All language subtitles for North Square s01e02ng

North Square Chambers.

Isobel Drum.
Er, yeah, I'll see if she's free.

I'll give you first refusal on the 7th.

- Johnny Boy.
- Speak to you later.

- All right. Bye, now.
- Wrong John.

It's your mum, John.

Hi, Mum.

No, it's gonna be...

Who's gonna do Rose Fitzgerald's case?

- She is.
- She's just had a baby.

- She'll do it.
- She won't.

- 3oo quid says she will.
- You're on.

- Tell him yes for now.
- Yes, Miss Fitzgerald is available.

No, no, no. Popped out.
Hardly touched the sides.

Yeah, some of them spaghetti shapes.
Yeah, that'd be nice. Yeah, and...

- Come here.
...Sunny Delight. I've got to go.

- What's your name?
- It's John.

- No, it's not. You're called Bob.
- What?

This is a place where
ease of communication is vital.

Can't have two Johns. Call your mum back.

Right.

Why?

Tell her you're called Bob.

Oh.

Mum, it's me.

Bob.

- Hard day at the office?
- Piece of crap in the Mags'.

- You're a wanker... sir.
- Wanker.

You're a wanker, too, for letting him punch
a member of the bar in the robing room.

I'm a wanker for bringing
you up like that.

Three wankers, then.
Men are so self-critical nowadays.

- Why am I a wanker?
- Because I'm one short.

You can't work until
after Wednesday's suspension hearing

has decided what to do with you.

Three days out of court.
Three grand down the drain.

1o% of three grand.
You're costing me 3oo quid personal loss.

Oh, hi, baby.

Tomorrow. Liverpool, Miss. You up for it?

Of she's course not. She gave birth
four days ago. What's wrong with you?

F...! Oh, shit. Is he all right?

Shh! Shh!

I've got to go. Liverpool.

You all right?

- Left tit's a bit sore. Bit dribbly.
- You should feed him.

Seven times in the night.
He's not crying cos he's hungry.

No, he's probably crying
cos he hasn't got a name.

Er, milk, bottles, everything's in the kitchen.
Steriliser. Everything.

- And give up smoking.
- Bye, Rose.

Bye, Billy.

If it gets difficult, call your mum.

Bye, baby.

Yellow

Hello?

Rose?

- Miss? You OK?
- Fine. Yeah. Erm...

Why are you rlnglng me?

Why am I ringing you?

I have no idea. Clean gone.

Bastard hormones.

Yes, yes. Nappy change. Nappy change.

Come on, try that. Come on. Please.

Yeah? Oh, hi, Peter.

- Any problems?
- No. He's fine.

- Are you feedlng hlm breast mllk?
- No. Bottled.

Shh. It's OK. Come here. Come here.

Come on. Come on. Shush, shush, shush.

Have a bottle. Come on.
Let's go and speak to... Come on.

- Yeah?
- Is the baby OK?

- No, he's fine, he's fine.
- It's not natural.

- What d'you mean?
- Bottle-feedlng.

Well, it's all I've got.

Hello? Hello?

It's not natural. Bottles. Powder.
Fucks you up. Breast is best, eh, sir?

You are a very weird man, Peter McLeish.

- But you love me.
- More than my own mother.

Were you breast-fed, sir?

Miss, I want you to go to Liverpool.
Post-natal care.

She thinks she doesn't need it,
but she does. Bastard hormones.

- Don't let her hear you say that.
- Now, qulck as you can.

- What's it called?
- What?

Squirting it out into bottles.

- What?
- Dorises squirting. Milk.

Milking?

- Expressing.
- Expressing. Brilliant.

We're gonna bike it.
She's gonna express it, we're gonna bike it.

M62, A57. The fucking milk run. Brilliant.

Did Shauna ever... Did your wife ever...?

- Yes, Robert?
- Nothing.

No. Goon. What?

Did she ever... You know. Whatever.
...express?

You're a baby clerk, Bob,
and I'm so much older than you.

And baby clerks shut the fuck up
unless they're spoken to.

Don't play grown-up, cos
I'll hurt you if you do.

Get the rest of the wine in.

Johnny Boy, book a bike.
Pick up in Liverpool every two hours.

Get lady bikes. I don't want
some fuck-off heavy-leather bloke

tromping all over
Miss Fitzgerald's sensitive moments.

Boots the chemist. The works.

Steriliser, bottles,
clamp thing, whatever.

- This is a bit...
- Then get a cab.

I want her looked after and I want
that baby fed properly. Understand?

Hi.

- Hello?
- It's me. Is he all right?

- Yeah, he Is. Flne. Are you not?
- No. Fine.

- You sure?
- Yeah.

- Are you in chambers?
- Yeah, just popped In.

Right.

- Look after him, won't you?
- Yeah, I'll try, Rose.

Sorry. I know.

- Good luck.
- OK. Bye.

Tilly Hudson. I don't think we've met.

No.

- New to this?
- I do crime.

I need to see the judge in his room
before we start.

When you and Miss Hudson
have finished raising eyebrows,

perhaps you'd let the judge know...
Mr Clerk.

Costs a lot of money to run this court.

Half an hour off every hour and a half
is too expensive a request.

Sorry. No expressing.

Thank you for coming to see me.

Thanks for the sisterly support in there.

I think he's right to say no.

- Have you got children?
- No.

- Oh. Sorry.
- "Sorry"?

"Sorry"?
Are you implying that, for a woman,

not to have children is
some kind of failing?

- Is it too late? Is that it?
- What?

There are compensations, I suppose.
I like your watch.

I'm 28 years old, intelligent,
good character, decent job.

Relationship with a very fragrant woman.

And sometimes I hang
out in public toilets.

- Sometimes?
- Three times. It's months apart.

And who do you bump into?

Boys in blue with stick-on handlebars
and tight white T-shirts.

- Entrapment?
- I do all the running.

- What's on offer?
- I'll do anything. What will I get?

- Judge?
- Some new recorder. Hamley?

- You're fucked.
- Really?

Homely Hamley hates sex. Any sex.
Thick as shit.

Never seen his wife with the lights on.
Catholic. Hundreds of kids.

Nine months. Six if you sob a lot

and bring the fragrant missus along
to stand by her man.

Are you pleading?

Such a splendid use of taxpayers' money.
I sleep better of a night,

knowing that highly-trained policemen
spend days knocking about toilets,

pretending to homosexual and
frightening your standard urinal-user.

You OK?

Oh, new baby, no work, suspension
hearing which may end my career.

- Otherwise fine.
- Otherwise fine.

- Just had Stevie Goode on the phone.
- Gorgeous solicitor.

Are you gonna stand there being pleased
with your enigmatic remark?

- I love it when you lot do that.
- Do what?

"Are you gonna stand there, being
pleased with your enigmatic remark?"

- Brilliant. Gift of the fucking gab.
- And?

Two things. She wants
a drink with you this afternoon

and she's got a case for
you in the morning.

Excellent and excellent.

Why is Stevie Goode briefing us?

I thought she was going
to Marlowe and his lot.

He got a name yet? Peter's a good name.

Looks like someone else
gets to do your cottaging.

Miss de Souza.

You always call me that
when you want something.

- Wendy.
- Now I suspect nothing.

Tomorrow.

Yes.

If it's a definite cast-iron plea.
Otherwise, no.

This murder starts the day after tomorrow.

High profile. A red judge.
It's a very good murder.

So if you tell me it's a definite plea
of guilty, then fine, I'll do it.

If there's any prospect that
it might be a trial, find someone else.

- It's a definite plea of guilty.
- Don't pull any clerk shit.

- What is it?
- It's a toilet thing. Piece of piss.

Something just snapped.

It seemed... intolerable,

all those social workers looking at us.

And I started to cry. I couldn't stop.

It's very important - when you're in court

and when you go into the witness box -
you do not give them a chance.

No crying, you mean.

Don't let them take my children
away from me. Promise me.

Promise me.

I promise.

If you had to describe Cora Bruce's
suitability to look after children,

what would you say?

She's a schizophrenic who also suffers
from histrionic personality disorder.

The two taken together
make her completely unsuitable

to be left in charge of small children.

- Drama queen.
- I'm sorry?

Histrionic personality disorder.
Drama queen. Yes?

Yes. I suppose that's right.
In an extreme form.

- At a kind of Bette Davis level.
- You might say that.

- Though I prefer Diana Rigg as a model.
- So do I.

Are histrionic episodes
brought on by stress?

Yes.

Is it right that the more
the drama queen is put under scrutiny,

- the more histrionic she will become?
- Yes.

Would you describe scrutiny intended
to determine whether the drama queen

is going to lose her children as stressful

and likely to bring on
histrionic behaviour?

- Yes.
- And if she were not under scrutiny,

is it likely that the histrionics
would be fewer and less extreme?

- That would be right.
- In other words, you are the problem.

Your diagnosis, and social services
crawling all over her life.

If you went, she'd be more able
to look after her children properly.

But your ego wouldn't allow that.
Would it?

Is that a question or a form of rudeness?

A form of rudeness, Your Honour.

Thank you for asking.

You're loitering.

Yeah.

And shrugging a lot.

And not talking much.

I was just thinking
what my new career might be.

- You'd make a lovely backing vocalist.
- They could suspend me, Alex.

- And for a very long time.
- But they won't. You'll win.

- I've got you.
- Babe.

Your head is too full of songs
for your own good.

Ain't no mountain we can't climb.

Billy.

Don't be a hero.
Come back and make me your wife.

Two gins. Cut the lime thin.
Very thin lime, Franco.

Your boy Wilson, is he going
all the way with the ABH?

Wholly unprovoked attack, he tells me.

I think it's best to let
the justice system do its business.

I've a lot of faith in the justice system.
A lot of faith.

Have you got me here
to impress me with bullying the waiters?

It's been six months since you lot left.

- And?
- I'm dealing with it.

But? I heard "but".

We had an agreement.
It was an honourable thing.

Remind me of the
honourable thing, Marlowe.

You wouldn't poach my work.

Stevie.

- She came to me.
- You're lying.

I don't know about honour.
Honour's a bit er... what is it?

Old fashioned.

- What are you saying?
- Read between the lines, Marlowe.

It's all there.

You described Cora Bruce's behaviour on your last
visit as "inappropriate, lacking in insight".

- Yes.
- She was crying a lot.

- The whole time.
- Is crying inappropriate?

In front of the children,
in those circumstances, absolutely.

On this visit and four
others of half an hour,

you base your conclusions
about Cora Bruce as a mother.

Five visits is plenty.

- Do you have children?
- No.

So your experience of children
is based on half-hour visits?

Is this an attack on social work as a
whole or is there something I'm missing?

You have no idea about context,
the rhythm of things,

about what goes on between
a mother and a child over the day.

- Half hours aren't good enough.
- My job is to protect the children.

These were children
at risk of serious harm.

Your client admits running a knife
along the spine of one of them.

No matter what you say, the fact remains

that when I was there
to assess her and her children,

she spent the whole time crying.

But you don't get it, do you?
She was crying because you were there

and twoother people
she had never met were there

and you had all come to judge her.

Can't you understand how upsetting
that might be, or imagine the context?

Miss Fitzgerald, I understand
that you might be feeling

a little emotional at this time,
given your circumstances.

But I'd ask you to control your feelings.

- This is not the place for...
- Histrionics... Your Honour.

I think we'll call it a day. Your client
can give her evidence in the morning.

Should the woman whose honour
Billy was protecting

be a party to the discussions
about Billy's future?

There's no discussion. He's up in front
of the suspension board tomorrow night.

We'll wait and see what they decide first.

- Good punch.
- Little shit. Wilson deserved everything he got.

Tonight's party. 2o solicitors, 15o bottles of wine.
I want them very drunk.

I want them to know we've arrived
and to love us.

If we're touting for work,
let's do it properly.

Billy Bremner.

Very small legs and his head was big.
Like a bad statue of a lion.

Him and Mick Jones, with his shirt
tucked in and slightly big bottom.

They were my two for that side.
Could have been plumbers.

Mick and Billy, fixing
the blocked drain of a Tuesday afternoon.

You wouldn't bat an eye.
Today, footballers are footballers.

- Your football knowledge is...
- Unbelievably sexy?

Profound? Of the moment?
My father took me.

Every game from the age of four.
I have bright, shining eyes

because of the sting of urine
in the wind at Elland Road.

My cheeks have colour because
of the freeze on the terraces.

I'm two inches taller than
I ought to be because I stood on tiptoe

for 9o minutes every Saturday afternoon.
Football made me what I am. I hate it.

I know it's late in the day
and I know the client knows Alex,

but I just feel, on balance, that Wendy de
Souza would be better for this kind of case.

It's the woman thing.

What kind of sexual deviant does
a woman like Wendy represent to you?

And this is nothing to do with
the clerk thing?

- "Clerk thing"? You've lost me.
- Something else comes in for Alex Hay.

He's doing my case but you take it anyway,

knowing you can fill me
full of sparkling wine

and palm me off with Wendy de Souza.
That way, you get both cases.

And your 1o% clerk's percentage
of two cases, not one.

That's not the way I work.
And it's champagne.

- What's Alex Hay doing tomorrow?
- I'll find him something.

Wendy de Souza is right for this.

Erm... bye. And erm... thanks.

Football and flirting.
It's what one kind of man does best.

Flirting?

"Erm... bye. And thanks. " Said the boy
with a hint of twinkle in the eye

and something dangerous
playing about the corner of the mouth.

The big question is... how much bottom
do you get under the twinkle?

- Are you coming toour touts' party?
- When is it?

Now.

You can meet my girlfriend.

It's in the juvenile court tomorrow.
You'll do it?

Yeah. Fine.

Fine.

This woman is terrible. She really is.
Completely... Thank you very much.

Completely unsuitable. We can settle
the whole thing ourselves.

It's in the juvenile court.
I'm eight years called.

- She's testing you out.
- It's a bit undignified.

I'm sure the fact that you soobviously
fancy her will see you through it.

We get her on board,
our workload will double.

She's got some really good criminals.

Good boy.

- Hi.
- Hi.

- Who's that?
- Solicitor.

- Mm-hm. Good?
- She's OK.

- Drink?
- Yeah.

- I'm doing your public toilet tomorrow.
- Right. Good. I'm at the juvenile court.

The juvenile court? You're returning
a perfectly good cottaging case

for something in the juvenile court?

- It's a little something... for me.
- Right.

You must be Stevie Goode.

By the way, it is a plea, isn't it?

I'll kill him.

You lied. It's not pleading. Alex told me.

- What does he know?
- It's his case.

But you want him sniffing round
old glamour-knickers over there

so that when
she's overcome with lust for him,

she shifts her work from
Marlowe's chambers to us.

You'll do anything to make it work,
including lying to me.

- I told the solicitor you're doing it.
- Well, untell him. Because I'm not.

You'd leave the poor punter in the lurch?

It's you who's doing that. The remedy's simple.
Return the bit of something

and get Alex back on the cottaging.

- You're very good at your job but...
- Swallow your pride.

- This is my job. You're not listening!
- She can get one of Marlowe's lot.

- Life is hard.
- No, listen. Fucking listen!

There are things
you are nowhere near understanding.

Stuff you don't know. I know everything.

Now fuck off and talk to people.
It's what you do. Leave the stuff to me.

Goon, then.

I should go.
I'll see you in court in the morning.

Not like your average solicitor
to go to juvenile court

- to hold her barrister's hand.
- She just fancies me, that's all.

I really appreciated your help today.

Oh...

- Thank you.
- Come on, love. Let's get a cab, eh?

- I'm just round the corner.
- We'll walk.

- Why don't you stay for a bit?
- You sure?

Goon. You could do with
a couple of drinks.

- Good night.
- Night.

Miss, could I have a word?

I'm talking.

- It's what you do.
- Brilliantly.

Brilliantly.

- Where are we going?
- Dinner, club, hot sex.

I've got a lot of non specific urethritis in the morning.
Can we cut straight to the hot sex?

I love it when you talk medical.

See you.

- Is Wendy pissed off?
- She's fine. Helen?

Fine.

What's the secret, boys?

D?cor. We were talking d?cor.
We're gonna paint it up in here.

- Night, Peter.
- Night, Billy.

- Congratulations.
- Ah, thanks.

This is the sort of time we need to
have a good, hard look at your future.

- New baby. Responsibility.
- I suppose so.

Ask yourself
if you're getting the work you deserve.

Of everyone who left,
you're the one I miss most, by the way.

Good night.

Miss, you're working tomorrow.
I'll bike the brief over.

- I'm really sorry.
- It's fine.

We all remember
how scary it was as a pupil.

We were up all night, anyway.

- What will he get?
- On a plea? Nine months.

Six, maybe. Probation if you're lucky.

- Who's the judge?
- Hamley.

You'll be fine.

It says that it's listed for trial,

but Peter says it's definitely
going to be a guilty plea.

I'm sure he's right.

Get the client to endorse
the front of the brief:

"I agree to plead guilty
and I do soof my own free will."

Make sure he does that.

You'll be fine.

Ooh, hot chocolate, anyone?

I'd better get to work.
I'll let myself out.

Oh. By the way...

what's fellatio?

You look lovely.
The spotted youth will be delighted.

Erm...

Hey?

Goon. There you go. There you go.
There you go.

Don't tell anyone. Don't. Promise.

- Promise me.
- Bye-bye.

Wait. You will make it to the hearing,
won't you?

I promise.

I'm not perfect as a mother.

And I know what I did
on that one occasion is... unforgiveable.

But I know the girls want to be with me.

If you ask them,
they'd tell you what they wanted.

Well, they're not here to ask.

Yes, they are. They're outside.

Miss Bruce,
I consider it highly inappropriate of you

to have brought these young children here.

I wanted them with me. Today.

Now.

In case tonight
they're not coming home with me.

Is there anything wrong with that?

Can anyone tell me
if there's something wrong

with wanting your children with you
when they might be taken away?

Is that wrong?

One eplsode.

The knlfe. The splne. A terrlble thlng.

She knows it.

And not a day goes by
without her thinking about it.

But now, right now,
her two children are sitting outside

holding hands with their mother.

Don't throw away everything
because of one incident.

Her medication works.
The children are safe.

To remove them from her would be an act

entirely to do with the dogma of the expert
and the inflexibility of the system.

I hope Your Honour can see past both.

Please.

With immediate effect.

Thank you.

- I want my mum! Mum!
- No!

- Mum!
- Mum! Mum!

Mum! Mum!

No!

It's my fault. I ran it the wrong way.

I forgot about the client. I allowed
myself to get personal with the judge.

It's my fault.

You should get home to your baby.

Yeah.

Yeah.

You're not in Jarrett, are you?

Erm, yes.

Oh.

"Oh"?

You look a bit junior, that's all.

Is that a compliment? Maybe it is.

Still, four days of vice - I was
expecting somebody a bit more senior.

Four days?

Thereabouts. Possibly longer,
if your bloke goes into the box

and bleats a lot
about the happiness of his marriage.

Wlll Wendy de Souza
please come to the receptlon area

- where your sollcltor Is waltlng.
- That's me.

- Mr Low?
- Where's Wendy?

She isn't doing it. Last-minute change.

- How many years' call are you?
- I'm a pupil.

Oh, Jesus.

I'm going to need time with the client,

so let's go inside and tell the judge
we need... time. OK?

Your Honour, I'd like to ask for the
court to be adjourned for half an hour.

The case is listed for trial, Miss Black.

I'm not keeping busy police officers
waiting just because you want to do now

what could and should have been done
weeks ago.

- Your Honour, I...
- Ten minutes.

I got this brief late last night.
I don't think it's fair on my client...

Nine minutes, Miss Black.

You get a lot of credit for pleading
guilty, especially in a case like this.

If you plead guilty,
you can maximise the mitigation,

the hurt you've caused your family,

the confusion and pain
you must be suffering.

Will I go to prison?

Could we er... have a word?

You're leaning on him
because you're scared.

No. Because I'm right to lean on him.
It's a loser. He's got to plead.

- That's not what Alex Hay said.
- Judge is ready.

Go to court
and tell them we're on our way.

If you fight this case and you lose,
you will definitely go to prison.

If you plead guilty,
then I think I can get you probation.

Prison would mean
the end of everything, wouldn't it?

It would destroy... everything.

We're late in starting, Miss Black.
I hold you responsible.

?1o, ooo a day to run this court.

I think wasted costs is
going to be an issue.

Jury, please.

The defendant wishes to change his plea
toone of guilty.

Can the indictment
be put to him again, please?

D'you like cars, Vinnie? Is that it?
D'you really love cars?

Vinnie?

Vinnie has one aim in life.

That aim is to steal cars.

1o9 in the last two years.

Prolific is the word.

From the age of 13, he has spent
more time inside than he has out.

It doesn't work.

When he comes out, he steals cars again.

And he's really bad at it.
He keeps getting caught.

He's a really hopeless car thief.

So, what do you do? I'll tell you
what I'd do if I were a magistrate.

Lock him up for longer.

I bet that's your first thought, too.
But I have the advantage over you.

I've had the opportunity to look Vinnie
Banks in the eye and ask him why.

Why steal cars all of the time?

He looked me straight in the eye

and I think I can say
I've never seen such conviction

and clarity of thought in one so young.

"Because I love them," he said.

"Because... I love them."

I've been at the bar eight years.

I've had clients
look me in the eye before.

Very often they're lying.
You get to know about lying eyes.

Vinnie Banks is not lying about cars.

He steals them because he loves them.

Deeply.

So... what do you do?

Get him working on the things he loves
so much he can't be without them.

Supervision order with a place on a
mechanics course for young offenders.

Give him cars to play with...
he won't want to steal anyone else's.

They love being told what to do,
especially by a member of the bar.

Stand up, Vinnie.

We are going to place you
under a supervision order

- with a place on a mechanics course.
- Bless their frightened souls.

It will start immediately
and last approximately a year.

- Coffee?
- Should you appear here again...

- Peter. Have you heard from Rose?
- Isn't she wlth you?

No. She's supposed to be
looking after the baby.

- She hasn't called?
- No. Look, I've got to go.

- Well, good luck.
- Yeah. Yeah. Bye.

Bit flagrant, bringing the baby in an
attempt to woo the members of the board.

- Who's representing you?
- Alex Hay.

Not here yet?
Cutting it a bit fine, isn't he?

Fuck! Fuck! Sorry, I've got to go!

Six months. Six months inside
for a bit of crappy cottaging.

Alex Hay was in the juvenile court today
and Wendy de Souza wasn't working at all.

What are you doing, sending "a wet behind
the ears" girlie to do my bloody case?

- I asked you a question.
- Get out.

I asked a question.
I think I'm entitled to an answer.

Get out now.
Before I turn your lights out.

What?

That's the last work
this chambers ever gets from me.

It suits me. All you ever get is nonces.

What's the draw, eh? Why do the nonces
all come running to you?

Come here.

I want you to know
that as long as you're here,

whether you're a pupil
or fucking Head of Chambers,

if anyone insults you,
they have me to deal with.

Go home. Eat. Drink.
Watch Ally McBeal. Go to sleep.

Goon.

Did you get him to endorse the brief?

The solicitor was with you
the whole time, though?

Go home. Don't eat, don't drink,
do not watch that woman.

Write down everything
that you said to him and he said to you.

He'll appeal it. Make sure
you remember everything that was said.

OK?

And don't worry.

Miss? What are you doing here, Miss?

Oh, God. Billy! Oh, shit!

- Where have you been?
- Touting.

- Tarting.
- Touting, actually.

"Actually"?

- Where's Rose?
- I don't know.

As far as I can see,
it was a wholly unprovoked attack.

There was some general conversation
which was inconsequential.

There was some... music playing, I think.

And then, out of the blue, he hit me.

Amazing, really. Right there
in the middle of the robing room.

None of us could believe it.

Mr Round, you are profoundly deaf.

And for the last 4o years
you have been lip-reading.

- You are a lip-reading expert?
- Yes.

Please look at the recording and
tell us what is being said by Mr Wilson,

the man who gets punched.

"She's only 33, but she
gets such good work.

Breathtaking career.

Is she any more brilliant than you,
Billy? Or you, Alex, for that matter?

One does wonder, doesn't one,
what is it that gives her the edge?"

Now tell us what Mr Guthrie says.

"Are you saying that Wendy de... Souza

got where she is today
because of the colour of her skin?"

Now Wilson.

"You took the words
right out of my mouth."

I nearly forgot. There's someone else in
the video, standing next to Mr Guthrie.

Me.

Can you tell us, just so we have
the whole picture, what I am saying?

"My daddy was a bank robber.

But he never hurt nobody.

He just loved to live that way.

And he loved to steal your money.

Uh... uh-uh. Uh ha-ha.

Ha-ha ha uh uh ha.

Ha uh uh ha..."

August 1972.
My father came here from Genoa

with nothing except me,
his English wife and his gift.

For eight years, he was a deckchair
attendant on the beach at Southend.

Eight years,
up and down the beach, singing.

Verdi. Puccini. Bellini.

He died
the day Margaret Thatcher was elected.

It was a... heart attack.

The bunting was out in Southend,
ice-cream was eaten

and my father died, by himself,
in a beach hut.

The week before he died,
I saw something I thought I'd never see.

I was on the beach and a young man
came up to another young man.

First man English, the second Italian.

"Dirty fucking wop. " The Englishman.

My father heard him
and he walked straight up to him.

My heart was in my mouth.
What was my father doing?

He punched him. Hard.

He was right.

I was proud of him.

I'm proud of Billy Guthrie.

She's great, Stevie.
She's a good solicitor.

This is good for us. She's a class act.

Gives us big cred.

It's obvious - class - when you see it.

- My old dad had it, in his way.
- Did he?

- Did I ever tell you?
- Yeah.

He was a deckchair attendant
on Southend Beach.

- Yeah. Right.
- 20 years, up and down the beach.

Singing opera. No crap. Opera.

You bastard.

Un... believable. You... are shameless.
You don't give a fuck, do you?

Not when it comes to saving
the career of my closest friend.

What?

What?

Ooh.

I'm going home.

Unbelievable. Un... believable.

- Congratulations.
- Thanks.

Pleasure.

- Pleasure?
- Yeah.

- Just the trial now.
- Yeah. Just the trial.

Good night, sir.

Let's call him Daniel.

Daniel's a good name.

Get your tits out.

Shh! Shh!

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