Original subtitles

- Oh, you are up.

I'm taking Posy to an audition,

so you're manning the front desk this morning.

- Can I not? I'm revising. Is Dad not around?

- Your dad's writing.

You can revise on the desk.

You have to give people keys, Beth.

Won't be any different to up here.

Come on.

Take your hair down

and make yourself a bit more presentable

- Hey!

- Mmm, did you bring coffee?

- Yes, thanks.

I'm taking Posy to an audition,

so you're gonna have to get your own lunch as well.

There's some nice turkey ham in the fridge.

- Which?

- Which what?

- No, which is it, turkey or ham?

- It's turkey ham.

That's what it is, turkey ham.

- Why do they call it turkey ham

when it's only got turkey in it?

- It's from flying bloody pigs, that's what,

like your next bestseller.

- Was everything all right? Did you sleep okay?

- No, I didn't.

All those bloody Seagulls squawking since sunrise.

- They kind of come with the sea.

- Wasn't like that in the book.

It was a peaceful retreat in the book.

- You're lucky I'm not coming in

to talk to your mother and father.

- Well, good luck with that if you change your mind.

- Um...

is this actually your house?

- Yeah.

Hmm. I'm late, aren't I?

- You've missed breakfast, I'm afraid.

Which room are you in?

- All of them, unfortunately.

I'm the new cleaner.

- Right, yeah.

I'm Beth Fischer.

- Oh, charmed.

Serena.

- Nice to meet you, Serena.

Can I just take your surname for the key log?

- Yeah, um,

it's spelled M-O-L-I-N-A.

- Great.

So you know you don't need to do

the attic room on the top floor, just the guestrooms.

This is Edna, our other cleaner.

She'll show you around.

How do you say your surname, just so I don't get it wrong?

- Molina.

- Molina.

- Mm-hmm, yeah.

Serena Molina the cleaner.

Meant to be.

- Right, um, so Edna's just down there.

- EW.

- Yeah, in deep. Oh.

- You don't need to clean here.

- Are you sure?

Looks pretty dirty from where I'm standing.

Filthy, actually.

- Fuck.

- Is that your dad then?

The pervert you keep locked away in the attic?

- So you've read the book then?

- No.

It's a little lightweight for me.

Any good?

- Really brilliant.

What's he doing here then?

- He lives here.

- No, I mean he's German, isn't he?

So What's he doing in this culture vacuum?

- Well, I imagine he's asking himself the same question

now that he's got Writer's block.

- My name's not Serena Molina, by the way.

Did you not realize I was joking?

- Oh.

I thought the joke was on you.

- Emelia...Conan Doyle.

And, yes, I am related to the Sherlock Holmes author.

- Wow.

That's great.

- Anyway...

I'd better go. Got to skooch.

Bye.

- She wants to do it, so why can't she?

- Because she will-

Because she will have to come out of school

if the rehearsals are during the day.

- She is six years old, Jonathan.

What's she going to miss, eh?

- What's she going to miss?

Oh, I don't know.

Just the unimportant stuff!

Reading! Writing!

A lot of bloody good those things have done you,

parked up here fiddling with your asshole,

and it's the rest of us- do not turn away!

It is the rest of us who are running around,

trying to make money out of this godforsaken house

to make ends meet.

It's a professional engagement

she's been offered, and she wants to do it.

- Does she really want to?

- Yes, look at her!

- Or is it just you trying to make up for your own failures?

- Oh, well, I can only bow

to your superior knowledge of failure.

You are the Grand Poobah of it.

- You are so fucking childish.

It takes years to write a great novel.

- And it takes you just as long to write a shit one.

- Go away, Mum!

I'm revising!

Oh.

Sorry, I didn't realize you were here.

- I'd say the same goes for this lot.

- You caught the show then?

This is my get-out-of-jail card.

- And, uh... is that your sex hat?

Look, I don't have long.

I just stopped by to give you this.

You had a book on fairies by your bed.

- Oh, yeah.

Yeah, it was my little sister's.

But that's lovely. Thanks.

- Anyway, I should get going.

- You should come for dinner,

tonight, as a thank-you for the book.

- Seriously? With your family?

- Yeah.

- That would be amazing.

- Great, so do you need to call your mum to check?

- I would, but she's a bit dead.

- Oh. Sorry.

- It's okay.

It's not very fair for you to take the blame.

She did kill herself.

But thanks anyway.

- Fucking useless asshole.

Come on, Posy, get in the car.

We need to get going if we're gonna really

fuck your father off.

- You said a bad word!

-Nice!

Bye.

- Bye.

- Have you got any ID?

- Yeah, definitely me.

- No. Are you 18?

- Yes.

- Can you prove it?

There.

Are these not the breasts of an 'I 8-year-old?

- That'll be £2_99, please.

- I can't believe we're stooping to the hired help

for friendships now, Beth.

- What's going on?

- Your daughters invited the bloody cleaner for dinner.

- Which one?

- Well, I assume it's the '17-year-old.

Please tell me it's not Edna,

the bearded pensioner.

- Sorry.

I came in through the private entrance.

I didn't know which one I should use.

- Oh, hey.

- Hello, Mrs. Fischer.

Thank you so much for inviting me.

This is for you.

- Oh, thank you.

Are you old enough to drink Wine?

- Yes...

in Denmark and restricted parts of Europe.

- Oh, have you met my dad, Emelia?

- No, I don't think we've actually been introduced.

- Beth, can you come and finish up the plates?

- Hi, I'm Jonathan Fischer.

- Hmm.

I hope you've washed that hand before I shake it, Mr. Fischer.

Emelia. Hi.

- Lovely to meet you properly, Emelia.

- Conan Doyle. Emelia Conan Doyle.

Yes, I am related to the Sherlock Holmes author.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?

- Oh.

I've read all his work.

So I'll get you a drink. Wine?

You can have a glass of wine with dinner, can't you?

white, huh?

That's what you girls prefer, white?

- So tell me about the cliff house.

I want to know everything.

- Hmm.

There's not much to tell.

I came over here to go to Cambridge.

Saw a beautiful young actress in a touring play

and whisked her away to the cliff house,

just for the weekend.

Wrote the book in ignorance at 22,

struck gold,

and now it hangs around my neck,

taunting me with its success.

- Yeah, I meant the house,

like the actual building.

Is it Victorian?

- No, Edwardian, actually.

- I'm joking.

I'd love to know about the book.

- Are you applying to university, Emelia?

I'm sure Beth told you she's applying to Oxford.

- Um, I'm not actually going to uni.

- Are you at the University of Life, Emelia?

- Yes.

- Mum says that's what dossers say.

- Hmm.

Actually, um, I'm also writing a novel.

- Are you? That's cool.

- Yeah, but, um, got quite a lot to live up to, though,

as you can imagine.

I mean, you can't exactly go looking under "Conan Doyle"

and come up with some airport read

called Dirty Bitch, can you?

- That's exactly what I should have done.

Nothing to me, all this university education.

- What a shame you didn't realize that

before you wrote Mental Interiors.

You might still have a publisher.

- You should take it on board, Mr. Fischer.

"It is with bad sentiments that one makes good novels."

That's Aldous Huxley, Mrs. Fischer.

- Who does this belong to?

- It's not mine. It's Emelia's.

- Well, where is Emelia?

What are you doing?

- Was having a break.

- Don't be smart. Get in.

Emelia!

Emelia!

Fuck you very much.

What? I said, "Thank you."

Like, I just sang it.

- Hi.

What are you doing here?

- Certainly not waitressing, if that's what you're thinking.

Hello, Pokey.

- It's Posy!

- I know.

Sit in my section.

I'll move someone.

- How's your novel going?

- Oh, well, you know.

Posy, would you like a milkshake?

- Yes.

- I'd like to have-

- Uh, ladies first.

I'll be back in a moment to take your order.

- Excuse me?

I am a vegetarian.

- That isn't something to boast about.

- Mmm, thank you!

I need a spoon.

- So what can I do for you?

- Actually, I was just thinking-

- You know, if you get that down on paper,

it's called writing.

You can have that lesson on me.

- Actually, I was thinking I might be able

to do something for you.

Seriously.

I could teach you creative writing

if you're struggling.

- Just you and me writing?

- Yes.

- Sounds fun.

I'll see you tomorrow.

- Oh, Annie, you scared the wits out of me.

- Granny, it's Emelia.

Not Annie.

Mum's dead, remember?

- Don't stay up too late now, will you?

There's school tomorrow.

- Granny, it's only 4:00, and it's Sunday tomorrow.

And I'm working as well,

to tide me over for a bit.

- Yes, yes.

Of course.

- Basically, yeah, I go like,

"So who's your sexual fantasy?" Yeah?

And instead of saying like, you know, Pamela Anderson

or something, he goes, "A mermaid."

I was like, "A mermaid?

That is half fish you want to shag, you sick fuck."

He goes, "Yeah

Pretty much is with most girls, innit?"

- I think my granny's dying.

- All right.

When my granny died, yeah,

my brother, little Tommy, yeah,

starts singing, "Burn, baby, burn,"

as she's going in the oven.

Fucking priceless, calling my nan "baby"

Babe?

Babe?

- Well, I-I haven't actually acted professionally

for a few years now, no.

Um, I was in a really popular coffee commercial.

Um, I used to be Joa Saunders.

I'm the one who married

the novelist Jonathan A. Fischer.

So, um, I was just calling because I'm looking

for new representation.

Right.

Yeah.

Yes, all right, I will.

I'll, um-I'll call back when I'm in something.

Thanks.

- Morning, Mrs. Fischer.

How's it hanging?

- You're late.

And I want to have a word with you.

What are you doing with things that are left in the rooms?

- Oh, well, uh...

The bed, I'm making.

The carpet, I've...

I've been walking on that.

And the curtains,

recently I've taken to swinging on them.

Is that okay?

- I mean the things that people leave behind accidentally.

Are you stealing them?

- No.

I haven't found anything that's been left behind.

What's been left behind?

- Well, the man who vacated room three on Tuesday

couldn't find his teeth.

Are you actually accusing me of stealing

a set of old man's false teeth?

What did you think I was going to do with them?

These not look like mine?

- I know that you live with your grandparents.

- Yes, and they both have their own teeth.

- If things get left behind,

they come down to the lost property box.

- I know.

I read the memo.

It was...fascinating

You should have been the writer in the family.

- Emelia,

you are this close to getting fired.

- Come in.

Hi.

Give me one minute.

Let me just finish what I am doing here.

Sit down.

Sorry about that.

A moment of inspiration can be lost in far less time

if you don't indulge it.

But l...caught it.

So hello.

- Did you just fake that?

- No.

Yes.

So Where's your Work?

- I didn't bring anything with me.

- I understand if you're not ready to show me

what you have written so far.

Wherever you've been, I went there first.

- I'm not sure I'd own up to that.

- So can you at least tell me what your novel's about?

- Do you have anything to drink?

- No.

- Can't you just go downstairs?

I mean, there must be something downstairs.

So you haven't told your family about our lessons then.

- No, I haven't.

- Hmm.

I do have a story actually.

It's about a naughty pixie.

- Emelia, come on, this isn't school.

- Good, because I got expelled from school.

I really wouldn't let your daughter anywhere near me.

- She's 17.

That's old enough to know your own mind.

- Is this a lesson on subtext, Mr. Fischer?

- Okay, let's start with text and subtext then.

I suppose that's something.

And please don't call me Mr. Fischer.

It makes me feel old.

- I don't want to eat it!

I don't like it!

- You haven't even tried it.

Come on, you have to eat some.

- No, she doesn't.

You don't have to eat it, Posy darling.

Beth, don't force-feed her.

- You would have made me eat it.

- Well, We've learned from our mistakes.

How's the book going?

- Hello?

Emelia!

Can I go out for the evening?

- Well, it's a school night.

- Yeah, but I'm on study leave.

- Technically, it's a school night.

- You can go out.

Be back by 10:00.

- Great.

- Show some fucking backbone, you total tool.

- Don't start, Joa!

You'd slept with half of Basingstoke by her age.

- Lucky fucking Basingstoke!

- Wow, look at that.

- Wow. That's amazing.

- Boy, I wish I had a camera.

- Take a picture on your phone.

- I wish I had a phone.

Anyway, we should grab what we can

before they realize it's wrecked here.

- Oh.

Huge men's T-shirts.

- Not as good as these.

Women's shoes.

- Oh, those are revolting!

- Look at the size of them!

- Why is everything so massive?

Here, you should have this.

- We can't actually take them.

They might belong to someone.

- No, you can claim it, provided notice is given

so the rightful owner has a chance to come forward.

We are taking all your stuff, okay?

- We're having the big T-shirts and the shoes, all right?

- Is that all right with you?

- Ha-ha!

- Aah!

What's that?

- It's a joint.

Do you want some?

- No, thanks.

Where on Earth do you get hard drugs from?

- Are you for real, Pollyanna?

- Can I try it?

- Yeah.

It's just a rollie, though.

I just wanted to see your face.

How come you're not doing your A-levels?

Surely you want to get out of here like everyone else.

My dad thinks you're really clever.

- I was doing A-levels.

I was at The Holy Family, but I got kicked out.

I'm quite pleased actually.

'Cause my mum always said that being a Conan Doyle

made you special, and now I get to skip

all that religious indoctrination

and do something proper.

Did your dad really say that?

What else did he say?

- Nothing.

I hope you don't mind me asking, but what happened to your mum?

- She jumped off the flyover at Shoreham

'cause my dad didn't love her.

That didn't kill her, though.

She squeaked around in a wheelchair

for a couple years after that.

And then when he didn't come back and save her,

she overdosed on sleeping pills.

- Why didn't he come back?

Where is he?

- Dead...disabled, divorced.

Fuck knows.

- God, Emelia, that's awful.

So is this what your book's gonna be about?

- No.

It's about bestiality.

Emelia?

Do you want to come up to Oxford with me?

For my interview?

We could go for a couple of days.

Stay over.

I'll pay.

- What, and hang out with a load of geeks?

Fuck that.

I'd rather chew off my own arm

and club myself to death with it.

- Uh, sorry.

I was looking for Beth.

- Yeah, I can see that.

Looking...long and...hard.

What, is that quits now?

Oh, that's right.

Go back to your procrast-urbating

- I'm done with my answers.

Are you?

- No.

Stop cheating.

- How can you write like that?

- Well...

I found these miraculous

clawlike appendages at the end of my arms,

and they were ideal for clutching blunt instruments

such as this, a pencil.

- I meant, Wouldn't it just be easier to use your laptop?

I'd be lost without mine.

- I don't have a laptop.

I come from a no-parent family.

We spend most of our money on gravestones

- Ah.

I'm sorry.

Maybe you could use Posy's computer.

- Maybe I could.

I forgive you.

- Your shoes are massive.

- There you are.

- Yep, here I am.

What are you doing here?

I thought you'd finished for the day.

- Um, I was Wondering about Oxford.

Um, and I wondered if the offer still stands

for me to come with you.

- I thought you said you didn't want to come.

- Of course I want to come.

- You don't have to.

I don't mind. I'm not bothered.

- I want to come.

- Well, the offer's still there.

I'd love you to come.

- Wicked. Cup of tea?

- Yeah, great.

- What's that?

- It's a doggie bag, Granny.

- Is it Bonnie's food?

- No, Granny, um...

doggie bag, as in leftovers.

Bonnie's dead, remember?

- Bonnie's dead?

Bonnie's dead! - Yes, yes.

- Well, well, when?

Why didn't somebody tell me?

Oh, Annie...

Why didn't you tell me?

Why didn't somebody tell me?

- What are you doing?

- Nothing.

The usual, boring.

- I was wondering...

if you would like to go out to dinner.

- I can't, darling.

I've got tons to do.

- Oh, come on.

It's Friday night.

- I'm onto something here.

Really, I- I can't just stop now.

- Fine. Starve then.

- You're not going to need that today.

- Um...

- You're going on afield trip.

- Hmm, what about the Shrew?

- She's in London with Posy for an audition, so...let's go.

- Come with me.

- So where are we going?

- You'll see.

- You are very quiet.

Have I bored you to death?

- No...the opposite.

It's just...

My dad was never around to talk to about him...

Arthur.

All I have are a collection of his books my mum gave me.

- That's your experience, Emelia.

That's you.

- And it's your experiences that shape you as a writer.

When I wrote The Cliff House, it was me.

It ripped everything I had from my soul.

It devoured me.

And it's left me with nothing.

But, fuck, it was good.

- Even if you do say so yourself.

- Thank you.

That was one of the best days of my life.

- There was no one at the desk when we got in,

so we helped ourselves to our key

only to find that the room wasn't cleaned.

It's not on.

- No, it's not,

but I left my husband manning the fort today,

and you know what men are like.

- No.

In the book, the rooms are clean.

Look.

Here and, uh, here

and here.

"The room sparkles."

It says it.

- Where have you been?

- Meeting a new editor.

I'm Jonathan Fischer, the author.

- Hi...

- Actually, the room was sparkling...

with energy and atmosphere.

- Yeah, right, yeah, of course.

- The room is through here,

if you would like to take your Wife for a tour.

- Yeah. Lovely.

- Let's go.

- Come on, Margaret. Bring the cagoules

- Jonathan,

how could you not have noticed that that bloody girl

didn't turn up?

- Oh... didn't she turn up?

- You said, "bloody"

- Bethany!

- Dad?

Have you seen Emelia?

- No, isn't she here?

And why ask me?

- I only asked if you'd seen her.

She just didn't show up for work this morning.

That's all.

- Hmm...

Oh, thank God.

I thought I was going to be arrested.

- Why? What have you done?

Oh.

Well, I am 17.

Unless there's some strange local bylaw I don't know about,

and kissing's been deemed illegal.

Well, anyway, got other things to Worry about today,

starting with a showdown with the Shrew 'cause of you.

- Why, what-what's going on?

What's she said?

- All right, keep your Wig on.

It's about yesterday.

Somebody was supposed to cover for me.

You're not very good at this, are you?

- Are you coming to Posy's party?

It's a P party, but...

Um...

So she can come as a princess.

- You can come as...a pervert.

Or a...pedophile.

- Finish your food, Posy.

- Emelia said to give peas a chance.

I love Emelia.

She's great, isn't she, Dad?

- Yes.

Yes, she's great.

- So can she come to Posy's party on Saturday?

- No. - Of course she can come.

- What on Earth are you talking about?

It's bad enough that Beth's decided

she's going up to Oxford with her.

It's not like she's one of our kids.

- Of course she can come to Posy's party.

- I'm finished.

- Fine, get down.

- Can I watch Sex and the City?

- Where do you want me to put this?

- Oh, just there, anywhere.

It's fine.

- Hey!

- Hello, Peter.

- Why are you wearing that massive coat?

- To stash this.

And I'd have felt self-conscious on the bus wearing this.

- Oh, my God, you look amazing.

- Bethany.

- Better go and help my mum

before she has a nervous breakdown.

Wait here.

- Hiya.

- Hi.

- Ooh!

- You look unbelievable.

- Um, is that appropriate behavior for a man of the cloth?

- I can't help it.

- Oh, well, it's not the sexiest of outfits.

Was Piglet taken?

I'll go out first.

Don't come until I'm out and away, okay?

- I won't come at all after that performance.

- Joa.

- What were you doing in there?

- I spilled fromage frais on my ecclesiastical smock.

- Where's Beth?

- Definitely not in the cleaning cupboard.

That's for sure.

- Fuck.

- You stop right there, young lady.

- What's going on?

- I have just found,

in your underage daughter's bedroom,

this... at a children's party.

You are weeks away from your exams,

and you've started drinking alcohol?

You still have to work.

Keep it together, Beth.

- Oh, who bloody cares?

- You want to be a dropout too, do you?

Like that ghastly girl that you've been hanging around with?

- Emelia is amazing.

You're just too...

bloody stupid to see it.

- While you are living under our roof

and you are only 17,

Bethany, you will live by our rules.

Tell her, Jonathan.

- I mean, it's hardly a terrible crime, Joe.

It's Beth we are talking about

Her idea of rebellion is staying up late for News at 10:00.

Shouldn't we just be grateful that she's showing some spark

for the first time in her life?

In fact, I applaud that she's being more like Emelia.

At least she's getting some spirit about her.

- Gobsmacking

Utterly gobsmacking

Parent of the year award.

- On, thank God.

I actually thought I was gonna have to go with my mum.

- Well, don't worry.

I'm ready.

- Come on.

What do you think he meant by "staircase"?

- Seriously?

Can't recognize stairs?

Don't think you'll get in here.

- Don't say that.

- Ah, 'ello. Staircase 12.

- Ah.

- Oh, my God.

I have never seen so many ugly men in all my life.

I mean, look at them.

Looks like they wear their brains on the outside.

- Obviously, I chose The Queen's College

because of a lifelong fascination

with the Jacobean playwright Thomas Middleton.

I assume you know why all of the colleges are built in quads?

- Is it so that geeks only have to look at each other

when they open the curtains in the morning?

- And what are you hoping to read?

- Wasn't it to keep the gownies safe from attack

from the townies?

- Good girl.

I do like a lady who does her homework.

- Bet he fucking does.

- And so when he asked me how I knew,

I said, "Well, sir, as Sherlock Holmes always said,

Elementary, my dear Watson."'

It was quite funny, 'cause his name was also Watson, you see.

- Holmes never said that.

- I'll think you'll find that he did in his books,

but I Wouldn't expect you to have managed to squeeze in

much Conan Doyle during your romp

around the chick-lit bucket at Asda.

- And I think if you'd actually read Conan Doyle,

you'd find out that you're wrong.

In 1892, he used the words,

"it was very superficial, my dear Watson,"

and in the following year, he said simply, "Elementary"

He never, ever said them together,

you fuck-trumpet.

- Emelia, I am trying to get a place here.

- Yeah, but he was a pompous twat.

All right, sorry.

Come on, We'll go out for a drink.

Ugh, shared showers are rancid.

I swear there was a pubic hair doll in the plughole.

Ah, look at you, hot patootie.

- I look ridiculous.

- No, you don't.

- I just don't want to be embarrassing.

- You're not embarrassing.

I'm not your mum.

Doesn't bother me what you wear.

Wear what you want. You look amazing.

To Oxford. - Oxford.

Shall we have another?

Interview's not until Friday.

- Yes.

Tell you what.

Let's get them to get us another.

- All right. Come on then.

- My sister and I were wondering if you'd like to buy us

a couple of pints...of wine.

- We're sisters.

- Yeah, she said.

Go on then.

-Emelia.

- Mmm?

Mmm...

- How did this happen?

- Just stick your fingers down your throat.

Honestly, you'll be fine. I do it all the time.

- Oi! Can't you read?

Get off of that grass!

- What are you doing?

- I'm going to do it for you.

- What?

- The interview.

It's been moved to today, but it's fine.

I'm going to do the interview for you, as you.

- Today?

- How do I look?

- It's today? When today?

Well, there was a notice stuck to the door.

It said 2:00, but...

it'll be fine.

I can bluff this for you.

- Don't be ridiculous.

Come on, pass me my notes.

Come on.

It's all right. Don't panic.

- Bye.

So hoW'd it go?

- Touch and go on all fronts.

- I did offer, though. Can you imagine?

- I know. It was a stupid suggestion.

You know absolutely nothing about medicine.

- I dunno, I've taken some drugs in my time.

- Why am I not surprised?

- But you did it, Beth.

I mean, you just went right ahead and did it.

- You look absolutely ridiculous, by the way.

- Where did you get that book from?

- Oh, I borrowed it from one of the rooms.

Do you know there's one in every drawer?

You don't have to be embarrassed.

I do know what it's like, you know.

I mean, my great-grandfather is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

- Don't know why you keep going on about it.

I mean, unless you're actually Arthur Conan Doyle,

it's just a pointless hindrance, isn't it?

My dad's Jonathan A. Fischer.

So what?

- Hello, darling.

Come on, give me a hug.

Emelia, are you coming back for dinner?

- Um, no, thanks, Mr. Fischer.

I've got to get back home.

But I'll see you on Monday.

- Okay, see you then.

- Bye.

She ate it all.

She's not doing too badly.

- What are you doing, Emelia?

- I'm eating my dinner, same as you.

Surely you can't find fault in that.

- No, I mean with your life.

What are you going to do with yourself?

- What do you mean? I'm writing a book.

I'm a Conan Doyle.

It's in my blood, for goodness' sake.

And I'm really good at it.

- Emelia...life is not a fairy tale.

- What is that supposed to mean?

- Look, I'm just saying,

it's not all that's in your blood.

Don't...waste your life like your mother did.

Don't cut yourself off because of some fantasy you have.

- It's too late to start with me now

just 'cause your own daughter killed herself.

- Where have you been?

- No.

- No?

No what?

That's not the answer to that question.

- No, I'm not into you any more.

- All right.

- Bye then.

- Babe?

- "In my younger and more vulnerable years,

"my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over

in my mind ever since."

it's an odd first line,

given the absence of a father character.

It's good.

It's very good.

Don't worry. A little overwritten.

Sometimes you get very confused by the use of a simile.

There's something there.

You seem very distracted.

Is it that you can't take criticism?

- Jonathan...

- Dad?

- Come on.

Hurry.

- Can you sign this, please?

- What is it?

- Parental consent for my Leavers' Ball.

- Do I have to do this now?

That's a bit of a lifeless outfit.

- Well, it's obviously reflecting my personality.

- She didn't make it.

She's gone.

- Are you going to dress up for the school ball?

Wear something special?

Beth?

What's wrong?

- Nothing.

- I know What's Wrong.

Beth thinks you love Emelia more than her.

You wish Emelia was your daughter.

- What was I fucking thinking?

- Hey.

- Hey.

- Just wondered if you fancied a cup of tea?

- Oh, I can't.

Got to get back, unfortunately.

My bloody mother.

Are you all right?

- My granny died.

- When?

Why didn't you call me?

I'm so sorry.

- Excuse me, has your room been cleaned?

- Not yet. Yours?

I heard the lady on the desk moaning about the cleaner

not showing up for work.

What about that pretty one?

If only we were 20 years younger, eh?

- Hello.

- How are you?

- There's been a lot to sort out, but I'm fine.

You look bloody awful, though. What's up?

- I've just been sick every morning this week.

I think it's just a bug.

- But isn't that morning sickness?

- Can't be, can it?

We used a condom.

- Don't worry. I'll get you a test.

- Emelia?

Can you come up, please?

Emelia, I...

There's something- - Jonathan-

- I'm sorry. I just want-

- I can't write. I can't do it.

- Of course you can.

I quite often think of a quote by Tolstoy.

"In a writer, there must always be two people,

the writer and the critic."

When I was writing The Cliff House-

- For God's sake, get over The Cliff House.

- What do you mean by that?

- You haven't lived a bloody day since, have you?

I mean, what else have you achieved in the last 20 years?

I've read your other work,

and it sure ain't Tolstoy.

Unless it's the sequel, Bore and Cease.

- What's this?

- Nothing.

- What was that?

That better not be what I thought it was, young lady.

- "What's this? What's that?"

What's it got to do with you, anyway?

- It's got everything to do with me.

You think you're pregnant?

- I'm not pregnant. It's negative.

So why don't you just fuck off!

- Had your head so far up your own ass,

you can't have seen daylight in years.

Do you even know that you questioned The Great Gatsby?

You idiot.

You told Truman Capote he need not to be so obvious

with his metaphors.

- What on Earth are you talking about?

- Half of the stuff I gave you as samples weren't even mine.

I just copied them from books by my bed.

- Why are you being so cruel and childish?

- Because I am a child.

I'm best friends with your daughter,

in case you hadn't noticed.

- Emelia, you don't need to do this.

- I can't do this to Beth any more.

And I hate you for being able to.

it's all right.

It's going to be all right.

You're okay.

Thank fuck.

- Come on.

Get your things together. We're going out.

-Okay.

Let's go out.

Let me put some makeup on my big, fat, swollen face.

- Did you know that Beth is now having sex?

Did you?

Well, she is, so maybe you can think about that next time

before you celebrate her for getting sloshed.

I mean, look at the mess she is in

because of that stupid girl.

You're just so selfish.

You lock yourself away up here

as if you're curing cancer

instead of churning out a potboiler once a decade.

You think buying this house is just your entire contribution

to this family done, don't you?

That's your bit done, isn't it?

- I've been sleeping with Emelia.

-You have got to be joking.

- Shall we get going, then?

- Fat fucking father you are.

You've been fucking the maid?

- If you want to put it that way, um, yes, I have.

- I am going to throw up.

- Shall we head out, then?

Let's head out.

- So while I've been bringing up the kids and running this house

and this business has been hanging around my neck

draining every last morsel of energy I've got left,

you have been up here

fucking our daughter's best friend!

I'm leaving you.

Although, um, I'll be keeping the house,

so technically,

you'll actually be leaving me.

- Beth...

- I want you gone by morning.

You can clear all of this out.

Want you to take it with you.

- I thought you were my friend.

- I am, Beth.

I am.

- Not you, you fucking idiot.

- Look, Mummy, I'm Emelia!

- See, my dad's right.

I can't get anything through my thick skull.

- Beth? Beth?

Beth, I need to talk to you.

Beth, I'm sorry.

I didn't mean for it to happen,

any of it, I just...

I want us to be friends again.

- We can't be friends, Emelia.

You're a liar.

- No, I'm not.

You...you know everything now.

You must know why I had to lie.

I did a bad thing.

- I'm not talking about that.

Your name may not be Serena Molina,

but it certainly isn't Conan Doyle either.

- What?

- Do you actually believe your name is Conan Doyle?

- Grandpa, can I ask you a question?

- Yeah.

- Was my father the grandson of Arthur Conan Doyle?

- Well, his name was Doyle.

- Was it Conan Doyle?

Was he related to the author?

- Your mother did a lot of things for the right reasons

and a lot of things for the wrong reasons.

Your father's name was Doyle.

But...

it wasn't Conan Doyle.

Me and your granny felt it would have crushed you

to take it away from you after your mum died.

It seemed...another cruelty.

We knew how much it meant to you.

- This just means that the foundation

that my life's built on is based on lies.

My ambition to be a writer is based on a lie.

I need to rewrite myself.

- But you can.

You're a great writer anyway,

without all that nonsense.

You can't push everybody away, Emelia.

Your mother Wanted you so much.

- She can't have wanted me that much.

She jumped off a bridge onto a main road.

- Millie, she was ill.

Her mind wasn't right.

But she'd be so proud of how clever you've made yourself.

Because of him, without him,

what does it matter?

It's just a name, Emelia.

It's just an albatross around your neck, really,

but you just can't see that yet.

You're still special, you know.

- Special bloody needs, thanks to her.

- You'll stop being angry with her one day.

And with yourself.

You're a writer.

But if you change your mind

and want to go to college instead,

there's money, you know.

I don't need anything but to upgrade my tea bags

every once in a while.

- Well, don't go bloody mad.

I want some kind of inheritance.

- Daddy!

- Hello, my darling.

- Are you coming home?

- No, I'm not.

I'm just here to drive my Oxford undergrad to college.

Hi.

- Hi.

- Thank you for letting me drive you.

Hi, hello.

- Hi.

- How are you?

- Good.

Hear you got a job.

- Yes, I'm teaching creative writing.

- Oh. Huh.

- Let's go.

- Come on, then.

Grab something.

- Yes.

- Hi, um, can I get this printed on A-4 and bound?

- Yep, no problem.

Just take a seat.