Original subtitles

The train now arriving at Platform Three

is the 14:14 from London Victoria.

Hello, Jack!

I dunno. Late again, mate?

Tickets. Tickets, please.

The train now standing at Platform One

- is the 15:55 to London Victoria... - Thank you. Thank you.

...calling at Lewes, Haywards Heath, East Croydon, and London Victoria.

Thank you, sir.

Tickets, please.

Hey, Mum, come here.

Come and give it a try. Come on.

Here you are. Two players. Two more players, please.

Two more players. Thank you, sir.

Thank you. Two for 10p.

Don't forget the old coconut shy.

All here in your hand...

- Oh! - Oh, so sorry! You okay?

- Yes. - Sure?

Oh, good afternoon, sir.

It's turned right cold, hasn't it, sir?

Buildings are like people.

- They change. - Mmm!

Mr Fleming.

Sorry, sir, I don't quite...

place you at the minute.

I'd be surprised if you could.

When I first came here, I was no taller than this...

counter-top.

When was that, then?

19...

37, 1938, 1939.

Three years running, my mother brought me here.

We always stayed at the Grand.

I remember you used to carry our bags upstairs, Mr Fleming.

You seemed...

much taller to me.

I used to want to be like you, and live on the sea front, and...

carry people's bags upstairs,

- and collect huge tips. - Oh...

You used to be junior porter then.

I'm head porter now, sir.

You've been here a long time.

Yes.

Never wanted to leave.

Not in thirty-four years, sir.

Well, it's home for me, sir.

See, every season, the regulars, they come back,

and I... I know them all by name, or by sight, sir.

'Course, in the off-season, it does get a bit dull, but...

well, there's always somebody arriving or leaving, sir.

See a bit of life from here.

Passing you by.

I found me niche, sir.

Do you, um...

have a room for me?

Oh, certainly, sir.

Don't have many people staying here at this time of the year.

Just the old residents and a bit of weekend trade.

As a matter of fact, sir, we've only got one other new guest.

Young lady, sir. Arrived about an hour ago.

A right proper little darling, she...

If you know what I mean, sir.

Yes, I know what you mean.

She nearly knocked me over coming out of here just now.

What a way to go, eh, sir?

Yes.

I expect you'll see her at supper, sir.

Six to nine-thirty, sir.

A nice roast lamb, sir.

Would... Would you care to register, sir?

There it is.

Well, Mr Samuelson. Very nice to meet you again.

Do you really remember me in 1937?

Oh, yes.

Have I changed very much?

I recognised you at once.

I'll get you a nice room overlooking the sea, sir.

Darling, I'm not awfully keen about going to Farnborough in the spring.

Do you think it'd be all right if it was here?

I don't see why we shouldn't...

Peter, come here at once.

Peter, stop this nonsense!

- What do you mean? - Well, I... I think...

That's enough, Peter!

Come back here, there's a good lad.

...and he says it's all just a temporary political situation.

Yes. Yes.

Sir?

332, sir.

What?

Sir?

Thank you.

332, sir. It's on the third floor.

- Take your bag, sir? - No!

Let me fulfil a childhood dream.

I'll take it up.

Okay, Charlie. Take 'em up.

Will you be staying with us long, Mr Samuelson?

No.

Not long.

That poor little thing. He's teasing her terribly.

Oh dear. Oh, no!

Oh, well, she doesn't seem to mind.

They've had a lot of fun together this summer, haven't they?

I'll get you, you beast! Oh, I'll get you!

She's really very sweet, isn't she?

I'll teach him a lesson.

Oh. no! Oh! Oh!

Thank you, Mr Samuelson!

Throw him in!

Go on!

That'll teach the little chap.

That'll teach you!

Come on, then.

- Hello. - Hello, madam.

Can I go for a swim?

Well, normally, madam, but we're about to empty it.

- It's the season. - Oh, what a shame.

- Yes. - I fancy a swim.

Oh well, never mind.

- What is it? - Hello?

Go away! I'm tired.

Please!

There's nothing I want.

Everything's all right.

Please leave me alone!

Have you got any matches?

- What? - Oh, I went for a walk along the beach.

Jesus, it's cold out there!

And how those fishermen can stay out all night.

I mean, even the fishes are staying inside.

So, when I got back to my room...

Oh, I'm one floor up, and sort of around.

I went to light the gas fire, and found I'd run out.

Of matches.

It's like a fridge in there.

I mean, I've been walking down this corridor,

knocking on every door, trying to find some.

After you, I was gonna give up.

Have you got any?

Um...

Wait a minute.

Just a moment.

Here you are. Keep them.

Would you be an angel and light it for me?

I'm always afraid it'll explode in my face.

Don't worry, darling. I won't rape you.

- All right. - God, hurry!

I think I've left the gas on.

Panic over! I turned it off.

Oh, thanks.

Oh! See what I mean?

You haven't singed your eyebrows, have you?

- No. - Good, 'cause they're lovely.

They're like two horns.

You're not Mephistopheles in drag, are you?

Here.

In case it goes out.

Thanks.

Sorry the room's in such a mess.

I always unpack in two minutes flat.

And if anything drops, it just stays there for about a fortnight.

Not the posters, of course. I always hang those.

Do you like it?

I don't understand what it means.

- Oh. - Do you like it?

Yes. Yes.

- It's yours. - Don't be silly.

- Go on, I want to give you something. - Why?

- Oh, no reason. Take it. - No!

There's no point in giving me anything. It would only be wasted.

Thank you, all the same.

Oh, it's a pleasure.

I'll hang it up anyway, in your honour.

And if ever you want it, you just come and take it, okay?

Okay.

We've met before.

We've met before, outside the hotel.

Oh, yes.

You were in something of a hurry.

Yes, I was late. Like the White Rabbit.

If I'd known, I would have stopped.

Known what?

You.

- I must get back to my room. - Oh, don't go yet.

Listen, I've got some fish and chips.

Masses of them. Why don't you stop and eat some with me?

Now, where did I put...? There they are!

Have you eaten yet?

When was the last time you ate? I bet you can't remember.

Some time yesterday.

Yesterday? You must be famished!

Now, sit down.

We'll dig in.

No forks, I'm afraid.

I'm not hungry.

Oh, fish and chips, finger-type food.

I... I don't want anything to eat.

- Good night, Miss, er... - Chrissy.

- Chrissy Hunter. - Miss Hunter.

Goodbye.

But we've started a relationship. You can't go now.

You come into a girl's room, and you light the gas fire.

That's starting a relationship.

I mean, you can't go until you know how it's going to turn out.

I mean, what if Romeo and Juliet had said "to hell with it!"

How would they have finished up?

Alive, probably.

Ah, but they'd never have known what happiness and tragedy was.

They found out.

- Have you got something to go back to? - No.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Then, don't make me eat alone.

Look, someone might break in,

and molest me in the middle of a chip.

I'm very molestable, you know.

What makes you think I won't molest you?

Well, you've had plenty of time, darling.

'Kay?

That's settled, then. Now...

Well, we can't eat here, because we've got no plates.

We don't want to be slobs, now, do we?

But I know just the place where we can get some.

Hugest cod I've ever seen.

If they'd weighed it when they caught it,

they probably would have run aground.

It's soaked in vinegar, though. I hope you don't mind.

But if you don't like vinegar, you could always

pretend it's tomato ketchup.

That's what I do if I don't like something.

I pretend it's something else. Much better.

It's the same with pain, or unhappiness, or anything.

You just pretend it isn't there, never was, never will be,

and you begin to wonder whether it was or not.

Isn't that disguising the truth?

Only looking at it in a different way.

Now, let's avail ourselves of Chrissy's motto.

"Help yourself."

As far as I remember, we raised £250.

I think we shall top that this year...

I'm in despair. My game's gone completely to pieces.

- Really? - I'm from Swansea.

- Well, I come from New York, actually. - Oh, New York! I wish I...

Jonathan's riding the double this year.

We're having an awfully difficult time this year...

Do sit down.

Mr Fleming isn't going to like this.

Don't worry.

You can pour the wine.

Here you are.

Aren't you glad you came?

This is super!

- Is it good? - Mmm. Very.

You are hungry! Look at the way you're tearing at that fish.

It's cannibalism.

You don't look after yourself. I can tell by your eyes.

I'm all right.

You can tell a lot about people from their eyes.

Have you noticed that?

They're like mirrors that you look into.

That's why people close them or avert them,

because they don't want you to see in.

Do you believe in first impressions?

Well, they can be misleading.

Oh yes, but they're very good for establishing character.

Do you know what my first impression of you was?

No. What?

- A spy. - Hmm.

No, really!

You've got that unkempt come-in-from-the-cold look.

I think you've been sent here

on one final assassination, in the line of duty,

and you're so sickened by it

that you can't eat or sleep.

You've become a disillusioned and embittered man.

Pretty close, aren't I?

Pretty close.

But not about my profession.

Oh, I could guess that from your name.

- Peter Samuelson. - Samuelson?

Well, that's an executive name.

Samuelson Enterprises.

Peter Marcus Samuelson, Managing Director.

That's a super name for a businessman.

It's a bit long, though.

I couldn't possibly keep calling you "Mr Samuelson".

Well...

Call me Peter.

Bit formal.

I think I'll call you Sam.

What is your profession?

Well, if you want your first impressions

completely shattered, I'll tell you.

I'm... was...

an accountant at the Ichor Engineering Company in London. They...

make ventilation systems.

You mean they manufacture hot air?

They certainly do.

Well, what do you do?

- My job? - Mmm.

I check, look up, add, subtract,

assemble rows and rows and rows of figures, names, and dates.

Darling, I'm so sorry. Have a chip.

Oh, really, no, thank you.

How long have you been doing that?

- Twenty-three years. - Twenty-three years?!

I couldn't stick a job like that for twenty-three minutes.

How do you stand it?

You become...

trapped in familiarity.

All the days merge into one another.

They become weeks, and then months, and then years.

People around you are always the same.

You don't even notice they're getting older.

You find you've become part of the office machinery.

One of them.

You don't advance.

You don't retreat.

You merely exist.

So, you locked up your desk,

closed those big books full of figures, names, and dates,

and walked out, never to return.

They don't even realise I'm not coming back.

I said "good night" to Hastings, Snow, and Mr Cartwright,

just like any other Friday night.

"Have a good weekend, see you Monday morning,"

they moaned with their usual perfunctory acknowledgements.

Mr Cartwright always looked surprised to see me at the end of the day.

I'd give anything to see their faces when they... hear.

When they hear what?

It'll probably only cause a ripple of conversation.

What was your first impression of me, Sam?

Someone full of life.

Oh, that's only because I'm an atheist.

Oh, Chrissy.

I can't believe in a marvellous ethereal afterlife,

full of harmony and peace forever.

So, I live this life to the full.

Do you realise we will never have these moments together again?

How shall we spend them?

Any way you like.

Oh, what a lovely room!

Let's have some music! Do you like music?

- Oh, very much. - What sort of music do you like?

- Classical? - Yes.

You look like a classical man to me.

I bet you loathe pop music, don't you?

I... I... I like the sound effects.

As long as it means something to you.

Doesn't matter what.

I love music.

I've got my cassette upstairs.

I never travel anywhere without it.

Music fills my whole life.

I'm always listening to it at work.

Where is that?

I manage a boutique in Kensington High Street.

Oh, you must know it. It's called Dollies.

There's a painting of a huge dolly face on the front.

- I'll go and get it. - What?

- My cassette! - Oh.

Now, don't go away. I'll be two ticks.

They refuse to go to bed.

Well, it's a special occasion.

- You look lovely tonight. - Thank you.

Thank you for the lovely flowers.

As it's our anniversary, may I have the first dance with you?

Certainly, sir.

Here we are.

What shall we have?

We could have the Cream, Marmalade...

Sounds like we're ordering breakfast, doesn't it?

Oh! Have you heard Joni Mitchell's Blue?

Have you?

No.

Fantastic! We could have a little Beatles.

I think they really had something to say in their songs.

So much so that I sometimes wonder

if they knew what it was themselves at the time.

Oh, I know.

Oh, I've got a lovely dress to go dancing in.

It's in here somewhere.

Do you like it?

- It's lovely. - I'll put it on.

Should I, er... turn my back?

Oh, it's okay. I'll turn mine.

You certainly have an extensive wardrobe.

Oh, it's not mine. I pinched it from the shop.

Well, it's my shop.

I can pinch what I like, can't I?

If anyone asks, I'll say that I'm trying them on

to see what reaction I get.

Oh, would you?

If I'm whistled at, they go on the rack,

and only if I'm molested do they go in the window.

Thanks.

- Do you dance, Mr Samuelson? - No.

'Course you can dance! Everybody can dance.

All you have to do is put your arms around your partner...

like that, and move gently to the music.

We can hardly waltz to this.

'Course you can.

We'll probably start a trend that'll sweep the country.

You must have gone dancing when you were courting.

Every Wednesday and Friday night.

Not the sort of dancing you do,

where you stand as far apart as possible

and try and out-shake each other.

I like it better like this.

Do you know something, Mr Samuelson?

What?

We're dancing.

I've never been more aware of anything in my whole life.

Oh!

Put on another one.

Oh, you'll love this.

Gotta hear this one.

What's the matter? It's not that bad, is it?

If you'd run out of matches,

why didn't you use your lighter?

I was hoping you wouldn't find that.

Obviously.

Why did you want me to come to your room?

What?

Why did you want me to come to your room?

I needed a man.

Not just any old man. Not a pick-up.

I could get one of those if I walked along the front.

One of the local Romeos would oblige.

They always do if you look at them where they live.

But I took a chance on you,

and it paid off.

You listen.

Even when I talk rubbish, you listen.

You make it seem as though it's...

not.

Sam, I need your help.

You need my help?

Desperately.

See, we're both running away from the same thing.

A feeling of being trapped.

We're contemporaries in a common grief.

I can't help you, Chrissy.

I wouldn't know where to start.

I wonder why we both came here?

This place must be full of refugees.

I can't help you, Chrissy.

- Oh, but you can. - How?

By staying with me this evening.

I don't want to be found alone.

Who's going to find you?

John.

John?

Who's John?

Oh, he's the artist and the bastard I live with.

Oh. I see.

I woke up this morning,

and looked round that filthy little studio,

easels, brushes,

bottles or junk all over the floor,

the whole place reeking of paint.

I mean, I just can't live in that kind of chaos.

- What did you do then? - I got up.

- Yes, but after that? - Oh...

Well...

John was yelling for a pair of socks, as usual,

and I was cooking breakfast.

And, when I'd made it, he said he couldn't eat it

because he still had a hangover from the party the night before.

Or, rather, that morning. He'd only finished at five.

And that was only because I threw out his drunken friends.

So, that started things off.

It progressed from breakfast to the party,

to his friends, to his paintings,

then to our usual row about

why doesn't he do illustrations to pay the rent,

and not paintings for an exhibition that'll never open?

I mean, how can you open an exhibition

when you've recently starved to death?

And me along with him.

What about your boutique?

Oh, that only recently opened, and every penny of profit

goes to the two men that backed me in it.

I only take home a salary,

and that's not enough to support us both.

Anyway, why the hell should I support him?

Because you love him.

Could you give me a light?

Thanks.

What happened then?

Well, John went out for some fags.

I was so mad, I was screaming.

I picked up a bread knife, and started to look for

a painting of his to slash.

I couldn't find one good enough.

So I packed my suitcase,

and wrote him an absolutely pornographic letter,

and told him what he could do with himself

whilst I was away.

Did you tell him where you were going?

Mmm.

Then you wanted him to come after you.

- No, I didn't! - Then why tell him?

Because...

Because...

Because!

I wanted him to remember.

We spent the summer here, together,

two years ago.

It was dawn.

The sun was...

like a huge, orange heart.

It was beautiful.

John used to sit on the beach,

somewhere there, I think.

And I used to sit on the sea wall, there,

sketching him.

He tried every morning, for a week,

to put that...

that sunrise on canvas.

And when he'd finished,

it was the most gorgeous painting I've ever seen.

It was our creation. We did it together.

And I could sketch him without even looking at him.

We were lovers by then, of course.

A very romantic beginning.

Oh, wildly.

That's why I wanted him to remember...

how it was in the beginning.

That's why I came back here.

Didn't last for long, though.

Chrissy?

Chrissy?

Five twos, please.

- Was that the only reason for your row? - Thanks.

What?

Was that the only reason for your row? The party?

Oh, damn!

No.

What, then?

I miss him.

I don't see him from morning till night.

When I come home at night, he's always locked in that...

studio.

I just sit alone watching telly,

reading poetry, or...

walking round touching the furniture till I could scream.

I want to see him, touch him,

not just know he's there,

illustrating those stupid adventure books.

You started off

waking up in a filthy little studio, stinking of paint.

You couldn't afford to support you both,

and you'd had your usual row about

why he doesn't do illustrations to pay the rent.

Now, you're at a party in your flat,

a flat in which you can walk around and touch all the furniture,

with another woman trying to gain John's affections for his money.

And you're sick and tired of being left alone

while he does his illustrations for his crappy adventure books.

Which is it, Chrissy?

I was talking about when we were first together.

When we were in that little room in Hampstead.

He had to do illustrations then, so that we could eat.

Only he became so successful that he made a career out of it.

Now we've moved into the big flat,

we have all the luxury and high living we can stand.

Isn't that what you'd worked for?

He takes all that for granted now.

Including me.

That's why I break out. Rebel.

Cling to something else. Something real.

Someone real.

I must say, you're not the usual type I get involved with.

No, I don't suppose I am.

I'm glad. You got any change?

Thanks.

Now, walk away.

Then, you won't be expecting a jackpot,

and, if something nice comes up, it'll be a nice surprise.

Oh.

I've got that picture. The one I was talking to you about.

- Would you like to see it? - Yes, all right.

Then, take me home.

This is mine.

It's beautiful.

The birth of a day.

Of life.

You're very poetic for an accountant.

Only to myself.

Isn't it funny? We're all made of the same flesh and blood,

we all feel the same emotions,

we can see the beauty around us, but...

I could never express it like that.

Not with paint,

or with words, or in any other way.

I can't compete with that.

Oh, don't try.

This is his artistic level.

His human level's about as high as the gutter.

I've got a picture of him somewhere. Now, where did I put it?

Oh, I'd love to see his face

when he reads that letter I left him.

I left it with my landlady.

I told her not to give it to him till very late.

He should be hurtling down here at some point.

When he does...

He'll find you in a compromising position with another man.

What happens then? What do you want him to do? Hit me?

Or are you giving him an excuse for walking out on you,

so that the responsibility isn't yours?

I'm sorry, Chrissy.

I won't be used.

I don't want him to find us half naked in each other's arms.

He wouldn't blink an eyelid at that. He'd expect that.

Well...

How... How do you want him to find us?

Just together.

I want him to see that he's not the only man

that can make me happy when he chooses to.

Besides, I want you to stay 'cause I want you to stay.

Not that I wouldn't seduce you, of course.

I think you're lovely.

Chrissy!

I'm simply asking you

for the pleasure of your company this evening.

What do you say, Sam?

I'll stay as long as I can.

Good! Throwing those matches into the sea

was the best decision I ever made.

What happens when John comes?

This is our party.

Besides, he won't be here until tomorrow.

God, I'm hungry. Are you?

We could have some roast lamb sandwiches.

- The dining room's closed. - Mr Fleming will make them for us.

He used to be the head porter, you know.

Oh.

You've made the acquaintance of Mr Fleming, have you?

Mmm. He raped me with his eyes when he first saw me.

He's got lovely eyes.

I can't compete with that, either.

Now, you sit here and make yourself comfy,

and I'll be back in two minutes.

Cheese, pickle, and biscuits?

Bottle of plonk?

And a room full of underwear.

What more could we need for an orgy?

Whoops!

Oh, you will be here when I get back, now, won't you?

- I'll be here. - Good!

Look at this room.

The girl must enjoy falling over.

I ask you!

If old Snow saw a room like this, he'd have a fit.

He likes every pencil in place.

He thinks someone's going to shout...

Bad influence on me, Chrissy.

Oh, there you are.

I thought you'd gone for a minute.

There we are!

Just the three of us.

You, me, and the sandwiches by courtesy of Mr Fleming.

When I told him they were for us, for you and me,

he said, "Mr Samuelson? Why, I've known him for thirty years."

You're a dark horse, Sam.

You never told me you'd been here before.

So, we've both returned to our beginnings.

What's the matter?

He hasn't arrived, has he?

- Who? - John.

How can he when he doesn't exist?

What?

Look out of that window, and tell me what you see.

Darkness, oblivion. What do you want me to see?

The window across the way. Below you. The lighted one.

Go on.

Look.

It's empty.

But it wasn't when you first looked into it.

You saw a pathetic figure, huddled at that table,

holding a revolver.

Very still.

"What's he going to do with that?" you thought.

"The bloody fool! He's going to kill himself."

And you couldn't let that happen, could you,

because you're so full of life,

you couldn't believe that anyone could be tired of it,

that life is a burden, something to be endured.

Sam...

So you ran down the stairs, and you banged at my door

at that psychological moment.

Oh, I should have known. I might have believed.

It was too... miraculous to be true.

Someone who cared coming into my life when I was ready to end it.

That was the marvellous thing. I really thought that you cared

about me and my little world, that...

that ceased to be significant even to myself.

But I do care.

Don't. Don't. Stop lying.

I'm not lying. When have I lied?

Every time you've opened your mouth, I should imagine.

All your warmth and interest was to one end, to stop me.

Even to making up that story about your artist boyfriend

you were trying to escape from, and the parties, and the...

and the fights, and notes you left...

You didn't have to go to such lengths to stop me.

I would have stayed here, just...

for your company!

Look, he does exist.

I showed you his painting.

Bought it, or stole it, or painted it yourself.

I don't know. It doesn't matter.

It was all a lie.

You saw me down there, and that's why you s...

why you came to my room, isn't it?

- Yes. - Isn't it?!

- Yes! - Well, thank you!

But you haven't let me get on with it!

- No, Sam, listen to me... - Don't call me that.

- My name isn't Sam. - It is to me.

- Now, I couldn't stand there... - Why not?!

I had nothing!

Nothing at all!

Tell me.

Please.

Jean, my wife...

and I had been to a New Year's party just outside London.

Our two daughters had come with us, aged six and seven.

I didn't marry till quite late in life, you see.

Of course, it was late for the girls to be up.

We had to wait till midnight to sing "Auld Lang Syne".

But it only happens once a year, doesn't it?

Jean was against it. I mean, we had the babysitter already.

The girls were so disappointed at being left out of it, that...

in the end, I... I relented. I...

insisted they come.

What happened?

I was driving back along the main road.

I'd only had one glass of champagne,

just to toast the New Year. I don't really like the stuff.

Suddenly, this sports car

shot out of a side road straight in front of me.

Right in front of me!

Straight across the main road without stopping. I...

I didn't have time to brake. I crashed straight into him.

They say that he didn't see the Give Way sign.

The light above it had gone out.

A little thing like that, a blown-out bulb.

I can remember the car turning over,

and the girls screaming, and nothing else.

When I woke up in hospital,

they told me that my wife and children were dead.

All I could think of was "why?"

Why?

Why should they be killed?

I mean, why couldn't it have been me, or the other man? He...

He escaped.

Why him?

There were only forty-three people killed on the road that New Year's Eve,

compared to fifty-nine the year before.

That's what the newscaster said.

The Ministry was pleased with the figures.

Only forty-three compared to fifty-nine.

But my wife,

and my children,

were three of those forty-three.

And that's what they became.

A statistic the Ministry was pleased with.

I'm so sorry.

My family was my whole life!

When their lives ended, so did mine.

Oh...

I carried on.

When I left the hospital,

I took a few days off from work to arrange the funeral.

Mr Cartwright was very good about it.

He said he didn't mind, as long as I came

straight back to work afterwards.

For eight months, I carried on,

compiling those meaningless figures.

Then, at night,

I returned home to the flat.

But it wasn't empty, you see.

Their memories were all around me.

I'd open a drawer, and I'd think, "She used that for her make-up."

Or I'd find one of the girls' toys,

that I'd missed when I'd cleared the place of their things.

In the end, there just seemed no point in going on.

It wasn't a melodramatic decision,

it was just the only thing to do.

My work meant nothing to me. I didn't want to rot in it.

I had no friends. There was only Jean and the girls.

And I'm too old to start again.

So...

last night, I packed a bag,

and stayed at a hotel.

I couldn't sleep in that bedroom again.

And, this morning, I took a train down here.

Seemed as good a place as any.

Oh, darling.

Don't.

Don't.

It took me a long time to reach the point

- where I could pull that trigger. - I know.

You had no right to stop me.

It'll be much harder now to do it.

You mustn't.

Yes, I must finish something, for once in my life.

I'm sorry, I don't usually...

I really did believe that you needed me.

But I do.

No, you don't need me.

You've got all you need.

I'm not your responsibility.

You haven't eaten your sandwiches.

Mr Fleming made them specially for you.

He'll be very hurt if you don't eat them.

I'll be all right tonight. I promise.

Look, I won't let you go. I can't.

Good night, Chrissy.

I'm frightened.

Frightened of what?

I don't know.

That's why I'm frightened.

Please stay with me tonight.

Peter!

Peter! Come along, we must go.

Goodbye.

Goodbye. Nice to meet you.

- Come along. - Goodbye.

Bye!

Good morning, sir.

Morning.

I didn't hear you leave.

I...

didn't want to disturb you.

It's a bit late for that.

I told you I was very molestable.

Mmm.

You were right.

How does breakfast grab you?

Thanks.

So, what are you going to do?

Well...

I'm going to wait till Mr Fleming retires,

then I'm going to turn this hotel

into the most expensive brothel on the South Coast.

John will be here soon.

If he exists.

'Course he exists!

Look.

That's him.

Could be anyone. Your brother.

I haven't got a brother. I'm an only child.

That's why I'm so independent.

I think brothers and sisters should be put down at birth.

They stunt your growth. How's your egg?

Oh, it's fine.

What about John?

What about him? Look, forget about him,

until we have to remember.

All right.

This should be our day.

- How shall we spend it? - Any way you like.

- Shall we go for a walk? - Mm-hmm. Where to?

Anywhere. Doesn't matter.

As long as you're walking, you're happy.

It doesn't matter where you're walking to.

And after that?

Well, I have to get back to work soon.

Miss Feltham will be after my blood.

I'll get the sack if I'm not careful.

- Who's Miss Feltham? - Manageress.

But you said you were the manageress.

- Oh, yeah. - Well, then.

That was a slight exaggeration. I'm one of the sales girls.

- A Dolly girl. - I might have known.

- You mean you don't own the place? - Don't laugh at me.

I'd never do that.

Let's go.

Don't let the children go too close!

You're too close!

This is like a scene from that Hitchcock film.

You know the one, with Cary Grant and some ice-cool bird.

"Will he, or will he not, throw her over the cliff?"

I mean, you might be like that for all I know.

A psycho.

Well, I'm not.

So come away.

That's what you say,

but he didn't look like a murderer either.

She had to walk along the edge and flirt with death to find out.

- Chrissy, stop! - No, don't!

- Stop it! Stop it! - Don't push me. I didn't mean to.

I didn't mean to. Don't!

Oh...

Darling!

All right, then. Come on.

Sam, I'm cold.

Let's go home.

All right.

There's someone there, look.

I can't help it. I'm a Taurus. We take life by storm, you know.

What sign are you? I bet you're a wonky old Libra.

Oh, there you are.

Miss Hunter, a gentleman called here for you a while ago.

Afternoon, sir.

Turned cold, hasn't it? Single room for you, sir?

Is there a Christine Hunter staying here?

- She'd have checked in yesterday. - Yeah.

I don't have to look up the register for that young lady.

Well, could you tell me what room she's in, please?

441, sir. Fourth floor.

She expecting you, sir?

Yeah. Yeah, she's expecting me.

She may have gone out, sir.

Oh, did he leave his name?

Er... No, Miss. He just said he'd be back in an hour.

- Did you find her, sir? - I usually do.

I'll be back in about an hour.

Well, when was that?

Only a few minutes ago. You've only just missed him.

Thank you.

- Go away and leave me alone! - Chrissy, wait.

- Keep calm. - I'm not going back with him!

But don't run away from him. Talk to him.

Have it out once and for all.

Then you can decide what you want to do.

But running away's not the answer.

- You don't... - We both know that.

You know nothing!

He has come all the way down here to see you.

You wanted him to!

If he wasn't concerned, he wouldn't have come!

If you... If you talk to him,

you may decide that you want to go back with him.

That it's the best thing.

Oh, how do you know what's best for me?

You don't even know what's best for yourself!

Chrissy?

Excuse me.

Have you seen a young girl, medium height, fair hair,

within the last quarter of an hour?

See a lotta girls, squire.

They all look the same to me.

Oh. Thanks.

Chrissy!

Chrissy!

Chrissy!

Hello, Sam.

Hello, Chrissy.

Isn't it amazing, the way the sea changes colour?

Sometimes, it's incredibly blue,

all clear and beautiful.

Then you come back, and it's sort of muddy green.

Now, it's all...

shimmering and silver.

Cold?

Mmm.

Can you help me down?

Thanks.

Oh, put your arms around me.

Sorry about those things I said.

I... I didn't mean them. I was... I was upset.

I know.

Oh, this is lovely. Isn't it?

Mmm.

It's funny, I was walking along the front just now,

thinking, "What a miserable seaside town."

Two years ago, it was so beautiful.

He was beautiful then.

And now his soul's been corroded by commercial art.

Sam, don't talk down to me.

What do I know about his soul?

I've never been that close to him.

Well, maybe once. Not any more.

That's why I had to leave him.

Because I had to get away.

I wonder what he'll say when I tell him about you?

All right, Chris. Who is it this time?

Some bum you picked off the beach?

He's not a bum.

Who is he, then? What's he do?

He's an accountant, actually.

What? An accountant?

Checks ventilation systems.

Well, that sounds exciting.

He's not exciting, or clever, or brilliant.

And he wouldn't last two minutes at one of your parties

in the hands of your so-called friends.

They'd rip him apart faster than they do me,

but he's got an inner quality that none of you would understand.

And don't ever hit me again.

Maybe we ought to keep this just between ourselves.

Whatcha doing?

Looking for the mark where he hit you.

Must have left a bruise.

Oh, you were right.

About what?

Well, every time I open my mouth, I seem to be lying.

Why did you tell me he hit you?

I don't know. Made a better story.

Made my leaving him more acceptable.

Why did you leave him?

Because I hate being left in the background.

Well, perhaps he doesn't realise...

I mean, he must love you.

Only next to himself.

His human level's about as high as the gutter.

- You've used that line before. - Have I?

- Yes. - Well, it's a good one.

Anyway, he's a selfish, egotistical bastard.

- And you love him. - Yes.

Then you should go back to him. I mean, after all, you are his girl.

I'm his wife.

I didn't realise.

Do you know what I'd like to do now?

What?

Just walk down the beach, straight into the sea.

Let the blackness enclose me, till it surrounds me altogether.

Don't be ridiculous.

Your life is far too precious to throw away like that.

Look who's talking! You're the one who wanted to kill himself.

That's completely different.

What's different about it? You have your reasons, I have mine.

- The result's the same. - You have everything to live for!

This is the girl who lives every moment of this life to the full

because that's the only one she'll get. Remember?

Your life is the most important thing you possess, because... because...

- Because what? - Because it is you!

I'm glad you feel that way about it.

Anyway, John wouldn't know what to do without you.

Like hell.

I mean it. I mean, why do you think he jumped into his car

and came tearing down here?

- He needs you, Chrissy. - He never has before.

Do you know what I think he'll say when he sees you?

- He'll say, "Chrissy, I..." - I'm not interested.

All right.

What, then?

He'll say, "Chrissy, in spite of your moods,

"and tantrums, and fantasies, I love you."

Sounds like him.

Do you think he'll really say that?

There's only one way to find out.

He said he'd be back in an hour.

An hour? An hour's nearly up!

Now, do you really want to go back with him?

Oh, do you think we can make it?

Come on.

Come on!

Oh, my God.

Hurricane Chrissy strikes again!

Oh, Sam, just look at the place.

Looks as though I've moved in for months, not a couple of days.

'Course, I didn't know when John would be down.

Oh, by the way, I didn't leave a note with our landlady,

'cause we haven't got one.

That was in our Hampstead days.

I wrote to him at the office. He must have got it this morning.

Must have been frantic with worry all night, poor darling.

He probably went to Dollies, and then to the police station,

then, finally, the fire brigade,

and then gone home exhausted.

Oh, pass me those tights, will you, darling?

'Cause I didn't know if he'd be down at all,

and if I hadn't come here, I wouldn't have met you, would I?

And meeting you is the nicest thing that's ever happened to me.

Well, since I threw that hot punch over John's fleshy lover.

Oh, look at the suitcase. I'll never get everything in.

Oh, I mustn't forget the painting.

And my cassette. Ooh, I'd be lost without my music.

- Goodbye, Chrissy. - I hope John doesn't cause a scene

when he sees me, and throw his arms passionately round me

in the middle of the lobby.

We wouldn't want to embarrass Mr Fleming, now, would we?

On the other hand, he might shout and scream at me.

He did the last time he collected me.

I suggested we went on a third honeymoon.

We'd had a second.

I don't think he trusts me.

Of course, he may just say nothing.

He doesn't say a lot, anyway. It's all in his eyes,

like a painting...

Sam?

Sam, don't!

Give me those bullets.

Go on.

What?

You can take the gun, and I'll have the bullets.

Then you can't kill yourself till we meet again.

You won't try it again, will you?

I said before,

my first impression of you was simple.

Full of life.

Perhaps a little bit of it rubs off on everyone you touch.

What are you going to do now?

I've got to go back to the office on Monday.

Can't you change your job?

What else can I do?

If ever you feel that lonely again, just come to Dollies.

I'm always there.

I own it, you know.

Goodbye, Sam. Must dash.

Oh, I almost forgot.

This is for you. Be good. Ta-Ra!

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