All language subtitles for White.gold.S01E06.WaLMaRT.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

Translated By The Community Of WWW.MY-SUBS.COM

I've always loved great magicians.

They're the double glazing salesmen
of the entertainment business.

Last year, with nothing
but a massive curtain,

and an even bigger pair of balls,

David Copperfield made
The Statue of Liberty vanish.

Now, you and I both know
he couldn't have vanished

The Statue of fucking Liberty...

but look into his eyes.

Tell me he doesn't 100% believe that

he just made her disappear for real.

What you're looking at there,
folks, is the secret of sales.

Believe in what you're selling.

I'd forgotten that, and it's
almost cost me everything I love,

my wife, my kids, my money.

But now it's time to start taking it
all back the only way I know how,

by selling the greatest product that
exists on this beautiful planet...

me.

Aren't you going to be late for school?

- But we're not finished here.
- Oh, I think we are, sweetheart.

Sync & corrections by emeline-whovian
www.MY-SUBS.com

You want me to piss away my money

starting a double glazing
company with you?

I mean, that's a less nuanced
version of it but, yeah.

Why don't you just take over at Cachet?

Walshy won't sell, it's his nest egg.

Well, I always find a man
more amenable to an offer

when I've got his nuts
clamped in a vice.

Are we talking metaphorical
testicles here?

Yeah, for the minute. Now, Vincent,
ever heard of a phoenix scam?

No, but feel free to enlighten me.

It's when you take a business...

say, a flourishing double glazing firm,

you siphon off all the cash

and at the same time, you
run up crippling debts

until it gets wound up.

You see, that's a bit short-term for
me.

I want to run my own company,
build it up into a national chain.

And you will, young Vincent,
because at this point

a handsome and respected local
businessman steps in,

buys up the company for
a nominal fee, say £1,

and a new "debt free" firm rises
from the ashes of the old one.

The phoenix from the flames.

How legal is it?

Well, let's just say it's not
completely illegal.

It's certainly immoral, though.

I mean, how would you feel about
stealing Walshy's livelihood,

his money, his business?

I feel surprisingly OK about it.

To be honest, I'd have felt
OK about letting Ronnie take

a shit in my mouth if it had meant I
could clear my 50 grand tax bill.

Stage one of the plan was getting
me installed as a partner at Cachet.

Being a greedy cocksucker,
Walshy jumped on my offer to invest.

Do I want to know where this came from?

Don't shit your pants,
it's all above board.

I re-mortgaged the house.

Which is partly true,
Ronnie loaned me the money.

What I didn't mention was that

I'd borrowed it against
Walshy's business,

not my house, with interest rates
that were fucking eye-watering,

even for a shark like Ronnie.

- Congratulations, partner.
- Best move you've ever made.

Fortunately, Walshy had about
as much business acumen as

a bucket of pig shit.
As long as orders were coming in,

he'd think business was hunky-dory.

But before I could start spending
his money like a cunt,

firstly I needed to re-hire one.

Hello, Maureen, love. Is Brian about?

Fuckface! Door.

Fitzpatrick took less convincing
than I'd imagined.

Christ, I need this job. Thank you.

Walshy! Get a load of that.

It didn't matter that we
were selling our windows

for practically cost,

to Walshy's barely-educated eye,
business was flying.

What he didn't know was that
I was about to pilot it into

the side of a fucking mountain.

Here you are, boys.

One of my first acts as a
codirector was to approve

company cars for the
entire sales team...

including a nice little
upgrade for moi.

In fact, everything got
upgraded, our suits,

the office furniture...

..we even had prototype
car phones fitted.

As communication devices, they
were next to fucking useless,

they never worked.

But as toys to wind up the Millman
Young pricks, they were priceless.

To soften the blow of
Fitzpatrick's return,

I promoted Lavender to head of marketing

and gave him an unlimited
budget to blow on

an obscenely expensive radio ad.

We are rolling.

Right. Cut there. Sorry to interrupt.

What's up?

Erm, have you cleared this
with Paul Young's label?

I wrote this fucking lick, mate.

I own this sound, all right?

All right. Take two.

Ronnie was even throwing
me a kickback from

the extortionate interest
on his loans to Cachet

to settle my outstanding tax affairs.

It was beautiful.

You're welcome.

Now, I appreciate this all might
seem a little harsh on Walshy,

but at least this way he gets to keep £1

and, more importantly, his nuts.

And that was Kool &
the Gang there, with Celebration.

Now, we'll be right back with
travel after this short break.

Essex Radio!

Hang on, Sam, this is it. This is it!

What's happening?

On the radio. My ad. Sh...

♪ If your windows and doors ♪

♪ Don't look loved and adored ♪

♪ Time to make a change... ♪

What do you think?

I think I want you to stop talking
and start unbuttoning my blouse.

Seriously though, what do you think?

How does it make you feel?

Unbelievably irritated.

Irritated? Why?

Oh, I don't know, maybe because
I'm playing second fiddle

to a Paul Young sound-a-like jingle

for my shithead, soon-to-be
ex-husband's business.

Paul Young sound-a-like? I created
the bass hook on that bloody intro.

Don't forget the name,
Cachet Windows and Doors.

Even when we're fucking escaping
Vincent there's no escaping Vincent.

I thought you liked our little
secret rendezvous.

All right, saying it in French
doesn't make it more romantic.

I'm sick of sneaking around
for quickies in lay-bys.

- It's not a good time to go public.
- What?!

We're not Charles and Diana,
the public don't give a shit.

The only people that
care will be the kids,

and Nat and Robbie like you.

Christ knows they want me to be happy.

It's not just them though,
is it, it's Vincent.

I can't do this.

I love being with you.

I think you're kind, you're thoughtful,

and I really fancy you.

But I need to be with someone
who respects me, puts me first.

Christ, not even first,
just not always fucking last.

We both agreed it's just
not the right moment.

I've just been promoted and...
Come on, what are you doing?

I'm going home, Martin.

Vincent was right,

- you're a pair of bollocks short
of being a decent bloke. - Sam!

Guess what's in here?

A million pounds?

Of course not.
How could I fit a million in here?

I don't know.

A cheque?

- So, what is it?
- Doesn't matter now.

Oh, come on, don't
leave me on meathooks.

50,000, cash.

Ooh, way less than a million.

- So, where did you get it?
- Never you mind.

I'll tell you where it's going, though,

Her Majesty's Inland fucking Revenue.

Wow! Are you going get
to meet the Queen?

Not unless she works at a tax
office in Southend-on-Sea.

She doesn't. I'm pretty
sure she works in London.

Vincent, can I have a word?

This sounds serious. Is Paul
Young suing us about the ad?

Let's go upstairs.

Have you been upsetting him again?

I know things haven't been
easy between you and Sam,

and the last thing I want is
to add to your problems...

It's all right, mate, I know.

- You what?
- Sam told me.

I'm so sorry, mate,

I should have been straight
with you so much earlier.

I hoped the promotion would have helped.

That radio campaign's
top-notch, by the way.

Thanks.

What has Sam said exactly?

That you've been
disillusioned for a while.

The music business pulling
at your heart strings.

- Was that all she said?
- No.

Apparently I'm a narcissist, a scumbag,

- a terrible father and I'm going
to die lonely. - No, I meant...

Look, mate, I know I haven't been a
great boss these past few months,

but can you give me a few more weeks?

There are some big changes about to
happen around here, and I need you.

Yeah... sure.

Good boy.

Actually, there is one thing
you can help me with.

I want to get Sam back.

Really? I thought you
and Robbie's teacher...

Nah, that's over, mate.
I finished with her last month,

- it was just a bit of fun.
- Oh.

And how can I help exactly?

You go and see her, you tell her
I still love her, I need her...

That might be a bit weird.

Maybe you should talk to her yourself?

It's hard to have a conversation

while you're dodging the glasses
getting launched at your head.

Well, maybe don't go to the house,

arrange to meet her on
neutral territory.

That's a good idea.

And be honest about how you feel,
about how much she means to you.

Deep down she needs to feel
that she comes first.

Christ, not even first,
just not always last.

Probably.

That is good.

I knew there was a reason why I employed

- an overeducated ponce like you.
- Yeah.

Cachet Windows... Carol.

What's up? Why are you whispering?

Because your son's teacher
is in the showroom

and she wants to talk to you.
She seems upset.

Shit. Does she know I'm upstairs?

No, but she's not leaving
until she sees you.

- Is my briefcase down there?
- Yeah.

Right, put it in my car
and I'll sneak out the back.

Oh, just going to the loo.

Reading material.

It's a poo.

So, no school today?

No, because guess who's been
suspended for having an

inappropriate relationship with
a student's parent?

Do you know how long I had to
train to become a teacher?

Three years.

Three years of my life down the toilet

along with my fucking reputation.

Think I'll just nip to the
little boy's room too.

- Right, Carol, you got it.
- I popped it on your car.

- You mean in my car.
- No, on it, it was locked.

It's a fucking convertible,
Carol, the roof's down.

Well, there's no need to be rude.
I'm the one doing a favour.

Or as I like to call it, your job.

And your BMW's not convertible.

No, but I traded the
BMW in for a Mercedes

four fucking weeks ago, remember?

Oh, yeah.

- So, where's my fucking money, Carol?
- On your BMW.

- Fitzpatrick's BMW.
- Fucking hell! Brian!

Brian! Brian! Fuck.

Get that shitheap out of my way!

- They're stuck together.
- Yeah, no shit, Professor Fuckwit.

Fucking useless piece of shit!

Get Fitzpatrick on that fucking
car phone right now!

- Vincent. - Not now!
- No, I need to speak to you.

That bitch of a wife of yours
has spoken to the head

and I've been suspended.

- Any luck?
- I can't connect the call.

You keep fucking trying.
I'm holding you responsible.

Did you hear what I said?

I'll get out on the road,
try and track him down.

- I said that bitch...
- Watch your fucking mouth!

She's reported me.
I've been suspended.

Save the crocodile tears, sweetheart.

You loved playing with fire, so did I.

Don't start acting like one of
your first year fucking infants

because you got your fingers burned.

Fuck you, Vincent.

- It won't connect.
- Useless fucking phones!

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Anything?

I think I'm going to be sick.

Hello, Cachet... Oh, thank God!

It's him. He's with Lavender.

Where the fuck is my money, Brian?

What do you mean you don't know?

Well, don't bother setting
foot inside this place

until you find my briefcase.

Yes, that does fucking mean
you'll be sacked again!

- Good news?
- No, not good news.

And if my money doesn't turn up for

my tax hearing this afternoon,
you will be sacked too.

Should I call the police?

OK, but just ask them if it's
been handed in, all right?

Do not mention the money.

The last thing I need is the
Old Bill sniffing about.

Yeah, got it. Incognito.

Hello, Thurrock Police.
How may I help?

I'd like to
report a missing briefcase,

- so I would, so I would.
- I'm sorry?

A briefcase, yer big eejit.

It fell out of a car somewhere
in the West Essex area.

Can you hold the line? I just need
to grab one of my superiors.

Get me someone from Bomb Squad.

I've got a suspected coded
message from the IRA here.

Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name?

Get a move on, arseholes!

I can't go back to selling diet pills.

Those pyramid scheme wankers are
already after me for three grand.

We'll find it, all right?
Where else have you been?

Nowhere. We've been
fucking everywhere.

What's the hold up?

Oh, fuck.

Not very clever, was it, sir?
Now, could you turn around, please?

We've a got suspect package
on the roundabout.

Nothing's getting through until
the Bomb Squad have investigated.

Oh, you're joking.

Yeah, excuse me, officer.
What kind of package?

- Vincent, I've found it!
- You beauty.

Where are you, I'll meet you
on the way to the tax office.

I'm on the roundabout outside
the refinery.

OK. I'm on my way.

Oh, and one more thing.

Could you hurry up because
the police kind of think it's

an IRA bomb and they want to
conduct a controlled explosion?

'You useless mother...

Sorry for the trouble, officer.

Aren't you going to open it?
Make sure nothing's missing.

Yeah, of course.

Yep, that seems to be all good.

Sir, can I ask what you're doing
with such a large amount of cash?

Well, you can, but unless the
Iron Curtain has shifted

3,000 miles west,
I don't have to fucking answer.

Well, perhaps you'd prefer
to accompany me to

the station for further questioning
about today's incident.

Look, mate, I'm having a day
from hell here, all right?

Please, give me a break.
The money's to pay a tax bill.

- I have a hearing in 30 minutes.
- Well, why not just say that then?

I should have, I just have this
natural aversion to authority

that makes me behave like an arsehole.

I'm hoping I can just apologise
and be on my way...

Control, this is PC 486.

I need you to contact someone at
Inland Revenue in Southend-on-Sea

- and check that...
- Quick as we fucking can.

Sorry, take your time.

Check if they have an appointment
with a Mr Vincent Swan.

Once my story did check out,
all that was left was to close

this heart attack inducing
chapter of my life.

This is actually highly
irregular, Mr Swan.

Most of our clients pay by
cheque or banker's draft.

And you appear...

..to be £50 short.

Yeah. I had to bung that to Lavender
after you made him finger you

behind the bins. Let's call it
compensation for his trauma.

OK.

Well, that all seems to be in order.

Thank you, Mr Swan.

I wish I could say the
pleasure was all mine,

but as you and I both know,
it was mainly yours.

Ciao.

As it goes, paying tax felt
better than I'd imagined.

Probably helps that it
was all Walshy's cash.

Now time to make The Statue of
Liberty reappear in my life,

or as I like to call her, Sam.

Millman Young. How may I help you?

Can you take a piss
in Little Prick's coffee for me?

Right, I'm hanging up now, Vincent.

Sam, Sam, don't, it's important.

Sorry, bad joke. It's about Robbie.

What's happened? You didn't
forget to pick him up did you?

No, he's with me. I've just had
a problem, my car's packed in.

Can you come and get him?

I'm at a client's house,
23, The Old Yews,

on the new estate just
off Southend Road.

I'm at work, Vincent. I can't
be there for half an hour.

That's great. Thanks, babe.

Don't call me fucking babe!

Here she comes, the love of my
life, your beautiful mother.

All right, wish me luck.

What the fuck is this, Vincent?
Sorry, Robbie.

This is our new family abode.
Chez Swan.

Are you deranged?
We're getting a divorce.

I don't want to live
with you ever again,

you terrible wanker. Sorry, Robbie.

Sam, I know I fucked up.
Sorry, Robbie.

You have every right to hate me,
but I want you back.

I need you back. Plus, I've just put
down a non-refundable deposit

for ten grand on this place
so, please, just have a look?

- Please, Mum, have a look. It's
fucking amazing in there. - Robbie!

Right, Vincent, five minutes.

Come on. After you.

Is there any way you can stop
the deposit from being taken?

You see, my soon to be ex-husband
isn't a well man, Philip.

He's lost his marbles.

I only show people around.
I don't really have a say in that.

Don't listen to her, Philip.

Once she understands
that I'm a changed man

and I would never cheat on her
again, we'll take it.

That's his problem, you see, Philip.

He doesn't understand how
embarrassing this is for you or me.

He thinks he can buy his way
out of any problem.

On a scale of one to ten, Philip,

how insanely wrong would you say it is

to cheat on your wife with your
son's primary school teacher?

Do you want to see the garden?

It's a fucking 11.
It's off the chart.

And I'm the idiot who did it. I am.

But I'm also the idiot dying here,

trying to find a way to make it right.

I should've respected her, Philip.

I adore her.

I should have made her feel like
she was my first and only thought

instead of making her feel
like she was my last.

Is it OK if I pop downstairs and
let you both have a think about it?

No, you stay, Philip.

You need to see me beg.

If it's too late, Sam,

tell me, and I'll leave you to
get on with the rest of your life.

I'm so sorry, baby.

I lost my way.

It's always been you that made
my world turn and I fucked it.

But I need you.

I can't do any of it without you.

So I'm begging for one last chance.

In front of Philip.

Begging.

Look at me begging, Philip!

So come on, Sam. If not for me,

do it for Philip.

Get off the floor, you wally.

What do you say?

No more lying. No more cheating.

I was a fool, Sam.

I'll never do anything again
to risk losing you.

Can we even afford this place?

Yes, baby. I've cleared my tax bill,
I'm a partner in the business.

You say the word and it is yours.

Yeah, yes.

I fucking love it!

Oh, my God.

Right, Philip, before we close the
deal on the asking price right now,

we're going to need to
test-run that Jacuzzi bath.

And it is a deal breaker for us,
I'm afraid, isn't it, Sam?

Absolutely, Philip.

How do you feel about that, Philip?

Er, OK.

That's great stuff.

Now can you pop downstairs
and keep an eye on Robbie?

We'll be with you shortly.

You're such a plum.
A great big sexy plum.

Tony, there's a suit out there
wants a word with you.

What fucking now?

Excuse me, Mr Walsh?

Depends. Who's looking for me?

I mean him. Shit.

Mr Walsh, I'm a legal representative
for Farrell's Debt Collection.

I'm serving Cachet Windows and Doors
with a statutory demand

for unpaid debts of £798,000

Very good, you're very good.

What? Did Vincent put you up
to this? Is this a wind-up?

If you do not respond to this
demand within seven days,

we'll file a winding-up petition
at the High Court, after which

your bank accounts will be frozen.

Hello, mate. What's up?

Look, I wasn't straight
with you earlier today.

Don't worry about it.
Look, mate, I'm kind of busy.

It won't take long. I'm going
to say what I've got to say,

- then I'm going to go.
- OK.

Don't be such a drama queen.

It's Sam.

What? What about Sam
can't wait until tomorrow?

No, it's Sam. Behind you.

Yeah. We've been introduced.

Hey, look, mate,

that gubbins you told me about
putting her first did the trick.

You are a bona fide marriage saver.

Well, go on! Quick, have your say.

Nat's baby-sitting Robbie

so I've still got several hours
of making up to enjoy.

Doesn't seem important now.
I'll catch you tomorrow.

OK. I might be late.

In the end, Ronnie administered
Walshy's final coup de grace

with a pound coin rather
than a testicular vice.

This is complete fucking bollocks.

Walshy signed the business
over to Ronnie for a coin.

It was that or be declared bankrupt
and lose everything.

Walshy came to collect
his things the next day.

I almost felt sorry for the poor sap.

No hard feelings, eh, Tony?

That's right, now fuck off

in that Range Rover my hard
graft allowed you to buy.

Ouch. Some hard feelings, clearly.

Now, I appreciate the last few
days have probably been a bit...

unsettling, but as far as
you boys are concerned

it's business as usual.

And I know it seems a bit rough
on Walshy, but don't forget

he made this rod for his own back.

Yeah, by hiring you.

And by rod you definitely
mean knife for his back?

All right, fine,
let's get it all out now.

I've got a desk delivery
for a Mr Farrell.

- First floor, mate.
- No-one said anything about any stairs.

Do your own furniture arranging, pal.

Cheeky bastard. That's everything
that's wrong with Britain today.

Don't worry, guys. I've got this.

New headed paper.

Take a look at that, boys.

Wow, that is headed paper all right.

Yeah, with one very small
but hugely important change.

Look where it lists
the new company directors.

Director. Singular.

Your name's not on there, mate.

What the fuck? Carol, get the
printers on the phone right now.

I'm not paying for this
until it's been corrected.

That is what we ordered.

Ronnie popped in on Tuesday and
told me to take your name off.

What? Are you sure?

Yeah, it was definitely Ronnie.
He had his face.

This is obviously
Ronnie's idea of a wind-up.

Yeah, or his idea of a stitch up.

Look, I have to pop out for a bit.

You two lazy pricks can haul
this fucking monstrosity

up into Walshy's... Ronnie's office.

You're joking. It looks like it
weighs more than an actual Roller.

I'm fucking not. Get it done.

OK, boss. I really enjoyed
today's pep talk(!)

Pull!

Vincent, my old mucker!

What a wonderful day to be alive.

How's the office shaping up?

Nothing's really changed,
other than your desk has arrived.

Which is what I need
to talk to you about.

What, the desk? Want me
to get you one? Gorgeous, innit?

Not the fucking desk, Ronnie.

Why did you take my name off
the paperwork as a director?

Because you're not a director, Vincent.

Pull!

Fuck me, Ronnie, do you have to?

The deal was I helped
you fuck over Walshy

and then we run the business
as partners.

Yeah, there's been a complication.

It turns out that as a
former director of Cachet

you've been barred
by the Companies House

from becoming a director of
the new business for five years.

I'm sorry, mate, but it was unforeseen.

Bollocks was it.

Pull!

What about my partnership?

We can still be partners
in the business, Vinny,

just not in a legal sense.

More like hombres.

I'll tell you what, Ronnie,

you can stick your hombres
up your hombrarsehole.

I wanted to run my own business.

If I can't do it at Cachet

then I'll fuck off and find
a proper investor elsewhere.

Have a go.

Fuck.

Nah, I'm all right.

No, I want you to have a go.

Fucking...

You ever fired a gun before?

No.

Oh, it's easy.

You just look the target straight in
the eye and gently pull the trigger.

Then you try not to smile as they
disintegrate in front of your eyes.

Apparently it makes you look psychotic.

Pull!

Ah, fuck!

You'd be advised to remember that
now I own the business outright,

that money you borrowed
off Cachet belongs to me.

So while you owe me £50,000,
young Vincent,

it'll be very much in your interest
to remain my hombre.

Now go on, get back to work,

and make sure they don't
put a scratch in my desk.

Cost me a fucking fortune, that, son.

Pull!

Don't! Put it down,
put it down, put it down.

Fuck!

- Oh, for fuck's sake.
- Oh, look what you done now.

I didn't do that. It's not my fault.

Every so often karma can pop up
and kick you in the bollocks,

but the way I see it,

you've got to break a few eggs
to make an omelette.

Only now I was cooking
with psychotic eggs

with a penchant for violence.

And maybe you reap what you sow,
but believe me,

I'd rather reap a harvest of
ill-gotten gains than fight

over a handful of slim pickings
with the rest of you fucking plebs.

Come here, my little Swans.

Go and fight over who
gets the biggest room.

- Oldest gets it!
- Right, I'll have to kill you, then!

Not bad, eh?

Thank you, Vincent.

You deserve it.

From now on we're in this together.

I've heard that one before.

I know, but I promise.

No more lies.

Shhh.