All language subtitles for Zinc bed .2008

Firefighters may strike

if plans go ahead to halve
the number of fire engines

in five stations
in the capital today.

Joseph Conrad says
that inside every heart

burns the desire to set down
once and for all

a true record
of what has happened.

Come this way.

Of course, maybe for Conrad
that kind of thing was easy,

because maybe Conrad
was the kind of person

who could always work
out exactly what had happened.

If so, he was a lucky man.

Luckier than me anyway.

In my own life,
nothing that has happened,

nothing that can happen,

compares with the strangeness
of a single summer.

Sir.

The summer when I first met
Victor Quinn.

"Many are the stories with
interesting beginnings,

but harder to find are
the stories which end well."

I'm sorry?

Surely you can't
have forgotten.

Oh, right.
I see.

Your own words.

Though maybe you write
so many you lose track.

Victor Quinn.

- Paul Peplow.
- Of course.

"End well" in which sense?

Meaning a story ends well,
meaning happily for its subject,

or well, meaning in a way
which satisfies the reader?

Or did you intend both?

Both, I think.
It was just a book review.

- Drink?
- No, thank you.

Of course.
Wrong of me to ask.

Well, as you know,

I don't often agree
to be interviewed.

- It's kind of you.
- Not at all.

Why are you normally
so reclusive?

Ah, the notebook's
coming out.

How can you call me a recluse?
I live in the center of London.

- But you don't give interviews.
- I'm not an exhibitionist, no.

I'm a simple man.

I took the liberty of ordering for you.
I hope you don't mind.

And how did you know
I'd refuse a drink?

Well, I believe
you belong to

what cooks on television
call the vulnerable groups.

"Remember: don't put
brandy in this pudding,

- you endanger the vulnerable groups."
- No.

"Hello my name is Paul.
I'm an alcoholic."

You see? I've studied
the course myself.

It's not really a course.

No, a course
implies an end.

And in this case
there is no end.

I'm interested
in the meetings.

Are you?
Why is that?

Paul, we can talk
about anything you like.

But first of all you're
going to have to concede

the accuracy
of my intelligence.

I go to meetings, yes.

I've no idea
how you know.

Well, England is
a series of clubs;

No club more celebrated,

no club more socially
advantageous than yours.

Obviously you didn't go
very often.

But you say what you think
these meetings are.

A means.

One means of people
helping one another.

I suppose we should start
by discussing Flotilla,

its recent move
to the stock market.

A transparent success.
What's your question?

I was wondering what
your motives where.

What do I answer?
I did it for the money?

People will say I'm greedy.
I didn't do it for the money?

They'll say I'm unworldly,
I'm lying.

Paul, you of all people
must understand

the modern interview
is a form as rigid

and contrived as
the 18th-century gavotte.

Shall I just put
"He refused to answer"?

What, meaning he's a prick?

He agreed to the interview
then he refused to answer the questions.

Why of all people?

Why did you say me
of all people?

- A poet.
- Ah.

I read poetry.

I read yours.

"Love was the search,
the wheel, the line,

The open road,
the steep incline;

Things speeding by,
the final turn in view,

Next:
Something disastrous,

Overwhelming, new."

I hardly believe you'd be
paddling in journalism

if it weren't purely
for the money.

No.

I like the idea,
I promise you.

- Of this interview?
- No, the meetings.

I thought the meetings
amusing.

Amusing?

Obviously you're not
an alcoholic.

No, I'm not.

Meetings are a discipline.

They wouldn't be addictive
if they weren't.

Ah, right, I see.
Here we go.

All cults make
similar demands.

I think it's really stupid
calling AA a cult.

Actually, I think
it's quite dangerous.

Surely it's a classic cult.

You know, the chairs, the coffee,
the soul searching.

Believe me, I'm not denying
its usefulness.

You couldn't.
It saved my life.

I was found on the M4
dodging traffic naked

- in the middle of the night.
- Huh.

I don't need to question
the value of AA.

What brought you
to the motorway

so late at night?

None of my business,
you're right.

But presumably
you believe

one drink will lead you
on the road to hell.

- I do believe that, yes.
- That's what they teach.

It's also what I believe.

One drink, one drunk.

But it's not true,
is it?

I mean, if you'd
cured your own addiction

in the privacy
of your own home,

you could perfectly well
drink socially again.

I can't take that risk.

You won't take
that risk, you mean.

I think I'm missing
something here.

I'm here to do
an interview.

It's what I'm here to do.
No doubt you think you're being clever.

You think you're being provocative,
wind up the monkeys.

It's dinner party stuff.

"My God, you don't go to that
ridiculous AA, do you?"

- Only tell you one thing I've noticed.
- What thing?

Most of the people
who attack AA

are usually 10 times more fucked up
than the people they're attacking.

Yes,

but you must have views.
You must have theories.

I have no theories.
I have one aim in life.

Just the one?

My aim is to get to bed sober tonight.
That's my aim.

And I've found pragmatically
that the only means

of achieving
it's through AA.

It's the only method
which works.

And you have no fucking
right to talk about it.

Thank you.

Have you thought...

have you considered what
it would mean to be cured?

Of course.
I think of little else.

That's my point.
If you can't drink at all,

ever, then by definition
you're not cured.

What's your idea of cured?

"Thank you.

I'll just have the one.
Just the one for me. Thank you."

Think about it, Paul.
Consider.

It's only groups which
demand total abstinence.

Why? Because their intention
is not to stop you drinking.

Their principle aim

is to retain you
as a member of the group.

It's a familiar argument.

It's also nonsense.

I'm interested.
Tell me why.

Of course I went into AA
kicking and screaming.

- Ha.
- Everyone does.

Believe me,
I had 1000 reservations.

- Presumably you'd bottomed.
- Yes.

That's the phrase they use.
The M4.

Not just the M4.
Not just that one night, believe me.

Other nights?

You wake up in the morning

and you've fallen down
three flights of stairs.

Even so, even then
I was still reluctant.

I'm sure.
The poet.

I hated the idea,
sitting around late into the night.

I clung to the thought
"I'm not the sort of person

who sits in a circle
stripping himself bare."

Somehow I see you alone
with a girl come midnight.

Whatever.

Anyway, you go to meetings
because you have to.

Because it's your last chance.
It's your only chance.

Everyone has the right
to destroy their own life.

But to destroy
the lives of others?

Ah, yes.

Others.

You're right.
I was frightened of AA.

Guess why?

- In my heart I knew it would work.
- Because it works?

I no sooner walked into
the room than I intuited,

my God,
this is going to work.

"I'm not the sort of person
who does this," you say.

But what sort of person
are you by that stage?

- A worthless drunk.
- Yes.

It's that word worthless
I have trouble with.

I'll be honest.

I'm broke.

I'm completely broke.

I don't have
a fucking penny.

I can't get
a bank account.

The editor
pays me in cash.

- Where do you live?
- Camberwell.

Stretching the charity
of a last remaining friend.

- You?
- Regents Park.

Good.

Well, that's something
solid for the article.

Why don't you come back
to the office with me?

I'm sorry?

Well, I'd like you
to see where I work.

- I was a communist.
- Yeah?

What are you saying?
Is this the beginning of the interview?

Well, apparently newspapers have
taken to calling me a one-time Marxist.

I wasn't a Marxist,
I was a communist.

- I use the full shocker.
- All or nothing, eh?

And you mean it was a cult?
There were rules?

Conditions
of membership, yes.

All clubs have membership rules,
otherwise they wouldn't be clubs.

Not, of course, for the pleasure
of allowing people in.

Oh no. The far headier delight
of keeping people out.

British communists,
we were a select little band.

A snotty little group,
we were.

It's a familiar progress,
isn't it,

from student politics?
Communist to entrepreneur?

Well, you could say it was
just a matter of luck.

I stumbled across an idea,
analyzed the market,

make informed predictions

based upon available
financial data.

And pretty soon there was
scarcely an investor

who wasn't using
Flotilla software.

Capitalists make me laugh
because they understand nothing.

They talk about
strategy and markets

as if they
were in control.

They use soothing devices
like big houses

and hotels and servants.

They use luxury as a sort of massage
to persuade themselves

they've acted brilliantly,
that their actions have been brilliant.

- Whereas in fact?
- They've work hard, that's all.

They've worked hard
and they had a bit of luck.

Communism is night class.
It's where you learn.

Who is doing what to whom?

If you don't believe
the rich spend their time

fucking over the poor,
then I don't see how you make sense

of what goes on
in the world at all.

Look, forgive me, nobody can
mistake your wealth.

- No?
- And you make assumptions.

You use techniques
which I associate with the rich.

Or at least
with the powerful.

And what I mean is,
you'd read my poetry.

Is it a manner?

Is it a game?

You'd read my poetry
before the meeting.

"I know who you are. I've read
'This Too Shall Pass."'

And you think that's specifically
a technique of the rich, do you?

And what's more,
learning a whole verse.

"Love was the search,
the wheel, the line..."

- A line maybe, but a whole verse?
- Too much?

Good afternoon, Mr. Quinn.
This is what you asked for.

Good afternoon.

Hi.

Why don't you go inside?

- Well?
- Can I ask you something else?

What's your interest
in the meetings?

- I had a friend who quit.
- Quit alcohol?

No, quit AA.
Much harder.

- My friend came home one evening...
- Came home?

- To your home, you mean?
- She came back from a meeting.

My friend was convinced
that the purpose of the cult

was to reinforce her feelings
of worthlessness,

not to try and assuage them.
She never went back.

Surely she knew she'd have
to confront her illness.

Confront it by all means,
but then move on.

Do you think an addict
can ever move on?

Yes, well, this is at the heart
of the issue.

It is.
It is at the heart.

You see, my friend
had come to see

an addiction to AA
as far more sinister,

far more threatening than
her dependence on alcohol.

She felt they were...
how can I put it?

- sustaining her in a state

of suspended anxiety.

That they were instilling
a permanent fear

of the great crash
around the corner.

And in order to preserve
that fear and magnify it,

they were denying her
self-respect.

In that case I don't believe
she was alcoholic.

- No?
- An alcoholic has no self-respect.

I gave her
a gin and tonic.

She drank it.
We played Scrabble all evening.

I don't believe she was
addictive in the first place.

- Believe what you like.
- I don't believe it.

You know, Paul,
it seems to me

you have a problem
with self-esteem.

In what way, specifically?

Well, you accuse me
of mugging up on your poetry

in order to flatter you.

Does it not occur to you,
I mean does it really not occur to you,

that you insult yourself
with this suggestion

more than you insult me?

Your poetry is the reason

I have long wanted
to meet you.

Oh, I see.

- What did you like to drink?
- Sorry?

- What was your favorite drink?
- Mine?

- Yeah.
- Fatal weakness for Manhattans.

I would never have guessed.

Fiddling with cherries,
you think that's time well spent?

- And you?
- Oh, I like a Martini.

As well spent as fiddling
about with olives.

And if I offered
you one now?

That's it, isn't it?

If you were cured,
you'd be cured of the desire.

And who wants to be cured
of desire?

How's your friend
doing now?

My friend?
She's doing fine.

Mr. Quinn,
your car is here.

Well, it's been a great
pleasure meeting you.

Now I don't read newspapers,
but my impression is

that the modern practice
is for the journalist

to write the story
before the encounter.

So what I'm saying is
write what you like.

Invent my character.

I shall stand by whatever
opinions you ascribe to me.

I shall be your invention.

I very much hope
we can meet again.

Yes, I'd like
that too.

- I'll show you out.
- Thank you.

It has been a pleasure
to meet you, Mr. Peplow.

Call down to Tom. Tell him Victor's
out of here in 10 minutes.

As job interviews go, it was
one of the more peculiar.

No piece ever appeared.

I told the editor my subject
had been a no-show.

He said it was typical
of the man's arrogance

not even to turn up.

In fact, someone was needed
to write copy for Victor's website,

turning the prose
of the internet

into something like poetry.

I started working for Victor
the following week.

This is where you go.

You write your stuff
on the computer.

That's it.

- This is where I am?
- This is it.

Okay.

- You can manage that?
- Yeah.

Good.
Good luck.

The rhythm of the office
was pretty unusual.

When Victor was around
they all worked like slaves.

When he wasn't, then things
took a more casual turn.

No thank you.
I'm trying to stay off it.

What have you
come up with so far?

I was beginning to think that
I was going to be happy

doodling around
under no pressure,

manufacturing sentences
that would give the business

a little kick and allure.

I'd taken to staying
on in the evening

longer than anyone else

because I felt more secure
than at home.

Looking back,

I think that
may have been a mistake.

I'm waiting for my husband.

Yes?

You must be Paul Peplow.

I am.
Yes, I am.

He told me about you.

He said you
were working here.

You haven't seen him,
have you?

Are you gonna hang
on and wait?

No, I'm interested, really.

So what was she like?

Oh, you'd have to meet her
for yourself to decide.

Why?

Because from me you'll get
a partial account.

- Why?
- Why?

- Because why do you think?
- She really got to you.

And also she wanted to be an actress,
which wasn't easy.

Because I had to watch
television and...

That's not such a hardship.

- I don't know, look at her in helmets
and things.

- Viking helmets?
- No, police helmets, obviously.

- Oh.
- It's what actors have to do,

all the ones she knew. They played
police all the time, or doctors.

They play very few Vikings.

She was a doctor
in one of those series

where they go to the laundry
cupboard to make love.

Young doctors, you know,
working 35-hour shifts

and fucking each other
in the middle of the night.

Oh.

So you had to watch your
girlfriend with other people?

Simulating, yeah.

- How was that?
- Fine, actually. I didn't mind it.

I minded it more when she
did it in real life.

Hmm.

Is that why it ended?
It's over?

Yeah.
Yeah, it's over.

She was this face
on television

so everyone thought
they knew her.

- But only I knew her.
- Only you?

Well, me
and a dozen others.

The Dirty Dozen,
as I came to think of them.

What about you?
Any such figure in your life?

- Uh...
- Why are we talking about this?

Because...

it's often more interesting,
don't you think?

In what way?

Talking to people
you don't know.

Maybe.

I don't live that kind
of life anymore.

What?
What life?

- Oh, you know, girls, bars.
- Mmm.

Girls go with bars, and in my mind
bars are long since forbidden.

Bars frighten you?

No, everything
frightens me.

Look, what happens is...

do you know about this?

Do I?

You're focused on
one thing, aren't you?

You tell me.

Your recovery.

You want to recover.
That's all you want.

And the other person's
got tired of clearing up.

They're tired
of tidying up after you.

Go on.

You're sick. You're reeling.
Whatever. You're in agony.

The guilt.

- Exactly.
- You're drinking again.

And the other person says,
"I don't want to play nurse.

I refuse to play nurse.
I won't do it."

Especially when she plays nurse
on the television already.

Exactly.

So then maybe after a while
you start to think,

okay, this is getting
much better.

I'm beginning to
clean up, I'm sober.

Hey this is
starting to work.

- One day at a time.
- Precisely.

And you think, at last,
I deserve a fucking break.

I've been to 50,000 fucking meetings
and I deserve a break.

And then one day Clem
turns to you.

Your girlfriend informs you
that she's an honest person,

so she must inform you that
she's been meeting other people.

Other people who are,
as it were, not you.

The reason being,
Clem says,

is that you were a drunk and so
what was she supposed to do?

Do you believe her?

Believe her how?
Believe she slept with them?

No, believe her reasons.

She slept with
a dozen other men.

A dozen.
And then...

you're warming up a dinner
from Marks & Spencer.

Turn on the television.
You're pouring the Coca-Cola.

She says,
"You know something, Paul?

Since you've cleaned up
you've become kind of boring.

You were so much more interesting
when you were drunk."

And were you?

Early on she said
no commitments.

Later I said,
"I agreed, no commitments.

But somehow when you said
no commitments, forgive me,

I did not foresee
the number 12."

Well, mind you,
I mean, let's be clear.

AA is my sole hope.

It's my sole
source of hope.

- Is it?
- I should be there now.

Should?

No wonder if occasionally I say
"I can't get to a meeting.

I couldn't get to the meeting.
I was held up at Flotilla.

I ran into
the boss's wife."

I'm glad you did.
I'm really glad.

People don't want
to know me.

They want to know
my husband.

Or rather they want
to know me

because that way they get
to meet my husband.

- Does that upset you?
- No no. Not at all.

No. It amuses me.

I've a life of my own.

And let's face it...

he's a fascinating man.

When he met me,
I was a drunk.

What time is it?

- 8:00.
- Wow. I must get going.

Yeah.

It's silly. We must be the last
people here.

What about you?

What?

Victor said you used
to go to meetings.

I did.

You stopped?

I did.

- You don't...
- What?

I'm asking
if you're clean.

Let's just say,

whatever feelings of guilt you suffer,
I suffered much worse.

Why do you imagine Victor
employed you?

You say. You tell me. Why do you
think Victor employed me?

I imagine in some way

you remind him of me.

Tell me what we're doing.

Tell me what's going on.

What are we doing?

We're talking.

That's all.
We're talking.

Are you going to hold on?

I've nothing else to do.

My flat's empty as usual.

There's nothing
in the larder.

You should stock up.
What do you live on?

Pulses, they're called.

And cheap nourishing stews.

They tell you at the meetings,
don't they, never to go hungry.

Hunger's the enemy,
they say.

Or angry.

Hungry, angry,
lonely, tired.

No, you mustn't be
any of those.

The point is,
it's not just Clem.

- No?
- It's not just Clem I have to avoid.

Ridiculous.

All women I have to avoid.

I'm much happier with blokes.
Or in groups.

Talking's fine.
This is fine.

But any...
any contact,

any real closeness
I have to avoid.

I'm a recovering alcoholic.

And I can't write.

I'm blocked.

I'm sorry?

Then what's good is that I've
had to answer the question

what makes me, um...
what makes me drink?

And what was the answer?

Finally?
Anger.

Anger makes me drink.
Therefore I have to avoid anger.

Another way of putting it...
I have to avoid emotion.

So what do you do about that?
Avoid emotion?

- Avoid life?
- No.

You really think
it's that simple?

It's quite
convenient, actually.

Anyone you don't like you can
just tell them to fuck off.

"Sorry. You're endangering
my recovery."

I mean, that's the advantage
of it being a disease.

- Is it a disease?
- Yeah, of course it is.

- There's no medical proof.
- It is. It's an illness.

Is that what Clem thought?

- Clem?
- She blamed the drink.

- Yeah, of course.
- That's what I hate.

Clem sleeps with 12 men
yet she blames the drink.

- She doesn't blame herself.
- Now look...

I'm telling you, Paul,
you have to break out.

You have to look
at yourself objectively,

see yourself
from the outside.

You're young,
you're talented,

you're good-looking.

Paul, please tell me,

just what exactly is your
problem meant to be?

You know nothing.

You know nothing of what
went on in my life.

Fuck you.

You lost a girl.
That's all.

I lost the girl, as you call her,
because of a habit I had.

Which was that I couldn't
walk past a glass of whiskey

at 50 yards without
wanting to drink it.

No. Correction:
without drinking it,

and then the rest
of the bottle.

Drink humiliates you
and then it kills you.

Paul, not everything that
happens is always your fault.

I didn't say it was.

No, you didn't.

But I look at you
and I know you.

I was you, remember?

I was 25, an idiot,

coked out of my head.

Why do you think
Clem slept around?

No, you say.
Why do you think she did?

- Do you really want to know?
- Yes.

It'll come as bad news.

Break the news.
I can take it.

I promise
I can take it.

Clem slept with other men
because it was her choice.

- No.
- It's her life!

She chooses
to sleep with 12 men.

That's her
magnificent choice.

Paul, you're not
addicted to alcohol.

You're addicted to blame.

I know what I did.

I lied.

I lied consistently for the 18 months
we were together.

I barely let out a single
word that was true.

Yes, but why?

Why do you think?
Like all drinkers,

to hide my drinking,
of course.

Was that all?

If I'm honest,
also to hide my contempt.

- Hide your contempt for what?
- If you must know,

- I hid my contempt for her acting.
- Why?

- Because it was fucking awful.
- Bad, was it?

It was embarrassing.
It was the pits.

So you were in a long-term
relationship

with what is known technically
as a bad actress.

Very funny.

Seems to be clear
what drove you to drink.

- I can't do this.
- Do what?

Argue.
Relate.

I got out of this.
I put it all behind me.

I've been dry
for over a year.

I have one thread of hope.

I go to meetings.
I can't...

You can't what, Paul?
You can't what?

I can't.
I can't...

You can't what?

Elsa.

Elsa.

I'm here.

Victor, I'm here.

Well, we had a massive fight,

screaming at each other.

He was screaming at me,
"You're a bitch.

You're a fucking bitch."

And I picked up a chair...

I mean,
I'm not a big woman.

All I could think was

I'm going to kill
this fucking bastard.

And my daughter was
screaming at me to stop.

I mean, all I can remember
was the look

of absolute terror

and horror on her face.

I think about
the fifth step,

admitting the wrongs.

At least I've admitted
them to myself.

I haven't had a drink
since that night.

And I'd have to thank her
I suppose,

as much as
everybody here

who's helped me so much.

On the whole,
all things considered,

I think I can say now
with some certainty

that Elsa was not
what I needed.

I was a recovering
alcoholic.

I needed stability.

An awful lot
of fascinating things

happen when you get involved
with Elsa Quinn.

But I don't number
stability among them.

I didn't see Victor
on a daily basis.

I began to think he'd hired
me and forgotten me.

And I never saw Elsa.

But one evening,
quite casually,

for no reason it seemed,

Victor asked me back
to their place.

Perhaps I should have said no,
but I didn't know how.

And besides,
I'd never met anyone

who actually lived
in Regents Park.

Paul.
I'm making margaritas.

But there's no way
I'm going to offer you one.

There's no way
I'm going to drink one.

- Quite right.
- Thank you.

Summer at last.
Beautiful isn't it?

You're very lucky.

- Do you remember how to make them?
- Not clearly.

You put the glass
in the fridge,

salt around the glass.

Put the tequila
in the freezer.

- Cointreau in the shaker.
- That's right.

Now what you're after is
something lip-puckeringly cold.

It should have
the kick of a donkey.

Cold as hell in the mouth,
hot as hell on the way down.

- What could be better?
- It depends.

Now glasses.

So what do you think?

About what?

About the place?

It's wonderful.

It is, isn't it?

Yes, we've only been
here six months.

I don't know
if Elsa told you.

What?

I don't know what Elsa's
told you in general.

In general?

I don't know, just this
and that really.

I've only met
her once, I think.

About what?

About?

Yes. What has Elsa
told you about?

- About the house.
- Oh, I see.

Setting her heart on it
and how convenient it is.

I don't want to bore you
with what you already know.

- Please.
- What, bore you?

- Elsa what?
- Hmm?

Elsa what?

She told you
it was great for her

because it was
so near work?

So she could walk
to work? What?

Something like that.

And how is work?
How are you getting along?

- Oh...
- To be frank, I'm surprised.

- Why?
- I had you down as a Luddite.

- I can't think why.
- The stereotype of a poet, I'm afraid.

Poets always have this longing
to go back, don't they?

You know, childhood,
lost love.

What would poets
do without them?

But why did you appoint me

- unless you thought I could handle it?
- Some people can't.

And if I'd failed,
would you have sacked me?

Paul, with relish.

Paul.
Goodness.

How are you?

Elsa.

Sorry. I invited Paul
back for a drink.

He was at a loose end.
I thought it would be nice.

It is.
It is nice.

Have you said hello
to the children?

I'd rather
drink margaritas.

- You got Paul a Coke?
- I'm fine.

- I'm just enjoying the evening.
- Oh, perfection.

Victor was saying what pleasure
he'd take in sacking me.

I've no doubt.
"You have to be ruthless."

Victor always says,

"Oh, you have to be
so ruthless in life."

It's true.
You do.

He manages to imply that somehow
it's a terrific effort.

You don't like to say,
"Victor, for you

it seems to come
quite easily."

I couldn't look someone
in the eye and sack them.

Couldn't you? Why not?
What would stop you?

- Scruples.
- Scruples?

Scruples about what?

Losing their good opinion?

Is that what
matters to you?

That the world thinks
you're a nice person?

- No.
- What then?

That I should be
a nice person.

- Ah, very good.
- Yes.

But can one be nice
in this world?

Is there such
a thing as nice?

There's such
a thing as good.

Good, as a noun, yes.
Elsa does good.

She administers a charity.
So by definition my wife does good.

The homeless get homes,

the roofless roofs.
But is she good?

I don't claim to be good.

This drink's very strong.

- Is it?
- Yes, it's very strong.

- It's almost pure alcohol.
- Hmm.

Of course, there was one time
with something called good.

When I was young there was
something called the common good.

That phrase has a wonderful
period ring to it.

It's rather gone out of fashion now,
don't you think?

If I'd been cleverer
I'd have spotted that sooner.

I wouldn't have wasted all those
years outside the factory gates.

- Were they wasted?
- I'd have entered business earlier.

Hence, I'd be richer.
I'd be freer.

I'd have an even
bigger house.

You don't think
you're sounding

just a little bit imperial,
my darling?

Just a little.

Something in the mood
of the evening perhaps.

Did Elsa tell you
how we met?

No.

I met her in a bar.
It's true.

In Copenhagen.
She was smashed.

Had you been
married before?

Never.

Victor doesn't believe
the young should marry.

It's so.

It's one of his
favorite theories.

Try me.

Well, I'd have thought
it was obvious.

It's a problem of evolution.
Ask a Darwinist.

Fidelity is effectively
impossible when you're young.

In my experience, you leave
the young alone five minutes,

at once they fuck each other.
Well, you'd know about this.

- Would I?
- I'm speculating.

I look at the
young men in my office.

I miss nothing.

I love office romance.
I adore it.

I look at them all with
their stiff little cocks

and the women wet,
wet with longing.

Longing for adventure.

And I think, no chance.

So you think to get married
you have to be older?

Well, plainly,
it's a plus.

Say Victor's age.

But Elsa was young.

Yes.
She was also exceptional.

And she had two children.

I didn't realize.
I thought they were yours.

No, not mine.

I arrived
with the children.

So what? You just walked into
a bar and saw her?

She was irresistible.

Tell Paul what you said.

I told her she was fruit

that had fallen
to the ground.

Yes, a long time ago.

Not for me.

Soft fruit.

Victor hates philanderers.

It's true, I do.

Yes, he hates them.

You say to a girl
you love her.

"You're my whole world,"
you say.

A couple of weeks later
you're saying the same thing,

only this time it's to someone else.
What's your excuse?

Things are true
or they aren't.

Wait. I'll get
that Coke.

- I'm not going to survive.
- It's Victor.

- I can't survive this.
- He's just being Victor, that's all.

Jesus, they tell you
at meetings

it's the golden rule:
At all costs, avoid stress.

Do you want a margarita?

- No, thank you.
- It might get you through.

- No thank you.
- It's getting me through.

What is it? Was it just chance
he asked me back here?

Of course.
Chance.

That's Victor.
It's whim.

Stiff little cocks?
What's going on?

"The young men with
their stiff little cocks."

Paul,
there's no conspiracy.

It's a summer evening.

We're having a drink,
enjoying the evening.

Elsa, you're married,
for Christ's sake.

You've got two children.

So?

What did we do?

I've been thinking
about it ever since.

What the hell
were we doing?

- We kissed.
- Yes.

We kissed in the office.

Yeah, it was great.

But we're not
going to do it again.

How was it?
How did you say it was?

Great, did you say?
Did you say it was great?

I know what you're going to say
and I don't want to hear it.

Great because
you were touched?

Great because I reached you?
Something reached you?

Something made you feel

- you were alive?
- Yes.

Great because you're not alone
in a room in Camberwell?

Great because for
90 minutes in my company

you weren't
actually scared?

I'm scared now.

Elsa, I can't love you
without alcohol.

I can love you
and drink

Or I can not love you
and not drink.

That's the choice.

- Nothing in between?
- No.

Nothing for the rest
of your life?

That's the choice
for the rest of your life?

Diet Coke, so it is.

Well, that's been
worth waiting for.

- Good.
- I could murder a Coke. Thank you.

The sun went down
and the three of us

stood watching the lovers.

We watched
the young people kissing.

How real their happiness
seemed and how simple.

- Why don't you have dinner with us?
- Yes.

Thank you.
I don't think I can.

You know, there's a restaurant
round the corner.

I was there
the other evening.

Their menu is
delightfully Greek.

It offers steak cooked
on your desire.

Goodness.

I told them I'd love my steak
to be cooked on my desire.

In fact,
when it comes to it,

I'd like a whole Mongolian
barbecue cooked on my desire.

Everyone could feast.
Know what I mean?

Victor, are you drunk?

The whole world could
feast on my desire.

Victor talked.

He talked, it seemed,
to fill the air.

I didn't know
what was happening.

I couldn't tell what he knew,
whether he knew anything at all.

With Victor
I was never sure.

But I knew the best thing
was just to keep quiet.

Just to let him talk.

Did I ever tell you I was
a tour guide for a while?

On top of a double-decker?

I never told you, did I?
After I left the party.

I used to specialized in

misleading information.

I used to love
pointing out the place

where General Eisenhower,

in order to thank the British people
for their heroic war effort,

erected a life-size statue
of Mickey Mouse.

I always said life-size.

I loved saying life-size.

Always, "We are now
passing the spot

where Lord Nelson first
made love to Lady Hamilton."

I usually chose
the Elephant and Castle.

- What are you saying?
- Hmm?

They saw it, you see?
They saw the statue.

People are that gullible?

No no.
They're romantic.

They see the statue
when it isn't there.

Hmm?

Oh God,
life-size Mickey Mouse.

Nothing had passed between
us save a kiss.

One kiss grabbed one evening
in an empty office.

Why had she given it?
What had it meant?

Victor says we shall
know nothing

until we are laid out
on our zinc beds.

Goodness.
What a macabre thought.

Not really, no. I'm just hoping
that afterwards

they're planning to tell
me what it all meant,

because I don't think there's much
chance of finding out at the time.

You know, she refuses
to give me children...

on the grounds that she
has children already.

- It's a point of difference between us.
- I see.

I had my children
accidentally

when I was young
and stupid.

I've just never felt
ready to have any more.

There it is.

The boys, by the way,
they're wonderful.

How old are they?

14 and 11.

By different fathers.

Oh yes,
I made a real mess.

No.

Thinking in
that awful young way

that I could do anything,

cope with anything.

Well, you have.

I'd like a drink.

I wonder,
could I have a drink?

I'll have just the one.

Are you sure?

Oh, yeah.
Right.

There.

Thank you.

I'll just go and look in
on the boys, shall I?

Then we should eat.

Yeah.

Eat with us, Paul.

I'm glad you're here.

I am too.

There are always a thousand
reasons to drink,

but not many reasons
not to.

I told myself it was because
I was being dicked around,

it wasn't my fault.

People were behaving
in bewildering ways,

and what was
I meant to do?

That's one of the things
about being an alcoholic.

It's always easy
to play the victim.

But looking back on the summer,
you might well ask...

...which one of us
was the victim

and which one was doing
the dicking around?

Oh, God!

I know.
I know.

Can I come in?

You're drunk.

I wouldn't say
I was drunk.

I'd say I've been
drinking.

Do I find you
just a little bit ratty?

No. More a little
bit guilty.

Why?

Because we thought
you could handle it.

Victor and I, we thought
you could handle it.

Of course
I can't handle it!

I'm in AA
for Christ's sake.

I've got
a physio-fucking-what'sit

chemical relationship
with alcohol.

I'm an alky.

What on earth made you
think I could handle it?

Coffee?

Me, I'm going to
have a drink

and you're not allowed.

And another thing.
I'm writing again.

It's true.
Poetry pouring out of me.

So is that what
this was about?

You really can't write
when you're dry?

Is that what you're
frightened of?

Poets are stubborn fuckers.
You have to be.

I mean, there's no danger
of dying of encouragement.

I wrote a poem
about you.

It's here somewhere.
Oh, fuck.

I mean, they don't tell you,
do they?

That night with the margaritas,
I took one sip

and I thought,
"Yes.

I remember.
Drink makes you happy."

Briefly.

Oh, what, and we look down
on briefly, do we?

No.
We distrust briefly.

Having another one?

Why, are you counting?

Did someone
give you flowers?

No.
They're for you.

Poetry.
Flowers.

I'd kiss you but I suspect I smell
like a pet shop.

- I was expecting you.
- Really?

Yes, as soon as Victor
left the country.

I thought you'd come
dogtrotting across the park.

- Where are the boys?
- With friends.

It was clever of you to find flowers
with only 24 hours to live.

I can throw them out
before Victor gets back

and I won't have to answer
his questions.

Why? Has he been
asking questions?

- What does he want?
- What does he want?

It's a marriage,
however wonderful.

Finally, it's a marriage
like any other.

Don't you write
about these things?

- Do I?
- Aren't you a writer?

Or does Peter Pan not get mixed up
in this kind of stuff?

Don't you think we have
to discuss this?

We've reached deadlock,
that's all.

How?

Isn't it obvious?

He's restless.
You can see Victor is restless.

We've reached a point where neither
of us knows what happens next.

Paul, I go to work every day,
for God's sake,

I go to the Foundation.

I spend the day
in practical ways.

A hard day's practical work
raising money... being practical.

What do you call it? Putting
something back. That's what I do.

I put something back.

Then I come home,
I walk back through the park.

I've done it for six years.

I keep my eyes down.

I work every day.
I'm calm.

I come home,
I talk to my boys.

So what are you saying?

What I'm saying is,

it's only because of Victor
that the Foundation exists.

But it's only because
of Victor that I exist.

I see.

I feel real
because of Victor.

- What were you?
- What was I?

Yeah, someone says
you were an air hostess.

Yes, I was
an air hostess,

I was a model,
I was a shop assistant.

But what was I really?

I was a...

I was an international
junkie...

- Okay.
...of epic proportions.

And if you'd said to me,
"Look, one day

you'll marry your father

or someone just like
your father,

only 50 times kinder,
50 times nicer"

then I would not
have believed you.

How was your father?

A pig.

A drunk.

Yours?

Piggish.

Paul, I made
myself a promise.

- When?
- Some weeks ago.

You threw me.
You threw me off course.

- I did?
- Yes.

When? That night?
When we kissed?

Then.

And I made a decision never
to discuss Victor with you.

I'm not asking you
to diss him.

I know
what you're asking.

- And?
- I'm not going to tell you.

What?

- Anything.
- Okay. I was just asking.

Least of all whether
we're happy or not.

Are you?

- What?
- Happy?

Do you think
you need the glass?

Don't you think the glass
is a bit...

- What?
- Intermediate?

Why not just jam
the fucking bottle to your lips?

Tell me,
I'd be interested,

come on,
just why are you here?

- Why am I here?
- Yes.

I'm hopelessly in love.
That's why I'm here.

Well, you don't make it
sound very pleasant.

Well, why don't you give him
children, for fuck's sake?

- What?
- Well that's what he's saying!

I know what he's saying!
I know what he's saying!

- Well?
- Have you understood nothing?

You don't think I want
to give this man children?

You don't think
I would if I could?

- I was human trash.
- I know.

I was on
the floor of a bar,

my knickers ripped in half,
my breath stinking of vomit.

I know.
Do you think I don't know?

I was waiting to be thrown
out with the empties.

"Take my hand,"
he said.

"Take my hand."

And from that day
he has been steadfast.

Not one day has gone by
in which he has not been loyal.

I'm sure.

He gives me confidence
when I have no confidence myself.

He is strong.
We're not.

We're alike,
you and I.

That's why
I don't give him children.

I don't have
the confidence.

I don't have the belief.

Elsa.

Why do you think I sat
on that counter with you?

What am I?
Absurd?

No.

Why do you think
I laughed with you?

Kissed you?

The reason
I'm drawn to you?

What?
What?

When I see us,
I see us...

How?

We go down together.

- No.
- We go off to bars.

We go down together.
We go spiraling together.

No. No.

What are you looking for?

That's my fucking notebook,
for God's sake.

It's not your notebook
I'm after.

See?
We're the same.

- Give it to me.
- No.

- Give it to me.
- I won't.

I won't drink it.
I swear. I'll throw it away.

Where do we find life?
Is it in a bottle?

- He said you were cured.
- Did he?

Yeah.
One drink, he said.

He said you had one
gin and tonic.

You played Scrabble,
he said.

Do I look cured?

Do I feel cured?

What did I think?

What did I think
that night?

That I could be solid
in the way Victor was solid?

I knew I could never
replace him.

But I felt the power
of her warmth.

The alcohol drained out of me
and her warmth filled me.

All I know is there
was something there.

There was something real.

There you go.

For a couple of days,
at least,

I was as happy
as I'd ever been in my life.

Pretty soon after
the rumors began.

Victor came back
from America.

The word was
he was in trouble.

We didn't see much
of him in the office.

But after what had happened,
I wasn't seeking him out.

Then one evening...

Paul, there you are.
You're still here.

I was beginning to think
you were avoiding me.

I must have drawn
the wrong conclusion.

I think you did.

Everyone dies
after their last meal.

That doesn't mean
to say they were poisoned.

Quite.

And you've heard
of our problems?

I think everyone has.

I'm afraid they're
pretty common knowledge.

Capitalism at its most
infuriating and obtuse.

Refinancing.
Private equity.

Private equity insisting
on a change of management,

making it a condition.

What are we?
Ping-pong balls?

I spent the whole day in
the city trying a rival bid.

A bid for what?
To take over my own business?

Everybody says
it's normal.

It's accepted as normal.

There was a time when economy
used to make something.

Now?
A world in which 10 people

do something and the other
90 speculate.

- Normal?
- No.

It's a game,
that's all.

And because we lack
any wisdom ourselves,

we pretend
the market is wise.

It's a form of camp.

Is there something
you wanted?

No.
Just to talk to you.

Why?
Should there be?

No.

Oh.

I mean, of course
it gets to me.

Why would it not?

The humiliation
of being judged

by people who know nothing.

Not for myself,
of course.

- I'm not upset for myself.
- No?

No no.

If the business gets taken away from me,
I'm still a rich man.

You know, I have my creature comforts...
my house, my wife.

As you know,
as you well know.

Oh, I'm sorry if we led you
astray the other evening.

- Not at all.
- Hmm.

Have you drunk since?

Since that night
have you had another drink?

No, not a drop.

Tell me, Paul,
this is purely academic,

you know, there's not
a hint of reproach,

but do you lie
about your drinking?

- Compulsively.
- I see.

Like all drinkers.

All the time
or just occasionally?

Oh, that doesn't
really matter, does it?

I mean, that's the beauty
of lying.

You only have to do it once
to spread infinite distrust.

So tell me, Paul,
how do you explain

this current passion
for addiction?

- People say lack of faith, don't they?
- Certainly do.

I mean, people say to me,
"Oh, you're so lucky, you had faith."

But Stalin had faith.
Hitler had faith.

Would it be wonderful
to believe in the virgin birth?

I don't think so.

Or that trees
speak to you?

Wouldn't that just mean
you were mad?

Faith's not valuable.
Not in itself.

It's what you have faith
in that matters.

I had faith.

But it was stolen from me.

What bloody right do these
people have to value us?

- None.
- None!

I took a shine
to you, Paul.

I took you on
because I liked you.

But you think I must live with it,
is that what you think?

The poet,
the philosopher

bringing the message
the poet always brings.

Victor, you're here.

Yes.

I was worried.
You haven't been home.

I've been trying
to call you.

- Have you?
- I've been trying to find you.

And you were concerned? Why were
you concerned, my darling?

As you can see,
we had a row last night.

Yes.

We never row.

I stormed into the night.
I did a runner.

Victor, we're meant
to be going to a concert.

- Are we? When?
- Now.

Would Mozart match
your mood right now?

I don't think
he'd match mine.

All that life-affirming
can seem awfully jangly

when it hits you
at the wrong angle.

What are you saying?
You don't want to go?

Go with Paul.

Take Paul.
Affirm life with Paul.

I can't.
I have to go to a meeting.

Summer's end.
Always a moment of calm.

The slight change
in the air.

It's still August.
The sun beats down,

but touched with the knowledge
of what is to come.

This is all
to do with work.

- You think so?
- Of course.

You may lose your business.
Of course you are depressed.

- Victor...
- I'm going to have a drink.

- Will you join me?
- I've made a new vow.

Have you?
And will this one last?

Aren't we patterned?
Aren't we programmed?

Don't we always promise
"Tomorrow I'll stop.

Tomorrow I'll be good"?

It's the disease of more,

isn't that what they say?

What are you doing?

I'm leaving my job.
I'm going.

No. Why?

It's not hard to see,
is it?

Look at him. Look at his mood
for God's sake.

What do you think
it's about?

No no.
I know what it's about.

Last night you quarreled.
Do you think its coincidence?

You think it's just chance?

It's not love.

- Isn't it?
- No.

I thought it was love.

No, it's addiction.

We're addicted to trouble.

We both love trouble
and he knows it.

Paul, I was happy
with you.

I know.

For those hours,
I was happy.

Elsa, I'm happy drinking.
So?

- No.
- Yeah.

I'm happy with a drink
in my hand.

So tell me,
what's the difference?

You think I live
that kind of life?

No.

What do you think?
You think I want affairs?

- No.
- Is that how you see me?

You haven't thought.
You haven't thought what you're doing.

This is who you are, Paul.
This is you.

You're the person
who runs.

You think it's to do with alcohol.
It's not.

You barely know me, Elsa.

You've barely had time
to know me.

You're scared.
You're just scared.

You'd never leave him.

What makes you so sure?

When anyone needs you,
you run.

When anyone loves you,

you go.

I love you.

It's true.

So explain.

How does it help
if I stay?

Not even dusk,
no one to be seen.

It's a business
for obsessives they say.

But where are they?

On their August beaches
or in their back gardens.

Fled.
All fled.

Not a soul remains.
Whiskey?

Paul has something
to tell you.

Tell me?

It isn't good news.

In fact I'm feeling
a bit of an idiot.

He wants to leave.

- I see.
- Paul's insisting he leaves.

Victor, can we be honest?

The fact is I'm actually
hopeless at the job.

- Really?
- "The unsinkable Flotilla."

- Huh.
- "Float into the future with Flotilla."

"Hey there, killer,
try Flotilla."

I can't do it.
I can't write to order.

Too much the poet?
Too much your own man?

You've been kind.
You've been good to me, Victor.

But I just wasn't ready.

Never easy, is it?

Never easy when you
try to help.

I tell you, I was sleeping
last night in Regents Park?

I'm sorry?

I slept last night in Regents Park
beneath the stars.

Is that legal?

It's not illegal.

I had no idea
where you were.

I lay beneath the stars,

the stars bright above me.

Felt the earth
moving below me,

the planet hurtling
through space.

I lay listening to
the noises of the night,

thinking of Elsa

in her bed
200 yards away.

I thought of the many
nights we'd passed,

she shaking from
the agony of addiction,

the passage
from high to low,

from frenzy
and finally to calm.

Why did we quarrel?

We quarreled about love.

I'd had an idea.

For years I'd had an idea.

An idea of what love
might accomplish.

It was foolish.

No good.

He accused me of being weak
and I defended myself.

She did.

She defended herself well.

Yes.
That's why we fought.

That was why
the fight began.

Absolutely.

- Are we ever cured?
- That was the question.

I can sometimes go
without drinking.

Months go by.

And, yes,
at another time,

I taste just one drink...

"Just the one,"
I say to myself.

"Just the one."

But finally, no.

I know in my heart
this disease is for life.

I asked Victor
to accept that.

I need him to accept it.

I can't be who
he wants me to be.

I've tried and I can't.

I can't.

I was lucky
to meet a good man.

But met him nonetheless,

loved him nonetheless,

or rather,

have tried to love him.

I still do.

I still will.

My love.

Sorry.
I'm sorry.

I apologize.
Private... private stuff.

- Of course.
- Forgive us.

So you're determined
to leave?

- I am.
- You submit your resignation?

- I do.
- It's done.

It's accepted.
Why not?

Collect your cards.

Elsa, I think
we're moving on.

Fair enough.

It's a freelance culture,
after all, so they tell me.

- That's what I've heard.
- Yeah.

The idea of long-term employment
is a thing of the past.

A job is no longer
for life.

Well, I've only been
here for three months.

Excellent. You've grasped
the principle exactly.

It's been
a summer, eh?

- It's what a summer should be.
- You think?

In the cold months we work,
get on with living.

So let's use the warm months
for stopping to think.

Paul.

Is perfect friendship
always brief?

"Moderation in all things,"
said my mom.

She died at age 40.

I miss her.

I still miss her.

Don't fear for me.

I shan't.

History threw me up.
It may now cast me down.

- I hope not.
- It worries me not.

I have written my epitaph.

"He may have buckled
but he did not break."

So it's time
to say goodbye.

Not the last time
we shall see you, I hope?

No.

And you must say goodbye
to Elsa too.

I insist.

Elsa, if we hurry, we'll catch
the second half of the concert.

You won't forget me?

- No.
- Promise you won't forget me.

It's rare, isn't it?

It's rare to find love.

Joseph Conrad says
that inside every heart

burns the desire
to set down once and for all

a true record
of what has happened.

As everyone knows,
Victor Quinn died

soon after
in a car crash.

His blood was three times over
the permitted alcohol level.

Elsa went
to identify the body.

At last, she said,

Victor lay
on his zinc bed.

For myself. I continued
to drink for a while.

The result
was a book of poetry

which, to my amazement,
did even better than the first.

- Yes.
- Wonderful.

I really enjoy your work.
It's wonderful.

Oh, thank you very much.

For a brief period I became
somewhat well-known.

I did see Elsa.
Of course I did.

I saw her
a number of times.

But there comes a moment,
doesn't there?

You tell me.

Doesn't there come
a moment

when you have to decide between
what you can handle and what you can't?

- Hello.
- Good to see you.

I didn't see
my friends anymore.

I rarely went out,
apart to go to the off-license.

So I thought
I'd come along...

I'd come along to the group,
but just sat alone in the house.

I stopped drinking.

I began to dry out.

It was difficult
and it took a long time.

It's better.
Of course it is.

But sometimes I remember
Victor Quinn.

"If you were cured,

you'd be cured of desire.

And who wants
to be cured of desire?"

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