All language subtitles for The.Lesson.2023.720p.WEB.H264

You must be
getting quite bored of these.

Never dull to discuss the work.

Okay, well, I thought we
could just jump straight in,

if that's okay with you.

- By all means.
- Okay.

Hello.

Liam Somers' story
of a fading patriarch

presiding over a
grief-stricken family

has been described as
one of the most striking

debuts of the year.

Here with us to discuss his
first novel is the author.

Thank you for joining us, Liam.

Thanks for having me.

So, I thought we could start off
by touching on the inspiration

behind the novel.

What exactly is it that
drew you to tell this story?

- Hello?
- Liam.

It's Hattie from the agency.

I'm on my way to a
lesson. Can it wait?

We cancelled that.
Something's come in for you.

Writers tend to say
they're a morning person,

or an evening kind of writer.

I don't subscribe to that.

If you're writing,
you're writing.

Simple as that.

It's not something that
can be deferred or denied

if you have to do it.

Which, by the way, is the
prerequisite for writing.

You don't have a
choice in the matter.

You must write.

Listen, if I knew where

the ideas came from,

I'd have written,
and indeed been paid

a hell of a lot
more than I have.

Bearing in mind that
I've been prolific

and not badly off,

the short answer
is I don't know.

I know
writers who obsess.

"How do I say
something original?

"Am I saying
something unique?"

I'm sorry.

There are no new ideas.

Most writers are
reconciled to the fact.

And if they're not, they
pretty soon will be.

Now, average
writers attempt originality.

They fail. Universally.

Good writers have the sense
to borrow from their betters.

But the greats, great
writers... steal.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

- Mr. Somers.
- It's Liam.

If you'd like to follow
me this way, please.

You'll find him just there.

I'll take that, shall I?

Thank you.

Hello. I'm Liam.

You must be Bertie.

You've
done your homework.

- Are your parents around?
- They're up at the house.

Why?

I usually speak to parents
before the first lesson.

It's fine.

I can get my father if you want?

- I'm sure he won't mind.
- No, I don't wanna disturb.

But you want to meet him, right?

- It's fine.
- He's only writing.

No, it's fine!

Okay.

So, what are we working on?

We are working on tragedy.

Modern? Ancient?

I don't need you
to turn the pages.

Congratulations, by the way.

English Literature is one of
the most competitive courses.

Oxford don't shortlist
many candidates

so your aptitude test

must have been very impressive.

But that test is one thing.

The interviews, the
college-specific tests,

they're different.
You'll need to cultivate

the kind of critical thinking

that might not be
familiar to you... yet.

Kind of a house style.

They staple at
Oxford, don't they?

You can do it in
the house style.

Liam.

- Mrs. Sinclair.
- Helene.

Thanks for coming on
such short notice.

Your CV was impressive.

Your agency speaks
very highly of you.

That's kind of them.

Well, I should hope not.
I should hope it's true.

You've a beautiful
home, Mrs. Sinclair.

Thank you. Summer suits it.

This is the reading room.
It's usually only me in here.

We don't use the
front entrance much.

There is a back
door to the garden.

This is beautiful.

Thank you.

You made it?

It's kind of... numinous.

And you've met Ellis.

You're laying the
table for four tonight.

Yes, ma'am.

Any dietary
requirements, Mr. Somers?

Actually, I'm vegan.

Wonderful.

And this is my
favorite acquisition.

I bought it from the artist

when she didn't win the Turner.

Kind of a consolation.

She's a collector's
darling now, of course,

but I found her.

It's adapted from Bernini's
Apollo and Daphne.

- Do you know it?
- I know the story.

Hmm.

Never had the heart to sell it.

Why would you?

That's my job. I'm a curator.

Shouldn't really
get sentimental.

Something to drink?

You'd like a beer, wouldn't you?

You know, Liam graduated
with a First in English.

So why is he a tutor?

Well, must be a vocation.

He wants to share his
knowledge, his experience.

We thought it best
Bertie spend the last

of the summer term here

so he can focus on
his entrance exams.

You thought it best?

Well, that school
has let you down enough.

I wasn't going to leave
this up to chance.

You must be good.

Evening, all.

Bonsoir, my love.

How goes it, Bert?

Liam, isn't it?

- Yes, Mr. Sinclair.
- Oh. Thank you.

You've come on a good day.

Ellis does a mean roast lamb.

Thank you.

Music.

We had Rachmaninoff yesterday.

Well, give me three good reasons

not to listen to
him today and...

I'll change my mind.

Why don't
we ask our guest?

Liam, what do you
think of Rachmaninoff?

Um...

He was the last great
Russian romantic composer.

And...

known for his piano concertos
more than his symphonies.

His, um...

He was the conductor
of the Bolshoi

when the Russian...

First Russian
Revolution began...

The music. She meant,

"What did you think
of the music?"

I don't, um...

I'm not familiar.

Rachmaninoff it is, then.

Last great Russian romantic.

So, what did you
two study today?

Hamlet, for the most part.

Oh, you looked into the
manuscript tradition yet?

- I've got, uh, a few articles.
- Hmm.

I can make up a reading list.

Thanks.

You can thank
him when you get in.

If. If you get in.

We should have a chat
about the lesson.

See how it went.

Well, I'm sure
Bertie has some...

I'm sure he does.

Which is why we'll
discuss it after dinner.

You can wait in the drawing room

when you're finished eating.

Liam...

You're out.

We'd like you to stay.

Is this from the agency?

I think we can part ways
with the agency here.

We prefer a personal bond.

There have been
incidents in the past.

With guests?

With staff.

We told them we no
longer need a tutor.

Didn't wanna compromise
your relationship.

It's so important Bertie
has someone on his side

that knows the English system.

I studied in Paris and New York.

And his father
didn't go, of course.

Non-disclosure.

He's very protective.

Getting close to the
end, so he tells me.

Yes. Five years
since the last one.

The subject of your thesis.

It's on your CV.

You'll report to me
at the end of every lesson

about Bertie's progress.
Come and find me.

He has to get in, Liam.

Uh, he doesn't know about
the thesis, does he,

Mrs. Sinclair?

I'm sure he'd be flattered.

But you're not here for him.

Good morning.

"From fairest creatures
we desire increase,

"That thereby beauty's
rose might never die,

"But as the riper
should by time decease,

"His tender heir might
bear his memory."

- So you're on to the Sonnets.
- So you've learnt a poem.

I just remember.

Have you got a
photographic memory?

Not quite.

Words are like triggers for me.

They set off a sequence.

So, if I've read
them, I'll remember.

- You learnt that.
- You can try me.

"To be, or not to be."

You can do better than that.

"Nativity, once in
the main of light,

"Crawls to maturity,
wherewith being crown'd,

"Crooked eclipses
'gainst his glory fight,

"And Time that gave doth
now his gift confound."

"Time doth transfix..."

All right, you've got a
party trick. I... I get it.

I'm sure it helped
you get your First.

But I can't use it,
and I don't need it.

So, why don't you fetch
me that reading list?

Shall I write it down
so you don't forget?

How did it go?

Well. Independent
research, mainly.

Is that your usual practice?

It varies.

For a student of
Bertie's intelligence,

I'd say independence
is a good thing.

You're the best
resource he could have.

He needs to be
making use of you.

Otherwise, why are you here?

I'll make sure he does.

Good.

That's Tchaikovsky, isn't it?

June, from The Seasons.

I thought you weren't
familiar with classical.

I'm learning.

Me, too. Trying.

Are you the only one who plays?

Bertie used to.

Beautifully.

His brother wrote.

Mostly short stories.

Like you.

He took after his father.

He likes to
have someone around.

An amanuensis.

Used to be
me at the start.

We don't talk about his work.
We don't talk about Felix.

Follow those rules and
you should be fine.

Of course.

Great writers... steal.

But do you
think it's inevitable

that elements of
your... personal life

seep into your work?

Um, you're somebody
who has experienced

great personal tragedy,

and I'm wondering if
the loss of your son

has had a direct impact on
the nature of your writing.

If I were drawing on my life,

I'd be writing
memoir, not fiction.

But if you're asking if it
has affected my writing,

the answer is yes.

In as much as any loss
affects one's life.

Losing a child is...

losing a part of oneself.

And bound up with the grief is

a profound sense of injustice...

of being robbed.

And when they take
their own life...

one is...

compelled to the unthinkable.

To grieve the child is
to grieve the killer.

But if you're
asking me seriously,

and I sincerely hope
that you're not,

whether my son's death
has inspired my writing,

the answer is no, I
will not be writing

about his death.
I will be writing

in spite of it.

And you will have your novel...

when it is ready.

Mr. Sinclair.

Mr. Sinclair.

Liam, just family tonight.

There will be fixings
in the guest house.

- Sure. See you tomorrow.
- Three, four,

close the door. Five,
six, pick up sticks.

Bingo. Bon appetit.

Oh, good morning, Mr. Somers.

Something I can help you with?

Yes. We've run out of
coffee in my, uh...

- place.
- Can't have that.

- I'll put a pot on now.
- Thanks.

Just getting us some coffee.

I'm glad you're making
yourself useful.

Fucking hell!

Everything okay, Mr. Sinclair?

- Don't you have a lesson?
- Bertie's just setting up.

The printer.

What are
you trying to do?

Print something.

Do you mind?

The printer's the problem.
Nothing to do with that thing.

- My dad worked in IT.
- Oh, sins of the father.

Yeah, I know a bit.

Thanks.

- That's Winterson.
- I beg your pardon?

"Empty space and points of
light." Jeanette Winterson.

Final words of
Sexing the Cherry.

"And even the most
solid of things

"and the most real,
the best loved

"and the well-known
are only hand-shadows

"on the wall. Empty space
and points of light."

Oh.

Good spot.

Is it research?

Close the door on your
way out, will you?

Mustn't keep Bert waiting.

Hope you like
it strong, Mr. Somers.

Thank you.

It's Liam.

I know.

Might be useful if I could read

some of what you're writing.

Useful for who?

No, Liam.

Can't touch the buds.

Why not?

It's rhododendron.

Have you never been
in a garden before?

Not everyone has
gardens like this.

It's poisonous.

There's toxins in the sap.

Do you want one?

All right.

Cheers.

It's basically a weed.

Nothing can grow around it.

The roots, they, uh...

They strangle
everything they touch.

It's quite clever, actually.

Felix was obsessed with them.

Rhododendron.

The rose tree.

It's ancient Greek.

They are beautiful.

That's not why he was
obsessed with them.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Shit!

Oh, Mr. Somers.

There's been a slight
delay to your laundry.

I have brought you a
fresh change of clothes.

I'll just put them down here,

if that's all right?

- Sure. Oh, I can do that.
- No, no, no, no.

It's quite all
right, Mr. Somers.

You are expected at dinner.

Liam, so sorry.
We should have warned you.

The power tends to
go down in a storm.

The price of isolation.

"And there was."

Any objections to Beethoven?

You boys didn't lose anything
in the storm, did you?

I didn't.

We were making great
progress, I think.

Oh, in that case,

I may need to borrow
you this evening.

Computer is playing up again.
You don't mind, do you, Liam?

That's fine. I have
tomorrow's lesson planned.

Good.

You know, Liam's a writer, too.

Mmm. Did you show Bertie

- your student pieces?
- No, no.

I've seen the novel.

Tower 24.

Working title.

It's actually quite good.

Reads like a Sinclair.

That's why the desk lamp
is burning into the night.

I haven't worked on
it in a long time.

It's, um, it's not finished.

Then why does Bertie have it?

Thanks.

Come and
see me after dinner.

You know where I am.

It suits you.

Felix's clothes.

This damn thing
buckles in a storm,

and I need to know
that my work is safe.

You've got multiple
backups, right?

Oh, I used to have
people do that for me.

- PAs, you know.
- But not anymore.

Well, people like
that can be very nosy.

You need to enter your password.

Okay.

I can run a backup to
the Cloud if you want.

Oh, absolutely not.

I don't give my
work away for free.

Looks like there's
another server running.

Is it here?

Oh, that... Oh,
it's next door.

Used to be part of the
study. Don't need the space.

- You want me to shut it down?
- No, keep it running.

Just in case.

Okay.

Now, you should be safe
for the next storm.

Goodnight, Mr. Sinclair.

Wow,
that was quick.

Scotch?

Sit down.

If you're serious
about doing this,

you must bear one thought
cheerfully in mind

whenever you put pen to paper.

Whenever you read, eat,
drink, fuck, whatever,

one thought. One simple one.

Good writers borrow.

- Great writers steal.
- Don't tell me you're a fan.

There is a new novel.

Started a while back.

Almost over the line.

I was wondering if
you might be on hand

for the final stretch.

Keep the story safe,
provide some amusement.

I've found in the past
that can be really useful.

Someone separate from work.

You know, not a
writer, preferably.

Well, not a real one.

So easy to forget...

it's only really a game.

Oh, don't want to distract
from Bert's studies.

No. No, you wouldn't.

And I'd
pay, of course.

Take it you're in?

We'll make a thief of you yet.

What's it called?

Rose Tree.

What do you think?

I love it.

What did
you two talk about?

Liam, I won't tell.

Oh, hello. Are you lost?

Ah! The missing mother.

What are we discussing?

Bertie.

How he's doing.

Course.
The boy wonder.

Going to be another late
one I'm afraid, my love.

Pay me
a visit, won't you?

Of course, darling.

Friends, family,

there must be sacrifice.

When you embark upon a novel,

and begin that
communion with yourself,

you are alone.

Armed only with your craft

and, hopefully, your
talent.

What's that?

It's an essay of yours.

This is good, Bertie.

I'd love to have
thought of this.

Your reading list helped.

How can I make it better?

And in your conclusion,
you might wanna to consider

Shakespeare's familiarity
with Hippolytus.

I didn't know that
you were allowed

to make connections like that,

you know, between texts,
across the genres.

It's like a
whole different thing.

Sorry, but there
are no new ideas.

To our Alexander
and our Aristotle.

Most writers are
reconciled to the fact.

And if they're not,
they very soon will be.

Oh, Liam.

Give that the
once-over, will you?

Yeah.

Flower-Gathering is my favorite.

From A Boy's Will.

Oh.

"Are you dumb because
you know me not,

"Or dumb because you know?"

Well spotted. Come in.

Everything's fine.

You've still got that
server running next door.

Oh, forget
that. It's dormant.

- Or I can just shut it down.
- Leave it.

Your father teach you all that?

I learned. He didn't teach me.

I'll wager he's glad
you didn't go into IT.

What are people saying about me?

People think you've retired.

You are amusing.

Have you
only just got out?

We're getting our
money's worth, aren't we?

You and Bertie seem
to be getting along.

This new arrangement isn't

drawing your focus
away from him, is it?

No, not at all.

"What makes an ending?"

That's what we've
been talking about.

He's thinking of his own.

Have you seen it?

No.

But he's writing?

I think so.

I think he's close.

He calls me "the
missing mother,"

because I wasn't there
when our son died.

I was in Venice. The Biennale.

I don't go anymore.

- You're up late.
- So are you.

You know you're not
the first, right?

Get some sleep, Bertie.

Goodnight.

Night.

Say I die.

Right here, right now.

Who owns my words?

I don't mean in a legal sense.

I mean, testament to experience.

Words I chose because I believed

they bore witness to a
truth beyond fiction.

Because, when strung together,

they accorded to a
music only I could hear.

Resolved some conflict
raging within me.

Who owns them?

They belong to whoever
chooses to read them.

And since we are the
words we write...

so do we.

Finders fucking keepers.

Oh. Only gods come out
of the machine, Liam.

Ghosts stay in them.

You've said that before.

In Pearlescence.

Did I?

Jesus, I'm repeating myself now.

And from one of
your lesser works.

You know, I don't even remember

half of that one.

First draft.

Tad shorter than usual.

Thought you might
like to proofread it.

Would that be a problem?

Not if you read mine.

All right.

Drop it in first thing
tomorrow morning.

Dante. Tolstoy. Flaubert.

Not a single one of them read.

What the fuck do they even
teach you at that school?

May as well burn them.

You may as well be
illiterate. Are you?

What your brother would
have given to read

any of these works
that you shun.

At least he had the
intellect to read mine.

Oh, Bert, come here.

It's me. It's me.

- Morning.
- Morning.

My novel.

Tower 24. Longhand.

Like the best.
Look forward to it.

Oh, take those, would you?

- I can't do this. He's right.
- Bertie.

I haven't read...

I don't fucking...
I don't know enough.

I've not read enough.
I'm wasting my time.

I'm wasting your time.

It's just all a fucking waste.

Stop it, stop it. Hey. Hey.

Stop it. Stop it.

Hey. Listen to me. Look at me.

Take a breath. Take a breath.

Bertie. Bertie. Look at me.
Just one breath. One breath.

It's all right. It's okay.

It's okay.

It's okay.

Hey.

I won't let him bother you.

It's too late for that.

You... can go
if you want. I understand.

When you said I
wasn't the first,

what did you mean?

I know I'm not the first tutor.

But that's not what
you meant, is it?

My father likes keeping
his favorites close.

He moved Felix into the room
next to his, for fuck's sake.

I'm not Felix.

I know.

Take the day off, Bertie.

So you're not leaving?

No.

I'm not going anywhere.

Good swim?

Yeah.

Not as warm as it looks.

Don't do it again.

- I'm sorry?
- Lake's off limits.

For their sake.

It's only been two
years since Felix.

They're a little delicate.

- I'm sorry. I didn't know.
- You do now.

I finished your
novel, by the way.

Bring mine over
tonight, we'll debrief.

I might need
a little more time

to finish reading it.

You found time to swim.

Come in.

I've annotated the text
where I've spotted anything.

There's a cross-referenced
document on my laptop.

Very thorough.

Well, don't keep me in suspense.

It's like nothing
you've written before.

It was hard to read.

What...

Why?

Because even if I
started writing it,

even if I...

devoted my entire life...

I wouldn't come close.

I mean, the voice, the
rhythm, the cadences.

It just feels... It feels new.

I don't know how you've done it,

but you sound new.

It very well could
be a masterpiece.

But, um, the ending.

- Part three?
- Mmm-hmm.

It feels like a different novel.

Like it doesn't belong here.

The work just deserves better.

- I had to tell you that.
- Mmm.

You seem to have
misunderstood, Liam.

We're not peers.

You're a proofreader.

But as you've begun...

we'll suspend disbelief a while.

Your first novel.

Something of a
misnomer, is it not?

- How do you mean?
- It's not a novel.

It's passable airport fiction.

I can see why you gave up on it.

Could be tweaked
into a short story,

a novella at best.

I could easily pass
it on to my editor

for a second opinion.

But I have a reputation.

Imagine.

My publisher wakes
up one morning,

finds a message from me

claiming to have found
the next best thing.

Tower 24. He'd
think I'd cracked.

I can't put my name
to just anything.

That's years of work.

Really? How frustrating.

Then again, I'll never
get back the hours

I spent reading it.

We needn't waste any more time.

- I'm sorry.
- Oh, don't be.

You weren't to know.

Oh, have you
considered teaching?

This isn't about the writing.

Oh, it's only ever
about the writing, Liam.

And I regret to say...

you cannot write.

Send me that
document, would you?

I'll do it before I leave.

Ah! You're
not finished yet.

You can find someone else.

Liam.

You signed the agreement.

Great shame to
break your bond now.

I so loathe dealing
with lawyers.

I'm saving your life, Liam.

Fuck!

I thought you didn't
want to do public appearances.

Just dropping into
the conference,

surprise them all.

Spontaneity, darling.

You remember that, don't you?

Ah! The tutor.

Did you want something?

I just wanted to say thank you.

I'm honored that
you read my work.

- Still waiting on that email.
- I'll send it today.

Uh, no disclosure of my
work to any third party,

as per the agreement.

That includes Helene.

Liam, you're welcome.

You've been brought up
by the most revered writer

in the country.

So, why should I
give you a place?

Well, uh, he's a writer.

I want to be able to
learn to read work.

You know, to learn to criticize.

How do you criticize
your father?

I haven't
read his work.

That's not what I asked.

I asked how you'd
criticize your father.

Nothing can grow around him.

My father never raised us.

He just made us sick.

How?

Not caring is
worse than cruelty.

What his son wanted
was his approval

and he couldn't give it.

- But don't you want it?
- No.

Look where that got Felix.

My brother didn't go
into the water to swim.

But you could.

I did.

Whoo!

I've been invited
to an 18th tonight

and my mother is worried

that it's gonna distract
me from our prep.

I'm not worried.

We've been working very hard.

You're sick to death of me.

And I think he could do
with a night out of here.

What would your father say?

He's not here.

Where are you gonna stay?

At the flat.

Well, get a cab if
you need to, please.

Thank you.

Can I help?

Yes. Ah.

Thank you.

Have you thought
about letting Bertie

be somewhere else this summer?

Well, if
Bertie's not here,

there's no reason for you to be.

I love it, too.

I didn't say that.

You didn't have to.

What did he do, Liam?

Did he destroy you, too?

What do you want now?

To do my job.

Help Bertie get out.

And leave.

Don't lie.

I think you want
the same thing I do.

And what's that?

Why does he lock
my dead son's door

if he's got nothing to hide?

I wanna know.

Don't you?

Mr. Somers?

The usual?

Yes.

How are you feeling?

Like shit. And I can't find
that Bronte article anywhere.

Liam.

I need you in the study.

- We're still working.
- Now.

So, where is everything?

- Fuck.
- What?

This looks like a virus.

It's...

It's taken everything.

Restore
it from the backup.

Well, you never
disconnected the drive.

It must have been running,

so it's gone down too.

- The other server.
- It's all...

It's all
gone, Mr. Sinclair.

What?

I wanted to shut it down.

It's the malware.

It must have come
from my computer

when I sent you the documents,

the annotations.

What?

I am so sorry.

So unlike you to
be so careless, darling.

Especially when it's
taken you so long.

But you've still
got the hard copy.

Close that door.

He must have left it
at the conference.

Yeah. It's James Sinclair.

Uh, could you put me through

to the Conference
Centre, please?

Yes, I'll hold.

You've already
looked in there, darling.

Well, it's not at
the conference.

It's not at the hotel.

Not in the car,
not in the house.

Someone has taken my novel.

Someone here has it. Which
one of you is it, hmm?

Oh, you've taken
it, haven't you?

Ah.

Tucked it away
somewhere, have you?

So neat and tidy.

Where have you hidden it, Bert?

We all know you're
hiding something.

Where is it?

Where is it?

- Where is it?
- That's enough!

"It had been
overcast all morning.

"But when we were
clear of the bay,

"the sun split the
cloud bank in two,

"and threw light onto the water.

"Thin films of petrol,

"swirling rainbows.

"I was unsteady on my feet
as I approached the bow.

"Someone grabbed my
arm, stood me upright.

"I hadn't known how heavy
her ashes would be."

How much
do you remember?

All of it.

Bertie, go
get your things.

Now?
Now, sweetheart.

But you're
leaving tomorrow.

I'm giving you the
space you need,

no distractions. Ellis.

Bring me my bags, please.

He knows
I didn't mean it.

I need you here.

- You need to write the book.
- I've written it.

Then it shouldn't be
too hard to remember.

Is Liam coming?

Just carry
on like we've done.

You'll be ready.

Good luck, Bertie.

He'll never get in.

That's what you
said about Felix.

- That's my work.
- That's the feeling.

I married a writer.

So write.

Boys and their mothers, Liam.

Bet you weren't
pampered like that.

- No.
- Shall we?

We use this.

Won't need to back
this fucker up.

This fucking place.

You waiting for something?

Good start. We'll
pick up tomorrow.

Night, Liam.

What was it?

How did it go?

- I remember...
- Oh, uh, ah...

"But even from a distance, I
could read something absent

"in her bearing, a frailty
that I hadn't seen..."

I didn't write that.

It's the end of Part Two.

"These moments
rise up before me

"like shards of light
in a shallow pool,

"never joined for long
enough to tell the storm..."

I didn't write that.
You're changing my work.

- I'm not.
- Who's the fucking writer?

Right.

End of Part Two.

Let's call it a night.

You know, your novel wasn't bad.

Wasn't bad.

She thinks I'm done.

But we'll show her.

We'll
show her, Felix.

Ellis, would you mind?

Welcome home.

We've been working.

- So you're finished?
- Not yet.

Better hurry up.

You need to get started
on the next one.

Where's Bertie?

- In London.
- How is he?

He's fine. Preparing.

Darling, collect the bags
from the car, please.

Oh, sure.

Liam, can I see you
in the studio, please?

Why?

To extend our arrangement.

His words,

the ones you spoke.

They're not his.

They're my son's.

Then why has it taken him
all this time to write?

It wasn't finished.

He gave it an ending.

And?

Hmm.

Then I'd like you to write one.

The shorter the better.

Consider this your
first commission.

How soon can you get this done?

I'll start it now.

Good.

Better get on with it.

Return to normality.

We missed you, my love.

Shall we
have some music?

Of course.

Some Schubert for
the homecoming.

Liam, you choose.

Ah.

We're getting close.

I'll call the publishers
tomorrow and let them know

it's on its way.

Well, I've already
been in touch with them

- and your editor.
- What? I'll speak to them.

No, you won't. I'll
deal with that.

No more distractions.

You just focus on finishing.

You deserve to.

You've been held back too long.

You don't mind if I
deliver this, do you?

"And then...

"And then she walked

"along the shoreline...

"as far as I could see...

"her dress trailing in the...

"The..."

- "Wash..."
- "Wash!"

"of the tide."

"The waves

- "took her footprints."
- "Footprints."

"I...
followed... after."

"The end."

We did it.

It's done.

We fucking did it!

Oh.

Oh.

Come here. Come here.

Steady.

You and I...

we finished that bastard.

Okay. This calls
for a celebration.

All gone!

Oh.

Congratulations, Mr. Sinclair.

Cheers!

I called it Rose Tree,

because I wrote it for him.

He was the only one.

The only one who understood.

I found him, you know.

Not his mother, not Bert.

Both had better things to do.

I dragged him out of that water.

He had a real talent.
I tried to help him.

Constructive criticism,
like I gave you.

But he was weaker
than I thought.

Depressive.

If I'd known...

he would have
done something that stupid...

I wouldn't have said...

anything to him.

Right.

You, me, swim.

Right now!

No excuses. Come on, Liam!

Come on!

Exercise makes the day, Liam.

Are you coming in?

- Of course.
- Good man.

Now, how...

How...

How... How do you
want to be credited?

- How about "author"?
- How's that?

It must have hurt you.

When you saw Rose Tree
for the first time,

of course, you
wished it was yours.

I did, too. He was
better than both of us.

Rose Tree is mine.

I wrote the book.

No. Felix wrote it.

You stole it. But I bet you...

he came to you for advice.

And I bet you, you crushed him.

He's my son.

I gave him every
word of that novel,

and when he couldn't see
it through to the end,

I did.

You know, I found the
original on his server.

And I wiped it.

Yours, too. I threw the
printout into the lake.

Helene knows.

That's why she asked me
to write it and finish it.

'Cause she knew you'd
ruin that novel.

She begged me to
save it from you.

You're no writer.

That's not what
your wife thinks.

You don't fucking know her.

I know what she tastes like.

What?

Drown. Drown!

Drown, you...

Drown! Drown, you fucking...

Ah!

You coward!

You fucking coward!

Ah, we'll
get that seen to.

And I'll get you
some dry clothes.

Is he okay?

I've read them
both, and you were right.

Yours is the superior ending.

His is a...

great shame.

You can get started now.

I want to thank you for
everything you've done.

You were perfect.
Remarkable, even.

This is how the story goes.

My husband,

after completing
his latest novel...

drowned himself in the
lake where his son died.

We'd been worried about him
and his drinking for a while.

We did all we could to
save him...

but it was too late.

- What?
- And you, Liam,

you were never here.

You signed an NDA.

If you choose to
break our agreement,

there is another story.

Two witnesses can testify
to the murder of my husband

by an obsessive fan,

a would-be writer,

that took a teaching job

so he could be
close to his idol,

and who snapped

when his hero told him
something he didn't like.

I don't want any
kind of scandal,

but if I have to,

I will make you the
villain of this story.

This was never for Bertie.

I brought you here
to get me the truth.

And when I knew, my
husband was always gonna

join my son in the water.

Rose Tree will be their legacy.

The ending.

I wrote the ending.

You have to give me that.

I wrote the fucking ending.

And I'm grateful.

That's why I'm
giving you a chance.

I'm going to call an ambulance,

and I don't wanna have
to explain your presence

when it arrives.

Much better that you
never existed at all.

My version of events

is the only version.

You can see that.

You have talent. You
just needed a story.

Tell Bertie...

Don't tell Bertie.

The gates will close behind you.

Hello.

Liam Somers' story of
a fading patriarch,

presiding over a
grief-stricken family

has been described as
one of the most striking

debuts of the year.

Here with us to
discuss his first novel

is the author.

Thank you for joining us, Liam.

Thanks for having me.