All language subtitles for trespasses 03

Young, non-militant
Catholics are being radicalised

- by police brutality...
- He loves the sound of his own voice.

... which makes them vulnerable
to recruitment to the IRA.

He looks tired.

At this rate, the RUC and the IRA
might as well be working together.

Has he forgotten the judges
the IRA shot last year?

I won't let the bully boys
on either side

tell me what I can and can't say.

He's begging for a bullet,
all right.

I choose freedom over fear.

I'm going to the loo.

Thank you.

But it was a poor election

for his Unionist Party
of Northern Ireland,

which took only five seats.

Unionist opposition to Faulkner's
support of power-sharing continues.

I've undertaken the election
believing...

You'd almost feel sorry for him.

He should take up golf.

What?

Brian Faulkner.
He should just give up.

Michael Agnew, the
lawyer representing Connor Kelly,

Michael McAleavey,
and Patrick Coyle,

spoke out today
about police brutality.

Young, non-militant Catholics are
being radicalised

by police brutality.

There's another one
who needs a hobby.

At this rate,

the RUC and the IRA might as well
be working together.

That's a very
inflammatory statement.

I won't let the bully boys on either
side tell me what I can

and can't say.
I choose freedom over fear.

He's kept a good head of hair,
in fairness to him.

- I'm gonna go to bed.
- Mm.

Cushla. Ah, thank you for coming!

Hello, thanks for having me.

No Michael?

Is he not here?

No.

Here, sure, grab a wee drink and
I'll see yous inside, yeah?

Yeah.

Cushla, thank you so much for
coming.

Your dress is lovely.

Thank you, Penny. I love your work.

Still no sign of Michael?

No. But he did say that these are
your favourites.

Ah, he brought you to Bewley's.

Aye, and Switzer's,
by the look of it.

- Ah, speak of the devil.
- I'm sorry I missed it, Penny.

Hard day at the office?

You could say that.

Come on, let's take the rest of
the wine into the kitchen.

Bloody RUC legal team trying
to pretend they're impartial.

Have you ever thought that maybe
it's you that's not impartial?

You're right, Vic.
I am partial. To a bit of justice.

Oh, stop with the grandstanding!

Would you like to be hauled off
the street

and have a false confession
beaten out of you?

- Don't. We know all this.
- And then you get tried by one old judge

who thinks you're inherently wrong

on all three fronts,
class, religion, haircut.

You are so bloody wearying.

You know, I can understand why
the IRA are telling their lads

not to recognise these Diplock courts,
even if it makes my life harder.

Well, you're doing a good enough
job of that yourself.

Wasn't enough
just to defend them, no?

What do you mean?

Michael here wasn't getting
enough attention,

so he's taking a case
against the RUC.

Police brutality.

- Enough is never enough with you.
- Christ's sake.

Oh, Michael.

- You need to keep some friends.
- What does that mean?

It means you might need someone
watching your back.

I think I'm already being watched.

Or surveillance might be
a better word for it.

Cushla, do you want to help me
gather the rest of the glasses?

Yeah.

I forget you work in a bar.

Have Victor and Michael always
sparred like that?

To some degree, yes,
but it's getting worse.

Everything always looks so clear
to Michael.

It'll do him no good in this town.

Cushla...

have you thought about
the risk to yourself,

if people find out about
you and Michael?

Or if you are with Michael

and if... God forbid,
anything should happen?

We must have the courage
to choose...

They're his words, not yours.

Would your life be easier without me?

Us?

Easier?

Safer, I suppose.

I like us a lot.

I should go.

- Are you sure?
- I'll let you get ahead.

I have a big day tomorrow.

Communion.

It'll be the first time seeing
the McGeowns in a while.

These are for you.

So you can come
and go as you please,

whether I'm here or not.

Thanks.

Thank you.

For making my life
immeasurably better.

Snap a wee one of me.

God knows when I'll look this
good again.

Beautiful.

Miss Lavery!

Don't you look dapper, Davy?

Thanks, miss.

Shall I take a wee photo?

Cheese!

Oh. Mummy... Mummy,
let's get a photo of all of us.

Why don't you move in there, Tommy?

Hey, Davy.

Oh!

Thank you, Mrs Lavery.

Yes, thank you. Too generous.

Sure, he's a wee dote.

Look at you.

We best get on.
Get your daddy out of this chaos.

It wasn't me that called
the social. It was Bradley.

I told Mum you wouldn't be that nice
to us and then report us.

Yeah.

I'm labouring now, with my cousins.

I'll drop a couple of books round.

If you keep reading,
all will not be lost.

Yes, miss.

Why does Jimmy have
the egg in his pocket?

I don't know.

You've caught the sun.

You haven't.

Who's that man?

That's my wee peeler from
the school disco. My suitor.

Thanks for the whiskey.

Gentlemen, I'm in need of your
assistance with the crossword.

Here, Minty, help me out, would you?

Why would your disco peeler
be in the pub?

Well, Gerry reckons he has eyes
for me.

There's nothing to be jealous over.

Christ, Cushla, this is serious.

You need to tell me
if he comes in again.

Could it not just be a coincidence?

There are no coincidences
in Belfast.

I saw a car outside your flat
the other night.

- Did he get your number plate?
- If he wanted it.

- Did he follow you home?
- No.

Happy birthday, Jim.

Thank you, Cushla.

Michael, do us a favour.
Grab that chair.

All right.

Oh, this is Mrs Coyle,
and we could not live without her.

Mrs Coyle,
this is our friend, Cushla.

I'll just give you a hand.

- You've done this before.
- We have a bar.

- How's the other woman in my life?
- Oh, hi.

Cushla, this is the lady responsible
for the hospital corners

and the shiny brasses in my flat.

How are you?

I'm all right. He rang me.

He's not recognising the court.

I don't know what to do.

It's OK,
I'm gonna speak to him this week.

Michael. Pleased to see you.
How's things?

- Not too bad.
- Good.

Hey, look. There's Jim.

- Beautiful.
- You look beautiful, Penny.

Marjorie.

How are you?

- Grand. How are you?
- Good, good.

Cushla, this is Marjorie.
Marjorie...

Pleased to meet you.

See you later.

How are you two getting along?

Great. Fenian Corner we're calling
it, aren't we?

Michael! Get in here!

Jesus, don't tell me you've
a party piece.

Oh, go on, you two.
Let me get back to work.

Come on.

- You're full of surprises.
- Why the fuck are you crying?

You know, your language has really
deteriorated since you met me.

What is it?

The song made me sad.

You Catholics
and your high emotions.

Come on, let's go inside.

I have not got one word left in me
for those people.

Let's go home, now.
I'll go and get my jacket.

OK.

We're sneaking away, Mrs Coyle.

I wouldn't let any of them ones
look down on me.

I clean for some of them.
Dirt birds.

Now I wanna stay
and hear every minging detail.

Right, let's go.

See you later.

I'll phone you tomorrow.

OK, thank you.

Come on, let's go.

Here, what's the craic
with Mrs Coyle?

Her son's in trouble.
He's been identified in a line-up.

It's that case?

Do you think you can help?

Only if he accepts the
services of a lawyer.

The IRA men he's on remand with
are telling him

not to recognise the court.

- Sorry. It's your night off.
- Mm, it is.

Come on.

Oh!

What would Sally Bowles sound like
if she were Irish?

- I am not reading Irish to you.
- Come on.

No, not as Sally, and not as me.

Just one line. One line.

Fuck's sake.

Siud I in airde t'fhuip;
Sin I do lair amuigh.

Do you have any idea
how sexy that sounds?

You have a Fenian fetish.

I don't blame you
when the alternative is shagging

a woman that answers to
the name Marjorie.

You don't miss much, do you?

That was an age ago,

before I knew they made women
like you.

What does Marjorie like you
to do to her?

You really don't wanna know.

I really do.

_

I'll not be able to contact you
for a while.

Or be here at the flat.

_

Incommunicado. Must be serious.

Mrs Coyle is gonna love you forever.

- Morning.
- Morning.

Don't take any needless risks.

I want you back in one piece.

You are a brave man
that I can wait for.

- I'm gonna go check on them.
- Best of luck, Gerry.

Yeah, I'll need it.

- I found a wee fella for you, miss.
- Let me see.

You know,
I have a friend who has a book,

and in it, it says if you can turn

a bluebell inside out
without tearing it,

you get the one you love.

- Isn't that nice?
- Yeah.

Yeah?

- Can you take some photographs for me?
- Yeah.

Yeah? On you go.

Sean was chasing Zoe with
a used condom on a stick.

That's him flirting.

Charming.

What or who has you charmed?

Nobody.

- Tell me.
- No.

Somebody called you, Easter Sunday.

OK. I'll tell you.

But you have to swear to
God not to tell a soul.

I swear.

It's Brian Faulkner.

Fuck away off.

It is. That's why I couldn't
tell anyone.

So, you're saying I'm still in
with a chance, then?

Fancy coming to a wedding with me,
this Saturday, in Belfast?

Aye, go on.

I hope the bluebell works out
for you, miss.

Somebody somewhere
is determined that the ceasefire,

which has held so precariously
so far, will not be...

Has your wee mate gone home?

You'll be happy to hear
he got blown up.

Nobody here's happy
when anyone gets blown up.

Except the IRA.

You're all ungrateful animals.

We should just go home
and let you murder each other.

I'm sorry about your friend.

Gerry's eyes will be on stalks.

Well for you out galivanting again.

Nothing like a good wedding.

- Don't do that, Mummy.
- What?

Feel sorry for yourself.

If I don't feel sorry for myself,
who will?

Not you.
I'd get more sympathy from a shoe.

You don't know what it's like
to lose someone you love.

Yeah, I do, Mummy.
He was my daddy, so...

Well, at least I've got the bottle
to keep me company.

I'm not even giving you
an audience.

What does that mean?

It means that I'm gonna
stay in Gerry's tonight,

because I can't be bothered
to come home

and find you bleeding out in
the bath.

I've got nothing to look forward to!

Nothing!

If you do your nails instead
of getting plastered tonight,

I'll take you for a fancy lunch
in the hotel tomorrow, OK?

The hotel they booked got firebombed
last week.

Poor fuckers.

- Deccy!
- Gerry, what's the craic?

I'm very proud of our Kathleen.

She's been a busy, happy wee thing
since the day she was born.

You'd better look after her,
or you'll be getting a visit.

You look like you might cry.

Are you thinking about your upcoming
nuptials with Brian Faulkner?

He'd never settle for
a leisure centre.

I reckon he'd settle
for anything at the moment.

All right, all right.
I'll read the telegrams first.

This one's from Derry.

It came through the window
wrapped round a brick.

That's Martin Gallagher.

I know exactly who he is.

I taught his wee lad Luke
in teacher training.

He asked if he could send
a couple of boys round

to cement sherry trifles
into the wall of my garage.

Jesus, Gerry. What did you say?

I says, "I haven't got a garage."
He asked after you.

Says he knew I wasn't
your boyfriend.

How the fuck would the IRA
know that?

- Look, I'm gonna get a taxi.
- No, I'll take you. I'm done dancing.

- Can you drop me somewhere?
- Within reason.

My imagination's running
overtime, Lavery.

Thanks.

Fucking Martin Gallagher's sticking
his neb in,

and now we're here,
in enemy territory.

It's Brian's love nest.

We live here.
There are things we cannot do.

Intriguing, what kind of things
can Gerry Harkin...

Cushla, this kind of secrecy
always blows up.

The wrong people
are asking after you.

Forget about getting
your heart broken.

You're risking much more than that.

I'll see you Monday, Gerry.

Yeah, I bloody hope so.

- Thank you.
- No bother, love.

Morning.

Big night out, was it?

Just at a wedding in Belfast.
Stayed with a friend.

Ah. Lucky friend.

Do I know him?

Might've been a girl.

Was it?

Everything all right, Cushla?

Ah. Sergeant Reid.
Yeah, all good here.

It was you I was coming
to see, actually.

I'm gonna take my mummy for lunch.

Lavery.

The table for ten?

There must be a mistake.

Sorry, yes.

There's a Lavery table
for two also. Follow me.

I didn't expect to see yous here.

Obviously.

It's, er... Marian's mummy's birthday.

Will yous come and join us?

You're all right, thanks.

- Shall we go?
- Aye.

Ach, how are you, Michael?

We met at the Anchor.
Our family bar.

Hello, Mrs Lavery. How are you?

Call me Gina.

This is my wife, Joanna.

This is my daughter, Cushla.

Very pleased to meet you, Cushla.

This is our son, Dermot.

Dermot, say hello to Cushla.

Hello.

Hello.

No need to introduce you
to Michael.

We really better be going on,
but enjoy your lunch.

What must Michael
and Joanna think of us,

sitting at separate tables?

What's got into you?

No harm to you,
but I'm foundered.

Are you going to go get
the wee car?

And now, ladies and gentlemen,

we move on to the ever popular
swimwear round.

Get that, Cushla. I can't move.

Just leave it.

Can we
write to Jimmy Savile, miss?

- Miss?
- What?

I said can we write
to Jimmy Savile?

What in God's name would you be
writing to him for?

Jim'll Fix It,
it's a new programme on TV.

I heard he makes children's wishes
come true.

Fine. Might be good practice.

OK, OK.

OK, you start with your address
in the right-hand corner.

Doesn't that mean they'll know
where you live?

That's not always a bad thing.

"Dear Jimmy,
I hope you are keeping well.

"Things are fine here.

"The school holidays begin next week

"and I will be off work
for two months.

"I had intended to spend
the summer

"slinking round
Michael Agnew's flat,

"making myself irresistible to him,

"so he'd leave his wife.

"Only, his wife is a lady,

"and they appear
to be happily married,

"and he is a lying, cheating,
philandering fucker.

"Wishes are for children
and fools.

"Yours sincerely, Cushla Lavery,

age 24 and three quarters."

Trouble in paradise?

Frig off, Gerry.

You need to be saved from yourself.

Come to France with me
and my friends for the summer.

We've a lead on some bar work.

Cushla, let me in.

Doesn't matter.

It's over.

Was he married?

Was he a Prod?

Look, since we're asking questions,

what were you doing out by the lough
in the middle of the night?

- Wasn't me.
- Yeah, it was, Gerry.

I know what I saw.

Is this anything to do
with Martin Gallagher?

Look, Gerry, are you in trouble?

No disrespect, Cushla,

but who the fuck are you
to be demanding answers from me?

Just leave it off the hook, Mummy.

Excuse me.
I might have someone calling.

I assume it's Gerry
you don't want to talk to.

Well, if you ask me,
he was never good enough for you.

Here. Steak always helps.

Your daddy and I used
to have a steak

every Monday night
when we first married.

Just to spite the week ahead.

Yeah, well,
I'm home every evening now.

Given up the pub shifts,
so let's reignite the tradition.

Oh, will you just talk
to the wee puke?

What happened at the hotel
was appalling.

Yeah. Because I thought
that you were going missing

to save Mrs Coyle's son.

I know. I'm sorry.

I knew you thought
it was work related.

I never thought about her much.

And when I did,

I pictured somebody else.

Like a wizened wee hag,

or some oul doll
that needed her roots done.

You're a fucking coward.

And you're always banging on
about bravery.

She held my fucking hand, Michael.

She's not well, Cushla.

She seems perfect to me.

Sometimes she's well enough
to do things.

Dermot had just finished
his A-levels,

and so we all went out for lunch.

But... she has long-term
clinical depression,

and she's been in hospital
the last few months

getting electric shock treatment.

Is that why you could see
so much of me?

She came home the day after
I last saw you.

It's a bloody mess.

I want to be with you.

But I can't leave Joanna.

Why not?

I'm the one that'll take
the brunt of it.

You'll keep your job,
your friends, your life.

I can't leave,
cos I ruined her life.

How?

Joanna was studying law in Dublin
when I got her pregnant.

And, err... after the birth,
she was never right.

Never. And she just got worse
and worse.

She can't live on her own,

and I cannot ask Dermot
to give up his life for her,

because he would.

Do you sleep with her?

No. We share a bed,

but there hasn't been sex for years.

Have you had many affairs?

- Three.
- Including me?

This is not an affair.
This is different.

How?

Because I love you.

I love you, Cushla,

and whatever happens,

I'll never, ever lie to you again,
I promise.

I didn't expect to fall in love.

And I do not expect you
to give up your life for me.

You'd make a wonderful,
wonderful wife and mother,

but I, I can't
give you any of that.

Do you want to stop seeing me?

No.

God help me, I don't.

There is so much that we can do.

There's this, erm...

Oh, it's beautiful.

There's this cottage in Donegal,

and we can go there
at the end of the summer.

And we'll see God in the skies.

We can take trips away,
long weekends.

Go to Amsterdam, Barcelona.

This is gonna end really badly,
isn't it?

It doesn't have to.

- Cushla.
- Jimmy.

There's our girl.

Hello, hello, hello.
Eamonn, what can I do for you?

What needs to be done?

Just throw out a few pints,
and keep me company.

You're actually doing
an impression of Mike Yarwood

doing an impression
of Frank Spencer.

I'm missing my daughters growing up
because of these eejits.

You love it.

They're a good laugh.
Sometimes it's like it used to be.

Here. Finish this film.

All right, lads, photograph time,
come on.

That's it, like, one together.
All right, Michael.

Eamonn.

***

- No.
- Come on.

Come on, Jimmy, let's go, come on.

Can you not stay away from me?

It appears so.

Come to the flat on Thursday.

I want you to bring more
of your things.

I will, if I survive sports day.

I love you.

You better, Agnew.

So we're all right, then?

We're doomed. Apart from that,
we're grand.

Mummy!

Mummy! I won, Mummy.

I won! I won, I won!

Well done, darling.

I put my head down
and I ran like the clappers.

- Did you?
- He outran them all, Betty.

I wish you could've seen him.

I'll put the kettle on.

Yeah?

Aye. Go and tell Daddy.

Daddy... Daddy, I won!

Look, Daddy.

Davy played an absolute blinder.

He's a good lad.

Aye, pity we can't say the same
about the other one.

Tommy?

Aye, he moved out weeks ago.
We hardly see him.

When we do, he's swaggering about
with a few bob in his pocket,

acting the big fella.

Look, maybe it's just a phase.

I hope so.

Show us your wee trophy.

Mummy? I'm staying over
at Gerry's tonight.

- The Anchor.
- Where's Mummy?

She's bloody here falling about
the place. Come and get her.

- Ach, Eamonn, I have plans.
- Now, Cushla!

- What's going on?
- Oh, love.

What's wrong with her?

- Hi.
- Did you not hear?

Hear what?

Michael Agnew was shot dead
this morning.