

But maybe one day,
she'll put the bitterness behind her,

and find a new love.

Don't be daft. She's old, you sop.

See?

That's D-list's car.

This is where he hides his car
when he goes to shag Plastic.

Yeah. Dirty git.
Big old turd.

He's a rotten cheater.
Like my dad.

Come on, Case. Let's fuck him up.

Shit salad.

Oh, poor you. What a drag.

Yes, it's a frightful bore.

I'll hold off on the paella then.

You're a marvel. See you soon.

Did you…?

Beth, can I use the printer?

Nicholas is stuck on the motorway
with a flat tire,

but I couldn't hear traffic,
just rooks.

Hmm.

Sorry, um, did you want me
to read something?

No. Can I use the printer?

Nicholas, someone knows.

Maybe we should…
Who cares?

Casey, pop them. Pop them.

Fucking bingo.

Hello, Casey, how are you? Hello.

All right.
Waiting for the bus?

Bus got scrapped.
Oh, so it did.

Well, hope it doesn't rain.

Gutted for her.
Me too.

Fat arse though, hasn't she?

Send her the photo, Case.
I can't.

Why not?
What if it ruins her life?

We gotta do something.
Plastic's an idiot.

She fucked it up with Ben.
We fucked it up with Ben, Jode.

It's like…

We've gotta rescue her from D-list.

Casey.
What?

She's back in touch with him.
She's got an e-mail from Ben.

"Tamara, Fran's baby has come."

Case, he says it's a little brown girl
with curly black hair.

Oh, cute.

"I think we can safely say
it's Steven Culley's, not mine.

Truth is, I feel free.

Gig in Paris for a few days.

If I bring him down,
would you have Boss?"

Yes. Yes, he's coming back.

What are you doing?
Dear, Ben,

I have found a reliable dog lover
in the village.

Who?
Please call Jody,

You can't send that.
On 07700-900-929.

I'm getting him back down here!
For who? You?

Why not me?
Are you mental?

"Reliable dog lover"?
You're making a great big mess…

I'm making something happen!

Otherwise, my whole life will go by,

and I'll be 34
and washed up like my mom.

And no one decent
will ever even have snogged me.

If you do this, you're on your own.

Fuck off, then.

You twat.

There's the festival brochure.
You're on in the Lanson marquee.

And, um, I've marked a few bits,
in case you want to read.

You're a marvel. Cheers.

I could come with you.

Oh, don't. You hate festivals.

But it's only Hadditon. I'll come.

It'll be completely boring.
You'll hate it.

Stay here.

Wow.

Wanker! Aah! Right.

Ha-ha-ha.
Finished.

I'm doing this cake in celebration.
Well done.

Well, to Hardy.

Yeah, even though I can't bear
the man for what he did to his wife.

Oh, thanks, Andy.
Just pop them over there.

How do I find out who sent this?

It says "number withheld."

Did you know?

I couldn't tell you.

I'm sorry, Beth.

Her.

Oh, my God.

Oh, this is just…
This is just horrible.

Right under my nose.

Oh, it's so shitty.
God, I feel sick.

So insulting. You do not deserve
to be treated like this.

If you're kind to me, I'll cry.

And I don't want to cry,
I must be very clear.

If there's anything that I can do…

I have to do it by myself.

Oh, come on.
Come on, Beth. Come on.

I trod in the sponge mix.

Jody? This is Ben Sergeant.

Yeah, that's right. I love dogs.

Yeah, so I'll see you
at Winnards Farm at 2:00.

Yeah. Perfect.

Andy.

Hey, how are you?

I wondered if you wanted
to go for that drink?

I need a friend at the mo…
You and Nicholas Hardiment.

That's a nice piece of work, isn't it?

I get it from his point of view.
He's always been a cheating wanker.

Loves having his cake and eating it.

But since when did your standards
drop so low?

You could have anyone.

All you have to do is bat your eyes.
Andy.

I care a lot about Beth. She helped
me out when I was at rock bottom.

I'm not going to split them up.

It's just…
A bit of fun?

It's none of your bloody business.

Andy Cobb knows.
Cock pie. Has he told Beth?

I don't know, but he might.
And I wouldn't blame him.

I suppose it has to come out sometime.

Does it?

It's a good thing. Feels like a relief.
It means we can think about

our plans for the future.
What future?

I know it's been hard for you,
sharing me with Beth.

But I'm yours now.
I'm gonna leave her.

Mr. Hardiment. It's time.

I want a new life with you.

It's a nice dog, Mom.

Well, I don't like having dog hair
and slobber all over the place.

But I said yes.

No dogs, no way, and that's final.

You loser, I hate you!
You want to ruin my life!

Live the dream, Jody.

Well, it all runs very smoothly.

I start a book in the summer
and publish it the following spring.

Bit of a factory, really.

So you've finished Like The Night, which
is the 17th of the Inchcombe adventures.

And we all assume
you're planning the next one already.

Well,

there isn't gonna be a next one.

- No.
- What?

Frankly,
I'm sick to death of Inchcombe.

In fact, I'm about to kill him off.

- No.
- He can't do that.

Well, I think
that's what we call in the trade,

a bit of a bombshell,
for your fans here.

Yes, but I'm moving on
to fresh pastures.

No.

Inchcombe is about to meet
a very sticky end,

and it's one murder
I'm really looking forward to.

Now, at this point, we should
get some questions, I think.

And I'm…
Yes, there's a lady over there.

You write a lot about adultery,
is that from personal experience?

Madam,

what a saucy question. Uh…

But there's no need for an author's
work to be autobiographical…

Why do you cheat persistently
on your wife?

Who's that?

Because she lets me.

Tamara.

Where…?
Nicholas, this has got to stop.

You're right. I can't go on using her.
Lying to her.

It won't be fun but I've gotta do it.

I don't feel alive with Beth.
I haven't been living for years.

She's smothered me like a blanket.
Nicholas, listen to me.

It was fun,
but it's wrong and it's over.

I'm in love with you.
I'm sorry.

No.

No. No. No. You can't end it.
Tamara…

Fuck supper!
Will you keep it down?

My God, you're cold-hearted.
No, I'm not.

You don't feel a thing, do you?
I do. I do feel.

I feel like I'm blazing away inside
all the time.

Why do I do these things?
What am I doing with you?

There's someone else, isn't there?
Oh, for God's sake.

Not the narcissist drummer?
Goodbye.

It's that ignorant lunk, isn't it?

That muscle-bound wastrel
Andy Cobb.

Andy Cobb is a far better man
than you.

Go on.

Mr. Hardiment, will you sign this?
Imagine getting him to sign.

I love your books.

Thank you.

Hello?

It's Jody Long about the dog.

Ben?

Hello?

Ben?

Well, you gonna answer that?

Jody, what are you doing
not fucking answering?

Ben's dog is here. It's loose.
It means Ben must be up at Winnards.

Boss!

Dog minder?

You've been breaking in, sending
e-mails and fucking people off.

Did you nick my black T-shirt?
I just wanted to meet you. Just once.

Just to tell you stuff.
Stuff? What stuff?

Like, I love you.

I really, really love you.

That's really nice.

I used to lie awake
thinking about you being here.

In Ewedown.

In the bum-hole of nowhere.

When you left, I couldn't bear it.

I just wanted to make you come back.

Do you still love me, Jody?
Even though I wanna lock you up?

What would you do for me then?

Would you do anything,
like a proper fan?

Let's see then, shall we?

I bet that bitch wants a baby.
Well, she'll find out.

Nicholas doesn't do children.

He'll leave it all up to her. Oh.

That'll age her.
Beth.

Suppose he discovers fatherhood?
They do, these men.

Second time around,
they get all nappy-happy.

I was barely 20 when I got pregnant.

I've never done anything. God.
Yes, you have. Look at this place.

I've let him walk all over me.
Why? Why have I done that?

I… I've wasted my life.

No. What about the work
you've done here?

Work?
Yes.

What, breeding goats?
Baking fucking biscuits?

It's meaningless!

Beth.

When I was lost with my book,
you helped me more than you know.

You asked me who I was writing it for.

You.

Excuse me.

May I speak with my wife?

No, you may not.

Beth. Beth.

It's over.

I've finished it.

She's been chasing me.

I think there's something
unhinged about her.

This wild crush.

Ben Sergeant's bloody dog again.
Go on, get out.

Back to that tart at Winnards Farm.
Go on. Bugger off!

Beth.

You know I'm sorry.

I want you to leave. I want a divorce.

No, you don't. Don't be ridiculous.

Now, look…
And I want this place.

You can't.

Watch me. I will.

That's it, lovely. Keep it going, keep
it going. Stop. Couple of sugars.

Stir it.

That is a very good cup of tea.
Which is lucky for you, Jody.

Had it been shit,

I'd be on the phone to the extremely
scary local cops right now.

Please don't tell my mom.

I know it's boring round here,
but for fuck's sakes.

I'm gonna get out soon as I can.

I'm gonna work in Vegas as a croupier.
Vegas or a cruise liner.

Aim high, Jody.
That's what I say. Aim high.

Ben?

You've had an infestation.
Of what?

Jody.

Hey, Greg!

I want a word with you.
It's Glen, asshole.

You fucking devious bastard.

I'm devious? I'm a bastard?

You think I haven't noticed
you've been worming your way in?

You keep your hands off my wife,
you low-rent pedant.

You've abused Beth long enough
with all of your goddamn lies.

I want you out of my house.

It's Beth's. She made this place.
And I fucking paid for it.

I've given Beth all this.
What can you give her?

I can give her integrity.
Obscure literary shit,

not worth 10 pence.

You know, if I made my fortune
fantasizing about rapes and murders,

I wouldn't be so proud.

You cretin.
Fuck you.

Beth will come to her senses.

You need an income to run Stonefield,
and mine's bigger than yours.

Get up, Nicholas, come on.
Let's talk about this like grown men.

Oh, my God. Nicholas.

Nic…

Uh…
Get up.

Nicholas, get up.

Run. Come on. Get up.

Nicholas. Nicholas.

It was you?

It was you who sent the e-mail?

Jody's explained that she did it
out of a deep love for me.

Tammy.
Ben.

I think you should have this back.

I'm sorry.

Jody! The dog!

Got him. The beast. Hm.

Nicholas.

God. Oh, God. Nicholas.

Bitch. Brazen.

Brazen.
Beth.

That is brazen.
Beth, don't look! Please, don't look!

Nicholas?!

No!

No, but you can see it.
It's broken. It's smashed.

No, I haven't, but it's obvious.

Yes, his wife. Yes, she is.

Thank you. Thank you, I will.

They're on their way.

Beth, help is coming.

Aah!

It's broken.

Tamara.

Listen.

I'm sorry.

Come on.

Are you blaming yourself?

It was an accident.

I'd better get back up to Stonefield.

Come with me. We'll get this sorted.

Then get Ben
to take you back to London.

I don't want to be with Ben.

Put it on the back seat right here.

What are you doing?

I figured it was best,
you know, that I take off.

She doesn't want writers
around the place now.

And police, autopsies, not my thing.

You can't run away.
I'm not running away.

I've finished my book.
My time here is up. Destiny calls.

Beth is asking for you.
Really?

She's on her own over there.

Glen, she doesn't need a writer
around the place,

she needs a man.

I'm so sorry.

It was my fault. I let the dog go.

No. No.
I shooed him away.

The police said it was an accident,
but if I'd caught him, tied him up…

No, it wasn't your fault.

What I don't understand is why was
Nicholas in that field anyway?

He hated cows.
And when he saw them coming,

why didn't he get out of their way…?
Beth, I have to tell you that…

You live in the country.

You share it
with those dangerous beasts,

and when they get scared, they run.

Like we do.

Oh, Glen.

Stay with me.

Kind of suits you.
Don't say anything.

I always did like the old one.

You did it on purpose, didn't you?
What?

Made this place so beautiful
I'd never be able to leave.

Been dying to get rid of you.

This is my house.

I was born in that room.
So you were.

Welcome home.

Pap-pap me.

What?

Pap-pap me.