All language subtitles for T2.Trainspotting.2017.HYBRID.2160p.BluRay.REMUX.HEVC.DV.TrueHD.Atmos.7.1-Flights

I'm afraid it's a no, Frank.

Well, well, well.

That's a body blow, I can tell you.

I am sorry.

A blow.

No two ways about that.

Five more years, eh?

What do they think I am?

They think I'm like one of those cunts
in the Bible that live forever?

Is that what they think?

- I'm not sure. They make an assessment.
- I've written letters, you know.

Letters to every cunt.
Even wrote to the Queen.

- You've written to the Queen?
- Aye.

Never got back to us, like.

Too fucking busy to speak
to the working classes.

Different story when she needs a soldier.

"Step this way, Mr. Begbie."
"Sign here, Mr. Begbie."

I didn't know you'd served in the army.

I haven't. How could I?

I've been in the fucking jail for 20 years.

- You not fucking notice?
- Of course, of course.

Diminished responsibility.

If that cunt in the
original trial had put on

a proper defense
of diminished responsibility,

I could've walked out that door a free man.

I think, for you, that the best policy...

Did you mention it?

The diminished responsibility.
Did you mention it?

- At the hearing?
- Aye. Did you?

- I felt it was more constructive...
- Didn't fucking mention it.

I cannot believe it.

What was the last fucking thing I told you?

Mind and mention
the diminished responsibility,

you fucking dumb cunt!

I think it would be better
if we brought this meeting to a close,

and you and I get together

once you've had time
to reflect upon the situation.

So you gonna press
that little yellow button or no?

Cunt!

Daylight saving.

Me, I'm no one way or another
when it comes to daylight.

Like, neither a saver nor a spender.
More like just agnostic, you know?

Unfortunately, daylight hasn't shown
the same ambivalence towards me.

I had a job... Construction.

Laboring, a bit of carpentry,
a bit of plumbing now and again.

I mean, it wasn't my first
choice of vocation,

but the cuts at the benefit office
made it clear.

No coal, no dole.

So, I'm off the skag.

I'm seeing Gail, little Fergus,
though he's not so little anymore,

but this was back then.

Basically, I'm holding it together.

Then, one morning, I gets to work
and gets fired for being an hour late.

And then, one hour late at the DSS
to explain why I lost the job.

And an hour late to appeal
against losing my benefits.

And an hour late
for my work-focused interview.

An hour late for
my supervised visit with little Fergus.

And late again to
social services to explain why.

Eventually, I let on to it.
It was the clocks.

Going forward one hour.

British Summer Time, they calls it.

It wasn't even warm.

I was still wearing a jumper.

"Happens every year, Mr. Murphy."

How was I supposed to know?
I've been on skag for 15 years.

You know how it is...
Daylight isn't exactly high on your agenda

when you got a habit.

It's for farmers and that.
Dudes who need to tend to the livestock.

It's not for junkies who need to score.

So that was me. No job, no money.

No access to the little fella.

And then you went back on the heroin.

My best friend.

Actually, only friend who's never left us.

What is this?

- This is for you.
- What?

It's a recording.

A keepsake so the memory need never fade.

- Who are you?
- I'm your blackmailer.

And your salvation.

You cooperate with me,
no one will ever see this video.

Now, my research suggests that,

as deputy headmaster of one of
Edinburgh's leading private schools,

you earn, near enough, £70,000 per annum.

It's not in my interest
to squeeze you too hard,

and it's not in your
interest to provoke me.

So let's meet in the middle.

10% of your salary per annum. Paid
monthly on a rolling, indefinite basis.

You disgusting shit!
I will not stand for this!

Naturally, you'll have to lie to your wife.

If you need inspiration,
just imagine her reaction to that.

Or how this might interest
the pupils of that leading private school.

I think they might enjoy
the interlude with the strap-on.

I know I did.

I'm gonna text you the details
of a bank account.

I expect to see a £1,000 payment in there
by the end of the week.

Hi!

- Welcome to Edinburgh.
- Welcome to Edinburgh.

Welcome to Edinburgh.

Hi. Welcome to Edinburgh.

- Welcome to Edinburgh.
- Hi. Welcome to Edinburgh.

- Excuse me.
- Yes?

Where are you from?

- Slovenia.
- Oh.

Franco?

Franco.

Come on in.

All right?

- You ready?
- Aye.

You got it?

I hope you've not been fucking drinking.

- No, no way, Franco, man.
- Right.

Once here. Once here. Not too deep.

Just two little jabs. Bit of blood.

- No damage. All right?
- Right. No bother, Franco.

All right. All right, do it.

- Are you sure?
- Just fucking do it.

You fucking prick!

- You've stabbed us in the liver.
- Shit. Sorry, Franco.

Shit. You still want me
to do the second one?

No, no, you're all right, Dozo, son.
I think you've done quite enough already.

Shit.

Fuck.

Grease me up.

Give it tight, though.

Slap it. Slap it.

Shit!

Hey! Hey! Don't fucking touch her!

Don't you fucking touch her.

You in this with her, are you?

You fuck! Fuck off!

I see you again, cunt, you fucking die.

Fuck off!

- Where were you?
- I was just next door.

You took a long time.

We should get a new clock.
This thing looks too obvious.

- I'm not doing this again.
- We'll take a break from it.

- Okay?
- No, Simon.

I said I'm not doing this.

I feel sick.

Well, calm down, okay?

Worked the first time okay, didn't it?

- I'm going back to work for Doyle.
- Doyle?

No, no, no, you're not doing that.
Not in the sauna.

- Why not?
- Doyle's a gangster.

In the sauna, no man would dare
to hurt a woman.

Mr. Doyle won't let that happen.

I don't like to think
of you working there, okay?

Why not? Because I fuck men?

How is this better?

I could have been killed
and you would have done nothing

because you were sitting next door,
taking cocaine.

Please, I want to go home.

It was very peaceful at the end.

She kept your room exactly how you left it.

She always hoped
you'd come back someday.

"Gail.

"I wish that I could find
better words today to tell you I'm sorry.

"You shouldn't have to read this,
because I already made you suffer too much.

"But I know that you and Fergus

"are living in a better world
without all my chaos.

"I'm sorry for all the things I destroyed.

"You are so beautiful.

"The most beautiful in the world.

"And I only ever made this world ugly.

"Fergus needs things to be simpler.

"I know how embarrassed he is about me.

"I could not be the man that you both need.

"I've tried and tried and tried for 20 years,
and everything I try is another disaster.

"I love you.

"I love Fergus more than anything.

"But I'm finished, Gail.

"I'm sorry.

"Love you both.

"I want to see you both smile again.

"Danny boy."

Fuck.

Spud!

Spud.

Spud!

Spud.

Fucking hell!

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck.

You!

- You, you bastard!
- What?

What the fuck are you doing to me?

I was just fucking saving your life!

Save my life?

You ruined my fucking life, Mark.
You ruined it!

Now you're ruining my fucking death, too!

Thanks a lot, amigo.

Fucking shit! I did what I could for you!

I gave you £4,000!

What did you think
I was gonna do with £4,000, Mark?

I was a fucking junkie!

Aye, suppose you were.

I still am!

Fuck's sake.

You're looking well, though, Mark.

Aye.

Everyone says that.

Gonna be sticking around for a while?

No, I'm supposed to go back
in a couple of days.

Can you not stay a bit longer?

It'd be nice to see you, get to, you know,
spend some time together.

I don't know. I don't know.

I missed you, man.

Don't go trying to kill yourself again, eh?

No. Not while I got my friend in town, eh?

So...

You see old Simon?

Simon? No, no. He's probably too busy.

You got to see old Simon, man.

You know how it was, Spud.

You and Simon was like that, man.

Hello, Frank.
How are you feeling this morning?

A bit sore, doll.

Well, I'm sure we'll soon
be able to get rid of these tubes.

Thanks, darling.

Give us your wrist, Frank.
I'm off for a dump.

Come on. Give us a break.

That's the regulations, Frank.

Where the fuck am I going to go,
all these tubes stuck to me?

Give a man a little bit
of dignity for once, eh?

Aye.

All right, Frank.

You're a good man, Mr. Wilson.

I respect you for that.

Ya fucking prick.

Excuse me, sir.

Are you all right?

- Can I help?
- Aye. You can.

Hello, Mark.

Simon.

So, what you been up to for 20 years?

I've been in Amsterdam.

- Nice.
- All right.

What else? Married?

Aye.

- Nice.
- Dutch woman.

- Kids?
- Two.

- Boys or girls?
- One of each.

Little Mark, eh?

Bet he's a chip off the old block.

James, actually.

And Laura.

How about you?

I have a son.

He's in London with
his fucking whore mother.

- See him?
- Pretty regular.

Currently once every 10 years.

All right.

Job?

Aye.

I did an accounting course.

I work for a small business.

Stock management software
for the retail sector.

Very nice.

Well, as you can see,
I'm running my old auntie's pub.

Very few customers
and they don't spend much.

Sometimes it's not even worth opening.

The great wave of gentrification
has yet to engulf us.

But there we go, eh?

- My lot in life.
- I see.

£16,000!

You thieving fucking bastard!

You missed a trick!
That's what hurts, isn't it?

That I had the brains and the fucking balls
to steal the money and you didn't!

Fucking get off me.

- Fucking hell!
- Bastard.

Shit! Fuck!

You fucking bastard.

Are you all right?

It will be fine.

Where is she?

None of your business.

Saved your life, though.

This is for you.

Fuck's sake.

We did a deal back then.

Twenty years ago.

Couple of bags of H. Good quality stuff.

We took it to London.
Me, him, Begbie, Spud Murphy.

Sold it.

Not a bad price.

£16,000, to be divided in four equal parts.

He ran off with it.

Took it all.

And now what does he think I am, a whore?

He can just pay me off?

£4,000, not even any interest.

What am I supposed to do with that?
Buy a fucking time machine?

Live my life all over again?

Only this time without being robbed
and betrayed by my best fucking friend!

No, it doesn't work like that.

What I'm gonna do, Veronika,

is I'm gonna draw him back in as my friend,
my very best friend, my partner,

and then I'm gonna hurt him.

I'm gonna hurt him in every way that I can.

- £200 short.
- I owed someone.

Yeah, you bought cocaine.

Shut it.

Veronika...

I'm gonna make him sorry he ever came back.

Shut up! What's the
fucking matter with you?

Frank, is that you?

Who the fuck else it gonna be?

But the police might be watching.

Well, that's why I came
in the back window, woman.

Do you still got my kitbag?

- Of course.
- Good.

Frank, you're bleeding.

It's nothing.
Just get us a plaster or something.

Here, let me.

No, leave it, leave it.

Dad?

Franco Junior.

Ya cunt, you.

Ya fucking beauty.

But, Dad...

That's right, son.

I'm home.

But what are you gonna do?

Well, I'm not gonna be sitting on me ass

watching fucking telly all day.
That's for sure.

- Frank, what if...
- No, no, listen.

You and me, son. You and me.

We're gonna go out there
and do a bit of business together.

I've enrolled in college, Dad.

- What?
- I'm doing a diploma in hotel management.

Good one. Fucking... Fucking had us there.

Seriously, son, you and me, you and me.

That's it.

Look at him, June. Look at our boy.

He cannot fucking wait.

Fuck!

Never mind, Frank.

It's just great to have you back.

I'm getting builders.

Look.

These are partitions. Eight rooms.

Sixteen girls. Two shifts.

We could be turning over £10,000 a week
every week of the year.

- So, where's my office?
- What?

I'll need an office
if I am to be Madame Veronika.

All right.

Your office...

ls there.

You have money for all this?

I'm gonna find the money
and I'm gonna do this for you.

But when, Simon?

I cannot live on a promise.

Soon.

I promise.

Come on, Spud!

I'm with you, Mark. Go on, Mark.

Almost halfway, Spud. Come on.

Thanks, brother.

Can't fail again, Mark.

You know, I need to detox the system.

Spud. "Detox the system."

What does that even mean?
It doesn't mean anything.

It's not getting it out of your body
that's the problem.

It's getting it out of your mind.
You are an addict.

You think I haven't heard that
100,000 times, Mark?

You got 12 more steps for me, comrade?

So be addicted.
Be addicted to something else.

Like running until I feel sick?

Yes.

Or something else.

You've got to channel it.
You've got to control it.

People try all sorts.

Some people do boxing.

- Boxing?
- Well, it's just an example.

I don't... I don't mean you should...

So, what did you channel it into?

Getting away.

Do you remember, Mark...
You remember that girl, Sharron?

Lived in Granton.

Tall.

- Well, taller than us anyway, at the time.
- Yeah, I remember her.

Your very first sexual encounter.

- Right.
- Mine too.

Okay.

You remember shoplifting
in Woolworths together

and you got caught, you gave my name?

- Yeah.
- How about this one?

Warm day, sunny afternoon.

Two young lads, and we clubbed together
and bought our very first hit off Swanney.

Our very first bag of heroin.

- Do you remember that?
- Yes.

- Swanney's dead now, of course.
- Be astonished if he wasn't.

And we went down that park,
back of Banana Flats.

- Dog shit park.
- Yeah.

And we shared a needle.

Shared a needle, yeah.

You went first.

Your blood runs in my veins, Mark.

Would you stop looking
at your fucking watch?

- I have a flight to catch.
- Shit.

Excuse me a moment.

Fuck.

Fuck!

So you're Plan B.

Yes.

I am to persuade you to stay and help him.

It will mean so much to have
his oldest friend by his side

in this exciting new business opportunity.

He told you to say that.

Yes.

Did he choose your dress?

No.

- You like it?
- It's very nice.

Is he taking cocaine in there?

Probably.

Is he doing that a lot?

As often as he can.

- Where is he?
- Gone.

Gone? How could you let him go?

Simon.

Simon!

How could you let him go?

I'm not finished yet.
I'm not finished with him!

The fuck are you staring at?

Cunt robbed me of £16,000.

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,

and welcome to Jet2.com
Flight 0511 to Amsterdam.

I'm getting divorced.

You just came back to tell me that?

Of course, any misfortune which befalls you
is music to my ears.

I was supposed to go back
and move my stuff out.

She owns the apartment.

- And the children?
- There aren't any.

- None?
- No.

So when you said wife, two kids...
James and...

- Laura.
- Laura, that wasn't strictly true?

- No.
- Why'd you lie to me?

'Cause I didn't want to tell you the truth.

And the no-kids thing, was...
Was that a problem?

It's none of your business.

Yes, it was a problem.
It was a fucking big problem.

- All right? That make you happy?
- A little bit.

Oh, fuck off.

It's all over, the marriage. Fifteen years.

And then the company I work for,
that's merging with another.

There'll be no room for me.
Not enough qualifications.

I can see that coming. I don't need
to wait for the fucking letter.

And then three months ago,
I suffered what I've been told was a...

An episode of acute coronary insufficiency.

Like a heart attack.

They put a tube in here.

And I've got a metal stent
in my left coronary artery.

Good as new, apparently. Good as new.

Should last another 30 years, they said,

but they didn't say what to do
with those 30 years.

Two or three, fine, I'll take that.
I can cope with that.

I can think of enough things to do
to piss away what remains.

But 30? What am I supposed to do with that?

I'm 46 and I'm fucked!

I've got no home.
I've got nowhere that I think of as a home.

I don't really know anyone.

And what's the substance
of our acquaintance?

Friendship, please.

You ask me to get involved
in some stupid scheme

to finance and establish and run a brothel.

Sauna, please.

- A brothel.
- Well...

The sad thing is...
The most pathetic thing of all

is that I can't think of anything better.

So you're gonna help me? Find the money?

- Where's Veronika?
- She's not here.

She doesn't really like staying over.

She complains that it's a mess,
all that sort of thing.

- Does she?
- Yeah.

- Not why you stayed, is it?
- What?

- Her, Veronika.
- No, of course not.

No? 'Cause she's my girlfriend.

- Yeah, I know that.
- Good.

- It's not a mess, is it?
- No. It's just masculine.

What is this?

Come here.

Just do exactly what I told you.
You'll be fine.

Grab anything you can carry.
Get the telly at the end.

Go!

- There?
- Shut up.

- Fuck's sake!
- I'm sorry.

Who's there?

Hello?

What the fuck's going on down here?

What the fuck?

- I'm sorry.
- Cunt!

Ya cunt, you! You fucking beauty, you!

How you doing, Mikey?

Hey. Bring in the telly.

Who's this, then?

This big handsome bastard
is none other than my son.

Franco Junior, meet Mikey Forrester.

- So you're teaching him the trade?
- He's a little bit to learn though, eh?

Well, you're in the right hands, son.

He's got the talent, I'll tell you that.

We had a spot of bother.

Concerned citizen came down the stairs,
fucking tooled up and all.

I was on the back foot, I can tell you.

But Franco Junior here
took him out and no mistake.

Well, no, it wasn't quite like that.

Takes after his old man, eh?

Don't you?

- Cheers, boys.
- See you again.

I covered up for you there.

- I'm sorry, Dad.
- See, if that happens again,

son or no son,
it's gonna be a fucking kicking, right?

Right, Dad.

Right. Come on.

Never mind, Frank.

Oh, fucking shut up.

A light had shone in the night.

Somewhere ahead.

And blue had turned into green.

Then it was red...

This place is a goldmine. It's a certainty.

I mean, these are people who've been
abandoned by their political class.

But at least they have what we don't...
A sense of identity.

Right, come on, let's get it over with.

An identity encapsulated in four digits.

If we're not back in an
hour, call the police.

- What shall I say?
- Just tell them we're dead.

Each machine seemed to say.

As I walked round and round
the penny arcade.

And just ring the bell
on the big bagatelle...

The Battle of the Boyne
was fought on the 11th of July, 1690,

between two rival claimants of
the British and Irish thrones,

James II, Catholic,

and William of Orange, Protestant.

The battle was decisive.
The Protestants won.

But 400 years later,
the uncompromising and victorious loyalists

now feel estranged from the
modern, secular United Kingdom.

Let me tell you that I love you.

And I think about you all the time.

The sectarian songs have been banned,

but they still gather
and remain loyal to the victory of 1690,

and to a simpler, less tolerant time.

It's the greatest sight
that I have ever seen.

You are a red hot.

You're a red hot dancer.

When you swing your hips
And you do the salsa.

Rock forward and back
Then you do it again.

Take a grapevine to the right...

But if nothing else,
history has shown us very clearly

these are people
whom it is unwise to provoke.

You aren't from 'round here,
are you, lads?

You not gonna give us a song?

I can sing. I'll just...
I'll just fucking make something up.

You can play the piano.

I can't play the fucking piano.

You know those two chords.

The fucking F and G march
you used to play at school.

Do that.

Good evening.

My mate and I would like to

sing a song that we wrote.

No.

Is... Is that it?

It was the year of 1690.

On the 11th of July.

Or the first in Julian calendar.

Wait, wait, wait.

Give me something with a
little bit of rhythm.

Here we go.

It was on the field of battle.

Of hope we were bereft.

But by the time that it was over.

There were no more Catholics left.

We looked up to King William.

On his chin a royal cleft.

And by the time that it was over
There were no more Catholics left.

Aye! Fucking right.

His strategy was strong
His strategy was deft.

By the time that it was over
There were no more Catholics left.

The battle now victorious
We foiled his papist theft.

When the time was over
There were no more Catholics left.

Aye!

No more Catholics.

No more Catholics.

No more Catholics.

No more Catholics.

No more Catholics.

No more Catholics.

No more Catholics.

No more Catholics.

- No more.
- No more.

- No more.
- No more.

- No more.
- No more.

- No more.
- No more.

- No more.
- No more.

No more Catholics left.

Thank you very much. Good night.

Just fucking drive.

One-six-nine-zero.

One-six-nine-zero.

Sixteen-ninety.

- Nope.
- Nope.

And it's midnight.

Start again.

So, there's this room service guy, right?

And he comes into the room,
and there is Georgie Best

lying on the bed with two Playboy models.

Three in a bed, champagne
and a little bit of Charlie,

and there's banknotes.

But they're lying on the banknotes.

- Lying on the money?
- Yes.

- Why?
- I don't know.

Because he has a lot of money.

Or at least he had
a lot of money at the time, anyway.

The room service guy, he comes in,

and he sees this scene
that I just described to you,

and he says, "George Best..."

Greatest footballer of all time.

Exactly. "The greatest footballer
of all time, I have to ask you,

"'Where did it all go wrong?"'

Where did it all go wrong?

Where did it all go wrong?

- Where did it all go wrong, George Best?
- Yeah, but...

I think that the room service guy, you
know... I think he makes a very good point.

No?

He played for Hibs in 1979

between stints for
the Fort Lauderdale Strikers

and the San Jose Earthquakes.

I went to see him play, apparently.
My dad took me.

He said, "You've got to see this.
You've got to see this player.

"Got to see this greatest footballer
of all time."

So it was a big game, it was a big crowd,
and a big guy in front of me.

I couldn't see a thing. Not a single thing.

Not for 90 minutes.

But I've got the program, so...

I mean, I've always got that, you know?

Thin. Thin. Nobody was fat back then.

It's not just the football, is it?

- It's the end of austerity.
- There was no such thing even

- as a calorie till 1974.
- Welcome to the new age of

- civil rights, space exploration.
- You know what happened in 1974?

The first McDonald's in the UK.

He's basically John Barry
with football boots.

See, look at that guy.
He would be scrawny today.

A great, swaggering, filthy piece of music.

- But then... That was totally normal till 1974.
- It's insurrection!

- That's the beauty of what he does.
- You know what happened in 1974?

First McDonald's. South London. Woolwich.

These are not goals.
These are political statements.

It's still there.
I've been there myself several times.

You know nothing. You understand nothing.

You live in the past.

Where I come from

the past is something to forget

but here it's all you talk about.

You are clearly so in love with each other

that I feel awkward in your company.

Instead of looking at me

you should get naked and fuck each other.

Cheers.

- Up your ass.
- Placebo.

- There's a fucking...
- Do it. Let's do it.

Fuck off.

- Yeah!
- Yeah!

Jab.

Double jab.

Double jab, right hand.

One, two.

Junior. You coming, for fuck's sake?

- Frank.
- What? What is it now?

- The boy.
- What about him?

See, Frank, please don't be angry.
It's just, he's not really...

"Not really," what?

Sorry, Dad.

The fuck is that?

You cannot go with me dressed like that.

See, I don't really think,
you know, I'm into it.

- He doesn't want to go, Frank.
- Doesn't want to go?

Where else you gonna go?

I was actually gonna go
and meet some friends from the college.

From the college, is it?

Right.

Well, that's a blow and no mistake,
no two ways about that.

Sorry, Dad.

Some way to treat your old man.

- Please, Frank.
- You shut the fuck up!

Hotel fucking management.
You put him up to this.

Dad, it's not like that.

Shut the fuck up! "Dad."

Maybe I'm not your dad.

- I see it now.
- No, Frank.

- Dad, leave it.
- "Leave it"? I don't want to fucking leave it!

What if I don't want to fucking leave it?
What you gonna do about that, eh?

Tell you what... Free pop.

- No, Frank!
- Shut it.

Come on.

Stick one on then, you cunt.

Take a fucking swipe at me. Do it.

Do it!

No, you cannot fucking do that.

See, if you were my son,
you'd have stabbed us there.

I'd be lying, breathing my last
through a hole in my chest.

But you cannot fucking do that.

What do you want?

- Yep.
- Mark.

What?

Need a lawyer.

So, as I understand it,
the complainant, a deputy headmaster,

alleges that he's been
the victim of attempted extortion.

How does Sick Boy intend to plead?

It's actually "Simon" these days.

Right. Simon.

I see. Not guilty.

Fine.

Off the record,

the police have told me that the USB drive
does have Simon's prints on it

and that in searching the flat,

they found the mobile
that the bank details were sent from.

Right.

As well as the cocaine, of course.

Well, that was just for personal use.

Quite a lot for personal use.

Well, you know Simon.

I certainly remember him.

- Does he still take heroin?
- No.

Do you?

No. Not for 20 years.

That's really good.

Well done.

So, are you the woman in the video?

My face is not seen.

Do you have any identifying marks?

Tattoos on your buttocks?

Certainly not.

On your perineum?

It's the bit of skin
between your vagina and your bumhole.

That's disgusting.

So you're not vajazzled.

May I ask,
what is your relationship with the accused?

We are friends.

Mark?

I really don't have anything else to add.

Well...

Perhaps we have a defense.

Simon may claim that
the recording was consensual,

was, in fact,
commissioned by the complainant.

Hence the request for payment.

He pleads guilty on the cocaine,
which, remarkably, is a first offense,

enters into an approved rehab,
£1,000 fine, six months suspended.

This consultation is free.

Should we go forward, here's the cost.

Well, that's very reasonable.

It's an hourly rate.

'Course.

Thanks.

Mark.

She's too young for you.

Here it is.
"EU Small Business Development Loans.

"Zero-interest loans distributed regionally

"towards projects that stimulate
regeneration of formerly industrial areas.

"Loans are available of up to £100,000.

"Applications should be made online,

"which may be followed by an invitation
to present a business plan."

Blah, blah, fucking blah.

I'm trying to help you, Simon.

We're blowing all that
cashpoint money on lawyer's fees.

You could've got someone cheaper.

Well, I wouldn't have had to get anyone at all
if you hadn't engaged in fucking blackmail.

Is there anything left of your £4,000
I gave you?

No, I've got expenses,
just like everyone else.

What, all of it?

You snorted the whole fucking wad?

It's called debt, Mark.

The point is, we need cash now,
not in six months' time.

And you realize what's at stake here?

I promised to set up a sauna for Veronika.

And if I don't get it up and running soon,
she's gonna leave me.

- Fucking leave you anyway.
- No, it's not gonna happen.

- Is she actually even with you?
- She's my girlfriend.

You've never even fucked her.

I have fucked her, and I'll fuck her again.

- What? When she was working at the sauna?
- That's not fair.

You know, since we're having
this conversation,

I can tell you that fully consensual,
emotionally driven, not-for-profit

sexual intercourse has been attained.

Simon, you're a romantic.

Veronika and I have had our rough patches.
I'll be the first to admit that.

Shall we submit this application?

Do what you want,
but I need someone on-site working.

I need progress.

Now.

All right, Spud, we're upstairs.

- All right, Mark.
- Come in.

When clients come in,
I want a sense of space.

Yeah.

Maybe some soft lighting, help punters feel
a bit more relaxed and that, you know?

Exactly. I'm so glad
that someone understands.

And they're off and racing.

Woody Bay was a little awkward out of
the stalls and also to gather stride.

Out well towards the right,
Fine 'n' Dandy is racing solo early on.

Steventon Star down the center
with Jacob's Pillow.

Hello, Franco.

Simon.

- But you're not...
- I'm out.

- "Out"?
- Aye. Fucking shut up.

Yeah, sorry if I seemed a little shocked
to see you, Frank. It's just...

Well, I was gonna...

I was gonna deal with this myself
and then give you the good news, but...

You're not gonna believe this.

So, two days ago,
I got a call from an old friend of mine.

Gav Temperly. You remember him?

Aye.

Anyway.

He's on business in Amsterdam.

And he's in a cafe one morning,
and he hears this voice beside him.

A whiny, cunty voice.

No.

So he turns around, right?

This is two fucking days ago.
I'm just getting over it myself.

- There he is.
- Holy fucking moly.

Hasn't changed in 20 years.

Very same smug, little cunty grin
across his ugly face.

- For fuck's sake!
- Aye, Renton.

Mark fucking Renton.

Living in Amsterdam
all this time on our money.

- Cunt. Did Renton clock him?
- No.

So Gav followed him.
He went into an office block

not far from the center of town.

And Gav had to split then,
but he's gonna go back.

He's gonna hang out,
he's gonna follow Renton home, and then...

- And we're gonna pay him a visit.
- Exactly.

- I need a passport.
- I can get you one.

I'll take some weapons.

Well, we can probably get
weapons there, Franco.

Aye. Probably. They've got
that kind of stuff in Amsterdam, eh?

Aye. Now, the important thing
is for you to keep your head down.

Low profile till the passport comes
through, till I get the tickets.

- 'Cause this is an opportunity, Frank.
- Right.

I'm gonna fucking tear him to pieces.

You most definitely fucking will.

Simon and I do not sleep together.

No? I had wondered.

Once, but... I'm his girlfriend,
but it's business, really.

Simon is not a good person.

But I like him.

More than he likes himself, I think.

Right, but if you're not...

If there's no physical aspect
to your relationship,

I mean, you don't want to be, like...
You know, wasting your time.

What's "choose life"?

- What?
- "Choose life."

Simon says it sometimes.

He says, "Choose life, Veronika."

"Choose life."

"Choose life" was a well-meaning slogan
from a 1980s antidrug campaign.

And we used to add things to it.

So I might say, for example, choose...

Designer lingerie

in the vain hope of kicking some life
back into a dead relationship.

Choose handbags.

Choose high-heeled shoes.

Cashmere and silk to make yourself
feel what passes for happy.

Choose an iPhone made in China
by a woman who jumped out of a window,

and stick it in the pocket of your jacket
fresh from a South Asian firetrap.

Choose Facebook, Twitter,
Snapchat, Instagram

and a thousand other ways to spew your bile
across people you've never met.

Choose updating your profile.

Tell the world what you had for breakfast
and hope that someone, somewhere cares.

Choose looking up old flames,

desperate to believe that
you don't look as bad as they do.

Choose live-blogging
from your first wank to your last breath.

Human interaction reduced
to nothing more than data.

Choose ten things you never knew
about celebrities who'd had surgery.

Choose screaming about abortion.

Choose rape jokes,
slut shaming, revenge porn,

and an endless tide of depressing misogyny.

Choose 9/11 never happened,
and if it did, it was the Jews.

Choose a zero-hour contract
and a two-hour journey to work,

and choose the same
for your kids, only worse.

And maybe tell yourself it's better
that they never happened.

And then sit back and smother the pain

with an unknown dose of an unknown drug
made in somebody's fucking kitchen.

Choose unfulfilled promise
and wishing you'd done it all differently.

Choose never learning
from your own mistakes.

Choose watching history repeat itself.

Choose the slow reconciliation

towards what you can get
rather than what you always hoped for.

Settle for less and keep
a brave face on it.

Choose disappointment.

And choose losing the ones you loved.

And as they fall from view,
a piece of you dies with them.

Until you can see that one day in the future,
piece by piece, they will all be gone.

And there'll be nothing left
of you to call alive or dead.

Choose your future, Veronika.

Choose life.

Anyway, it amused us at the time.

I like you, Mark.

Fuck.

What are you gonna do?

I'm going to be the madame
in Simon's bordello.

But really...

What are you gonna do?

I don't know. I should go home.

But...

To go home with nothing?

No qualification, no career,
not even bringing money.

What's at home?

You know.

Emotional attachment.

That's all.

- All set?
- Yeah, fine. You're okay?

- Aye.
- Sure?

- Why?
- Nothing.

- Why? What's happened?
- No, nothing's happened. I'm just...

I'm just enjoying us working together.

That's all.

Good. So...

- Shall we go in? Right.
- Aye.

Jesus.

This is the renovation and conversion
of an iconic Leith building.

We see it very much as being an artisanal
bed-and-breakfast experience.

A destination in its own right.

Artworks by local artists on the walls.

Locally sourced fresh food.

Outreach programs to inspire children
in school to think outside the box.

To inspire in them a belief that...
Yes, they can.

There was a time when this port
served thousands of ships around the globe.

Now it can rise again.

And we believe our business
will occupy a central role,

both physically and emotionally,

at the heart of this new wave
of regeneration in Leith.

Leith 2.1.

Exactly.

We used to steal all this stuff.

Fancy wallpaper.

Sell on to the middle classes and that.

Me and Mark used to steal
all kinds of stuff, actually.

Till we got caught.

He got off. I got six months.

Still, you find out what
you're good at inside.

Signatures... That's what I found out.

Anyone's. If I seen it once, I can do it.

So, when I got out, "Bye-bye, shoplifting.
Hello, checkbook. Hello, check card."

Up to Western Union.

Signature, cash in hand.

Up to Swanney's,
pay off my debts, buy some skag.

I was a portable fucking goldmine.

So, what happened?

Chip and PIN, debit cards, e-banking.

Billionaires moving money
at the touch of a button.

There's no room
for an honest artisan like me anymore.

So, what did you do?

Back on the pavement. Seven days a week.

I like your stories.
I think you should write them down.

You think?

Yeah. Just write them the way you say them.

They're funny. I would like to read them.

Mark and Simon can help.

"Tommy looks well.

"It's terrifying.

"He's gonna die.

"Sometime between the next few weeks
and the next 15 years,

"Tommy will be no more.

"Chances are that I'll be exactly the same.

"Difference is we know this with Tommy.

"Tommy cannot get out.

"He cannot afford to heat his home,

"put himself in a bubble,

"live in the warm, eat good fresh food,

"keep his mind stimulated
with new challenges.

"He will only live five or 10 or 15 years
before he is crushed.

"Tommy will not survive winter
in West Granton."

Well, I'm trying hard, Mark,
but I'm not feeling anything.

We were young. Bad things happened.
It's over.

Can we go home now?

- Two hours to the next train.
- Oh, for fuck's sake.

Look, we're here as an act of memorial.

Nostalgia.

That's why you're here.

You're a tourist in your own youth.

Just 'cause you had a near-death experience,
and now you're feeling all fuzzy and warm.

What other moments will you be revisiting?

Here's a good one.

How about the time you sold
Tommy his very first hit,

leading him on to heroin addiction,
HIV infection,

and ultimately his death at the age of...
What was it, 22, 23?

- Twenty-three.
- Twenty-three.

How innocent was that?

Aye, that's mine.

How's yours?

Don't know what you're talking about.

She'd be a woman by now.

Maybe kids of her own.

But she never got that far, did she?

Never got to lead her life.

Because her father,

someone who should have been
looking after her,

protecting his own infant,

was too busy filling
his own veins with heroin

to check that she was breathing properly.

How do you keep a lid on that one?

Well, that's that, then.

Here we go.

Fuck's sake.

- All right, doll.
- Thanks.

Looking good, baby.

Not bad yourself, daddy-o.

Why, bring it over here.

Really?

I'm not wearing any knickers.

For fuck's sake.

Well, tell you what... Just away
for a piss. Back in a moment.

We'll see what's happening, okay?

- All right, then.
- Aye.

Deal. Done.

Hi. I can't take your call,
so please leave a message.

Fuck.

What's all this, then?

Planning a special event, are we, sir?

Just give us the tablets, pal.

Remember not to exceed the stated dose.

Just give us the fucking tablets

before I come through there
and pound your fucking head in.

Aye, all right. Fucking calm down.

- Fuck's sake.
- Cunt.

Prick.

Cunt!

Fuck. Fuck.

Rent Boy, where... Mark?

Go! Go, go, go!

Fuck!

Go on, then, you fucking cunt, you!

Fuck.

Go! Would you fucking go?

Fuck it!

Fuck.

I didn't know.

Okay, okay.

I might've heard something.
I'm sorry I didn't mention it.

You might've heard something?

All right, fuck it. I knew.

I knew, and I could have served you up
to him on a plate any time I wanted to.

I bet you were fucking
looking forward to it, too, weren't you?

Yeah, yeah, I was. I was
looking forward to it.

I ought to fucking kill you.

Fuck is this?

Get in.

It's Mark and Simon, right?

Do you know who I am?

Good.

So you know that I own a couple of saunas
in the north of Edinburgh.

In fact, you boys should know,
I own all the saunas in Edinburgh.

So your venture
was never gonna happen, was it?

I couldn't have you on my doorstep

in competition for my members of staff,
for my clientele.

It was never gonna happen, Simon, was it?

- No, Mr. Doyle.
- Right answer.

I wouldn't let it happen.
And it's not gonna happen, right?

Thankfully for you two,

I've done some due diligence on you, and
what I hear is you're a couple of losers.

Two absolute losers.

- How's that sound, Simon?
- Yeah, yeah, that's probably right enough.

Aye. "Probably right enough." Right answer.

Take your clothes off.

All of them.

Fuck's sake.

"Probably right enough, Mr. Doyle."

If you groveled a bit more,
we might not be going home in the buff.

At least I have my dignity.

Is that what you're calling it?

Are you ready?

- No.
- Come on.

Hello, boys.

You just delete that right now.

I put it on Twitter. No one will see.

Veronika, don't you understand?
There's not gonna be a sauna.

- Never.
- I know that.

So we lost everything.

- Did you not get the e-mail?
- No, I didn't get a fucking e-mail.

We got the money.

- What?
- How much?

The money. What do you call it?

- Small Business Development?
- How much?

£100,000.

No!

Yeah!

First,

there's an opportunity.

And then,

there is a betrayal.

Mark stole from me.

His best friend.

So this money is mine.

First,

there is an opportunity.

And then,

there is a betrayal.

Simon knew that Francis Begbie was out,
and he chose to keep that a secret.

I owe him nothing.

We owe him nothing.

- All right, Murphy?
- Franco.

Sit down.

Sit down.

Now...

So where is he?

Don't say, "Who?"

Don't say, "I don't know."

Just fucking tell me where he is.

- Still a junkie, Murphy?
- No.

I'm clean now, Frank.

You? Clean? Fucking joke.

What is all this shit anyway?

It's just, like, stories and that.

"Stories"?

What are you writing stories for?

Who's gonna read shit
written by a cunt like you?

Just thought maybe my grandchildren, or...

- You got grandchildren?
- No.

What you writing
fucking stories for them for?

They may not even like stories.
You thought of that?

No. That's a good point, Franco.

"The sweat was lashing off Sick Boy."

- Sick... Sick Boy? What, is it about him?
- It's about all of us, like.

- All of you? About me?
- No, not about you.

Fucking better not be.

"Strolling Through the Meadows."

Here, read it.

- What?
- Read it.

"Strolling Through the Meadows.

"The pubs, like, dead busy.

"It's full o' loco-locals
and festival types."

'Cause the festival was going on,
see, in the story.

"They're all having a little snort
before heading off to the next show.

"Beg...

"Beg..."

I was definitely gonna
cut this bit out, Frank.

Well, fucking read it.

"Begbie's pissed his jeans."

I remember that night.

Read on.

- What?
- Read on. Read on.

"The boy, likes,
just wouldn't hand over the wallet,

"even when Begbie pulled the knife, like.

"The last words I heard the dude say was,

"'You won't use that.'

"Begbie went fucking crazy, got, like, that
carried away with the bladework, you know.

"We nearly forgot the wallet, likes.

"Blood was flowing into the latrine,
mixing with the piss."

Blood.

Mixing with the piss.

It was an ugly sight, man.

Murphy.

You've got hidden talents, man.

"Then it happens.

"All I did was put a pint
of Export in front of Begbie.

"He takes one fucking gulp out o' it.

"Then he throws the empty glass
from his last pint

"straight over the balcony
in a casual backhand motion.

"The glass crashes down
on this girl's head,

"which splits open as
she falls to her knees.

"Begbie's on his feet and we're racing
down the stairs, and he shouts..."

"That lady got glassed!

"And no cunt leaves here
till I find out what cunt did it."

"That lady got glassed.

"And no cunt leaves here
till I find out what cunt did it."

That is lovely.

What else have you got?

What's this? What's this?

London, London.

"Renton had never seen so much money.

"He stole the money.
Took it from his friends."

What? No, that is just a story, that one.

That is just a little story.

"Renton felt no sympathy for Begbie.

"No.

"Renton's real guilt was for Spud.

"He loved Spud.

"Spud had never hurt anybody.

"If there was one person
whom Renton would try to compensate,

"it was Spud."

"Compensate"?

I'm only gonna fucking ask you this once.

How much money did he leave you?

£4,000. Left it in a locker.

Well, you didn't fucking
tell us that at the time.

I'm sorry, Franco.

Don't fucking move.

I did steal the money,
but they shouldn't have been surprised.

I mean, we stole from all sorts of people.

Shops, businesses, neighbors, family.

Friends was just one more class of victim.

In the morning,
when you were gone with my money,

I was furious, but also I thought,

"'Course he's taken it.

"Why wouldn't he?"

Daniel?

It's me.

I'm not here.

- What do you mean, you're not here?
- Go!

Veronika, you cannot be here. Please.

It's not safe for you, kitten-cat.

- You got to vamoose.
- What happened?

Tell Mark. Tell Simon.

They need to run quick.
The Beggar is on the loose.

Please, Veronika,
he'll be back at any minute.

Who will be back?

Well, well, well.

Rescue.

This your bird, Murphy?

Please, Franco, leave her alone.
She has nothing to do with this.

'Course she hasn't.

What would she be doing
with an ugly cunt like you?

What's your name, doll?

Veronika.

Veronika.

Well, that's lovely.

And how do you know Mr. Murphy here?

- Simon.
- Simon?

Good old Simon.

And what about Simon's very best friend?

You know him and all?

You got a phone?

- A phone?
- Aye. A mobile phone.

You know the kind of thing.

- Yes.
- Give it.

But you have to let us go.

Both of us.

- Another?
- No, I'm fine.

Where are you going?

You shouldn't be out
in this neck of the woods, kitten-cat.

I have a plan for us.

What?

"We went for a piss
in the old Leith Central Station.

"Me, Renton and Begbie.

"Place was empty, soon to be demolished."

Some size o' station this was.

Used to be steam engines
to all over from here.

Choo-fucking-choo!

"An old drunkard,
whom Begbie had been looking at,

"lurched up to us, wine
bottle in his hand."

What're you up to, lads, eh?

Trainspotting?

In Leith Central?

"He says, laughing.

"I noticed Begbie seemed
strangely subdued and uncomfortable."

They fucking turn it on for you.

Fucking shitbag!

"It was only then I realized

"the old wino was Begbie's father."

"First, there is an opportunity.

"And then, there's a betrayal."

And that's how it ends.

That's funny.

That's like everything
I've been writing about.

Yes, Daniel.

But this one...

Needs an ending too.

June.

Franco Junior.

Can I come in for a moment?

There's something I have to do tonight,
and then I'm going away.

One way or another, it'll be a long time
before you see me again.

So I just thought I'd come by.

I just thought I'd come by
and say good luck, son.

That's all.

Thanks, Dad.

See, it's difficult for me, 'cause...

We never had any of that when I was a boy.

Not, like, hotel...

Management.

Aye, hotel fucking management,
all that shit.

I never had any of that.

Still...

World changes, eh, June?

Even if we don't.

So... Look after yourself, son.

The old wino was my father.

This fool is yours.

You'll be a better man than either of us.

What the fuck?

She's not here.

And seeing as we both are,

don't imagine she'll turn up any time soon.

I'm gonna call her.

It's switched off.

So, what are we doing here, then?

It's her way of saying goodbye, I suppose.

I loved that woman.

Mark! I'm so sorry!
I've done a terrible thing!

- Fuck are you doing here?
- Lock the doors!

Sorry about what?

Lock it!

- Sorry for what?
- Get upstairs now!

We have to get to fuck now!

- Mark! I've done a terrible thing!
- What?

- Franco!
- What?

Veronika! Gail!

Little Fergus. Well, he's
not so little anymore.

You seen him recently?
He's really shot up...

What the fuck are you
talking about, Murphy?

Aye, carry on, Spud.

Finish your story.

'Cause we're all dying to hear it.

Well, it's like the lady says.

Betrayal.

No.

No, first, there is an opportunity, right?

And then... Then there is a betrayal.

We've all heard that one before, eh, Mark?

- Aye, maybe.
- Aye, fucking maybe.

Aye, well, like you said,
20 years has just flown by, eh?

And here we all are.

Boys got lucky again.

Bit of money again.

With a... With a...

with a fucking whore from Bulgaria.

So...

How does it end?

- In a box, Franco.
- That's right.

We're all in a box.

Just waiting for the lid to come down.

- Frank, come on.
- You knew.

Stringing me along, so you were.

Honestly, mate...

Fucking deal with you later.

Now...

Rent Boy.

You and me.

You know, I killed a man once.

A man who'd done nothing to me.

Cunt just looked at me the wrong way

in a moment when I was thinking of you.

I've been thinking about you for 20 year.

When you robbed us.

Your best mates.

Never got my money back.

Never got my hope back.

I always promised myself that one day...

Come on, Rent Boy.

Not like you to be so shy.

I remember

my first day at primary school.

My very first day.

And the teacher, she said,

"Good morning, Mark.
You can sit here, next to Francis."

Remember that, Franco?

You were older. You'd been kept back.

I remember that well enough.

Aye.

Had it all before us, didn't we?

Had it all still to come.

And now here we are.

Aye. You've done all right.

World's all right for smart cunts,
but what about me?

What about fucking men like me?
What do I get?

All I can take with my bare hands.

All I can get with my fists.

Is that what I fucking get?

Who's the fucking smart cunt now?

Fuck.

Aye. Here we fucking are.

Come on.

Come on, Mark.

Come on.

Here. Come on.

Franco!

"So she puts it to Spud..."

It will be safe if you leave with me.

No, I'm like one of the last
indigenous guys around here.

I cannot go anywhere.

"He says, clinging to the hope

"that he won't commit
this crime against his friends.

"And she says..."

I'll send you your share.

That doesn't work for me, Veronika.
I'll just blow it all on smack.

All right.

I'll send it to Gail, then.

And little Fergus.

"Gail, little Fergus.

"A chance to see them smile again.

"He takes the pen.

"And with his gift of forgery,
so lately underused,

"he signs their names.

"Simon Williamson. Mark Renton.

"He transfers the full £100,000

"to the bank account of
Veronika Kovach in Bulgaria."

Thank you, Daniel.

Spud. Most folks call me Spud.

Fuck.

He's doing what?

- Writing them down.
- Really?

That's what he told me.

- Murphy?
- Apparently so.

So, who's gonna read 'em?

Well, that's the problem. Nobody.

I thought of a title.