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You can put it away.

-Want some? -Yeuch.

You know the rotten pheasant, partridge or whatever it was Moyle gave us?

Why pretend you don't know what it was?

Do you know anyone who actually likes that muck?

You did a great job with Moyle, darling.

Great. Great!

That's what you married me for, isn't it?

Paddywhack.

Bitch.

Your bacon's burning.

(TELEPHONE RINGS)

Are they?

Oh.

Well, a bit surprised. I think we'd all better watch out.

All right. Well, thanks Brunzy. Thanks for telling me.

Pathetic little creep.

Yeah, sure. I'll pick you up first thing in the morning. Bye.

-They're after Hazlitt's guts. -I didn't know he had any.

Are you going to let go of my arm?

Bacon fat. Stained sex.

-Why don't you have a bath? -Shut it!

Don't you cows ever feel anything?

-Sorry. -Belt up then!

Michael. Let's go to bed, Michael.

That's what you married me for, isn't it?

You stupid drunken Irish peasant.

(GASPING)

(ALARM)

(CAR HORN HONKING)

MICK: Morning, Brunzy.

-Hi. -You fit?

Fit for anything.

Thanks for the call about Hazlitt.

-They're after him, you know. -Davidson?

If anyone's going to do my boss, Brunzy, it's going to be me.

(BRAKES SQUEALING)

(HORN HONKING)

(HORN HONKING)

(HORN HONKING)

(HORN HONKING)

You're an aggressive bastard.

We're going places, Brunzy.

(HORN HONKING)

Mr Marler, sir.

The battlefield.

Half a dozen mergers, a dozen takeovers, and two suicides.

Grenfell Industries.

-Good morning, Mr Marler. -Morning, darling.

RECEPTIONIST: Mr Robertson wanted on the telephone at reception, please.

Mr Robertson.

See you for a jar at lunchtime.

Morning, Davidson.

Morning.

Mr Robertson wanted on the telephone at reception, please.

Mr Robertson.

-DOORMAN: Morning, sir. -Morning.

-Morning, sir. -Morning. Morning.

I enjoyed your pheasant last night, sir.

On your way up, Marler?

Just one below yours, sir.

Do you ever see anything of Rosemary's mother?

From time to time. She seems in excellent health.

She's a splendid girl, Rosemary.

Look after her, won't you?

I'll try to, sir.

Have a good time in Chicago, sir. Watch out for those violin cases.

-Morning, Mr Marler. -Get Hazlitt!

SECRETARY: Mr Marler would like to speak to Mr Hazlitt.

Morning, Hilda. Is he busy?

He's not in yet?

Well, when he comes in ask him... Tell him I've got to see him.

You look worried, Mr Marler.

Get me Cribbins, will you?

(TELEPHONE BUZZES)

Cribbins, I want IBM's regional sales breakdown for the last quarter.

Well, they won't give it to you if you just ring up.

Go round the back door, would you, old son? That's better, much better.

Tomorrow lunchtime.

Joan!

-Yes, Mr Marler? -Hello there.

How about two nice, sexy aspirins? Just to keep me good.

Hilda.

You start early in the morning, Mr Marler. Hazlitt's arrived. He wants to see you.

Shall we go upstairs, Hilda?

MICK: Mmm.

Hilda... I've had an idea.

What do you want to know?

I want the minutes to a meeting held in March 1959.

Davidson's first committee.

Very clever.

Let's have a little look.

-(KNOCKING) -Come in.

Morning, Michael. I hear it went very well last night.

You are well informed.

Of course, old Moore's always been fond of Rosemary.

Well, he ought to try her. She'd kill him off within a week.

He went to school with her father.

I had a phone call last night. Davidson's trying to put the boot in.

Here's the agenda for this afternoon's big meeting.

They're trying to muck up your chances of taking over when Bailey gets fired.

You're in trouble, aren't you?

I was waiting for this.

Michael, why aren't we selling our larger machines? Sure it's not your salesmen?

Our salesmen are the pick of the market.

Advertising top class. Circularising as clockwork. Servicing excellent.

-And the price is dead right. -Then why are we in trouble?

I hope you realise you'll have to have a good explanation.

It's your scalp they're after, not mine this time, Mr Hazlitt.

Perhaps we should ask what are they buying instead?

Computers! Far more expensive. Astronomical.

But they're getting smaller and expanding into our solidest market.

We should have gone into computers years ago.

It wasn't my decision.

There was a committee formed in 1959.

They thought computers were for trips to the moon.

Clearly they underestimated. Davidson was on that committee.

That's an angle, isn't it?

Well now, Michael.

Let's look on the positive side, shall we?

And what do we recommend?

Bombard borderliners who can't afford computers.

Offer easy terms, rentals. To hell with dignity.

And start producing computer accessories.

Electronic guillotines, splitters, bursters. All the gadgets.

Go into that meeting with a policy and show them that you've thought about it.

Splendid. Yes.

Look, just write me a report on this stuff, will you?

Four or five pages. A few facts and figures.

-I'll see what I can do. -Good, good. You're, er...

This won't go unnoticed, you know.

Thank you, sir.

-Mrs Marler phoned. -Well, call her back, then.

Now then, Davidson.

We are going to... get you.

Mr Marler for you.

(TELEPHONE BUZZES)

Hello?

Yes, I do realise that I woke you up.

Yes, I know you're not a cleft stick for leaving messages.

Come to the point, darling. What was the message?

Poor old sod.

Did it sound...?

All right.

All right now... thank you, darling.

-You can't! -Sorry, my father's in a bad way.

You mean you're not going to the meeting?

-It is my father, sir. -Yes. Of course, forgive me.

-Sorry to hear about it, Michael. -Thank you, sir.

Look... could you not finish that report for me? It will only take half an hour.

Well, I haven't seen him for five years. I doubt half an hour more will worry him.

A decision taken by that committee.

Our American counterparts, who switched to computers at the time,

have already taken control of the British market and branded

our adding machines as the poor man's computer.

So much for Britain's businessmen.

All right, love? Three copies, one to Hazlitt by two-thirty.

Ring my wife. Tell her I've gone to Liverpool.

(DISTANT FOGHORN)

Mick? Mick!

Hello, Ma.

-You've come home. -And not before time, neither.

Hello there, Kath. You haven't changed a bit.

Come.

Well... how is he?

Oh, not too good, Mick.

-He'll not be long with us. -Don't be ridiculous, Ma.

There's many a man had a heart attack before, and gone on for donkey's years.

-Well, there's the kettle. You'll take some tea, Mick? -Thanks.

How's our Philip?

God, that one! Gives me a pain.

Not heard much from you, Michael.

-Is everything going well down there? -Oh fine, fine.

Well... shall I go up and see him?

Well, he's sleeping just now but...

Ask him, would he like some tea?

Hello, Da...

Out of the depth, have I cried unto thee, oh Lord.

Oh Lord, hear my voice.

Let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication.

I can't remember any more.

Sorry.

Da!

Somebody put the boot in.

Didn't they, old fella?

He won't be needing his tea, Ma.

I'll go for the doctor.

(IRISH FOLKSONG: "BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS")

♪ Believe me, if all those endearing young charms

♪ Which I gaze on so fondly today

♪ Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms

♪ Like fairy-gifts, fading away

♪ Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art

♪ Let thy loveliness fade as it will

♪ And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart

♪ Would entwine itself verdantly still

♪ No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets

♪ But has truly loves on to the close

♪ As the sun-flower turns on her god when he sets

♪ The same look which she turned when he rose ♪

(PLAYGROUND CHATTER)

Yes? I can't keep this open all night, you know.

MICK: I'm sorry.

Oh... that's all right. What can I do for you?

Is Doctor Carolan in? It's about Mr Marler. Urgent.

He won't be long, love.

(COUGHING)

-(BUZZER) -You can go in now, love.

-Dr Carolan? -Name, please?

Do you not know a Marler when you see one?

Mick? Mick, isn't it?

Is it your father?

That's right.

Could you come straight away?

-Is he dead? -Yes.

Through this Holy anointing, and His most tender mercy...

May the Lord forgive you for whatever sins you have committed... amen.

In virtue of the faculty given to me by the Apostolic See.

I grant you a plenary indulgence, with full remission of all your sins.

In the name of the Father... and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost... amen.

A pity you missed him, Mick.

I had a long talk with him only yesterday.

MICK: A great loss.

Oh... you feel that?

It's not a very fashionable emotion these days, loss.

A foretaste of hell, you might say. Eternal loss.

Don't provoke me, Father.

He was worried about you, your father.

About your obsession with getting on in business.

He felt you lacked ideals... that you turned into an opportunist.

I don't need a debate right now, Father.

He remarked you had no songs left in you.

Father, I never swallowed your stories 15 years ago. You don't expect me to now.

Your father tells me you believe the human race to be a herd of dumb beings

to be preyed upon.

A sort of predators and victims arrangement.

He's just died, Father.

I pray for you, Mick.

You said all that, did you?

Cunning old sod.

(DOOR OPENING)

I'll just do the examination.

He knew me better than anybody, the old fella.

I was wondering about those bruises, Doctor.

Were you? And how's London?

Oh, fine.

Would you say they were accidental?

I would. I'd say he fell.

People do when they have heart attacks. In pubs especially.

He was a grand old sort, your father.

(DISTANT FOGHORN)

What was this "accident", Kath?

Oh, he was drinking as usual.

With Cocky Burke and one of his mates.

And was there talk of a fight?

Philip and I will take Ma home with us tonight.

-Are you staying here? -Yes.

-Can you manage? -Yes.

I think I'll just slip up for a word with Cocky.

Go through to Ma, Mick.

I'll not be long.

♪ Here you are again

♪ Tellin' me sorry, baby

♪ Tellin' me you want to come back home

♪ Where you belong

♪ There you go again

♪ Lying and alibi-ing

♪ Singing that same old worn-out song

-♪ Here it comes now -♪ I'm sorry, baby

-♪ I can't hear you no more -♪ I'm sorry, baby

-♪ I've heard it all before -♪ I'm sorry, baby

-♪ You ain't reachin' me, no how, no way

-♪ No time 'til doomsday

♪ Can't hear you no more Can't hear you no more

♪ You walked out on me

♪ Once too often, boy

♪ And I can't take no more of your jivin'

♪ That's the truth

♪ I ain't about to let you

♪ Run me into the ground

♪ This girl ain't throwin' away her youth, no how, hey

-♪ I'm sorry, baby -♪ Can't hear you no more

-♪ I'm sorry, baby -♪ I've heard it all before

-♪ I'm sorry, baby -♪ You ain't reaching me no how, no way

♪ No time 'til doomsday

♪ Can't hear you no more I can't hear you no more ♪

Hello, Cocky.

♪ I'm sorry, baby ♪

Mick... Mick, it's good to see you.

-How's your dad? -So so.

Oh, the poor old fella took a knock all right.

Oh, but he is a stoater. Here, what'll you drink?

-I'll take a glass of stout. -Hey!

Two glasses of stout.

(APPLAUSE)

Thank you, Happy. Come on, give her a proper Liverpool hand.

-You can do better than that. -(APPLAUSE INTENSIFIES)

And now, ladies and gentlemen, what you've been waiting for. Bingo time.

All right, get your lucky pencils out and your lucky charms.

Because we're going for the first number, and here it is.

Forty! Four-oh. Blind forty.

Dear God, it's a sorry sight to see the English at their pleasures.

It would not be my Da's idea of a great night out.

Aye, that's the truth. I only come here meself for the wrestling.

Cocky, what was this story of this accident that happened to my Da?

You sure you're interested now, Mick?

I haven't been away all that long, have I?

Well, I tell you...

You see, Liam Mooney and meself came into some money from the donkeys at Pontefract.

So, we picks up your Da, and off we goes to the Bricklayer's Arms.

There, we had a few jars.

And then that silly sod Stokes gets on the old Joanna.

And the snug-bar crowd shouts for a song from John-Joe.

I never heard such a voice, Mick.

As fresh and as clear as mountain water and as soft as a plover's breast.

Mind you, he hadn't the power of the old days.

But he was singing low and sweet. All that sobby stuff.

'Teddy O'Neill' and God knows what else besides.

Well now, there we all are, Mick. Do you see it?

In the snug of the Bricklayer's Arms, your Da in great voice,

and all of us in fine spirits after a great afternoon's races.

Now then.

Your Da had just launched in on 'Kevin Barry'.

When in through the door of the snug

comes four or five of your pimply English Teddy Boys and their girlfriends.

Your Da had just reached the line where the English soldiers torture Kevin Barry.

When these yobbos starts giving him the slow hand-clap.

Your Da looked across at them as if they weren't there, and carried on singing.

Liam Mooney called on them for to desist, whereupon...

One of these yobbos heaves a glass over at your Da,

muttering a few imprecations against the Irish immigrants.

Within ten seconds, it was the Battle of the Boyne all over again.

Now your poor old Da, Mick, wasn't quite up to it.

One of these young fellas nutted him

and then stuck the boot in before Frankie Medlin could clobber him.

It was all over at that. We lifted him up,

folded him into the back seat of Tobin's rattle-car.

The bogeys arrived just as we were leaving the car park.

You know who the young fellow was?

I do so! He works in the next shed to me.

Did you tell the police who it was?

I would no more collaborate with the English bogeys

than I would collaborate with the Devil himself.

You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mick Marler, for thinking such a thing.

Well, Cocky, I think you're going to have to tell the police.

Me old fella's dead.

God rest his soul.

But listen to me, Mick.

You are not to reveal a word of what I've said to the English police.

I don't want mixed up in this sort of thing.

That young fella as good as murdered my old man, Cocky.

If anything is going to be done, Mick, it won't be the English police doing it.

Remember that.

Five and six. Fifty-six.

Six-oh. Blind sixty.

One and nine, nineteen.

Bingo! I can't bloody miss it!

Bingo!

(RAUCOUS CROWD NOISES)

JOYCE: Kill him!

Kill him!

(INAUDIBLE UNDER CROWD)

(INAUDIBLE UNDER CROWD)

One... two... three.

(BELL RINGING)

(CHEERING AND APPLAUDING)

(INAUDIBLE)

I was sorry to hear about your father, Mr Marler.

Thank you very much.

Mrs Eglington... I am now.

But I wouldn't let that bother you.

Would you like a drink?

I'm with a friend.

ROSEMARY: Hello?

My father died this afternoon. I was too late.

Oh, I am sorry, Michael.

Are you still there? Michael?

Yup.

When will you be back? John Hazlitt wanted to know.

I'm staying the night.

I'll see him in the morning, and you tomorrow evening, if you're not too busy.

The... the funeral will be next Saturday.

Oh my Cod. Have I got to come up for it?

-I'll see you tomorrow night. -Goodbye then.

Goodbye!

(GASPS)

(SMASHING GLASS)

Why don't we... go somewhere else?

Let's go.

I like being driven.

Would you like a drink?

I haven't got time.

Jack expects me home by half-past ten.

Where would you like to go?

Suit yourself.

Oh!

I've been imagining you and me.

Quick!

Let's get outside.

-What's your name, love? -Hmm?

Hmm?

Oh, Joyce!

Well, we've just been at it like knives. Now we get round to the introductions!

First things first.

What time did you say your husband was expecting you back?

I don't care really.

-Yes, sir? -Ten gallons, please.

Do you know what I feel?

I haven't got a clue.

When I was little, when my dad was working.

On a Friday night we'd have steamed duff.

It was the white and heavy sort.

With currants and raisins and jam on top.

Ma knew it was my favourite.

I always got two dollops.

And after,

I would sit in a corner, out of the way.

Enjoy feeling warm and heavy inside.

I've never had that feeling since.

Until now.

-That's your ten, sir. -Hmm.

Thanks.

A nancy like our Jack's no good to me. Two minutes and he's had it.

Not that I've really fancied him for years.

He thinks a woman is somebody who pushes the shopping trolley at the supermarket.

You don't say much, do you?

I wish I could have you regular.

In a proper bed.

Do you?

-Change and stamps, sir. -Thanks.

Come on then, Mrs Eglington.

Is that him?

Yes.

That was John-Joe.

He never belonged in this place no more than I do.

He's got a lovely face.

Well, he was a romantic. A singer.

But they don't want to know about his kind of song any more.

Before I even went to school, he filled my head full of the Fenians

and Davitt, Wolfe Tone, the Land League, a socialist Ireland.

The fight was for Ireland, the enemy the English middle classes.

He even thought Adolf Hitler had something going for him in that line.

Then when the other wars rolled up,

Kenya, Egypt, Cyprus and Aden, he knew who he was with.

The enemy was always the same.

The songless ones, the brutalisers, the English.

You seem to have come round to them.

Not entirely.

If I'd have known that one day I would grow up to be an English businessman...

I took my stockings off in the car. Shall we take the lot off?

God! Jack would kill me. He really would.

Undo that, there's a love.

You're married, aren't you?

-Not so's you'd notice. -Don't be too clever.

The time will come when you'll need a warm back to push up against.

And a round breast to cuddle in the dark.

You might not think so now, but you'll come to it, before you're much older.

Is that an offer?

If I was you, I'd be careful.

I might say "yes".

We'd be good... we two.

I feel as if I've gone back twenty years.

Just beginning to feel myself again.

Aren't you going to keep me warm?

That's better.

I was seventeen when I left this room.

I was a trainee Jesuit for six months.

I had problems with chastity.

So I left, and conned my way into the Army.

2nd Lieutenant, 1st Lieutenant, Captain.

Management Trainee, Junior Executive.

I feel as if I've been play-acting ever since the minute I left home.

I'm just beginning to feel real again.

I'm real.

Oh, you're the most real thing I've met in years.

(DISTANT FOGHORN)

(LOUDER FOGHORN)

(FRONT DOOR CLOSING)

You're an early bird, Ma.

Sleeping pill or no sleeping pill.

He's all right, Ma. He hasn't a care in the world.

You'll take some breakfast? I'll cook you something.

Well, I'll leave an open cheque, so that Kath can fix things up.

Only the best, mind.

Here's something for yourself. Get something to wear.

God, you'll be needing that. What'll your wife say?

Will she be up for the funeral, your Rosemary?

I don't know for sure. I hope not.

Last night, her Philip tells me some story.

Oh I don't know, something about some lad from Bootle.

Ah, Philip.

Now, don't you do no such thing. I don't want any of that.

Okay, Mam...

(DISTANT FOGHORN)

Do you remember the war, when he was away?

God, I do. It was bad enough then.

But now...

You still have me, Ma.

I'm still here.

(DOGS BARKING)

-I'll see you at the... on Saturday, Ma. -Yes.

(CAR ENGINE STARTS)

-Come on Theresa, hurry up. -I'm coming. I'm coming. Okay.

(BIG BEN CHIMING)

You're here on time, Mr Marler. I hope everything went all right in Liverpool.

It all seems a very long time ago.

-Get me a cup of coffee, Joan, could you? -Okay.

Mr Hazlitt wants to see you at ten sharp.

-There's a special meeting this afternoon. -Oh, I'll be there.

JOAN: Oh, Mr Mitchell.

Mr Mitchell from the personnel department to see you.

Send him in.

Why are you so worried, Joan?

He's gone over your head and recommended somebody for Grimsby.

Oh, has he? Who?

Somebody called Hammond.

Mr Marler will see you now.

A degree of extroversion, intelligence, human relations, marital status,

motivational pattern, job task record.

-What the hell does this crap add up to? -Hammond.

Well, it means he's a well-adjusted nice chap with good qualifications.

Public school education, National Service.

Wonderful. So you're going to send this middle-class Home Counties twit

to do business in Cleethorpes, Hull, Scunthorpe, Doncaster and Newcastle.

He's our best trainee.

Those hard-nuts up there would eat Mr bloody Hammond for breakfast.

You don't fancy Grimsby yourself do you, Mitchell?

Hazlitt agrees with me.

He would. Have you ever been to Grimsby, Mitchell?

Well, get up there and take a look at the young chaps who already know the job.

Get off your arse, Mitchell.

-We have our ways of doing things, Marler. -This isn't going to be one of them!

Get the hell out of here and take this bog paper with you.

All right. No need to get abusive, Marler.

I'll get as abusive as I like.

It's you lot, you inefficient, stupid, helpless bunch of twats!

(DOOR SLAMS)

(BUZZER)

(BUZZER)

JOAN: Hazlitt would like you to go up.

Right.

-But I can't threaten Benham. -Why not?

Don't be afraid to put the boot in.

Because if you don't kick their heads in, they'll kick yours.

And Davidson won't bother to wipe his feet first.

What should we do?

Get Benham here after lunch, ten minutes before the meeting, and leave it to me.

You come in for the kill.

(BUZZER)

Don't worry.

I'll nail him.

Would you like a sweet, Mr Marler?

Another steak please, Mrs Rumbold. Burnt round the edges.

Michael, Mr Benham here is our senior accountant.

Miss Clanagan had the last word at this meeting.

Whose side are you on, Mr Benham?

There's no doubt sales have fallen very seriously over the last year.

In fact, shareholders are going to be very concerned indeed, and rightly so.

This could be attributed to your sales department.

Or you could argue that the decision not to go into computers

by Mr Davidson in 1959 is now having its effect.

At that time Davidson considered the costs involved were not worth the risks.

He unfortunately misjudged the speed at which computers have become miniaturised.

Davidson says it's our management. We know it's his judgment, don't we Benham?

I would emphasise I'm here purely in an advisory capacity.

You mean you're sitting on the fence. An attitude your profession is noted for.

They're trying to say that our supervision isn't tight enough.

We carry the can for them,

Hazlitt is discredited and Davidson becomes the new Managing Director.

Then you, Mr Benham, won't want to know us.

I find your comments offensive and juvenile.

I couldn't give a pennyworth of cold tea what you feel, Mr Benham.

When Hazlitt argues his case, he's going to need your help.

Because you enjoy a reputation as the best financial brain in the group.

Are you going to give it?

I have to be impartial. This is a quarrel between sales and economic planning.

My only interest is in the accounting aspect.

Men who walk down the middle of the road tend to get run over.

You're either for us or against us.

There's every chance that we might win without your help.

In which case Hazlitt here might remember your lack of loyalty to him.

You might even end up where you started. Running a Cost Office in a factory.

On the other hand, we might lose.

But Hazlitt here will still be the Senior Director of the holding company,

and he could make life very difficult if he chose.

Not that he'd need to, I'm sure.

Our interests are common.

Aren't they?

I'm sorry Michael was so aggressive, Stanley.

No, no. Not at all. I see his point... I suppose I agree.

Thank you, Stanley. You won't regret it.

We're due at the meeting.

I suggest you hang on here for a few minutes.

It would not look good if we went in as a lobby.

Benham's in there. If he asks for a line, don't give him one.

You go a bit far sometimes, Michael.

-Do you have to be quite so blunt? -Yes.

-(BUZZER) -Leave that thing alone!

Go in and tell him it's out of order, and stay with him until he leaves.

Let's go into the meeting. Your hour of triumph is at hand.

It would appear that Mr Davidson's forecasts, made in 1959,

were unfortunately, one might even say lamentably, mistaken.

We are, even now, feeling the effects of his decision taken at that time.

All the evidence shows that our sales department is the best in the country.

And they are doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances.

The cause for our present malaise has to be sought further back.

And it can be directly traced to that decision taken by Davidson back in 1959.

Naturally, he never underestimated the importance of computers in their field.

What he did was underestimate the speed at which the computers were miniaturised.

And the reduction in costs which now makes them a direct threat to our market.

It does appear, then...

Hilda! Oh God, was I asleep?

You look worn out.

I didn't sleep last night.

Hazlitt sends greetings.

The meeting was a personal triumph... for him.

-He sent you down a present. -What is it?

Aspirin.

Sorry you're not too good, Michael. I wish there was something I could do to help.

What's worrying you?

I'm expected to kick someone's head in.

To the lad who did my father. Booted him in a pub.

-But can't the police see to that? -There will be no witnesses.

It's like a bad joke about Sicilian gangsters. For Christ's sake!

It's past the middle of the 20th century. I'm expected to kill a yob I don't know.

And don't worry.

If there's any trouble, I'll be round to your flat in Earl's Court in no time.

-I wouldn't mind. -Wouldn't you?

It might be sooner than you think.

Why don't you go home, Michael?

Yes, that's right... home.

-Where squaw? -In bedroom.

Ugg!

-(DOOR OPENS) -Michael. You're home early.

Having an affair with an intellectual? Or you think Spinoza was a private eye?

-You look tired. -I am tired.

-I'm hungry too. -Hmm, I'd better move.

I gather that the return of the prodigal wasn't exactly a success?

Nope.

I'm sorry about your father. It must have been awful for you.

Well, you didn't seem over-anxious to rush along to his funeral.

He was the only one in your family who ever tried to understand me.

Now he's gone, I can't imagine anything more horrible than your family at a wake.

Don't I smoke any more?

Sorry.

Aren't you going to tell me about it?

Not much to tell. Thanks to Hazlitt, by the time I got there, he was dead.

I didn't even talk to him.

And your mother?

Not exactly overjoyed after 37 years.

Hmm.

-Don't you ever think of anything else? -Not much.

-I've got to get ready. -Why?

I haven't seen you for weeks.

(GASPS IN PLEASURE)

Oh, don't do that! You know if you do, I can't ask you to stop.

So why fight it?

Not in here!

Nobody's coming, darling.

All those people. Don't you remember? We're having a party. Tonight.

You...

-I don't believe it. -You knew about it.

-Why didn't you call it off? -How could I?

What kind of pig-iron are you made of?

Don't you ever feel anything?

That old fella is lying up there in Liverpool

in some lousy morgue, getting stiffer and stiffer,

and you expect me to drink Camparis with your fat-arsed, useless lady golfers?

-Your friends are coming too! -Rot the lot of them! I'm going out!

No you're not! I'm not going to be lumbered with your dreaded tycoons!

Bollocks!

-Here's to the wild colonial boy. -Ned Kelly. May his tribe increase.

So your old man was a bit of a singer then, was he?

The old man knew more songs than I've ever heard of.

You know, there'd be times when he swing me a backhander and I'd hate his guts.

And then he'd sing something, and the whole world shone again.

Because now he's gone, I just want to fight everybody.

And that Anglo-Saxon bitch? I could happily smash her face in.

Oh come on, Mick, you've just had a bit too much.

This is the "moment of truth".

There never was much between us, you know.

About one weekend of pre-marital bliss at a country cottage

is about all we've got to be nostalgic about.

And that bit of romance vanished six days later in the Fulham registry office.

And now she's ready for a change.

And God knows what to.

Into other women, perhaps? Maybe even dogs? That silly slut!

I just couldn't care less. I just want out!

You sound bad, Mick.

What are you doing tonight, Brunzy?

-It's nearly over. -Let's go to the party.

Have a bit of a laugh. Let's get a couple of bottles.

Our friends!

Get a grip on yourself, Mick. You'll be in trouble with the wife.

♪ If you're Irish, come into the parlour There's a welcome there for you ♪

-(LIGHT MUSIC) -(CHATTERING)

Brunzy, you old dog. Where's Michael been hiding you all these months?

Oh. I've been around.

MICK: Good evening.

Going awfully well.

Sparkling, indeed.

A very nice evening.

Are you all right? Very well.

-Hello Michael. -Good evening.

She drives all the way to Gerrard's Cross to take the boy to the Catholic school.

Bruce and I haven't many prejudices, but really, Catholics are the end.

♪ Oh faith of our fathers, holy faith

♪ We will be true to thee till death ♪

Don't bother to apologise, but my old mother was very close to the late Pope.

And they do say... who knows?

-Absolutely stoned. -Poor Rosemary.

Straight off down the side street, with this bobby still on the bonnet!

Got his head on the wall, have you?

-Michael, old chap. -Cheers.

-Would you excuse me? -Yes, of course.

Put that bottle down!

I'll drop my bottle if you'll drop your...

And get your sallow-skinned friend out of here!

-Everything all right, Mummy? -Lovely party, darling.

-You're looking very well, Rosemary. -Thank you.

There it is. Bound-shouldered and lemon-titted.

"Mummy". The wife's old lady. Seen chatting up Sir Miles Bishton.

An ornament to the board of the Grenfell Corporation, and 33 others.

God, give me strength.

I'll have a Bacardi, Michael.

Hello, Marler. Mine's a whisky and soda.

-Get your own bleeding drinks. -Are you drunk?

-Mais oui. -Telephone, Mr Marler.

-ROSEMARY: Did you eat them? -GUEST: Yes, of course.

It's late.

Hello?

Am I speaking to Mr Michael Marler of Virginia Water?

That's right.

Burke here... Aloysius Burke... Cocky!

Cocky! What news?

Your friends, the English police, be settling your old fella today.

Cod rest his soul. I hope they never have an inquest on me.

What... what's the verdict?

They didn't want to know. You could see it written all over their faces.

Mr R.J. Bingham, not the standby coroner,

decided on the advice of creepy Carolan and the local bobbies

that your old man died of natural causes.

-You must be joking. -By Jesus, I'm not.

I mean, to hear them talk, he dropped dead watching a football match.

I imagine it's a question of what we are going to do about it?

No, not forgetting Mick. You're the only one who can do anything.

I'll see you on Saturday, Cocky.

Thanks for ringing.

Hello, Michael! I see your profits are down on the half-yearly.

Just pausing for breath.

Reorganising.

Putting a bit of method into the deadbeat firms we bought last year.

That's how we get the kind of profits that you boys don't.

What exactly do you do at Grenfell's, Mr Marler?

I'm the man who does the dirty work.

That lot over there are all gentlemen.

English gentlemen with very clean hands.

And when they tell me to, I snap my fingers... just like that.

And hundreds of yobbos are queuing up on the dole to keep them in Mercedes.

Freddy says a little unemployment never did anybody any harm.

-Except my Da. -What?

Except my Da. He was unemployed for most of his life.

-Really? -Really.

Let me tell you about my Da.

Let me tell you!

♪ Quite early on

♪ On Monday morning

-♪ High above ♪ -(PIANO JOINS IN)

Shut up!

Leave it!

-Mrs Marler asked me to play. -Leave it!

♪ Just a lad of eighteen summers

♪ And there's no-one can deny

♪ As he walked to death that morning

♪ He proudly held his head on high

♪ Just before they hung young Kevin

♪ In his lonely prison cell

♪ British soldiers tortured Barry

♪ Just because he would not tell ♪

Marler.

What?

I never knew you were an Irishman.

(HORRIFIED GASPING)

Get out! Get out!

Out!

I've just left you.

♪ As he walked to death that morning

♪ He proudly held his head on high ♪

Have you gone mad?

You assault a director of the company, behave like a guttersnipe,

and run amok like a drunken navvy.

Bishton's contemplating legal action and Grenfell's are behind him.

Why bring Grenfell's into this? I got drunk. I quarrelled with my wife.

I thumped somebody for being plain bloody rude. It all happened in my house.

It's got nothing to do with Grenfell's.

You may be creating a dangerous precedent.

You're not telling me what to do, are you?

I've been doing that for years. Why I should stop now?

I don't care how good you are. I won't be spoken to like that.

Suit yourself.

There will be a place for me at Acolts, Van Der Polders or Lendrums. I'll manage.

-Should you decide to give me the boot. -I won't be blackmailed, Marler.

Acolts and Van Der Polders may be business rivals, but we have contacts with them.

You'll find it very hard, I promise you.

You're suspended as from now. Moyle will see you on Tuesday

when he gets back from Chicago, and I have no doubt what his decision will be.

He who lives by the boot will die by the boot, Marler.

You pin-striped get!

Don't! You've done quite enough damage already, Marler.

I hope you die a long, slow, lingering, painful death.

(BUZZER)

(BUZZER)

So... I'm out.

Hilda, could I...?

(BUZZER)

(BUZZER)

Rosemary.

Rosemary!

Rosemary.

I've had the sack.

I'm surprised. Bishton wasn't all that popular.

I'm suspended until Moyle gets back.

Hazlitt?

Most of the others would have promoted you.

I don't want you to go, you know.

You and I both manage to live very close to the borders of sanity, Michael.

Last night you went right over.

It frightened me.

You didn't seem to know what you were doing for the first time since I met you.

You think you really know me, don't you?

You get more like Rasputin every day. An uncontrollable peasant come to kill us.

You know, with you, the class war becomes something very personal.

-That's because we're both traitors in it. -Ha!

Given a choice, I'd rather be a traitor for love than for money.

Love?

-Get out! -It was love, Michael.

Not the sort you write poems about. The sort you make.

Well, we made it and we fought and we stayed ourselves.

We didn't get sludged up in the old matrimonial soup.

So now we can both get out. Intact.

I'll miss you.

Why don't you stop being so bloody modern and throw something?

You really did revert to type up there, didn't you?

No... no... no more, Mr Marler.

Here's to the old days.

(ROSEMARY SOBBING)

(FRONT DOOR SLAMMING)

(IRISH FOLKSONG: "BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS")

♪ Believe me, if all those endearing young charms

♪ Which I gaze on so fondly today

♪ Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms

♪ Like fairy-gifts, fading away

♪ Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art

♪ Let thy loveliness fade as it will

♪ And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart

♪ Would entwine itself verdantly still

♪ No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets

♪ But has truly loves on to the close

♪ As the sun-flower turns on her god when he sets

♪ The same look which she turned... ♪

Good morning. I'm looking for a room.

I've got a room for a day or two, but it's a double. You must pay for a double.

That's okay.

Commercial, are you?

That's right.

I sell dental equipment to vets.

There's one over there, Mr Marler. The blue one.

Oh that'll be fine.

I've got one or two calls to make in the area. I'll be back before Monday.

Official, is it?

Listen, Bottomley.

If it wasn't for me you'd still be a bent shop steward arguing the toss for car-washers.

I ain't forgotten, Mr Marler.

-Here's the keys. Glad to be of service. -Good.

I'll pick it up some time tomorrow, if that's okay.

That's perfectly okay by me, Mr Marler.

Having a bit of run around, are you?

Well, while the cat's away...

Hello. Aunt Tess, isn't it?

Michael! Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, who'd have known you?

Come on in.

-It's Michael. -Mick.

-You know Nellie and Christina from Ireland? -Yes.

It's been a very long time.

-Michael, there you are! -Hello, Aunt Maggie.

-You'll be ready for a cup of tea now. -Don't bother, I can fix it myself.

-Not at all... -I insist. Is Katherine in?

Yes, she is.

They're great at making cups of tea, but not so handy with washing up here.

Did you see the inquest in the Echo?

Our noble Dr Carolan didn't distinguish himself in the face of the enemy, then.

Nobody cares. The police least of all.

Carolan does what's expected.

-Does this lot know what really happened? -No. Nor does Ma.

Do you?

I can guess. Do you know who it was?

Hey, where you off to?

Have no fear. I'm merely escaping the camp when she's at the theatre.

I think I'll have a word with Carolan, because if he won't change his mind...

If you think you'll to get that fella to stick his neck out, you're mistaken.

I can always try.

-You want me do something, don't you? -Well, if you don't, I will.

-See you later. -Hey, be careful, Mick.

Now look, Michael. You see. I pulled you into life with these. You see?

Well I don't quite see what that has to do with it, Doctor. My old fella...

It's got this to do with it, Mr Marler from London, or wherever you scuttled off to.

I use these hands to bring people into life. I use this to keep them alive.

If your old man's dead, God rest him. But who the devil knows what happened to him?

Did he fall? Was he pushed?

What came first? The punch, or the heart attack? Who knows?

In his condition, he may have dropped dead bending to pick a flower.

So you're covering up. I've a good mind to report you to the Medical Council.

You'll do yourself no good that way, Michael.

(BUZZER)

You're a coward, Dr Carolan.

They taught you spite in London, didn't they, Michael?

I just say I haven't forgotten it.

(BUZZER)

-(LIGHT MUSIC) -(CHATTERING)

They must be hiding in the snug, if you can call it such a thing.

I'll have a look.

A brandy, please.

He's there all right.

Which one is it?

The fellow with the polo-neck sweater.

That fella with the red hair?

That's your man.

I don't believe it.

Here's to your dad, Mick, God rest his soul.

Come on.

(HORN HONKING)

Mrs Davis, you wouldn't have anything for a headache?

I suffer it myself. I've got just the thing. You wait there.

That's marvellous of you.

I suppose I'd better put the car away.

Don't worry. The car's okay where it is. Take those and go straight to bed.

Thanks very much. I need to have a rest.

(CAR ENGINE STARTS)

Hey Jez, get us a couple of halves, will you?

Have you got a light?

-Is your name Jones? -What of it?

Well, I've got one or two things to say to you, Jones.

-What about? -I'll get the others.

I owe you this, Jones, for one old Irish peasant.

Please... don't hurt me, mister.

Please... please... don't...

Please.

I don't care, son. You're the one who did it to him.

(SCREAMING)

Let us pray.

Grant, O God, that while we lament the departure of this, thy servant,

we may always remember that we are most certainly to follow him.

But may be ever watchful that when Thou shalt call we may,

with the bridegroom,

enter into eternal glory, Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

(DISTANT FOGHORN)

(BELL TOLLING)

Let's go, Ma.

Oh, I forgot to tell you.

There were some policemen here wanting to speak to you. I wondered what it was.

Policemen?

They wanted to know where you were last night.

I told them you were in your bed, all night.

I wonder what all that was about?

Well thank you, Mrs Davis. It has been a pleasure to stay with you.

Come on, Colette love, now don't be a drag. Come on, love.

(CHATTERING)

Oh, Michael.

Bye bye, Aunt Bess.

Bye bye, Aunt Lucy.

Bye, Aunt Marian.

-I'm sorry, Michael. -Right.

God bless.

Come back soon, Mick. We miss you.

-I'll come and see you off. -All right, Ma.

-Goodbye, everybody. -Goodbye, Mick. Take care.

Michael.

The police were here.

I saw them go.

You're a bad lad, Mick.

I always was.

Hungry?

Yes.

I like your dress. Silk, isn't it?

Hmm.

Now come on, Hilda. This is like a wake.

-What's the matter? -Nothing.

Nothing's the matter.

You're looking at me even though you won't speak to me.

Cheers... to us?

Do you mind if I have gin instead?

-Have you got any? -Oh yes, I've got some gin.

-Why don't you break out, Hilda? -Hmm?

Get plastered every night.

Ransack the pubs for eager young men. Bring them home and ravage them.

Vomit on the carpet and turn up late for work.

Let that cool image you have of yourself shatter.

Come down in the world. Enjoy it.

-Is this how you'd really prefer me? -No, I suppose not.

But think of what you're missing.

Am I?

No... no, not here.

Why not? Hmm?

There's too much light.

In the bedroom.

All right?

(ECSTATIC MOANING)

I feel...

I feel dead.

What are you thinking?

About leaving Grenfell's. I wish I didn't have to.

Especially now.

Do you have to?

Well, it's either Hazlitt or me.

It's a pity the old sod hasn't made the odd mistake.

He's made plenty.

Hmm?

Yeah. Plenty.

What kind of things?

Why do you think we lose so many managers?

I don't know.

Hazlitt never pays any attention to market research.

He just goes ahead. "Instinct", he calls it.

Whenever something goes wrong, he just fires the manager.

Where's Devereaux now?

Sales manager with Van Der Polder.

Fired by Hazlitt.

And Blythe?

Tell me more.

Well, I'm taking a serious view of this, Marler.

I'd like an explanation.

Well, sir.

There was some horseplay at a private party unconnected with the corporation.

Hazlitt and Miles Bishton have magnified the incident out of all proportion.

Sir Miles is even taking legal advice.

Fat lot of good that will do the Grenfell image.

Hmm.

Frankly, sir, my suspension was inevitable.

Any incident or mistake would have had the same effect.

You think so?

I'm afraid Mr Hazlitt has come to regard me as a sort of threat.

To his own position, I mean.

In what way?

Well, apart from being a younger man and so on.

He knows that I'm sick of covering up for him.

And what exactly have you been... covering up?

Well, sir, I've...

Now don't worry, Marler, it won't get back to him. You can speak quite freely.

Well... there have been quite a few serious errors of judgement and foresight.

He tends to act impulsively without much regard for the figures.

And then a disaster occurs.

And someone else's head goes on the chopping-block to save his.

I did take all the trouble to put this down.

Names, dates and what happened to them after Hazlitt fired them, etc.

I'm... not a fool, Marler.

I've known John Hazlitt for seventeen years.

I know his strengths and I know his weaknesses.

One of them is, he doesn't move with the times.

Good God, where did you get all this?

I suppose if you were the new sales director,

you'd want to keep Hilda Greening on as your secretary, would you?

Not really, sir.

Not very trustworthy, Hilda.

Well, I'm going to make you the new sales director.

I think you've got the right qualities for the job.

-Really, sir? -Hmm.

Drink?

-Well, I wouldn't say no. -Help yourself.

A scotch for me.

I wouldn't worry too much about Hazlitt.

His pension will come to twice your wages. One way and another.

Well, I'm sure he'll enjoy a break. In a way, I was rather fond of him.

-Is that...? -Fill it up a bit.

-I've got great faith in you, Marler. -Thank you, sir.

Pity about Rosemary, running off like that.

Yes... I don't see her coming back, though.

Oh, I think you'll find she will.

Well, here's to success in the new job.

Cheers.

Light!

If I can get away with that, I can get away with anything!

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