Original subtitles

You can't come in, Mr. Deacon.

I'm not decent.

Do you want me to shout through the

door so all the other tenants hear?

Give the mess.

I haven't had a minute all day.

Where is it?

Well, I had hoped.

I'm telling you, if I don't get it

to you, you're out.

Two weeks, you old...

Are you threatening me?

I'm telling you, and there are plenty of

ways I can get you out.

My dear man.

Now look, Mrs. Acton...

But, Mr. Deacon, aren't you forgetting the fire

escape?

Of course, he doesn't threaten me down here.

But I do pass the housing authorities whenever

I go to the post office.

I could pop in, remind them you were

meant to have it installed last March at

the latest.

It's criminal to put your tenants at risk.

You old witch.

That supermarket.

I like it.

You ask me how I compare it to

my own.

Another double's empty.

Good evening, Mr. Deacon.

Electricity, phone, razor.

Emma!

Oh, Lord, and I forgot her birthday.

She'll think I'm dead.

Dearest Nell, doesn't time fly?

PHONE RINGS Yeah?

May I speak to Mrs. Emma Adkins, please?

Oh, no.

What?

I'll have to go down.

Hang on.

Emma said it was a private hotel in

its own grounds.

Mrs. Adkins?

Perhaps he's the caretaker.

75, 22, 34, electricity, 62...

She's on her way.

Oh, thank you.

£159.34. Phone?

For me?

What a surprise.

Hello?

Emma?

Nell!

Nell Bridges.

Nell!

I'm so sorry.

What must you have thought, forgetting your birthday?

Thank goodness you put your new telephone number

in your letter.

Anyway, many, many happy returns, dear Emma.

And how are you?

Oh, I'm fine, dear.

Flourishing.

That's marvellous, because I've been thinking, Emma.

I've had an idea.

I can't explain on the telephone, but look,

why don't you come down for the weekend

next Saturday?

Weekend?

I'd love to, Nell.

What idea?

Oh, um, just a thought.

Thank you.

Emma!

Emma!

You haven't changed a bit.

No, you...

It's incredible, really.

I know.

How many years?

We mustn't count.

I was never any good at sums.

Oh, yes, it is rather large.

Oh, thank you very much.

Oh, I decided to leave London anyway, dear,

even before you phoned.

Don't think I'm jumping the gun, dear.

I'm not, not a bit, no.

But when you said, why not come down

for the weekend and have a look round,

I thought, well...

I can always find somewhere near to darling

Nell, my dearest old school chum.

But it's perfect.

Dreamy.

Could I really stay till Tuesday?

Of course.

I mean, you don't feel bored, do you?

You mustn't.

I'd hate you to.

No, no, of course you aren't.

Oh, could I?

Do you remember how we were always saying

that?

Well, yes.

All the time.

Some of my early daffs are up already.

You always adored flowers, didn't you?

Even if it doesn't suit us to share

your lovely home, and after all, it may

not, dear.

No strings attached.

I don't think either of us should feel

bound either way, do you?

Yet.

The fact is, the older one gets, the

more one treasures one's privacy, don't you find?

Oh, quite.

I wouldn't intrude at all, dear.

Elderflower.

Elderberry.

And as you said, it is quite self

contained, isn't it, up there?

Oh, yes.

But I thought you liked your private hotel.

Oh, I did, but then again, a hotel

isn't a home, is it?

No, but...

What were you thinking of charging?

Well, you may not like it.

I mean, it's very different from London down

here.

Oh, I'm sure I shall.

One grows out of big cities, I find.

We'll look.

May we?

I'm so excited.

Oh, really, silly me.

Don't you speak too much.

Bedroom and bathroom is through here.

No, don't show me.

Don't show you?

I knew, I knew it.

Too tantalising, dear.

I know I can't afford it.

But it is quite self-contained.

You could let this for at least £25

a week.

I couldn't run to that.

Let's go down.

But £25 must be less than a hotel.

Oh, it is, but that's why I must

draw my horns in, Nell.

I've been rather extravagant since Henry died.

Oh, dear.

What a pity.

I might run to £18.

But 20 is basic, really, Emma.

I mean, the rate's low.

Perhaps I could get some babysitting locally.

Oh, perhaps.

No, do say, Nell.

I mean, I'll understand if you don't want

me.

No, no, dear, it isn't that.

No, just horrid, horrid money.

The fact is, you're out of my range

now, Nell.

Well...

I suppose £18 would help.

The idea of a stranger.

No, Nell, you must be realistic.

You won't know I'm here, Nell, I promise.

Well, I think I could babysit Mr Brown,

but it depends on Nell.

I don't drive, you see.

I'll run you back.

You'll run me back if I can find

my way to you.

Oh, she's at work.

I'll ring her, then ring you.

Bye.

I'm sorry, Emma, we must talk about it

later.

I have to finish these accounts.

But I must telephone Mr Brown.

He needs to know if I can babysit

tonight.

I'm sorry, I can't talk about it now.

Nell, only me.

Have you borrowed my cheese?

I had six ounces of cheddar.

Did I?

Oh, yes, sorry, dear.

I meant to say I had the thing

for lunch.

You haven't had your sherry?

No.

I put it out specially, dear, knowing you'd

be tired.

You can't manage this week, either.

You put out my sherry for me, when

you couldn't pay me the rent.

It's getting to be a bit of a

habit.

That'll be Mr Brown.

Nell Bridges, yes?

It's Mr Brown.

May I speak to Mrs Atkins?

Hold on.

You were right.

It's about the babysitting.

He'll run me back, but I said I'd

run you there.

Yes.

Well, I'd earned five pounds, dear, all for

you.

Hello?

You there?

Hello?

Yes, yes.

Look, if you want Mrs Atkins to babysit,

you can pick her up yourself.

I'm not running anybody anywhere.

Nell!

What will he think?

He can think what he likes.

It's too bad, Emma.

First the cheese, then no rent.

Now this.

Is that you, Mr Brown?

Hello?

You shouldn't have knocked there.

Up here.

I'll just switch the light off.

I'm Mr Brown.

Oh, you've come for Emma.

She's up there.

I'm not.

I'm here.

Don't you bother, Nell.

You go on in.

Steady now.

A bit shaky.

More haste, less speed.

Don't wait up, Nell.

Quite a landlady you've got.

Oh, she's lovely, really.

I don't think of her as my landlady.

We were bosom friends at school.

I know I owe you six weeks in

all, dear, but I told you I've a

little savings account with a building society, and

I'll go there on Monday and get some

money out.

Henry said I should never break into my

only capital, but...

I've written you a letter, Emma.

Written to me?

Why did you write?

I'm afraid I've had to give you notice

to leave.

Notice?

Yes, I did.

But you're my oldest friend.

I've told you I shall take some money

out of my savings.

Look, if you do have to give Mr

Brown my sherry, you might at least bring

back the glasses.

I went upstairs today to fetch them, and

I found your savings book lying on the

table beside them, stamped, account cancelled.

They made a mistake.

Are you sure?

Or was it you who made the mistake?

I did have an account, but then I

kept on dipping.

You know, I had to.

And then they closed it.

Oh, no.

What must you think of me?

Are you so badly off?

I've no-one else to turn to.

Please, no.

Give me one more chance.

Please.

My daffs!

How dare she!

No!

My fees!

Oh, my daffs!

It's the last straw, Emma.

I'm sorry.

It's all been a terrible mistake.

I ought to have known I valued my

privacy.

It wouldn't be so bad if you could

pay your way.

I do my best!

You take my food, you pull up my

belt so that they won't increase next year.

You owe me six weeks' rent.

Do you realise, or do you?

I don't believe you do.

It's sorry, Emma, but it's got to stop.

I don't like saying it, but it has.

Are you evicting me, dear?

I am asking you as a civilised person

to go, that's all.

Throwing my things into the street.

It isn't a street, it's a garden.

No, this isn't like you, Nell.

It really isn't.

It is, it's how I feel.

No, you're kind and generous.

Oh, can't I be?

Let me make you a cup of tea.

And we'll sort it over sensibly.

And if we decide I'm to go, I

should go.

Nicely.

Not like this, not in the heat of

the moment.

After all, you asked me to stay.

I did warn you it might be too

much for me.

I knew as a matter of fact that

once I agreed to stay, the onus would

be on you.

The law being what it is, the Rent

Act, the rights of tenants.

I mean, you just can't throw your tenants

out into the street.

Tenants and rights, you're quoting the law.

I don't really understand about these things, but

Mr. Browning does perfectly.

Mrs. Atkins!

Coming!

Are you all right, Mrs. Atkins?

You should get that fixed.

You all right?

For you, dear, my earnings.

I know it isn't much, but...

Well, there you are.

The widow's mite.

Now, I've been thinking.

I know I can't contribute as I should,

but suppose, only suppose, dear, I were to

move down here into your storage room.

Then we could let my top part and

share the proceeds.

In return, I'd be sort of, well, you

know, your housekeeper, really.

And that'd give us both a bit more

income, wouldn't it?

And you wouldn't have to do the horrid

washing up.

Oh, and there's another thing.

That staircase.

It really is rather dangerous, you know.

Mr. Brown says...

Good night, Emma.

Sorry.

Yes.

I expect you've got one of your headaches.

This started in junior school, I remember.

Good night.

Such a horrid night.

Emma!

Telephone!

Telephone for me, at this time of night?

Hurry up, long distance!

Gosh!

Ooh!

Well, we don't think she'll walk again.

Really?

Wheelchair, possibly.

After a long time in bed, of course.

Quite.

Mrs. Atkins?

Mrs. Atkins has a visitor for you.

Mrs. Atkins?

Studies, yes?

Miss Bridges?

Speaking.

Oh, this is the May Day Hospital.

Mrs. Atkins asked us to call you.

As her only living relative, she would like

you to visit her.

Relative?

I'm not a relative.

She keeps asking for you.

Oh.

Very well.

Yes.

I'll tell her.

Here she is, Mrs. Atkins.

Oh, dear.

Emma.

I expected you here every day when I

was unconscious.

Three weeks.

The bills are enormous.

I don't know what we're going to do.

Bills?

But this is National Health.

No, this is a private ward.

My first treatment was free, but not now,

not here.

That's why I needed to see you.

Surely you're entitled to free treatment under the

National Health Service.

Mr. Brown insisted I be treated in a

private ward.

He said it was the least I deserved.

He's very legal-minded.

Is he?

Then it'll be up to him to pay.

No, apparently not.

He says that as my landlady, you should

have had those stairs made safe, and it's

up to your house insurance to pay.

Accidents do third parties.

He thinks it's a clear-cut case.

But I haven't got third-party insurance, Emma.

So it won't work.

That's what I thought.

I said to Mr. Brown, I didn't think

you had that sort of insurance.

It's going to take about a year to

put me right.

You mustn't worry.

What I do is sue you, dear.

Nothing personal, Nell.

Just a legal thing to get the money.

You do see.

Sue me?

Don't be absurd.

What can you mean?

It's quite normal in such cases, he says.

But I've nothing, dear, nothing.

Of course you've got something, Nell, dear.

You just drive, just drive.

You've got it for a start.

There's no mortgage on that, is there?

And your car.

And your annuity for when you retire.

I won't listen to you.

But you must.

It's only fair.

You must help.

Or else look after me for the rest

of my life.

One or the other.

Because you knew those stairs were dangerous, didn't

you?

Didn't you, Nell?

In fact, I've sometimes wondered if you didn't

help them along a little.

Push, not aloud.

I haven't wondered aloud.

I could.

I shan't.

It's just one of those nasty little thoughts

I sometimes get.

When I'm alone.

No.

None of that matters.

Not even the insurance.

Horrid.

No.

Just so long as you look after me.

We'll be together, Nell.

For always.

Bosom friends, sharing our every secret.

Oh, no.

No.

You mean yes, dear?

Yes?