Original subtitles

In the coffin. It's not Greta.

Ladies, you're damn right…

-Ah. Look at the guns on Nuala O'Hern. -Steroids.

-What? -That's what people are saying.

It's senior school sports day, Saoirse. Not the fucking Olympics!

-Greta, someone might see. -So? I love that we got these.

-Me too. -Separate but inseparable.

-It's sort of shite that I can't see mine. -Girls, come on.

Mine has started to scab.

-Could've done without knowing that. -I swear, if my ma finds out…

How? You got yours on your arse.

Aye, if your ma's wiping your hole, you've bigger things to worry about.

I got mine on my lower back!

Greta.

He's here.

Who?

Jason Meadows. He's here.

Fucking creep.

He'll never leave me alone, will he?

Let's go, Greta. Let's go inside.

Just keep walking. Ignore him. Don't look back.

You don't scare me.

Saoirse, come on.

Saoirse. Saoirse.

Saoirse, come on.

-Shh! -Saoirse.

Saoirse. Oh, you're okay.

Oh my God.

Everything's fine.

What? No, it's fucking not.

We had a crash, but thankfully Owen called for help,

so everything's fine.

You gave us quite the fright.

You left your bag at the house. Owen was just trying to catch up with us.

Could have been a hell of a lot worse.

Roads around these parts are their own beast.

You have to know what you're doing.

So, if you ever find yourself in this neck of the woods again,

well…

You really should be more careful, girls.

How bad was the crash?

It wasn't her. It wasn't Greta in the coffin.

And that Gaye person, Gaye Hearten, the one who sent the emails,

she doesn't exist, you said.

I might have picked that up wrong.

-What? -We were pretty hungover, Saoirse.

We were still pissed. Pissed and paranoid.

Look, going to that wake was a stupid fucking idea.

Our friendship with Greta ended long ago and for good reason.

So let's just get the fuck out of this place.

Hey!

-Is that the mechanic? -Yeah.

Last night, outside the… the thing, the hotel,

he told me he was actually a ride. A cop. Do I look okay?

-No. -Great.

-Hey. -Hi.

-How are you feeling? Are you okay? -I'm fine.

You sure?

-Yeah. -Good.

Eh, we're fine too, by the way.

Myself and Dara here, fellow victims of the crash.

Yeah, yous are very lucky, you know. You only have to take one look at the car.

Sweet and gentle Jesus. My car.

I've barely had it a month. Jim's gonna go absolutely mental.

I can't listen to him. I cannot listen to him.

Maybe I'll just stay here.

Maybe I'll just live here. In the mountains. Alone, forever.

When you're back home, you're gonna have to get some cosmetic work.

-No shit. -Give us a hand getting her down.

-I'm heading back to work, Uncle Hughie. -Two minutes.

I'm in me uniform.

Take the uniform off.

Yes, Liam. Take your uniform off.

He's young enough to be your son.

He's 26.

-That's 12 years. -You've done the maths?

-You hate maths. -You're engaged, Saoirse.

I know I'm engaged. Jesus, I was joking.

I'm hardly gonna forget the fact that I'm enga… Feck it!

-What? -My ring.

Honest to Christ, where'd I put it now?

-Everything all right? -Oh, yeah. I lost my ring.

Again? You're going to need to get one tattooed on.

Hey, what is it?

Nothing.

Shit.

-Harry, yeah? -What time do you think you'll arrive?

We're gonna meet before the red carpet. It's a clusterfuck.

Is that tonight?

-Have you forgotten? -No, I didn't forget.

Thing is, I'm gonna need a new flight

because the other flight is… well, it's, er… it's gone now,

and I wasn't on it.

-You missed your flight? -Can someone in the office sort that?

It's the BAFTAs. It's the fucking BAFTAs, Saoirse!

I was in a car crash, actually, Harry.

A car crash? Jesus Christ, are you okay?

What?

-Saoirse? Saoirse, can you hear me? -I…

-I'm fine. -Okay. Let's get you on a plane.

Yeah, well, I have to go straight to the venue, so Heathrow, ideally.

-Are you sure you're all right? -No, I'm… I'm fine.

I'm still gonna be able to write. You're still gonna get your commission.

-Call as soon as you're-- -Bye-bye, Harry.

Christ.

You're a writer?

I am, yeah.

-What do you write? -Um…

I write a TV show. A cop show, actually.

It's called, um, Murder Code.

-Isn't that huge? -Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is. I mean…

I have no idea why.

So you're interested in cops?

Saoirse, your ring was in the glove compartment.

Oh, thank God.

I gotta get through this

I gotta get through this

I gotta make it, gotta make it Gotta make it through

God, I can't wait to get home.

The satnav. It's totally fucked.

Here. I have the map on my phone.

-Say I was right. -I think we turn off here somewhere.

Stick your arm through so I can see the map.

-What if it wasn't her body? -You know how deranged you sound?

-Why can't I just come up front? -The passenger window's all over the seat.

And picking glass out of your arse

is not how I wanna end this already quite mental weekend.

If I saw what I think I saw…

-"If," being the significant word. -You can't dismiss it.

Okay, that's it. Dara, open the door and fuck her out.

I don't really wanna fuck her out.

-I'm not mad. -Look.

I know going there was a big deal, considering…

The thing we never talk about.

-Stop it, Dara. -Stop what?

Looking at her to check how you should react.

-Have you no fucking mind of your own? -Sorry.

-What are you apologizing for? -Sorry!

I really think something weird is going on here.

Okay, we all know Greta was a bit complicated.

Just leave it alone.

We've left it alone for 20 fucking years!

Shit!

Again? Are you fucking serious?

-C'est la vie… -Are you talking to God?

If you are, you might wanna lose the attitude.

Right. Stay here.

Jesus. Bloody car.

I am so, so sorry. Are you okay?

I'm… I'm usually a really careful driver.

The condition of your car would suggest otherwise.

Right.

Is that a Derry accent I'm detecting? I'm… I'm from Belfast.

I'm not really feeling the old six counties solidarity at the minute.

Fair enough.

Let's do the thing and get going, then.

Mm.

It's not actually that bad.

I mean, wing mirror aside.

This is a nightmare.

Well, she never looks where she's going.

Hi.

-Hi. -Are you okay?

Not really.

I should probably kill you all, but I don't have room in me boot.

Here. Fill in your details. Give me yours, and I'll do the same.

Right.

Right, there you go. I'll be in touch.

I look forward to it.

Derry people are always such weirdos.

Bye.

Good girl.

What the hell are you looking at?

Look, Saoirse.

I know Greta dying,

the wake, maybe brought up a lot of stuff.

Yeah.

-But I really think we just-- -Fine.

Right.

I've had it with Oz. Let's get the fuck back to Kansas.

Jesus Christ.

I was in a car crash, Harry. What were you expecting?

-Oh my God, baby. -I'm fine.

This whole thing is a nightmare. You were in a car crash.

-Gina sent the wrong waistcoat over. -Yeah, that's the same.

-Guys. -It's horrific.

Guys, we need her on the red carpet for the photographs.

-Right now? -Right now.

Shit. You'll have to get changed here.

-I'm not getting changed in the street. -Oh, grow up.

Oh, over here. Over here.

Some fans left these for you at the venue. So sweet.

-Oh, yeah. -Take that.

I mean, they're usually just storyline ideas,

which nine times out of ten are fucking psychotic.

It's just such a weird fit. It feels sort of boxy. Is it boxy?

I'm just gonna talk you through the plan, Seeshy.

"Seeshy"? Seriously?

Seb, can we have a hand, please, for God's sake?

Yep.

Oh fucking hell!

Hold it nice and high. Yeah, good.

So, I've just been with Marnie,

and we are very sensitive to the fact that

there are some creative discussions going on,

but from a channel perspective,

we are super keen that you walk the red carpet together.

How are you feeling about that?

-Not brilliant. -Right. Um…

We wouldn't push it if we didn't feel it was super imports.

"Imports"? Do you mean "important"? Does she mean important?

-She means important. -She's a dick.

-Right. -She's a dick, isn't she, Seb?

There was some definite dick-like behavior on set. Then again…

No. We won't be needing "then again"

unless you'd like me to call off our engagement.

She really regrets some of the things that she said.

-She told you that? -I very much got that vibe.

Um, is an apology something that you would be open to?

She's not gonna apologize. Come on!

No.

You want me to apologize?

-Mm. -Get to fuck.

Saoirse. I'm so sorry. She's Irish. What can you do?

-We're just thinking of the fans. -Are you?

Especially the women.

Because they see you two out there, the showrunner and the star,

this unstoppable, inspirational, feminist force.

And they feel empowered by it, Seeshy.

Mm-hmm. Fans like the show because of the murders.

They like to solve a mystery 'cause it makes them feel in control.

It makes them feel like good will prevail.

It makes them feel like this fucked-up, messy existence

can somehow be figured out, when the truth is they're not in control

and good won't prevail and life is fucking meaningless. So…

You do whatever it is that you need to do,

because I am not apologizing to that narcissistic, ungrateful dickhead.

And I am not walking the red carpet with her.

End of scene.

Thank you. Thank you.

God, I need a smoke.

-You think you're gonna win tonight? -Oh, Scott, look.

We're just delighted to be nominated.

And in such great company.

And also, it's a good excuse for a girly night out, isn't it, Seersh?

Totally.

Yeah, we've definitely brought our dancing shoes.

And you have a new nemesis this series, I believe.

Yes, indeed. Rosemary de Cassis.

Saoirse, how do you come up with such fabulous character names?

It depends, really.

Sometimes it's about what feels right, or, like, real, truthful.

Um, but with villains, I can have a bit of craic. A bit of fun.

So… …what I do is…

Uh, what I do…

Gaye Hearten.

Come on, Seersh. Don't leave us hanging.

I'm so sorry.

Dear Saoirse, Dara, and Robyn.

My name is Gaye Hearten.

So now you know.

You know who sent that email.

You know it wasn't me in that coffin.

I don't know anything. Not for certain.

If it wasn't you, who was it?

Are you planning on telling Seb you don't want children?

-Jesus. Where'd that come from? -I dunno.

I'm a figment of your imagination. You're the one calling the shots here.

We are talking about you being in a coffin or not being in a coffin.

Can we please just stick to… Jesus Christ, I can't breathe.

Do you know what? I… I'm not doing this.

Not now. Not here.

I'm gonna close my eyes, and when I open them again, you're gonna be gone, okay?

Whatever you say.

When did you do this, Greta?

-I guess it didn't work. -Balls!

-Tell the others about your epiphany. -They won't listen.

Make them listen.

I'm not sure I can.

Fine, ignore it. Pretend it didn't happen.

You're good at pretending things didn't happen, aren't you?

Is it… Is this connected to…

What we did?

That's what you've to figure out.

Stop this.

-Take yourself back there. -No.

Take yourself back there and look at it again.

See it.

Remember it.

And ask yourself this, what should we have done?

-Oh. -There you are.

You must meet Marcus Dalton Foster.

-He produces-- -Oh my God, we were obsessed.

I'm so sorry. I need to steal him for a second, okay? Hi.

-Um, what's going on? -I have to go.

-Can I have the room key? -What do you mean, you have to go?

It's my friend. You know, the dead one. It's an emergency.

What kind of emergency? Has she died again?

It's a whole thing. Can't get into it right now. Can I have the key?

Saoirse, babe. It's the BAFTAs.

Mm-hmm.

Um, do you think you might have a concussion?

Oh no. I'm fine.

-Are you sure? -Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, great.

Erm, if we win, you're gonna have to do the speech.

-Do not let Marnie do the speech, okay? -Me? Okay. Mm.

Wow.

Thank you so much.

Um, what a huge honor.

For he who conceals his transgressions

will not prosper,

but he who confesses and forsakes them

will find compassion.

Take this, all of you, and eat it.

For this is my body,

which will be given up for you.

Body of Christ.

Body of Christ.

Body of Christ.

Body of Christ.

Jason Meadows. He's here.

Stand back, please.

Tend us in the hour of our need.

I mean, like, what do you think happened?

-Stop raving on me! -You think I woke up… Jesus Christ!

Boys!

If you wake Patrick, I will not be held responsible for my actions!

If anyone's gonna wake Patrick, I mean…

You think I decided, "I know."

"I'm gonna banjax my brand-new car. That'll be class craic"?

No, of course not. It's just, well… It was bloody expensive, Robyn.

And I work hard. Oh…

I don't work hard?

No. No.

That's not what I said.

Well, maybe all this is easy.

Maybe I'm overthinking this whole motherhood thing.

Maybe I'll just fire the three of them outside

and let nature take care of it.

It'll be like Chicken Boy.

Who's Chicken Boy?

The fella from Fermanagh who was raised by chickens. Chicken Boy!

What, do we know him?

Look, who gives a shit about the car? I could have died, Jim.

Well, obviously, I'm glad you're not dead.

Oh my God, really?

Sake.

Oh Jesus.

"Obviously, I'm glad you're not dead."

Prick.

Oh, Father. I am so sorry.

Please don't worry about it. These things happen.

-I'm gonna be late for bingo. -In a minute, Mammy.

-Father, I was wondering. -Yes?

-Will you take my confession? -Oh, for feck's sake.

-Could we do it tomorrow? -Well, I'd rather do it now.

-The confessional closes at nine. -Can't you just open it?

Normally, I would,

but Rome's encouraging us all to examine our work-life balance.

Work-life balance? You're a priest.

And I'm heading to the bingo now myself, so…

But, listen, tomorrow. I'll be all ears.

Oh!

Someone handed that in to the sacristy for you.

-I'll see you at the bingo, Mrs. Friel. -Bye, Father.

Will you come on?

All right, Mammy, Daddy? I'm home.

Jesus Christ.

I'd have rung to tell you I was coming, but, you know, I didn't.

How come you're here and there?

Yep. I'm not there. I'm just here.

We just saw you on the red carpet.

-It's edited. -Oh, what do you mean, edited?

Do you want me to explain what edited means?

-Aye. -Look, there's a delay.

Shit, it might even be…

Oh my God, we won!

What?

-How the hell could you know that? -Give me strength.

-What are you doing home? -Listen.

Do you remember my notebooks, like, from school?

All my old stories and scripts and ideas and things?

You're not on that cocaine stuff, are you, Saoirse?

I kept them in that wooden box in my room.

They're all at that cocaine stuff now.

We turned your room into a gym.

You put a cross-trainer in, which you use as a clothes horse.

We don't always get the weather to dry things on the line, Saoirse.

-Where's the box? -I fired that stuff up into the attic.

Okay. Thank you.

-Clear that attic out. -Will you stop, Eileen?

-It's gonna come down on us. -Give over, woman.

I don't believe it.

Maybe it's just a shower.

Maybe it'll stop soon.

Time for plan B, then.

What's plan B?

We bury him.

Who was she?

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

What are you doing here?

Well, I don't really know.

I got this weird letter,

and I just found myself walking and walking.

Wait. What are you doing here, then?

Snap.

And when you called, I realized I had one too.

It was amongst some fan mail.

It says the same thing. "Please find me."

The fuck is going on?

It's Greta.

-I'm sure of it. -Jesus Christ, Saoirse.

It's Greta. She sent us these, and she sent us that email too.

-What? -So, earlier, I'm on the red carpet.

God. The Oscars. Is that tonight?

Fuck it. Yeah, yeah, yeah. We… we won an Oscar.

-Class. -Well done.

Thanks. Anyway, so I was talking about the show,

and I realized that I sometimes…

Well, I do this thing just to amuse myself, really.

I bury a clue in a character name.

-Which character? -The baddie, usually.

-What the clue? -That would be a spoiler.

-We don't watch it. -Then it would be meaningless.

-But this isn't the point. -What is the point?

I started thinking, "Where did I get that idea?"

And then I remembered we'd do this thing in school.

So look at this list of names.

This first one, Rosey Conbay.

That's you, Robyn O'Casey. And the next one, Ria Darfel, that's you.

That's Dara Friel.

We'd do this, remember?

We'd, like, anagram our names.

We were bored, I guess. Not like the kids today. No Twitter.

-Kids don't use Twitter. -Whatever.

-It's not called Twitter. -Grand. This one here, this is me.

Saoirse Shaw. But look at the last one.

Greta Heaney!

Greta sent that email, girls.

She wanted us to go to the wake to see that something was wrong.

I think

she needs our help.

I'm not sure I can help Greta again.

The thing is, Greta didn't do anything wrong.

None of us did.

We've become so afraid, we've lost sight of the truth.

Jason Meadows--

-Stop it, Saoirse. -No, I will say this.

I will say his name. I will say these words.

Jason Meadows deserved what happened to him.

And do you know what I realized tonight?

There was nothing we could have done differently. There was no other way.

And what happened that night, it binds all of us together.

Forever.

Jesus.

Greta needs us.

She's obviously scared.

She could be in real danger.

What can we do? Like, we're not the fucking A-Team, Saoirse.

-Yeah, where would we even start? -We would start with the body.

If that body isn't Greta's,

it proves something really fucked up is going on here.

It's the one piece of evidence we have.

I'm not sure we should get involved.

We're already involved.

She's made sure of that.

She wants us to shine a light on this.

Come on, girls. We put a bad guy in the ground once.

What's become of us?

We grew up.

We grew afraid.

Okay, say…

Say we do this, right? Say we prove that the body isn't Greta.

That is it.

That's our bit done. It has to be.

-Okay. -That is it. Over.

-Sure. -You promise?

I promise.

Fuck it.

We do a different theme every month.

The young ones come from Letterkenny and Donegal town by the busload.

It's mad craic altogether.

-How thrilling. -You've just missed one, unfortunately.

Oh, say it isn't so.

But don't you worry. We'll keep you entertained.

We have a country and western night this evening.

-Ooh. -Standard room okay?

Yes.

Just yourself, is it?

Why is that relevant?

Now, it's not so much an official night, as a kind of memorial.

A memorial?

A fellow over in Ballybunion,

a Kenny Rogers impersonator, I believe he was,

didn't he only go and get himself killed on one of them bucking bronchos.

Thrown to his death during "Boot Scootin' Boogie."

Some friends of his are having a bit of a do in his honor.

It'll be gas.

-At least poor Kenny didn't die in vain. -Every cloud, as they say.

You're only back from Donegal.

Well, we have business to attend to.

-What sort of business? -I can't tell you, but you trust me.

Not really, no. And it's Jack's party tomorrow, love.

I'll be back in time for the party.

I'm hardly gonna miss my son's birthday party.

There's so much to do. There's nothing in.

Why is that her problem?

For God's sake, will you stay out of this?

-I'm not gonna ask again. -Don't you speak to her like that.

We can grab the party stuff en route, Jim. It's no trouble.

You can handle it.

Bye.

And when I do come back,

you're gonna be really glad I didn't die in that car crash.

Let's go, girls.

Why'd ya come in here Looking like that?

In your high-heeled boots And your painted-on jeans

All decked out like a cowgirl's dream

Why'd ya come in here Looking like that?

Here comes my baby

Draggin' my heart behind

He's driving me crazy

And who says love

How do we prove the body isn't Greta, though?

We need a plan. Why don't we have a plan?

Well, I called Knockdara parochial house. The funeral's first thing.

So her coffin won't have left home yet.

Well, we can't go back there.

I remember when I was a lad

Times were hard and things were bad

But there’s a silver lining Behind every cloud

Just poor people, that's all we were

Trying to make a living Out of black land dirt…

We meet again, Inspector O'Neill.

Here. Everything okay with your food?

Everything as much as it was when you last asked. Not five minutes ago.

The manager makes us say it.

I don't actually care.

Too many Dolly Partons, if you ask me.

Dolly Parton is one of the greatest artists

ever to have graced this planet.

A musical icon,

storyteller, a philanthropist.

I didn't mean…

-I like Dolly Parton. -Mm.

Such an interesting case.

-Where is she now? -It's better if you don't know.

-You brought what I asked for? -Uh-huh.

And?

Very good.

This better work, Booker.

Oh, I don't think I appreciate your tone.

I'm sorry.

Address me like that again, and you will be.

-It's just all very new. -Mm.

Not for me.

I'm a professional.

Remember?

Unless we break in, steal the body, drive it somewhere,

and then dump it with, like, an anonymous note.

-Drive it where? -I… I dunno.

Somewhere with a lab. Somewhere they could do tests.

Like at a hospital or university. Oh, dentist.

Yeah. That sounds like an awful lot of hassle.

-Dara, what is all this shit? -I grabbed some pass-the-parcel prizes.

-I usually just do cash. -What?

A few fivers, a few tenners, a couple of twenties.

You wrap up cash for pass-the-parcel?

-Kids love it. -Dara?

Oh Christ. Look, just… just… just try to act normal.

I thought it was you.

Niamh. God.

You remember Robyn and Saoirse?

Of course, yeah.

How have you been?

Yeah, good. Yeah.

You, you're in London now, I hear.

-Oh, really? Me too. -You don't live in London.

Uh, wasn't I there today?

And now you're back here.

Not now, girls.

Is your mum keeping well?

Yeah, she's good, yeah. She's got…

She's got water aerobics tomorrow, so…

Right.

Uh, congratulations on the whole… On the wedding, on the marriage thing.

Thanks.

Is she here? The wife.

The old ball and chain.

Uh, no, it's just a flying visit, really.

Someone had to stay home and mind the baby.

The baby?

Mm.

Oh, there's a baby. That's… Well done.

Uh, Dara… …Dara's just got a big, uh, promotion at work.

Really? That's amazing.

Yeah, and she's, uh… she's got her eye on a little place in France.

My God.

-What an absolute dream. -It certainly is that.

-And she's having lots of sex, so… -Okay. Well.

It was great to see you.

You too, Dara.

Take care of yourself.

Christ, she was always so far up her own hole.

Could we not?

You can make me whole again

Looking back on when we first met

I cannot escape and I cannot forget

Baby, you're the one…

Okay. Let's think.

What… What if we send a message?

-What? -Uh, the body.

What if we call someone? A newspaper. Tell them it's not Greta.

Too easily dismissed.

No.

We need something that's gonna bring it right out into the open.

I have an idea.

Okay, are we ready?

Are we sure about the mask thing?

The mask thing is brilliant. The mask thing is the best bit.

-Can I at least be Ariel? -No! You're Belle!

I hate Belle. Belle's a dick.

The way she slags off her town like she's the only person who's ever read a book.

-Who are you again? -Eeyore.

-You're so lucky. Eeyore's class. -I know.

Okay. We go in there, we do the thing, then leg it.

We're back in the car before they know.

I have to say, it doesn't feel foolproof.

Well, it was Dara's idea, and she's just found out

the love of her life has had a baby with someone else, so…

Fair enough.

-Do not be alarmed. -We come in peace.

We mean you no harm.

Oh shit.

Look, are you gonna charge us with something?

Uh, we don't know yet.

You see, we're not quite sure at this present juncture

if what you did was actually a bona fide crime, or just something like…

Really fecking weird.

Exactly. Also and furthermore,

we need to wait for another one of our colleagues to be, uh,

in situ, as it were.

-Should I call Liam? -Sir, he's at the funeral.

The boss's wife.

They moved it to Donegal town. His phone'll be off.

Whose funeral? Greta's funeral? They moved it?

Call the crematorium.

The crematorium?

He cremated the body?

He knew what I saw. He knew he had to get rid of the body.

I thought someone from the station should come and pay their respects.

You're very thoughtful. Thank you.

-It was supposed to be a private service. -Mm.

Family only. You understand?

-If I'd known, I'd never have-- -I'm glad you did.

Mm.

It was for Maria.

She was finding everything so…

…overwhelming.

Of course.

Of course. I get it.

Yeah.

I'm so sorry.

Please, take it.

-We weren't really sure what to do. -I'm not surprised, lads.

We thought it was Greta's funeral.

How does that make it better, exactly?

Let's get some statements. You, come with me.

Should I call my solicitor?

It's not funny. Those people were probably really scared.

They probably thought it was some sort of terrorist attack.

Oh, because we're from Belfast, I suppose.

Jesus. Like the Good Friday Agreement never happened.

Because you burst in on a funeral service wearing clown masks.

They weren't clown masks. They were Disney princess masks.

Well, two of them were. The other was from the Winnie the Pooh line.

-Is Winnie the Pooh Disney? -I don't know.

Probably. Most things are Disney.

-Was this like a pact or something? -What?

You were friends in school.

Was this like a stupid prank you agreed to do if one of you died?

Not really.

Then what's going on?

-If I tell you, you'll think I'm mad. -That ship's sailed, Saoirse.

You're quite different in this environment.

Take it all quite seriously, don't you?

-It's my job. -I don't take my job seriously.

You don't have a serious job.

-Can I ask you something? -What?

What happened to Greta when she died? Where did she go?

In a spiritual sense?

In a physical sense.

Where did her body go?

They'd have brought her here once they realized there was nothing to do.

-To the station? -To the morgue, yeah. Why?

Were you, uh, working that night?

Pol was on that night, one of the guards you just met.

Did Pol know Greta?

I don't think so. No. Why?

Was anyone who knew Greta working that night?

I'm not sure. Saoirse?

What's all this really about?

You can tell me.

You… were right.

-What? -What you said about the pact. The prank.

That was it. That was right. So just, like, fine us or whatever.

Saoirse?

Can I go now?

Of course you can.

All right, Bridget. I need a quick look at the log there.

Don't step on me floor!

All right.

I have to do this next.

There's nobody in there. Sure there's not?

No, all clear.

My sister-in-law cleans for the medical institute in Limerick.

She opened one of these things once,

and wasn't the fella inside only still alive.

Is that right?

Here, let me give you a hand.

Think there's something jamming it.

-All Greta's social media's gone. -I noticed that.

There's no trace of her at all.

I'm starting to feel like… like we imagined her or something.

We didn't.

What the hell is going on?

I have no idea.

But I have an eight-year-old's birthday party to organize, so…

Excuse me. Can we get the bill, please?

Love is like a butterfly

As soft and gentle as a sigh

The multicolored moods of love

Are like its satin wings

Love makes your heart Feel strange inside

It flutters like soft wings in flight

Love is like a butterfly

A rare and gentle thing

I feel it when you're with me

It happens when you kiss me

That rare and gentle feelin' That I feel…

-Pol! -Yeah?

Hey. Uh…

The night Greta O'Neill died,

that was supposed to be my shift, wasn't it?

Before they were swapped around.

Yeah. What happened?

The boss said you'd done three nights the previous week.

-So it was Owen's idea? -Mm-hmm.

Love is like a butterfly

The multicolored moods of love Are like its satin wings

Love makes your heart Feel strange inside

Flutters like soft wings in flight…

Everyone's talking about what you did.

-Right. -Everyone thinks it was fucking mental.

Okay, thank you for your feedback.

-Can we just get the bill? -Someone's already settled it.

What? Who?

They were here a second ago.

It's, uh…

Oh, him. Over there.

Love is like a butterfly

As soft and gentle as a sigh

The multicolored moods of love

Are like its satin wings

Love makes your heart Feel strange inside

It flutters like soft wings in flight

Love is like a butterfly

A rare and gentle thing

Love is like a butterfly

A rare and gentle thing

Love is like a butterfly