All language subtitles for Queers.s01e04.1080p.BluRay.x264-SHORTBREHD

I've had two babies, you see,
if you're counting.

I was 16, the first one.

A boy from our street was the
father,

though that's a bloody grown-up word
for a boy that age.

Of course, he couldn't marry me.

He had an uncle who'd made good in
Cardiff as an undertaker and was

going to train him up.

Dad said, "Well, he can probably
be trusted with dead bodies."

Mum didn't like that.

I don't see the point in coming up
with a name for her.

Dad asked the man at the Home &
Colonial to take me on as I'd best
earn a living.

Mum said, "Men don't like damaged
goods."

Well, they won't if you call them
damaged goods!

I liked it at the shop.

All the foods!

After I'd had the baby...

..Mum made me sit at the back in
church, away from the family,

to show she was taking our
collective shame seriously.

And that's where I met Michael.

They were a bit posh, his family -

well, compared to the rest of the
congregation,

not posh compared to what I met
after, through Michael, you know.

He was new at the church,

a bit older, but he took to sitting
at the back with me so he could make
jokes.

Not to shock me.
He knew I was hardly a nun.

Michael didn't believe in God, but
he liked the singing.

I used to laugh at his singing.

"Do I sing funny?" he asked.

"No, I said, "you sing lovely.
That's what's funny."

I says to him, "You should be in the
choir."

But he said he liked sitting with
me,

and that you can't muck about if
you're in the choir.

"Or," he said, "in the case of this
choir, sing in bloody tune."

Two months after he first set eyes
on me, he asked me to marry him.

I didn't see it coming.

Not because of my...scandal.

It just hadn't occurred.

He was my pal.

We had a laugh.

And it was his little brother,
Charlie, I'd got me eye on.

Charlie!

He'd just started in the police,
and he had such thick dark hair,

he always looked like he hadn't
shaved since yesterday.

He's gone to seed now, Charlie, like
some men do.

Dad said it was up to me if I
married Michael.

Mum said, "How soon can you do it?"

I just thought...

..well, Alice, it could be fun.

It was his parents got us the
weekend in Brighton.

We got in the hotel room, and the
curtains were shut tight,

even though it was broad daylight
outside.

"I think they're dropping hints,"
I said.

Michael seemed not to hear that,

and he went and straightened a
picture on the wall.

I sat on the bed,

and there was a vase of little
flowers on the bedside table,

so I took one out and I put it
between my lips, like I'm some sort
of...

Oh, I don't know!

Only, cos of the dark,

I hadn't realised the flowers were
made of bloody cloth, so I'm sat
there,

all demure, spitting fluff and dust
out of my mouth.

He laughed at that.

We both did.

So I patted the bed beside me, like
this.

But he didn't seem to...

Well, I thought you were meant to
get straight to it, see.

What with how people bang on about
honeymoons,

with their winks and nudges.

I say people - silly girls who
wouldn't know sex from tobogganing.

Michael looks me up and down, like
he's taking me in, and he says,

"That bedspread is the same pattern
as your dress."

He goes to the window and opens the
curtains.

It wasn't a sea view, but he stands
there anyway,

peering outside with all the specks
of dust swarming round his head.

He must be nervous, I thought.

That'd be it. That's what I thought.

Well, he'd probably not done it
before and, of course, he knew I
had.

So I said, "Come on, let's go out.

"Out the hotel, I mean."

We had supper and went dancing at
one of the smarter ones on the
front,

which had palm trees and a band.

He's a lovely mover, is Michael.

When the band stopped, we were both
half-cut.

Well, half is an understatement.

So we stumbled back, fell into bed
and passed out.

The second night, he said he felt
sick.

We lived with Helen and Jack at
first -

that's Michael's mum and dad.

Oh, they treated me nice, but...

..I looked forward to him coming
home of a night.

I'd stopped working
at the Home & Colonial, see,

cos Mr Barrett didn't think it right
for a married woman to stay on.

Michael would come in, eight, nine,
even ten, sometimes.

A bit of supper, a game of cards.

He said he was funny about sex,

what with his mum and dad sleeping
only in the next room.

So...

I'd lie there with him breathing
next to me, gentle enough,

and his dad snoring like heavy
artillery from through the wall.

Well, it was only for a few weeks.

Now, when we got our flat, well...

should have seen it - Mum's face.

Helen and Jack had helped us out,
you see, so it was...

You know?

Michael got this young handyman he'd
met in the pub to come round and put

up a big new mirror in our bedroom.

He came round in the day when
Michael was at work.

Nice-looking chap, he was.

All strong in his rolled-up sleeves,

and his shoulders when he lifted the
thing up!

I had to stop myself saying
something.

He wouldn't stay for a cup of tea
after - he had more calls to make.

As he left, he stopped in the door
to bid me, "Good day, ma'am," and
said,

would I thank my nice husband for
him?

When he'd gone...

..I stood looking in the mirror.
The room seemed twice the size.

I took my clothes off.

All of them. Don't know why.

Curtains were open and everything.

Dress and petticoat on the floor.

Come on, Alice.

Let's have a look at you.

I can get fat, if I'm not careful.

Fat on my hips and arms and on my
neck, and it doesn't look nice on
me,

like with some women. Course,

it was natural, with me not being on
my feet all day in the shop no more,
but...

All I could think was...

..well, I wouldn't fuck me.

Well, it's easily solved, isn't it?

You eat less.

One night - this is five, six months
later -

he comes home late, as ever,

he's a few drinks inside him,
and he's got this new briefcase -

proper shiny chestnut job with gold
fasteners.

"A present," he says.

"Did work give you that?"

He says, "No. It was from a friend."

"You've got nice friends," I said.

"I have," he said, sort of proud
and sheepish at the same time.

A few weeks later, it was cuff
links.

He was pleased as punch with them
till he realised he didn't have any

of the right sort of shirts with
holes in.

When he came home the next night, I
was waiting for him.

"Is it a woman bought you those
presents?"

He shakes his head...

..sits down on the arm of the
armchair,

which his mum always told him off
for doing cos it puts the frame out
of shape.

"It's not a woman," he says.

He puts his head in his hands.

"It's not women."

I knew right away what he meant.

It was like the room shifted...

..like when they cut to a different
angle in a film scene

or like how everything seems to
settle different after you step off
a carousel.

So I go from feeling fat to feeling
bloody stupid.

He looks more surprised than me that
he's said it.

I tell him...

"I can't be your wife, can I?"

He looked surprised at that, too.

Know what he said?

"I'd miss you, Alice.

"I'd miss you."

Next week, Helen invites me to
lunch.

Well, I can hardly say I'm busy.

She gives me a hug right there in
the porch.

She's more, um...

Oh, what's the word?
Er...demonstrative than Mum is.

And you go along with it but, this
time, it's verging on assault.

She says, "We'll eat in the kitchen.

"It's less formal."

Well, it's also the only room in the
house that's properly warm,

so it suits me well enough.

On the table there's a bottle of
wine.

"I know it's lunch, but I thought
we'd be naughty", she says.

"It's a good one, apparently, so
don't tell my husband."

Calm down, love! I wasn't thinking
to leave him a note.

She's done us chops with cauliflower
cheese, which she knows I like.

"How's the flat?" "Nice, thank you."

Her napkin's fallen off her lap onto
the floor three times, so she gives
up

on it, puts it on the table instead,
clenched in her hand.

And then she comes out with it.

"You're having trouble," she says.

"Not me with the trouble," I say.

"We know how Michael is," she says.

"Oh."

It sounds stupid,

but it is really bothering me that
the woman has somehow got cheese
sauce on her wrist,

and she hasn't noticed. And now I
can't mention it cos it's not quite
the moment.

"It doesn't mean he can't be a good
husband to you," she says.

"Better that than drink or gambling
or illness...or women."

Thing is, and this is God's own
truth,

I don't give a monkey's what he gets
up to elsewhere, but...

Well, what I say to her is, "If it
was women,

"at least he might show me some
interest, too."

Bugger it! I'm close to crying, but
I don't.

She reaches out her hand to me and,
before she can touch me,

thank God she finally notices the
muck on her wrist.

"He's very fond of you," she says.

"And so are we." And then - this is
my mother-in-law - then she says,

"If that's all that's missing, can't
you just pretend everything is
normal?

"And if you have needs occasionally,

"I'm sure, if you're careful, you
can go elsewhere."

They'll look after me well, she
says.

I'll have a good life. She says

I won't have forgotten how his
brother's a policeman.

And it would all be very difficult
for him if word got out,

and how surely, after my own mishap,
I, of all people, know how important

it is to appear respectable.

I walk home - hour and a half, even
though the wind's up.

I can't face the Tube.

When Michael gets in - nearly
midnight, it is - he sees my face
and...

..he looks like he's just watched
his own death.

"I'm so sorry," he says.

"It wasn't my idea."

I just run at him...

..hitting him in the chest over and
over and over until I crumple,
and...

..and he holds me tight.

"You got so bloody skinny," he says.

He asks, will I let him make me tea

and put me to bed and, in the
morning, I can think what I want to
do, and

he will help me, whatever I decide?

Well, I don't have anywhere else to
go - that I'd want to go.

We don't say a word until I'm in
bed.

I'm shattered.

He gets in, too. I don't stop him.

And then,

in the dark and safe, with my back
to him, I say...

"It was your brother I always
fancied."

He snorts into my neck.

"Yeah, you and half of London,"
he says.

He puts an arm round me, his hand
warm and flat on my tummy,

like he sometimes does.

A minute later...

..he's cupping my breast.

Usually, he stays well clear, but...

..no mistake.

Feels electric.

And he shuffles himself up close
behind me so...

I can feel that he's hard.

My heart's bloody pounding, so loud
I can hear it.

I keep my eyes shut, even though
it's dark,

and I can hear the clock ticking
from his side of the bed,

slower than my heart's beating.

Everything out of pace.

But it's nice.

His hand slides back down from my
breast to my stomach...

..and further down...

..till he finds me.

And his mouth is hot on my neck.

I don't respond to any of it...

..until I do.

So, now we were what you'd call
properly husband and wife.

A month later...

..the doctor tells me I'm to
start feeding myself properly...

..and that I'm pregnant.

That's Salim over there, just come
in - the Arab-looking one,
obviously.

He's very charming.

Not unflirtatious with me, either,

considering he usually walks in here
with one man and leaves with
another.

I'll say hello in a minute.

He'll ask what I'm doing in here by
myself.

He's very direct, you see, with his
being foreign.

In here without Michael is what
he'll mean.

Well, why not?

It's as much my pub as his these
days, in a way,

especially since Violet moved out
and that's...

God, nearly ten years.

Can you believe it?

Violet - that's our daughter.

When she was a couple of years old,

I suggested to Michael he might
bring friends over more often,

if he wanted.

Friends or...

You know.

Better that than not seeing him.

Better that than nights in without
him.

He was shy about it at first.

He'd always been very discreet.

Couldn't fault him.

But we soon had men about.

Still do.

They come over, one or more of them,
play cards, have a few drinks.

He does very well for himself,
Michael.

He didn't go to seed, like his
brother, see.

Don't know how he finds them.

Well, who cares?

I should go. I only came into town
to buy theatre tickets for his
birthday.

I know - fancy!

Me and him and Tony -
he's Michael's current...

friend. Been a few weeks now.

Older than he usually goes for,
more settled, you know.

Then Violet and her fella.

Oh, and a couple we're friendly
with - George and Pierre.

Pierre's not French - he's from
Carlisle.

He said to me once, he said, "Alice,

"me and George is just like any
other normal long-time couple.

"We ain't had it off in years.
At least, not with each other!"

Last Friday...

..it was, in the afternoon, when I
found out it had become...

How would you say it? An appropriate
subject for public discussion.

Tony came round, Michael's Tony.

He'd left his wallet at ours.

Michael was at work. And Tony puts a
newspaper article into my hands that
he's cut out.

"What do you make of this, Alice?

"The report on homosexual offences."

The headline's just three words -
Crime And Sin.

"Imagine that, Alice," he says.

"Two men being allowed to do what
they like - legal.

"No pretending."

And he goes.

But, you see, for Michael, it's not
like with George and Pierre.

They CAN do what they like.

George is an actor and Pierre cuts
ladies' hair.

Michael's got a respectable job.

It's been nice for him having a
wife, having a family.

Anyway, even if things were legal,
normal, even,

he wouldn't want to go off and live
all happy couples with a man.

Not at his age, not at our age.

It wouldn't make him happier, would
it?

He's got all he needs.

Always has.

Hasn't he?

Well, this was Friday, like I say,

so it's cinema night and we were
going to see The Bridge Over The
River Kwai.

It was very good, actually,
it's our sort of film.

We don't go for the romantic ones,
though there's usually a bit of
that, isn't there, for the ladies?

And as we're knocking back a quick
supper...

..I nearly ask him, what do you
think about this Wolfenden report
thing?

Not cos I'm...

Not because I'm worried, just
interest.

You know.

But I don't say anything.

And we go to the pictures and he
holds my hand.

As we're walking home, about
halfway,

without stopping or looking at me or
anything...

..he says, out of the blue...

"I'd miss you, Alice."