All language subtitles for NTLive Skylight by David Hare Act Two

Skylight - Act Two

Subtitles: aeneas
Sync, correction and edit: @ColtXabi14

What are you doing?

Eating the sauce.

I’m starving. Remember? We never had supper.

God, I’m sorry. I fell asleep. What time is it?

I think it’s two-thirty.

I must say...

It’s no worry.

I must have fallen asleep as well.

Why don’t Baptists like to fuck standing up?

Because they’re frightened God will think they’re dancing.

Is it me?

Or has something happened to make it warmer in here?

It may be you.

But also it’s been snowing finally.

Everything’s covered in snow.

My God, you’re right.

It’s beautiful.

I’m beginning to like it.

I think I’ve decided I’m going to move in.

I was lying there, yeah, in that bed of yours, next to that sort of interesting lump in the mattress you have, I was thinking I could get used to this.

Maybe this area isn’t so bad.

Over there, I was thinking, I’m going to put my telly...

Have you still got that big one?

Oh no. It’s much bigger now.

I’ve got a home projection system. Enormous.

It’s going to take up most of that wall.

Yes. The football. Sunday afternoons with the lager...

Do you still support Chelsea?

Of course.

How are they?

They play the English game. My own game, you know.

Kick it up the middle and hope for the best.

And over there, the stereo. Maybe put Frank in a box room.

He’d love it.

We could make a life, you and me. Takeaway Indians...

Except you’d need the flat next door as well to store all your clothes.

Oh no, I’ve stopped all that rubbish.

I haven’t bought clothes...

well, since Alice died.

Do you think I’ve lost weight? A diet of suffering...

I didn’t notice, in fact.

No.

I wasn’t thinking.

I was thinking, whatever else happens, we always have this.

I was wondering, you know, it can’t be much longer.

Your term.

No.

There’s only two weeks to go.

Do you know what you’re doing for Christmas?

It’s just I’ve now got this place in the sun.

It’s at the water’s edge.

It’s perfect.

The steps lead down to the sea.

The island has palm trees.

Beaches.

Great fish.

Unless of course you’d made other plans...

I mean, I’m just saying. Think about it.

Yes.

No pressure.

No.

No hurry.

Of course.

If you let me know, say, Friday...

No, honestly, that’s just a joke.

For God’s sake, I’m not totally insensitive, I don’t think ‘One fuck and everything’s solved...’

Two, though, and that’ll be different.

I mean, well, yes.

So it’s good...

What?

This teaching?

You enjoy this teaching of yours?

I wouldn’t say ‘enjoy’.

Ah...

It can be pretty stressful.

But at least it does mean I feel stretched.

Stretched?

Yes.

Surely that’s a good thing, isn’t it?

Don’t we think it’s good to be stretched?

Oh sure.

I know it sounds crazy, but I’m out at six-thirty – earlier.

My goodness!

I get on the bus.

That simple journey, Kensal Rise to East Ham, in many ways it’s the thing I like best about the job.

I take a good book.

I take my sandwiches.

Every day I sit there.

Always the top.

The top deck’s better.

Oh really?

Always.

You hear better things.

I’ve developed this passion for listening.

Blimey.

It’s like an addiction.

I love it.

I can’t get enough.

And the more I listen, the more it strikes me, you know...

what extraordinary courage, what perseverance most people need just to get on with their lives.

Huh.

And at the start I actually got lucky...

Lucky?

Yes, I met this fantastic Nigerian friend. Adele.

And she’s introduced me to the group that she’s in.

A group? What sort of group?

A women's group.

It’s very informal.

We meet every Friday after work.

We have a few drinks

to compare experiences.

That’s nice.

Because when you’re working so hard, you’re working such ludicrous hours, the danger is you forget to share. The group's helpful about that.

And there’s always something new.

Like at the moment we have this real problem.

We have this private security firm...

At the school?

Yes. I mean, we’ve had them there lately. Just for a few days.

But it’s absolutely disgusting, the staff have protested like mad.

We had this problem with burglary. Lootings.

A dinner lady was mugged.

She was mugged at the school?

Tom, that’s not unheard of.

Not during lunch.

Don’t take up that Home Counties tone.

I’m not. Just allow a moment of taxpayer’s interest that dinner ladies now walk in fear of their lives.

One dinner lady.

OK.

Only one incident.

It happens.

It happened once.

But of course it’s being used politically.

There are – let’s face it – certain elements.

Partisan elements, who wish the school ill.

For what reason?

Precisely because it is an enlightened regime.

Tom, don’t look at me like that.

I didn’t say anything.

I’m not a soft liberal.

Far from it. My views have got tougher. They’ve had to.

You grow up pretty fast.

Education has to be a mixture of haven and challenge.

Reassurance, of course.

Stability.

But also incentive.

I’m not sure I actually know what that means.

Tom, these are kids from very tough backgrounds.

Forty per cent speaking English as an additional language.

Fifty per cent on free school meals.

At the very least, you offer them support, you care for them, you offer them security.

You give them an environment where they feel they can grow.

But also you make bloody sure you challenge them.

Don't just let them sit back in the world.

You make sure they realise learning is hard.

Because if you don’t...

if you only make the safe haven...

if it’s all clap-happy and ‘everything the kids do is great’...

then what are you creating?

Emotional toffees, who’ve actually learnt nothing, but who then have to go back and face the real world.

I see that.

I tell you, it’s fucking interesting...

I’m sure...

Finding that balance...

Sure...

Finding it, keeping it there.

Tom, there’s nothing I’ve done in my life which is harder.

You’re really that involved?

You mean me personally?

Do you go to staff meetings?

I’m not an activist, if that’s what you mean.

But I take it quite seriously.

Because...

apart from anything, I’m older than most of the teachers...

Really?

It’s become a young person’s area.

A young teacher comes out of college.

They think, this is the kind of work I believe in.

Then pretty soon...

well, they move, they marry...

They decide they want something a little bit easier.

Mmm.

Something a little less arduous.

Mostly.

But that’s not happened to you?

Early on, you know, I was spat on.

Very early.

Like maybe, the first day or two.

In front of the class, this boy spat on me.

He called me an arsewipe.

A cunt.

I tell you, I can still feel it.

Here, on the side of my cheek.

And then I thought – right, this is it.

I realised then. I have to go one step further.

I have to really give myself to the children.

I have to really let them know who I am.

That's when they respect you.

Now no problems with discipline, none.

And I have to say, my grades are amazing...

I took on a job and I bloody well did it.

I see.

It sounds like a challenge.

I’ve seen the way things now are in this country.

I think for thirty years I lived in a dream.

I don’t mean that unkindly.

Everything you gave me I treasured.

But the fact is, you go out, you open your eyes now, you see this country as it really is...

But you have friends?

What?

This life that you’re leading?

I’m asking, it’s not without friends?

It’s none of my business, but as you describe it...

I suppose it all sounds a bit bleak.

Tom, the point is, we’re mostly totally exhausted...

I’m sure.

What are you asking?

Do I go out?

Oh yes, I go out!

On Fridays, we go to Thank God It’s Fridays.

On Saturdays, Sainsbury’s.

And also, yes, I have a few friends.

Well, good.

Adele is terrific.

She's teaching abroad for three years,

so I've taken up this place.

You call that an act of friendship?

Oh very funny.

It’s more like she’s trying to freeze you to death...

It doesn’t bother me.

Not after my childhood.

Being pushed by nannies beside stormy English seas...

You know he died?

Your father?

Dropped dead on the golf course about a year ago.

But, Kyra, I don’t understand.

I thought you were going to get lots of money.

Ah, well, yes, so did I.

So?

Tom, things are never as simple as that.

There were clubs. There were charities. There were good causes.

Oh come on...

Rotarians, dying children.

He gave me some money.

Not much.

In fact, very little.

But for Christ’s sake, how did you feel?

I didn’t feel anything.

What difference did it make?

All the difference in the world.

What do you mean?

If you’d had his money you would have been able to buy a new place.

Oh.

I mean, that’s what I’m saying. You would have been able to leave.

You could have bought somewhere decent.

I mean, yes, I suppose so...

You can hardly intend to live here the whole of your life?

I suppose I’m asking, what are you planning?

Planning?

Tom, I don’t expect this to make any sense to you.

But I’m planning to go on just as I am.

Do you want tea?

What?

Shall I make tea for you?

Tea?

Oh, yes. I mean, yes. Of course.

I don’t know.

I know it sounds silly.

There’s something...

I suppose, an idea of the future.

It seems to me important.

Why, sure.

I have an idea of the future as well.

Do you?

Yes.

Yes, I mean loosely.

A future doing a job I believe in.

Why does that bother you?

Because of a feeling...

it’s to do with something that happened with Alice.

Something which happened right at the end.

Do you know how I first met her?

I saw her modelling in a magazine. I thought, oh look, it’s Audrey Hepburn.

You cut out her picture.

That’s what I heard.

I sent her flowers.

Red roses.

I sent her these roses, day after day.

After a month of this, she finally agreed to meet me.

In a coffee shop.

She was quite charming.

Quiet, you know.

But she said, ‘I’m not a thing, don’t you see?

You can’t buy me.

Whatever you give me, I can’t ever be bought.’

I remember, even then, I was just laughing.

I said, ‘My God, do you not understand?’

You see, by that time, I’d already started.

I had a couple of restaurants, nothing too grand.

But I’d already worked out – I’m not an idiot – you either run money or else it runs you.

If you keep your money...

if you’re frightened to spend it, you become its prisoner.

OK, sure, when you’re making it, be as mean as you like.

But when you spend it, just give.

Give.

Show your contempt for it.

I said to her, there in that café, ‘I give for the pleasure of giving.

Just for the pleasure itself.’

But Alice understood that.

No.

She never accepted it.

I promise you.

Right to the end.

She always thought if I was giving, then somehow I must want something back.

You told me you built her that room to be ill in.

That’s what I’m saying.

Exactly.

That’s what I mean.

I gave it to her because...

oh shit...

I preferred it that she should be happy.

What’s wrong with that?

I wanted her to die in a place that she liked.

While she was dying, every night I brought her these flowers.

The very same flowers – red roses – that I’d given when we first met.

Then one day she was lying, her head on the pillow, I thought asleep.

She suddenly said, ‘No.

No more flowers.’

I said, ‘Why not?’ She said, ‘It isn’t the same.’

She said, ‘The flowers were when you loved me.

You and I were really in love.’

She said, ‘Now I don’t want them.’

She was one week from dying.

Kyra, that’s fucking hard.

Yes.

I’d tried to explain to her...

many times I’d tried to talk about you.

But she’d cut me off.

She’d made up her mind.

She had her opinion.

And believe me, she wasn’t willing to change.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

The one thing she had was her moral authority.

A wrong had been done.

That was it.

The last thing she wanted was to change her view of things, and certainly not by listening to mine.

She used her death as a way of punishing me.

Tom...

No, really.

Really!

You think I’m exaggerating.

She treated me as if I were still some sort of schoolboy: you betrayed me; that’s it.

Now in my opinion that’s not bloody fair.

Tom!

What I’m saying: it wasn’t one-sided.

It wasn’t simply that I was a shit.

You have to deal with this – part of the problem was Alice.

Right to the end, she couldn’t forgive.

And even now I feel out on a limb.

I see that.

I get home from the restaurants – that’s if I bother to go in at all – at ten-thirty I think that I’m tired, but then two hours later I’m sitting up, stock still in bed.

I go for a walk on the Common.

Sometimes.

I go out around three.

Just looking around, and thinking.

Always the same thought.

I find myself thinking: something must come of all this.

I try to go out.

I try to enjoy myself.

I think: oh tonight, I’ll go out, I’ll get drunk.

But my foot’s on the floor, I’m pumping, I’m flooring that fucking pedal, and nothing’s moving.

I’m getting no fucking pleasure at all.

It’s like, you know, like earlier you were saying, how all the time you felt you’d been loyal to her.

You’d also been loyal to something inside yourself.

I suppose I feel: what happens now?

Do we just leave it?

Just leave it completely?

And if we did, isn’t that like admitting our guilt?

Tom...

No, look, isn’t that like saying we did behave shabbily?

And, oh, it was just an affair!

And then when she found out, it was over?

Doesn’t that seem to you wrong?

Tom, you know there’s something which you do have to deal with.

There is this whole world I’m now in.

It’s a world with quite different values.

The people, the thinking is different...

it’s not at all like the world which you know.

I mean, if we ever...

if we...

what I’m saying...

if we can work out a way of keeping in touch...

then you have to know that I have made certain decisions. And these are decisions you have to respect.

Why, I mean, yes.

Good.

Surely.

I’m not a complete idiot.

No.

You’re saying you’ve made an informed and serious choice.

You’ve chosen to live in near-Arctic conditions somewhere off the North Circular.

No, really.

Why should I have any problem with that?

I promise.

I’m deeply impressed with it.

I assure you, it gives me no problem at all.

Put a bucket in the corner to shit in, and you can take hostages and tell them this is Beirut!

Tom, I have to tell you, this place is really quite reasonable.

Oh really?

As it happens, I get it at a very cheap rent.

I should hope!

It’s you, Tom.

The fact is, you’ve lost all sense of reality.

This place isn’t special.

It’s not specially horrible.

For God’s sake, this is how everyone lives!

Oh please, please let’s be serious...

I mean it.

Kyra, honestly...

No, this is interesting, this is the heart of it.

It wasn’t until I left your restaurants...

those carpaccio- and ricotta-stuffed restaurants of yours...

it wasn’t till I deserted that Chelsea milieu...

Which in my memory you liked pretty well...

I do like it, yes, that isn’t something I’d ever deny...

but it wasn’t until I got out of your limousines...

until I left that warm bubble of good taste and money in which you exist...

Thank you.

It was only then I remembered most people live in a way which is altogether different.

Well, of course.

And you have no right to look down on that life!

You’re right.

Thank you.

Of course.

That’s right.

However.

In one thing you’re different.

I do have to say to you, Kyra, in one thing you’re different from everyone else in this part of town.

How is that?

You’re the only person who has fought so hard to get into it, when everyone else is desperate to get out!

All right, very funny.

For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve loved this.

Loved what?

Whenever I say anything serious, there’s nothing you like more than winding me up.

Yes, I’m afraid that is true.

But it’s hard to resist winding people up when they’ve little metal keys sticking out of their backs.

And what does that mean?

OK, you’re right.

I know nothing about anything.

As you would say, I’m pampered.

I admit it.

Frank drives me round.

But even I know that East Ham is on one side of London, and this place we’re now in is somewhere quite else!

So?

That is just chance.

Oh really?

That’s just how it happened.

A friend found this flat!

Adele was desperate.

She was in the most desperate straits.

All right, I admit it wasn’t exactly convenient...

It was sort of a sacrifice, is that the word?

You work in one dreadful place.

But of course for you, that’s not nearly enough.

You must punish yourself further by living in another dreadful place.

And spend the whole day commuting between them!

Oh, for God’s sake, that’s not what I do.

And, what’s more, listening to the people on the journey, mopping up their every remark.

As if they were Socrates, as if they were Einstein, just because they happen to travel by bus.

Remember?

I come from bog-ordinary people, me.

No solicitors hanging on my family tree!

If you start out ordinary, I promise you, one thing you’re spared, this sentimental illusion that ordinary people can teach you anything at all.

I tell you, it’s this, it’s this that’s so interesting.

How you’re threatened...

Me, threatened?

Of course.

By what?

I remember.

As soon as any quite normal person is praised – a waiter, a chambermaid, someone who’s doing a quite lowly job – you become like a dog on a leash.

You can’t wait for them to do something stupid, and great!

You’ve found your moment to bite.

That isn’t true.

Oh, isn’t it?

I remember once saying I thought that Frank did his best to hide it, but underneath he was really quite bright.

You said, ‘Oh come on, let’s face it, Kyra, there’s a reason he’s a driver...’

Well, what am I meant to say?

You want me to lie?

It’s only the truth!

You don’t talk to him.

You don’t even talk to him.

Frank?

I talk to Frank.

He tells me how Tottenham are doing, he tells me who Cindy Crawford is sleeping with now...

Oh, really!

I mean, please.

I’m not saying that Frank was born stupid.

Believe me, I wouldn’t say that.

But if you turned him upside down, his brains would come out on the floor.

Why do you think I’m working where I am?

I’m sick of this denial of everyone’s potential.

Whole groups of people just written off!

Oh I see, right, you’ve been reborn.

Now I understand you...

Tom...

You see good in everyone now!

How comforting!

Of course.

But if I could be reborn as anyone, I’m not sure Julie Andrews would be my first choice.

I mean, Kyra, please!

As you’d say: let’s be serious!

You must know what’s happening.

Jesus Christ, just look at this place!

I mean, it is screaming its message.

For instance, I tell you, look at that heater!

Sitting there fulfilling some crucial psychological role in your life.

There are shops, I mean, you know, shops, proper shops that exist in the street.

These shops sell heaters.

They are not expensive.

But of course they are not what you’re looking for.

Because these heaters actually heat!

You accuse me of being a monster.

You say that I’m guilty.

You tell me that I’m fucking up the life of my horrible son.

But the difference is, at least I admit it.

At least this evening I took that on board.

But you!

Jesus!

It’s like talking to a Moonie.

I’ve not set off like some fucking missionary to conduct some experiment in finding out just how tough I can make my own way of life.

You think that’s what I’m doing?

You really think that’s what this is?

I mean, I’ve been listening, I’ve been listening to this stuff you’ve been telling me – the bus!

The school!

Even the kind of place that you choose to live – and, I’m thinking, my God, my dear old friend Kyra’s joined some obscure religious order.

The Kensal Rise chapter!

She’s performing an act of contrition.

You say to me, Lord goodness, everything’s psychological.

I can’t be happy because I’ve not come to terms with things that I’ve done.

But you – you’re like Page One.

A textbook Freudian study!

Your whole fucking life is an act of denial!

It’s so bloody clear.

You know what it’s called?

Throwing Teddy in the corner!

You’re running so fast you don’t even know you’re in flight.

Running?

Yes.

Of course.

Yes, it’s obvious.

I suppose you couldn’t tell me.

I’m running from what?

Do I need to say?

Oh, I mean, that really is contemptible!

Why do men always think it’s all about them?

Because in this case...

it is!

I’ll say this for you.

You always understood procedure.

You’ve always known the order in which things should be done.

You fuck me first.

Then you criticise my life-style...

Now Kyra...

Doing it the other way round, of course, would be a terrible tactical mistake.

I mean, if you’d started by calling me weak and perverse, if you’d told me straight off I was fleeing from you...

But the great restaurateur knows the order.

You don’t serve the pudding before the fucking soup!

I refrained from commenting only because it’s so bloody obvious.

I didn’t actually think it needed to be said.

You have a first-class degree, for Christ’s sake.

Oh, really!

You came out top of your year.

I can’t see anything more tragic, more stupid than you sitting here and throwing your talents away.

Am I throwing them away?

I don’t think so.

Kyra, you’re teaching kids at the bottom of the heap!

Well, exactly!

I would say I was using my talents.

It’s just I’m using them in a way of which you don’t approve.

God, you claim I’m dismissive of people, you think I don’t give them a chance.

But any of those people who work for me...

when they saw what you were doing with the gifts that God gave you...

they would be so bloody furious.

Would they?

Of course!

They wouldn’t understand you, any more than I do.

They would simply say you were shallow and spoilt.

You know you could be teaching at any university.

They’d take you today!

Anywhere you liked!

But oh no!

Of course not, for Kyra nowhere is good enough.

Except of course somewhere that’s no good at all...

Of course it’s only this country, only here in this country, it’s thought to be a crime to get on.

Anything rather than achieve!

What you call ‘achieve’!

Sitting in North London, just spinning your wheels.

Out of stubbornness.

Sheer goddamned female stubbornness.

‘Female’?

That’s a very odd choice of word.

You see, I’m afraid I think this is typical.

It’s something that’s happened...

it’s only happened of late.

That people should need to ask why I’m helping these children.

I’m helping them because they need to be helped.

Everyone makes merry, discussing motive.

Of course she does this.

She works in the East End.

She only does it because she’s unhappy.

She does it because of a lack in herself.

She doesn’t have a man.

If she had a man, she wouldn’t need to do it.

Do you think she’s a dyke?

She must be fucked up, she must be an Amazon, she must be a weirdo to choose to work where she does...

Well, I say, what the hell does it matter why I’m doing it?

Why anyone goes out and helps?

The reason is hardly of primary importance.

If I didn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done.

I’m tired of these sophistries.

I’m tired of these right-wing fuckers.

They wouldn’t lift a finger themselves.

They work contentedly in offices and banks.

Yet now they sit pontificating in parliament, in papers, impugning our motives, questioning our judgements.

And why?

Because they themselves need to feel better by putting down everyone whose work is so much harder than theirs.

You only have to say the words ‘social worker’...

‘probation officer’...

‘counsellor’...

for everyone in this country to sneer.

Do you know what social workers do?

Every day?

They try and clear out society’s drains.

They clear out the rubbish.

They do what no one else is doing, what no one else is willing to do.

And for that, oh Christ, do we thank them?

No, we take our own rotten consciences, wipe them all over the social worker’s face, and say, ‘If –’ FUCK!

– ‘if I did the job, then of course if I did it...

oh no, excuse me, I wouldn’t do it like that...’

Well, I say: ‘OK, then, fucking do it, journalist.

Politician, talk to the addicts.

Hold families together.

Stop the kids from stealing in the streets.

Deal with couples who beat each other up.

You fucking try it, why not?

Since you’re so full of advice.

Sure, come and join us.

This work is one big casino.

By all means.

Anyone can play.

But there’s only one rule.

You can’t play for nothing.

You have to buy some chips to sit at the table.

And if you won’t pay with your own time...

with your own effort...

then I’m sorry.

Fuck off!’

All right, very well, I do see what you’re saying.

I should hope so.

This work you’re doing leaves you deeply fulfilled.

But, Kyra, are you also saying you’re happy?

Oh come on now, Tom, that isn’t fair!

Why not?

That’s a shitty kind of question.

It’s a game!

I’m not playing that game!

The funny thing is – do you see?

– you talk about escaping your father.

You were always telling us.

The chilly, cold childhood you had!

But here you are, building exactly the same kind of bunker that he did...

Nonsense!

Living exactly the same kind of isolated life.

You end up here in this room.

With ice on the windowpane.

The wind still blowing off the bloody English Channel.

And no one allowed to get near...

The only time you haven’t been lonely, the only time you actually lived a proper life among friends, was when you lived in our family.

And you know bloody well that is true.

On no account must I be happy.

On no account must I have succeeded in getting away.

You walk in this room, and at once you’re picking up folders...

What folders?

Glancing at the bookshelves.

Lifting my papers.

Oh my God, does she have a boyfriend?

Oh, really!

Is there any trace of a man?

I never did any such thing.

Looking for any male objects.

Any gifts.

Any ties.

Any socks.

Oh come on now, that’s ridiculous.

Is it?

Your whole body language expresses it.

Ownership!

I think you’ve patrolled this room fifty times.

Inspected its edges.

You even smelt the fucking bed!

Like an animal.

The whole thing’s about possession.

Kyra, you know that’s not true.

I mean, apart from anything, there is the arrogance, the unbelievable arrogance of this middle-aged man to imagine that other people’s behaviour – his ex’s behaviour – is always in some direct reaction to him.

Well, it is!

You were saying – my God!

– you were telling me you don’t think of us as objects.

I don’t.

We’re not possessions, that’s what you say!

Yet you stand there complaining your wife omitted to forgive you.

She did!

I have to ask you, Tom, why the hell should she?

When all the time you were dreaming of somebody else.

All right.

I mean, Jesus...

All right!

Earlier this evening you were telling me that all the time she was dying you were meanwhile thinking about me!

That’s right!

Yet you’re standing there seriously demanding my sympathy for the terrible hurt which you’re claiming she’s done to you!

I mean, even you, Tom...

even you must see it.

I know, being a successful businessman – sweet wife, me adoring you as well!

– you’re richly deserving of compassion, I know your life was really jolly hard...

All right.

But even you must see the balance of sympathy in this case maybe...

just maybe lies somewhere else.

You only say that because you weren’t around.

Oh, that again!

Because that’s at the heart of it.

That’s at the heart of all this.

Is that what you think?

You know what I’m saying is right.

You simply walked out!

You simply walked out on me!

That is a fact.

And what’s more, you did not consult me.

You made a decision which I never approved.

Approved?

You mean, you signed no consent form...

All right...

You took no executive decision?

I was never filed next to Alice.

Diminishing assets!

Oh, very funny.

Oh yes, very smart!

You did not downsize me, delayer me, you did not have a drains-up meeting to discuss the strategic impact of letting me go?

You mean I just went and there was no management buy-out?

Oh, is this your idea of satire?

And I suppose it’s meant to be at my expense?

I knew this job of yours would make you a smartarse.

Teacher!

Of course.

It’s a joke.

All teachers look down on business!

They all mock business!

Tom, I’m just asking, but are you developing just a bit of a chip?

Not at all.

I mean, like earlier...

earlier this evening, you were going on about ‘business’.

‘No one understands business,’ that’s what you said.

Suddenly, I must say, I hear it everywhere.

These so-called achievers telling us they have a grievance.

The whole of society must get down on their knees and thank them, because they do something they no longer call ‘making money’.

Now we must call it something much nicer.

Now we must call it ‘the creation of wealth’...

Putting money in your pocket.

And the rest of us, we’re ungrateful...

we’re immoral...

we must simply be envious...

You have to laugh.

It’s this modern phenomenon.

Self-pity!

Self-pity of the rich!

Well, I tell you, I spend my time among very different people.

People who often have nothing at all.

And I find in them one great virtue at least: unlike the rich, they have no illusions that they must once have done something right!

Nor do they suffer from delicate feelings.

They don’t sit about whining.

How misunderstood and undervalued they are.

No, they’re getting on with the day-to-day struggle of trying to survive on the street.

And that street, I tell you...

if you get out there...

if you actually have to learn to survive, well, it’s a thousand times harder than leading an export drive, being in government, or...

yes, I have to say, it’s even harder than running a bank.

And the sad thing, Tom, is that you once knew that.

When I first met you, you knew that full well.

It marked you.

That was the charm of you.

It made you different.

And I’m not sure the moment at which you forgot.

Well, thank you.

Not at all.

I needed that lecture.

It wasn’t a lecture.

It was good of you.

Henceforth I’ll try not to complain.

Of course I’m disqualified from having any feelings, because I’ve made some money.

I didn’t say that.

No, you said something near it.

For you, people are no longer people, it seems.

Now they’re symbols.

And I am a symbol of...

what does it matter?

Something you’re plainly angry with.

Oh come on, you know it’s not as simple as that.

I can see that you’re furious.

I’m not sure I wholly know why.

Come with me.

Just spend a day with me.

Then I think it will be pretty clear.

Oh I’m sure.

There’s plenty of injustice.

God knows, it’s always been there.

The question is why you’ve gone out to look for it.

You see, it’s a funny thing, you’ve always said yes to everyone.

It’s something I noticed right from the start.

Everyone liked you for this very reason.

The first time they meet you, they always say, ‘Kyra, what a nice person!’ Always.

‘Kyra, no question, she’s a good sort...’ It’s typical.

Your friend needs a tenant.

To you, oh, it’s no problem.

You’ll do it.

There’s no inconvenience.

You’re happy to do it.

That’s who you are.

Even for us, when you started.

You were happy to babysit when Alice and I wanted to go out.

It used to amaze me.

I used to ask myself why there was only one person, one person in the world my friend Kyra ever said no to.

And that is the man who asked her if she’d be his wife.

I remember, I remember that morning so clearly.

I remember coming downstairs.

Then you were at the office.

I rang you.

I said, ‘I’m afraid she’s discovered.

This is our moment.

It’s finally possible.

So now at last we make a clean break...’ You put down the phone.

For the rest of the day I couldn’t find you.

At the office they said you’d simply walked out.

I did.

Why?

My marriage was finished.

You knew that.

And Alice herself had no wish to go on.

You could have had a thousand reactions.

You could have gone to try and talk to Alice.

You could have come to me.

But no.

You did something cowardly.

You picked up your bags and walked out.

Oh, you always said you did it for Alice.

Partly.

That’s what you told me.

When I finally found you, you said, ‘I had to do it.

I did it for Alice.

And for the children as well.’

But that wasn’t so.

Well, was it?

What do you want me to say?

You didn’t give a fuck about Alice’s feelings.

Alice’s feelings were just an excuse.

I mean, even tonight, you were telling me, you told me: an adulterous love is the best.

Well, let me tell you it isn’t.

The best thing is loving with your whole heart.

Yes, and what’s more, out in the open.

The two of you.

That’s when there’s risk.

Not the risk of discovery.

But the risk of two people really setting off on their own.

But that means all the things you’ve avoided.

Really giving yourself.

Even now you’re doing it.

You’re telling me how much you love the people!

How much you’re in love with the courage of the people on the bus!

Yes, of course you love them.

Because in three minutes you can get off.

Do you think I don’t see it?

Loving the people’s an easy project for you.

Loving a person...

now that’s something different.

Something that will take you right to the brink.

That isn’t fair.

Isn’t it?

I think it is.

You love the people because you don’t have to go home with them.

You love them because you don’t have to commit.

You’re very cruel.

I’ve made a life here.

Yes.

You can’t open a paper, that’s what you say.

You have banished papers, you tell me, you’ve banished TV.

I mean, why?

What’s the reason?

It’s some kind of insanity.

What, you feel the world is somehow letting you down?

You go off to do what you call ‘rebuilding’.

‘Rebuild your life’, that’s what you say.

Start again.

But how can you?

Kyra, look at you now!

It won’t even work.

It can’t work.

Because it’s built on a negative.

It’s built on escape.

What is it in you?

This thing that you have.

Why doesn’t it yield?

I don’t understand it.

No.

I honestly don’t think you do.

Look...

You never will, Tom.

It’s the difference between us.

It’s kind of a gulf.

You’re right.

I’ve become my anger.

And now I think you should go.

Go?

Yes.

You got what you wanted. Didn't you?

You wanted me to say I never loved you enough.

Well, plainly, in your view, I didn’t.

And so that’s the end of it. Isn’t it?

And these are books which I have to mark.

Oh come on, these fucking books, these fucking children.

Marking fucking books in the middle of the fucking night!

You know what we had.

Why can’t you admit it?

I think you should change.

Yes, hello.

I'm at 43 Canon House.

There's a friend of mine going to Wimbledon.

Yeah, I understand that.

A doorbell.

Hollis.

Yes, thank you, as soon as you can.

I got you a cab.

Oh, all right...

They say they’re not sure, but they think they can get through the snow.

By the time I get home it’s going to be time to go into work.

You look ridiculous.

I’m afraid you’ve forgotten your tie.

You ask me if I remember that day.

I remember the days before it.

Why I wrote those letters at all.

Do you remember why I had written?

Of course.

You went off on holiday.

Yes.

For once, on my own.

Because you two couldn’t come – I think a new restaurant was opening.

That’s right.

And I was exhausted.

So I insisted.

And you said, ‘Kyra, you promise, whatever you do, you must write...’

They were wonderful letters.

I’m glad you thought so.

I can remember, the first day going down to the beach and thinking...

I am going to make this man very happy.

I am going to tell him what he really wants to hear.

It was also the truth.

Even now, I remember, I remember writing, ‘You will never know the happiness you’ve given me.

I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you...’

After a few days, people on the beach were all looking and laughing.

This strange English girl, I was chalk white, under a parasol, ordering just an occasional beer.

You say I can’t give, that I’ve never given.

I gave in those letters.

I gave my whole heart.

‘Just to think of you fills me with warmth and with kindness.

All I want is that it should go on...’

Yes.

Then of course I got back to London.

I said to you, ‘Tom, those letters I wrote...’ You said to me, ‘Yes, don’t worry, it’s fine, there’s a safe in our house.

It’s upstairs in the attic.

There’s no reason Alice would ever go near...’

Then, later, on the phone.

My first question to you on the phone: ‘How did she find them?’ ‘Oh,’ you said...

Just for the night, you’d left them tucked away in the kitchen.

That’s right.

But I told you, the night before I’d got them out to read them.

I admit, I’d had a few drinks.

Alice was asleep.

I thought, I’m going to wake her if I go up to the attic.

So I thought, just for this evening, I’ll hide them in the kitchen.

Then later I’ll put them back.

But?

Oh, for Christ’s sake, you know what happened.

I was going out to work and...

Look, I don’t know... Frank had been waiting, he was bullying me, telling me I had to hurry up.

For whatever reason...

I went off to work, and yes, I forgot!

You left them in the kitchen.

Look, I’m not saying it was highly intelligent.

I mean, at the time, I said it was crazy.

I told you: it was stupid.

It was remiss.

No, it wasn’t remiss, Tom.

It was deliberate.

Please, please don’t start lying!

Don’t start lying to me now!

Of course.

Do you think I’m proud of it?

Do you think it was easy?

Just to walk out of your lives?

Every day, I’ve thought of the wreckage, of what must have happened to Alice and you.

But I couldn’t stay.

I couldn’t.

Breeze in to Alice and say, ‘Please understand, in my mind I never betrayed you.

Really, I promise you, you have our everlasting love and respect...’?

Do you think we could have been happy?

You and me?

Happy like murderers, perhaps.

And all the time I’d be thinking: the one thing...

the one thing I asked him never to do...

he went off and did it deliberately.

Kyra, that just isn’t true!

We had six years of happiness.

And it was you who had to spoil it.

With you, when something is right, it’s never enough.

You don’t value happiness.

You don’t even realise.

Because you always want more.

It’s part of the restlessness.

You say you knew that I loved and valued your family.

You knew how much you were loved.

But that can’t be true.

Well, can it? Because if you’d realised, why would you have thrown it away?

I love you ...

I still love you. for God’s sake!

I loved you more than anyone on earth.

But I’ll never trust you, after what happened.

It’s what Alice said.

You’ll never grow up.

There is no peace in you.

For me there is no comfort.

There’s no sense of rest.

The energy’s wonderful.

Oh God, I tell you the energy’s what everyone needs.

But with the energy comes the restlessness.

And I can’t live in that way.

You wanted a family. You say what you loved was family.

I’m happy to start a family again.

It’s too late.

And you know it.

He’s coming.

Your whisky.

I came here today, wanting forgiveness.

I thought you’d say, well, OK.

Things do just happen, that’s how it is.

The world’s not a court.

Most things are chance.

That’s what I’m saying.

A girl of eighteen walks down the King’s Road...

And in that girl, there’s infinite potential.

I suppose I just wanted some of that back.

Goodbye.

At least, if nothing more, come to one of the restaurants.

There are one or two which are really not bad.

I promise you, you know, on a good night, it’s almost as nice as eating at home.

Jesus Christ, all right!

Who is it?

I’m coming.

Surprise!

What are you doing here?

What have you got there?

Well, come up, don’t stand down there freezing.

It’s kind of a joke.

I just hope I can get it upstairs.

I don’t know, at the time it seemed funny...

Just put it down over there.

Jesus, what time is it?

I was frightened I’d miss you.

I was frightened you’d already be gone.

Christ Almighty, I’ve overslept.

It’s almost seven o’clock...

I don’t know.

Perhaps this is a crazy idea.

I don’t know what it is.

I’ve brought you breakfast.

You said you missed breakfast more than anything else.

I don’t believe it.

So here it is!

You make a wish and it’s here.

I went to the Ritz.

I’ve a friend.

He’s my best friend actually.

He was at school with me.

He works in the kitchen.

Is he in his gap year?

He is.

And he smuggled me this stuff.

All this silver.

Apparently they lose thirty ashtrays a week.

People put them in their pockets.

Still, that’s how the rich stay rich, I suppose.

Look – a real butter dish with proper ice cubes.

Unbelievable.

I’m afraid the toast’s a bit hard.

Charentais melon.

The orange has been freshly squeezed.

Marmalade.

And there are croissants.

At least I know the coffee is hot.

The eggs are scrambled.

Fantastic.

Well, they looked pretty nice when they left.

It doesn’t matter.

We’ll eat them.

Oh this is wonderful!

Bacon.

I thought you’d be pleased.

I didn’t eat last night.

And look, the pièce de résistance.

Just smell the napkins.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Hey, look, I mean, it’s just breakfast.

I’ve just brought you breakfast.

I know.

Are we going to eat it?

I have to eat quickly.

There’s a boy I’m late for.

I’m teaching him off my own bat.

Extra lessons. Early, so early!

Sometimes I think I must be going insane.

The alarm clock goes off. I wake at five-fifteen, five-thirty.

I think, what am I doing?

What is this all about?

But then I think, no, this boy has the spark.

It’s when you see that spark in someone...

This boy is fourteen, fifteen.

His parents are split.

He lives in this place I cannot describe to you.

It’s so awful he has to go to the bloody park to work.

I mean, to be a teacher, the only thing you really have going for you...

there’s only one thing that makes the whole thing make sense, and that is finding one really good pupil.

You set yourself some personal target, a private target, only you know it – no one else – that’s where you find satisfaction.

And you hope to move on from there.

And that is it, that’s being a teacher.

One private target, and that is enough.

It's a start.

Your chair.

Are you ready?

Yes, yes, I’m ready.

Then sit.

This looks terrific.

Come on, Edward, let’s eat.