All language subtitles for -Anemone.2025.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC5.1-[YTS.MX]

Father in heaven,

I kneel before you today...

in your omnipotent presence...

to ask that you grant me strength.

The strength to power through all the tasks today,

whether little or big.

I know it is by your will that I live, O Lord.

And I know it is also by your will

that I will not go weak today.

I will not go lazy...

nor will I fail to do the things

that are set before me.

Thank you for your everlasting presence, Lord,

and in Jesus' name I pray.

: In the name of the Father,

the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Um, I'm gonna be going away for a few days.

I won't be that long, but your-your mother's here,

and-and she... um...

You know.

Anyway, I just thought to let you know

I'm going away and, uh...

Viking, North and South Utsire,

Forties.

Southwesterly, veering northwesterly,

six to gale eight, perhaps severe gale nine later.

Rain, then wintry showers,

moderate or poor, becoming good.

Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger.

Southwesterly, veering westerly,

five to seven, occasionally gale eight.

Rain, then showers,

moderate or good.

Fisher, southwesterly, veering westerly,

six to gale eight, perhaps severe gale nine later.

-Rain, then wintry showers,

moderate or poor, becoming good.

German Bight, Humber.

Southwesterly, veering westerly,

seven to severe gale nine,

decreasing six in Humber later.

Rain, then showers,

moderate or poor, becoming good.

Thames, Dover, Wight, Portland, Plymouth.

Southwesterly, six to gale eight,

occasionally severe gale nine, veering...

Our inheritance.

Thank you.

Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts...

...which we are about to receive.

Through Christ our Lord, we pray.

20 years, huh?

Bless you, brother.

Fuck off.

Brian.

Brian.

Oh, sweetie.

Where is he gone?

Who?

Your dad?

Has he gone to see him?

But what the fuck has he got to do with it, Mum?

-What has he got to do with it? -Everything.

What?

Why'd you hurt that lad, eh?

He was fucking asking for it, Mum.

-Brian.

Did he say something about your dad?

Jem is my dad.

Or he said something about Ray?

Well, if you know so much, then why are you asking me?

Don't be so cheeky.

I'm just trying to talk to you.

You nearly murdered that lad.

Do you hear me?

One more killer in the family. Who's counting?

Ray's not a killer.

And even if he was one, does it mean you have to be?

Eh?

Come here.

Ray's not a killer.

: Our Father who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done

as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread,

and forgive us our trespasses

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Dear Ray,

I'm not sure you'll even get this letter

or read it, even.

So in the fact of hope and answered prayers

you'll be reading this one,

I want to start by asking how you are.

The silence still burns after all the years.

And I often wonder if you think about me.

Us.

Did you read it?

Did you read it?

No, I didn't fucking read it.

Whoo!

"Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish,

and wine unto the bitter in soul."

-Amen.

Her Majesty the Queen.

What happened to "for what we are about to receive"?

So it's only before eating that you say grace?

He don't mind if you have a few fucking bevvies without a word?

You forgot to wipe your arse this morning.

I saw the shit in your pants.

No, that were from yesterday.

You dirty bastard.

Is cleanliness next to godliness, would you say?

How do you know he's not filthy?

Is there any evidence in the Bible

that says God takes a bath three times a week?

Changes his undies every day?

God doesn't need undies,

'cause he's not full of shit like you are.

Oh, is that so?

Has he got an endless supply up there?

Bet he never has to wear the same pair twice.

Does he like a nice, snug fit?

Or does he like plenty of room

for his big fucking God balls to swing around in?

You know, like massive fucking church bells, them.

Bet it's like Canterbury Cathedral

down below decks.

You're going to hell, brother.

Family reunion?

Father Rippon died last week.

Saw it in the paper.

Don't read papers.

Did you ever see him again?

Is that a question?

Did hear he were carted off to the nuthouse a few years ago.

-Please read that letter, Ray. -When I were back on leave

after third tour of the province--

lost two of our lads on that one...

...started to think about him, Rippon.

More I thought about him, the more I wanted

to pay him a visit, have a catch-up.

A debrief about the good old days.

Anyway, when I got home, I looked him up.

Weren't easy to find.

Course, they'd moved him around a bit.

Business as usual.

Tracked him down in Huddersfield.

Hmm.

Should've seen me all togged out in my number twos.

I mean, for someone that were in shit order

most days of the week, I smartened up well.

Cacks under the mattress the night before.

Razor-sharp creases front and back.

I were bulling my boots all morning.

Like mirrors they were.

This were parade ground standard, Jem.

Could've done a ceremonial duty at Buck Pal,

I looked that good.

Number two dress and medals.

I were that well turned out,

I could hear our dear mother's voice saying,

"Come home, son.

All is forgiven."

-Number ones. -The what?

Number one dress at the palace.

Yeah, right, right. That's what I'm saying.

I were that smart, you wouldn't have known the difference.

I suppose not if you were pig-ignorant.

Hmm.

So, go round his house.

Lovely little grace-and-favor cottage

paid for by His Holiness, no doubt.

Window boxes, perfect little lawn,

hedges trimmed.

Knock on the door, and there he is.

All scrubbed up, pink and shiny.

He seemed so old.

I remember him as a big, strong bugger.

And there he were,

scrawny little old man with a potbelly.

I was surprised at how small he looked.

I said, "Father Rippon, isn't it?

"I'm collecting for the Veterans Association.

Would you mind if I stepped inside for a moment?"

I could tell he were impressed.

"Oh, do come in. Do come in, young man.

You're very welcome, son. Do come in."

He's all fluffed up, bustling about.

The kettle's on.

Fine china, biscuits, the whole works.

"You'll take a cuppa, won't you, son?"

So we sit down.

We sit down in his tidy little parlor,

chatting about this and that.

I say, "This is your parish, is it, Father?"

He says, "Oh, I'm currently between parishes.

Semiretired, you know."

I said, "Oh, that must be difficult

after all the years of service."

We talk about...

talking about the state of things,

the ungovernable, godless youth.

He asks me, "Are you of the faith, son?"

And I say, "Faith runs

very deep in our family, Father."

He says, "Of course, what I miss most of all

is working with young people."

I nearly choked on my custard cream.

Anyway, so, there's a lull in the conversation,

and he says, "Oh, I do beg your pardon, Corporal.

Perhaps you'd like something stronger."

I just look at him for a long time.

"Would you like something stronger, Father?"

I could see the thrill of it coursing through him.

He didn't dare believe.

His face darkened, his eyes all glittery.

He said, "Well, I would if you would."

He starts to get up.

I say, "I'm very strong, Father Rippon."

He sits back down as if his legs went from under him.

I say...

"Would you like to have a look?"

I start to unbutton my trousers.

I thought he might have a heart attack.

He just couldn't believe it.

It was like Christmas come early.

So I stood myself up...

teasing open the buttons like a rent boy.

Dropped the cacks, dropped my undies.

I say, "There it is."

I said, "Lie down on the floor."

He lies down, eager to accommodate.

I said, "In a crucifix.

That would make me nice and hard."

Waddled forward a few steps.

I'm stood right over him.

Oh, there's one detail I forgot to mention, Jem.

For a few days before I went round,

I were on a diet of Guinness and curry.

And then the afternoon of, I took a handful of laxatives.

It were hard to get the timing right.

I was sat in my car outside his house

for a couple of hours, and nothing was shifting.

As soon as I felt that stirring within,

I knocked on his door.

As I'm sitting there, it's welling up inside me,

and now I swear I'm coming apart at the seams.

The rivets are popping out of me.

The army teaches you to grin and bear it, doesn't it, Jem?

We do love the exquisite agony of self-denial.

So...

I'm stood over him.

I say, "Don't recognize me, do you?"

"What?"

I say, "Little Ray.

I'm your Little Ray from the care home."

Takes him a good few moments,

his eyes flicking this way and that.

When the penny drops,

fear runs through him like electricity.

And the stinking sweat poured out of him.

"Oh, please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."

I said, "Don't move.

"If you move an inch, I'll cut off

"your meat and potatoes

"and shove them down your fucking throat.

You can suck yourself off for a change."

Well, come to think of it,

shame he didn't learn to do that a few years ago.

He might have been self-sufficient.

Shuffled forwards, about-turn, very awkward,

heels on his stringy little arms.

He flinched. I could tell it hurt him, but he daren't move.

"Now, look up the sluice pipe, Father."

And I squatted down.

And I manured him.

: Now...

This evacuation were in three distinct phases.

First, I sprayed...

: sprayed him.

Pebble-dashed him.

Like a flock of pigeons taking off, they were.

Then a couple of waves of hot lava.

And finally, one... one big...

...one big patty cake, like wet cement,

flops out of me.

And he's retching and spitting, and he daren't breathe in,

but he has to breathe.

And I'm laughing that much,

I feared I might topple over into my own filth.

And that's it.

Stood up.

Little packet of wet wipes in my pocket.

Cleaned myself up...

and walked out of there light as a feather.

Did you believe that?

Did he do you in the hole?

Huh?

No.

I bet he didn't.

Even at that age, they were scared of you.

Where were you when he was fucking me up the hole?

Huh?

He done me proper.

He done me proper.

Didn't have much luck with fathers, did we?

How about some tunes?

Fucking hell.

-Fucking pig.

What's wrong with you?

All right?

Fucking hell.

What you doing that for?

What are you doing that for, hmm?

-What are you doing that for? -What?

Just chucking 'em in your mouth.

I'm not gonna eat them now.

-You all right?

I'm fucking crossing there, you fucking twat!

Look where you're fucking going, you stupid...

Nessa?

Nessa.

Hattie?

Look at you in your white coat.

Oh, don't get ahead of yourself.

I'm only a trainee, Nessa.

It looks good on you, though.

Even the cleaners get white coats in the chemist.

-Have you finished uni? -Mm-mm.

Finals coming up this year.

-This is my workplace training. -Right.

I'm-I'm glad I ran into you, Nessa.

I've not heard from Brian for an age now.

Is he all right?

What?

What?

I really hurt him, Hattie.

I don't know what I...

I-I don't actually know.

I just... I... I couldn't stop myself.

I have, uh...

I hurt him badly.

What did he say to you?

I can't even remember, Hattie.

Well, I can.

But...

just-just usual stupid shit.

About him?

I just...

Fuck, I just...

I just...

You were in East Tyrone, right?

Ooh, let me just cast my mind back for a moment.

Wrong.

You know exactly where I were.

Crossmaglen.

Bandit country.

There were an IRA active service unit

operating in the area, doing all sorts.

They were very good, very skillful.

Cunning, ghosting back and forth across the border.

It were cat and mouse.

Sometimes we were the cats, sometimes they were.

As often as not, you weren't even sure which.

You could have them in your sights

with the safety catch off.

Meantime, they'd have a high-velocity round

merrily winging its way toward the back of your head.

Just in the week before we'd dug in...

...we found and defused three massive IEDs of theirs.

They shot and killed one of our dog handlers and the dog.

And they shot down a fucking helicopter.

One week's work.

Provo Army Council expected results.

And they weren't disappointed.

Incendiaries,

IEDs, grenades, mortars,

sniper rifles, heavy machine guns.

Were better-equipped than we were.

What happened?

Are they the flowers our dad used to grow?

Anemones?

I'll write as if you've read

all my other letters.

The desire to talk to you

and share everything is strong.

However, this isn't about me.

This is about Brian.

Brian needs you.

Never before have I asked you in this way.

He's in trouble.

You leaving?

Accommodation not good enough for you?

When you legged it,

every day, Nessa wrote to you.

How long was it?

When you went limping off into the woods,

she didn't want to interfere with your decision.

For a couple of years, we thought

you'd just turn up one day.

She had no idea if you got her letters,

let alone if you read them.

You knew she were pregnant.

You never answered her once.

You've been going through my things?

Fuck off back to Toytown, you fucking ape.

Got my girl, got my son, got my life.

What more do you fucking want?

It was you that left. You.

Get over yourself, lad.

It's not about you. Fact.

It's about Brian.

Poor only child of a deranged fugitive.

Didn't you want to give him some brothers

and sisters to play with?

You're a big lump of a lad.

Don't tell me you were firing blanks.

She prayed for you every night, Ray.

Still prays for you.

Tell her to save her fucking breath.

And our dad prayed for you, too,

every day for the rest of his life.

Have you gone soft?

That miserable bastard?

Oh, he prayed. He prayed, didn't he?

Prayed every time he took his belt off.

Didn't he pray again afterwards?

Wet under the arms from the efforts of his labor.

Oh, he prayed regular.

We learnt our violence from the number one regional champion,

and he had some stiff competition.

Who knows, maybe at the...

the British Legion dominoes championships,

he's life and soul.

Blazer, badge, regimental tie, chest out front,

just the long-range desert patrol.

Now, that were war.

Sand for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

If Rommel didn't get you, the flies surely would.

He didn't talk like that.

That's right, he didn't fucking talk at all, did he?

I've had plenty of fucking time

to fill in the fucking silence for him.

What do you want from me, brother?

You'd know if you read the letter.

I've read the fucking letter. I've read the fucking letter.

What the fuck?

What do you want?

I'm beyond your reach, Jem.

I'm well beyond her reach.

There'll be no epiphany.

So fuck off back to your little family and sort it out.

You don't want me to leave, Ray.

Why in God's name did you let that boy

join army in the first fucking place?

This is nowt to do with me. This is on you, mate.

Look, though I've raised the boy,

do you think he's not a pigheaded little bastard

like you are?

-It were nowt to do with me.

I said my piece.

I didn't think he should do it, follow in our footsteps.

I thought he were just chasing after...

Anyway, regardless of what I think or don't think,

do you honestly believe that your son

wouldn't do a thing just 'cause somebody told him not to?

Look, he's currently absent without leave.

And as much as they like him, you know as well as I do

there's no warm, fuzzy feeling in the MOD.

There's only so long they'll turn a blind eye.

Maybe a week, if we're lucky.

And then the MPs will come knocking

and take him away.

But that's the least of it.

I've seen my share of lost souls, Ray,

and at this moment, your son is in the dark.

Believer or nonbeliever, there are forces at work.

Fact.

I don't want anything from you, Ray.

I-I don't want anything.

Nessa... Nessa believes that if you met him

and talked to him, gave him some answers,

it just might make a difference.

It might.

Before it's too late.

Brian savaged this lad. He fucking savaged him.

He's convinced himself if...

if they hadn't pulled him off, he'd have killed him.

And this has been following Brian since primary school.

"Your father's this, your father's that."

"He's in the nuthouse."

"Is he banged up?"

The invisible man, Ray Stoker.

Please.

Just tell me.

If you're not gonna help out,

then I'm gonna get out of here double-time.

I fancy a bevvy.

He's still conscious? That's-that's good.

Could you just ask the children to move out of the way?

We don't want them seeing this, do we?

A blanket on... Yeah, a blanket on him is fine.

And, uh, do I move him?

-No, do not move him. -But he's in the way.

I repeat that, do not move him, madam.

And do not remove his helmet.

-You're doing so well.

I know there's a lot of blood.

Why, he were all over me at that stage,

like a bloody octopus.

And I were, like, whipping my head back and forth,

just trying to catch a clean breath.

But he must have thought I was in ecstasy,

'cause that minging wet gob of his

just kept reaching for me.

Oh, my... He wasn't gonna back down, but...

I'm not lying.

His breath smelt like shit, Nessa.

: Have you ever had that?

Thank you.

-Here you are. -Cheers, mate.

And here's some crisps. I know you like them.

Cheese and onion.

This thing's out of juice, mate.

I won't be long.

Won't be long.

He's beautiful, kind,

funny, loyal.

He's so like you in so many ways.

Funny that, eh?

Anyway, I implore you,

for the sake of Brian,

to please, please come home and talk to him.

Let him meet you at least.

And maybe, just maybe he can move forward

and let go of whatever demon anger is holding him so tight.

I pray you are well and see fit to answer.

God bless.

Love always, Nessa.

What?

What?

What? What the fuck?

Spitting image.

What?

Spitting image.

Spitting image? Who?

-Fuck off.

Fuck right off.

Our father who art in heaven?

Fuck off.

: Suppose I am a bit.

Suppose I am a bit of a sad old bugger.

He been doing all right, were he?

-Who? -The boy.

"The boy," Brian, is doing well, very well.

They think he's a real prospect.

Can't help himself.

The other lads just fall in behind him.

-That right? -: Yeah.

You remember what it's like when you're cold and hungry,

you haven't slept in three nights.

It's every man for himself.

With Brian...

he's got strength to spare.

He may be at the end of his rope,

but he's still looking out for the others.

And they pay attention to that.

Hmm.

When you did selection and, uh, were badged into the regiment,

I was so proud.

And I was so fucking envious.

I thought, "I want that.

I want some of that."

Suppose volunteering for 14 Int

were a way of getting closer, you know.

The training at Bradbury Lines with your lads and all,

I thought it were within reach, but...

Weren't 'cause of me that he signed up.

'Cause of you.

Even with all the shit that he put up with over the years,

it was some idea he had, it were...

It was the space where you should've been

that he was chasing after, that he was fascinated by.

Now he's frightened of his own shadow.

He doesn't know who you are.

Knows nothing about you.

Except for the old stories when we were youngsters.

You know, the short fuse, street fights, vandalism.

: You and me both, we were both liabilities then.

But now he, uh...

I don't know, he looks at his hands

as though they belong to somebody else.

What?

Rumors, mate. Rumors.

Until you tell me what happened,

that's all we've got.

I realize I've never properly spoken to you

about your father.

And that was a fault in me, Brian.

Me and Jem thought we could make a nice life for you,

and-and I think in some ways we have.

But it can't have been easy for you...

all these years.

You know, it looming over everything.

Every family dinner.

Every birthday, every Christmas,

every special occasion.

And I suppose, by not talking to you about it...

...it were my way of protecting you from it.

How much do you know about the early Troubles

in Northern Ireland?

We'll sleep outside tonight.

I lost him in stages.

I lost him in stages.

After the first few tours in Northern Ireland,

he were already quite hard to reach.

And then when he volunteered for some special assignment,

the minute he raised his hand, he...

he seemed to disappear into another world.

Oh, but it wasn't just that. He wanted it.

He were alive, eager.

He said goodbye well before he left.

And when he came back, you couldn't reach him.

You'd be sat at kitchen table with him,

and he'd be looking at you like you were at the other side

of a football pitch and you're an acquaintance,

you know, maybe, and he were trying to figure out

who you were.

I were pregnant with you.

And I were getting bigger by the day,

and he seemed to be shrinking.

I-I... I felt like a big lumbering giant

living with a miniature person,

afraid I were going to crush him underfoot, but...

Then one day he were gone, and I...

realized I'd been waiting for it.

Ray never spoke to me about what happened over there.

I tried to get in touch with a...

you know, a few of the lads that he served with, you know,

that were with him, but they said nothing.

They were on a warning from the MOD.

They must have been on a warning.

So all I have is what I'm telling you now.

But I knew Ray.

I knew Ray better than I knew myself.

And as I said, those lads, they couldn't say owt.

But I tell you this much--

they loved him and they respected him.

And they never gave me... never gave me one hint of a reason

that he'd done something he should be ashamed of.

But he left us, didn't he?

He left us.

What's that, Mum? Something to be proud of?

Why'd he leave?

Huh? Why did he leave us?

War crime.

That's what he called it-- a war crime.

Fucking war crime me?

The war were the fucking crime.

And we were the phantom soldiers.

Our mission on this one were surveillance, pure and simple.

We dug in at nighttime.

Two ops.

Ours were in a hedgerow at the end of an unpaved laneway

bordering the farm buildings.

The structure of interest were the milking shed

no more than 30, 40 feet from us across the yard.

On a tip-off, we'd scouted it a few nights before.

They arrived shortly after sunup.

The bomb maker were a player well-known to us.

The young lad with him, we'd never seen him before.

Our intel was solid, but...

for two days, there were no movement.

We started to wonder if they'd somehow slipped away,

if there were a... a tunnel or concealed entrance

we'd missed when we recced the building.

I was just writing up my report when the bomb went off.

The explosion was so loud you couldn't hear it.

The concussive force ran through

every cell of your body.

Filled you up, like there were nothing left of you.

Just chaos.

The entire roof lifted off the shed

on a cloud of black smoke, like a cartoon.

Walls swelled outwards, opened up.

Debris started to rain down on us.

"Are we being attacked? Do they know we're here?

Are they getting rid of it?"

They'd do that sometimes. You know how it were.

If they... they thought you were onto them,

they'd detonate the ordnance and scarper.

And we were waiting for the incoming, but so far,

there were nothing.

Then there were just the sound of this fella screaming.

Like I said, we were on surveillance, nothing more.

We weren't equipped for anything serious.

Sidearms only, couple of longs between us.

When that Semtex went off, we should've called it in,

hand it over to your lads, but...

: I don't know why, but...

for some reason, we moved in.

Advance to contact.

I suppose it were a "ride to the sound of the guns"

type of madness.

We started to crawl toward the milking shed.

Could've been weapons trained on us, snipers.

Could've been another bomb waiting in the building.

We didn't know.

So we're crawling, heads down, getting closer, getting closer.

All we could...

The only sound were the screaming.

Obviously, we wanted to get one of them alive,

if we could, get him to talk.

It were that smoky in the building

you could barely see in front of you.

Well, it turned out it were just the two of them,

master and apprentice.

And the player must have been stood

between the bomb and the kid.

There were nowt left of him.

Except his fucking teeth,

buried in the side of the young fella's head.

Heard it were his nephew a few days later.

And I must have slipped when we went in on some...

piece of him, because I were covered in, you know...

When I picked myself up, I were covered in his slime.

The kid were on the ground.

Bits of him were...

He were alive, just about, but bits of him were missing.

His innards were spilled out,

and he were crying out for his mother.

Bomb maker's teeth buried in the side of his head.

I was stood right over him.

Our three lads clearing the room left and right.

I'm stood over him.

He were dying, this kid, Jem. He were dying.

I could see the fear in his eyes.

The fucking hatred.

He looked at me with hatred.

Couldn't have been more than 16 or 17 years old.

Younger than Brian is now.

He's screaming at me.

Begging me to shoot him.

So I shot him.

He were dying?

Yes, Jem, he were fucking dying. He fucking...

I didn't fucking kill him. He killed himself.

Fucking killed himself.

I just nudged him across the line.

Fucking little bastard.

Where were they gonna put that bomb? In a pub?

In a shopping center? In a nightclub?

Guaranteed, there'd be innocent people blown to bits.

How fucking merciful.

Turns out they just killed themselves.

And I'm the fucking murderer?

I wish... I wish I had left him to die.

I wish I'd left him to his full measure of suffering.

Lying there with his guts spilled out,

crying for his mother.

I should've left him there.

Should've called an ambulance.

Told 'em to take the scenic route.

I'm not fucking making out I did him a favor,

but I fucking did.

He were begging me to do it.

17 years old, shivering on the ground,

and I finished him off.

Just to stop the screaming.

And that's it. That's all there were.

Yeah, listen, of course they... lads knew.

The lads... lads knew what I'd done.

They didn't question it.

They knew this fella were gone

and no one would get anything out of him.

By the time we got him anywhere,

he-he wouldn't have survived.

No one said a word. No one questioned it.

No one said a word.

But I called it into South Det operations room.

That stage, our job were done.

Handed over, went back to barracks, had the debrief.

That boy's injuries-- didn't occur to me

any questions would be asked, but...

They were all in a twist.

The Ruperts, the higher-ups.

So, after...

the CO had me in his office.

Uh...

I could tell he were under stress.

His whole fat head looked like a boil that needed lancing.

"By all the rules of lawful engagement,

that's a war crime, Sergeant Stoker."

Oh, hello. Here we go.

He's looking hard at me.

"We need to make this go away.

"He presented a threat.

He raised his weapon."

"No, he fucking didn't, sir."

I shouted in his face, "No, he fucking didn't."

: "His arms were shredded."

: I said, "I want to get out."

He-he said, "You can't."

He said, "Pull yourself together and don't be thick.

"Take a couple of days, see the head doctor,

"you'll be right as rain.

We'll make this go away." So...

I'm stood in front... front of him,

hot tears squirting out of me.

If you'd asked me what my name were,

I wouldn't have known.

So I...

I took a couple of days, but...

it-it weren't that long for the shrink to see

there were a crack in the ice that wouldn't heal over.

I were... I were, as he put it...

-Hey. -...an unstable element.

Danger to myself and others, which, in our line of work,

meant generally bad for business.

Time to go home.

So he declared me unfit, "return to unit."

Signed me out, put me on a plane back to my regiment.

Short while later, I find myself

on the streets of Sheffield, staring at my old front door.

A civilian...

and a...

...a dirty little s-secret war criminal.

Yeah, well, I were coming up 15 years' service,

due out anyway.

Could you have saved him?

I did save him, Jem. I did save him.

Saved him from more fucking pain.

I'd have enjoyed watching him suffer a little bit longer,

so I did save him-- saved him from that.

Why did you shoot him?

Could we have kept him alive?

At the t-time, I knew we couldn't.

At the time.

: At the time.

: Hey.

We've all done things.

We've all done things, Ray.

I don't need your fucking absolution, Jem.

Maybe I could've saved him.

Maybe I couldn't have saved him.

Maybe I enjoyed killing him. Maybe I didn't.

Maybe I pitied him. Maybe I fucking hated him.

I don't know, Jem. I don't know.

But I don't need your fucking absolution.

I did the crime. I'm still serving the time.

I don't owe nowt to nobody.

I don't owe nowt to nobody.

Least of all to you.

How many fucking Hail Marys do I get for that?

And he goes silent, morose.

His eyes searching for the exit.

Well, there were rumors, as you only know too well,

that he'd lost his mind over there, that...

you know, he'd... he'd gone psycho,

that he'd been involved in some bad things.

Even that he'd murdered an unarmed civilian.

Oh, and the shame.

The shame of it seemed to crush him.

I mean, regardless of what happened, the shame.

It's hard to imagine that, you know,

what shame can do to a person.

He was a very proud man, your father, Brian.

He was very proud.

Proud?

You don't understand.

-He put his heart and soul into soldiering. -Proud?

Just like your dad, Jem, you know?

Listen to yourself, Mum.

So... so to take that away from somebody,

to take it away from him, it's like taking his name away.

How can you be so fucking reasonable about it?

Oh, I wasn't reasonable about it at the time.

You know, and if it... if it wasn't for knowing

that there was a baby on the way, and if it...

if it wasn't for you...

I don't know what I would've done.

So, yeah.

He left us.

I'm sorry.

And is that what you think, or is that what you know?

'Cause this is what I think, Mum.

I think he were a fucking killer

and a coward.

Because only a weak, cowardly person can walk away

from their family like that.

Don't talk about him. You don't know him.

No, you're right. I don't know him.

That's the problem, innit?

I don't fucking know him.

I know everything I fucking need to know

about that bastard.

And that he's a big, giant fucking sinkhole

in the middle of our lives.

Don't talk about him like that.

Don't talk about anybody like that in my presence.

Least of all the man who gave you life,

which is a blessed thing.

Blessed? Blessed?

Why does everything have to be so fucking blessed

in this house, Mum?

You gave me life.

He gave me a fucking...

...fucking curse.

All these years.

All these years.

"All these years," fucking what?

How did you...

The winters, I mean, the isolation.

How did I what?

How did I manage without you?

It's not over, Jem.

You make it sound as if it...

I mean...

I won't pretend I don't think about it from time to time,

but this is it, Jem.

This is my life.

Does it have to be?

"As for man,

"his days are as grass:

"as a flower of the field, so it flourisheth.

"For the wind passeth over it,

"and it is gone;

and the place thereof shall know it no more."

Et cetera, et cetera.

A-fucking-men.

Good night, Ray.

Brian?

Brian?

Hey.

I've got to get going.

What are you doing? Fucking hell.