All language subtitles for Flack - 01x06 - Patrick.MTB

- Morning.
- How's things?

Thanks, Paul. Looking good, by the way.

- Lost some weight?
- Cut out sugar.

Well, it's working.

Wrong room.

As you were.

Hi. I'm sorry to bother you.

You couldn't just give
us a minute, could you?

Of course.

Hi, Patrick.

Oh! Thank God you're here.

The lads, they were having a laugh.

- It's time to go.
- Yeah, of course. Great.

I wasn't...

I thought it was a normal bar.

You're getting married in 11 hours.

Yeah.

- Wicked.
- Outside in five?

I might need a bit of a hand with the...

Okay, ladies.

I don't need to remind you
that today is a huge day for us.

Footballers' weddings are the
Mogadishu of the PR calendar.

The perfect fucking storm
of brainless overpaid wankers

given the night off from
running around kicking things.

They will fight, they will drink,

they will try to put their
penises into everything.

Next time it will be a glass.

Remember, footballers are pack
animals who stay in pairs.

Alongside them will be the
usual array of chair fillers

who would attend the opening of a fridge

if they thought it would get them
name-checked by Perez Hilton.

It's down to us to ensure
that things run smoothly,

that our clients get the
inches for the right reasons,

and we avoid deaths, rapes
and legal suits.

We control the agenda.

This means everyone on point,
no hangovers, no menstruating,

no substance which might impair
your professional judgement.

You can Speedball your tiny tits off

if it makes you better at your job.

But if it affects your work,

and thus, my work,

then when you get home, you shall
find me hiding under your bed

with a garden hose
and a length of razor wire.

Tonight, you will earn
your fucking money.

We are the Guardians Of The Galaxy.

Don't fuck it up.

Go.

Synced & corrected by reggielist
www.addic7ed.com

Okay, make sure you've got
your clothes for tonight

as there'll be none of this
"going home to change" bollocks.

Sexy, not slutty
or you will get touched.

Hard copies of the guest list,
seating plans,

I want faces in full view
of the cameras,

in order of importance.

How do I know who's more important?

Rate them on a slidey scale
from Royals and Olympians

to Made in Chelseas and the exes
of Cheryl Tweedy Cole Fernandez.

Oh and the Olympians who've won medals
and Winter Olympics don't count.

Unless, of course, they're super hot

in which case they get a by.

Got it.

All phones should be
taken on entry, no exceptions.

Plus, any recording devices,

iPads, GoPros, fucking Etch A Sketches,

metal detector, full frisk,

rubber-glove-and-vaseline
treatment, if necessary.

It's only gonna take one Instagram
to blow the HELLO! deal.

Last celebrity wedding I went to,

I ended up doing shots of Frangelico

in a hot tub with the Pussycat Dolls.

The redhead, who looks like a
sex robot from the future,

decided to show off her standing splits.

Kicked Claudia Winkleman in the face.

Chipped tooth, she had
to have it veneered.

I'm sure there's
a moral there somewhere.

- Is Sam coming tonight?
- Yes, he is.

He's been a Chelsea supporter
since he was a kid.

Fun.

No, really. Tom will be there, too.

So, it will be like a play date.

- So, you two are...
- Well, I'm in love with him so...

I know, annoying isn't it?

That shit always gets in the
way of a good relationship.

Thank you so much. Bye.

Balls.

- What?
- Stormzy's just pulled out.

- That's like the 5th one this morning.
- What are our numbers at?

Ughh, eleven, that's including three
Sky Sports news presenters.

Sky Sports hotties or Sky
Sports hairy old men?

One hottie, two hairy old men.

Balls.

What's our quota?

HELLO! want 15 with at least six A's.

Melody, make some calls,
round up some more people.

But the wedding's in four hours.

Why are you still talking to us then?

What if I can't find anyone?

Then find yourself a new job.

Oh, you have to get
paid to call it a job.

Oh, punchy. I like it.

Has anyone ever told you

you look skinnier when you
stand up for yourself?

Anyone who has something to
promote and wants a free dinner.

Tell them that you made some phone calls

and you managed to buy them an invite

to the wedding of the decade.

God, look at this place.

It's like Patrick Bateman
went on Queer Eye.

Speaking of which... Robyn.

Yes. Right, fellas.

This is Robyn, my PR,

that's Eve, and that's Melody.

You guys all right to
contribute, like a chat, yeah?

That is sweet.

Thank you for last night.

If it's all right, can we not
discuss this in front of...

Patrick, relax.

Okay, great. Um...

Has anyone got any coke?

It's 10:10. I've got some.

Eve, go check on the bridesmaids.

Fine. Come on, Bilbo.

- You excited?
- Yeah.

Have you seen the pagoda in the garden?

The decorators are getting
swans and shit out there.

- It's gonna be sick.
- I'm sure it is. How's Bianca?

I don't know.

Do you reckon a baby-blue
suit would look good

or is that a bit... gay?

I think it will be perfect.

Do you remember everything we discussed?

HELLO! is going to be here
until 5:00 pm.

So, until that moment there
is absolutely no more booze,

no drugs, no bad behavior,
no Twitter, no Insta.

You are Prince Charming. And then
once all the press clears out

and we've done a sweep to make sure

there's no cameras or recording devices,

you can go back to being
the Prince of Darkness.

Got it?

You've got the speech we wrote for you?

- Mmm-hmm.
- And the rings are all in place?

It's a big photo moment, Patrick,

so don't fuck it up.

Yes, all good.

Listen, I need you
to meet someone. Gary?

Yo.

Indecent images were allegedly
found on the hard drive...

Gary, this is Robyn,
who I told you about.

She can fix anything, bro, I swear.

I said you'd be able to help him out.

I'll do what I can.

Okay, look, you'll keep
this to yourself, yeah?

'Course.

So, I've been suffering with my
crew shit on and off for ages, right?

I spoke to my specialist last week

and he says it gets real bad, like.

Says I've maybe got like six months
left in my playing career

but after that I'm shot.

I'm not really sure how I
can help you with that.

Look, I'm 27, I ain't planned for this.

I thought I had another 4 years.

I need money. I'm broke.

You're a footballer.
How much do you earn a week?

Only about 36 grand but it's all
gone now. You know, living costs.

But I made some bad investments. I
bought all these fucking resources

and I owe the tax man a lot of money.
I mean a lot.

Taxes are hard to understand, man.
It's fucking crazy.

Gary, what is it exactly
that you want me to do?

Look, I've seen how much Patrick's
getting for this wedding, right?

I don't mind, like, wearing whatever,

or doing whatever
or who I go out with...

Look, Gary, it's not that easy.

It takes a lot of time and investment...

I'll do whatever you tell me.

Please.

Well, we could get you
a pop star girlfriend,

send you to a few parties,
but there's almost nothing

that's gonna make you famous overnight.

This is a little bit loose, there.

Yeah, oh, yeah.

It's complete now. It's really nice.

- No fucking way.
- You said you'd do anything.

Yeah, I know but you
can't expect me to do that.

- Why not?
- 'Cause I got a reputation.

Maybe your reputation
can pay off the tax man.

Ah, come on! There must be another way!

In the time frame you're proposing, no.

That's why she's a genius.

Someone's gonna do it.

This is your chance to get in first.

Listen to me. If managed correctly,

the first openly gay
Premiership Football player

is gonna make millions. Fact.

Think about the coverage,
think about the exposure.

Look at Tom Daley and he falls
in a pool for a living.

It's monumental. You're gonna be
a role model, a game-changer.

We're talking endorsements,
ambassador roles,

New Year's honors, chat shows.

You're gonna be inspiring millions
with your bravery and strength,

to stand up in the face of adversity,

be true to yourself.

To stick it to the haters.

You'll make a difference.

But I'm not gay!

So? The Premiership's
riddled with gay footballers

pretending to be straight.
What's the difference?

No, but what about all the
shit I'll get from the stands?

Sticks and stones, babe. Suck it up.

So you have to listen
to 40,000 neander-wankers

screaming that you take it
up the arse for six months.

It'll be character-building.

You'll be the one laughing
when they give you the captaincy

on A Question of Sport.

Look, we've got a truckload of press

showing up in four hours

Opportunities like this
don't come along every day.

- Are you in or not?
- What do you think?

I don't know, you know. I mean...

Obviously, I'm straight, so...

it's hard for me to, like...

All I'm saying is that
they know their shit.

No, but, like...

But would I have to do
any, like, gay stuff?

You do a few sweaty shoots for Attitude

and then tell the world's press

that you want to keep
your private life private.

And just sit back and start
counting your pink pounds.

What's it gonna be?

I better call me dad.

Yes, I'm pretty sure
there's a vegan option,

but I could check.

Gluten! Oh, okay, yep.

Look, um, I promise you I will
find you something to eat

even if I have to go into the
forest and forage it myself.

Please. Okay, yes, yes. Get back to me.

Okay, I'm nearly there.

Um, I'm lacking in quality, so
I've had to plump for quantity.

So far, not including footballers,
I have got four soap stars,

three sports presenters, five
reality TVs, two celebrity chefs,

a boxer, two paralympians, one egghead,

two sexy bastards, Dani Dyer,

and a partridge in a pear tree.

Great. We need a beard.

A what?

Sorry, not a beard. A reverse beard.

What's the opposite of a beard?

- A shave?
- What are we talking about?

Melody, this is Gary.

We need a gay man to pretend
to be his boyfriend

so that Gary can pretend to be gay.

Now you've lost me.

Ooh, what about him from
Coronation Street? He's gay.

He's actually straight.

He just plays gay. I think it's
going to be too confusing.

Can it not be someone too gay?

You know, uh, what about
that, that rugby dude?

Okay, so you need a gay man to be
the boyfriend of a straight man

so that he can convince the
world that he's not straight?

Exactly.

We need the male equivalent
of Taylor Swift.

But not too famous to
overshadow Gary. But famous enough

that they're willing
to spend six months of their lives

pretending to go out
with a straight footballer

just to get their picture in the papers.

Oh, no, I think I have
the guy: Jay Burns.

He starred on this reality show
called Holiday Reprobates,

and then he had a brief appearance
on, like, Britain's Got Talent,

X Factor, Hollywood Front Dating
and a fleeting appearance on

This Morning where he had this
live colonoscopy on air with Dr. Chris.

He's calm as Christmas, and he would
literally beat his own mother to

death with a claw hammer if he
thought it would get him on the telly.

- He sounds perfect.
- Really?

Okay. Get him on the phone.
Get him here ASAP.

Eve, you start working
on the press release,

and get Gary a Grindr account.

You. Let's go break
the news to your teammates.

- Ooh, can I come?
- What? Now?

Gary, you're here. You're queer.
Get used to it.

You're what?

Yeah.

I'm like a... proper gay.

- Shit, man. I shared a bath with you.
- We all have.

This is so fucked up.

Okay, guys. I understand that this
is gonna come as a bit of a shock,

but what Gary's done today
takes a lot of balls,

and I'm sure he's appreciate it
if you all just got behind him.

Bad choice of words.

My point being, you need to support him.

Don't you think so, Patrick?

Um...

Yeah, I mean...

As a straight man,

obviously, it's not something
I can personally understand,

but, you know, you're still
our friend and everything, so...

Thanks, mate.

Okay, look.

I appreciate it must take
a lot of nerve to come out

and say this to us.

It's just gonna take some time
to get used to, isn't it?

Yeah, I know.

You never like, um, when we
are getting changed and that?

No, of course not!

You're not my type.

What is your type?

I don't know, um...

That rugby dude.

Do you have a boyfriend, or...?

- Yeah. A guy called Joel.
- Jay.

Jay.

I guess, uh...

- Now you say it, sort of makes sense.
- What?

You know, sometimes
you can be a bit, eh...

Okay, right. This has
been hugely inspiring

seeing how supportive you've all been.

Well done.

What about Samantha?

Who?

His girlfriend.

Excuse me for just a second.

Samantha's on the market!

You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend.

- You never asked.
- Well, how long have you been together?

- Couple of years.
- Oh, fuck's sake.

Look... She'll be cool, man. Serious.

Who do you think spends
all my money for me?

Okay. It's fine.

We'll just have to say
that Samantha was your beard

to cover up your relationship
with your new reverse beard, Jay.

And Jay will have to cover up for
your and Samantha's relationship.

So as far as anyone else is concerned,

she's now your hag, and you're her GBF.

Got it?

Okay, well... This has been a good talk.

I'm sure we all feel much better,

and get dressed, 'cause the
guests will be arriving soon.

Robyn? Jay's here.

Hiya.

I need you to look
after something for me.

What?

Eve... Are these drugs?

Oh, relax. I'll be handing
them out like canapes later.

- Why are you giving them to me?
- Oh, just, you know...

Tom's off it, so I just don't want
him to have to find it in my bag.

It's no big deal.

- Oh, my God. So cute.
- Stop it.

You really like him, don't you?

Just take the fucking cocaine, okay?

If you mention this to anyone,

I will stab you in your sleep.

Absolutely.

Christ, imagine if a bomb went off.

We'd knock out the
MailOnline for a week.

All right?

You've got that Tess Daly
dead-behind-the-eyes thing going on.

It's fine. I'm...

We all good?

Well, Bianca looks like
a toilet paper doll

from the '70s, which I
believe is the desired look.

HELLO! are "very happy
with the turnout."

Press are all in place,
and I've prepped them

for an extra announcement
after all the photos are done.

If you were a real woman,
I'd make you my wife.

Don't make promises you can't keep.

I take it that's Samantha?

Will you deal with that, please?

We don't need a hysterical
spanner in the works.

On it like a nun in a cucumber field.

Status update?

I'm scared to say that
I think we're good to go.

I just heard the news about Calvin.

Did you know that was happening?

Do you think it would have
happened if I didn't?

The wolves are ever-circling, dear.

Just need to know when
to throw them the meat.

The company has withdrawn
its services from Mr. Cooper.

We're shocked and appalled
to hear the allegations.

And, prior to the emergence
of these recent claims,

we were unaware of any impropriety
involving Calvin Cooper.

Had we known,

we would never have represented him.

It's about integrity.

Right?

Karma's a witty bitch.

Thank God for anonymous tipsters.

- He yours?
- Hmm.

Be careful bringing him into this world.

It's terrifying for them...

Seeing the real you.

You look fit.

- Is this all right?
- Great.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

I was going for
"virgin at school disco".

I'm thinking more
"day in juvenile court".

Oh, edgy. Yeah, I think
I'll go with that.

You know, I've actually not worn
this suit since my Nan's funeral,

and, in fact, yep, here it is.
Order of Service.

Oh, that's not creepy at all.

This is a bit posh, innit?

Yeah. See, I knew I shoulda
kept up with the football.

This could have been us.

Though, obviously,
if I was a footballer,

I'd probably be going
out with that blonde one

from Little Mix, and not you.

Oh, my God. That's Manuel Lanzini.

Isn't he a little short
to be a footballer?

No, all the best footballers were short.

Maradona, Messi,
Chicharito, "The Little Pea"...

Who the hell is "Chicharito,
The Little Pea"?

- Don't say that.
- Robyn!

Hey.

Wow.

You look amazing.

Aww, thank you.

Um, Tom, this is, uh...
My boyfriend Sam.

- Uh Sam, this is Eve's boyfriend, Tom.
- Oh.

Uh, good to... Uh, Sam,
nice to meet you, Sam.

Good to meet you, too. Yeah, I
didn't know Eve had a boyfriend.

I told you that.

It's very early days.

- We should probably grab our seats.
- Oh, speak of the devil.

And she will appear.
How you doing, gorgeous?

I'm good.

Ah, so you went for a blue suit, then?
Which is good,

because I do actually still
have some accounts that need doing.

Yeah, what's that? Fifteen seconds?

That must be a new record.

So, you two have met, then?

Tom used to be a ballet dancer,

and I know what you're thinking,

but he's actually straight.

Show 'em first position, babe.

Second?

- That's pretty impressive, right?
- All sorted with Samantha?

Sweet as a peach.

For some reason, when I explained
how much money he'd make,

it seemed to calm her right down.

- That's Gary Lowen.
- Babe...

He's talking to me.

Shall we?

- Good to meet you, mate.
- You too.

I wanna come out.

Excuse me?

All that stuff you said to him,

you know, about being strong,

and true to yourself, making
a difference, I want that.

You're getting married in 23 minutes.

I don't love her!

- So?
- So,

what happened to inspiring
millions with your bravery?

- I was talking to him, not you.
- Yeah.

Look, back off, man. You got your
own shit going on. I need this.

- So do I!
- Too late. I was here first.

You decided, like, three hours ago.

- Three hours before you.
- It's not a competition, bruv!

I'm coming out, okay?

You're not even gay.

Neither are you.

You're not.

Shit.

Jesus. I've shared a bath with you!

Oh, for fuck's sake. That's it.
Nobody is coming out.

I can't listen to this shit anymore.

Come out, stay in, get
married, don't get married,

marry each other. I don't care.

It's all fucking meaningless.

We're sacks of meat
collecting shiny things

to make us better
than other sacks of meat.

That's it.

What else do you want? Happiness?

Well, here's some insight for you.

The only happiness
that exists in this world

is the happiness you assume
everyone else is having.

So, will you please, for
once in your pampered,

emotionally-stunted lives,

make a decision so I can
tell the press to piss off,

and we can all have a fucking drink?

We are gathered here today

to celebrate the union
of this woman, Bianca,

and this man, Patrick.

Marriage is the formal joining
of two lives,

and with that, two bodies of people.

If any person present knows of any
lawful impediment to this marriage,

they should declare it now.

Oh, he's... He's gonna go.

He's going.

- You all right?
- Yeah.

Just got a lot to balance.

I need to make sure it all goes smooth.

Did, um...

Did Ruth get back to you yet?

She will, babe, just give her time.

I know this is a load of
old gob, but still...

Warms the cockles, eh?

I mean, if we just look at it
like it's one big party...

What?

Just saying, if we were
ever so inclined,

I think we could do an amazing wedding.

I now pronounce you man and wife.

You may kiss the bride.

Bianca, put your hand up on his chest.

No, Patrick, down.

Now, just sort of relax
a bit more into it.

Just like time to enjoy the
rest of your lives together.

Football was my escape, my identity.

Football hid my secret,

gave me more joy than I
could have ever imagined.

But the time has come
to tell the world the truth

that I am a homosexual.

Gary Lowen, gay.

Unbelievable. Did you know this?

I'd heard rumors.

Yeah, well, good for him.

Takes a lot of bollocks, that.

I mean, it shouldn't even be a big deal

considering we're living in 2019,

I mean, we know how to clone dogs,

but I guess some things
progress faster than others.

There's a bad joke in it,
something about Chelsea

being tied out the back,
but I'm above that.

Isn't that Jeff Stelling?

Babe, sorry, one second. Yeah.

- This is gonna be huge, you know that?
- Mmm-hmm.

Going to need you in the
office first thing to remit.

Bright-tailed and bushy-eyed.

Security will get the last of the
press out the door, do a final sweep,

check there are no photographers hiding
behind potted plants et cetera,

and from then onwards,
we're a media black hole.

Thank Christ for that.

Be good.

Oh, excuse me.

You couldn't, uh, bring
over a bottle of vodka

and some lime tonic, could you?

Thanks.

You did great.

It was a great response out there.

I think there's gonna be a huge
pick-up with the press tomorrow.

You should feel good.

You're gonna make a lot of money.

Great. It's great.

Oh!

Sorry.

Oh.

Uh, why don't you go
get yourself a drink

- and I will get this cleared up.
- Okay.

Perfect.

Sick on your shoes?

It's not even dark outside.

- Sign of a good night.
- Huh.

Are you enjoying your first
footballer's wedding?

- Honestly?
- Why not?

I am hating every single second of it.

Why?

It's just weird being here sober.

I mean, I'd normally have
to do a lot of drugs

to get through something like this.

Brings up a lot of stuff.
I could just feel my hand...

Hovering over the "fuck it" button.

- What?
- The "fuck it" button.

That thing in your head when every
part of your conscious mind

knows something is a really awful idea,

but this one tiny
little destructive part,

it just goes, "Fuck it."

Hits the button, game over.

Yep. I've got one of those.

Your vodka, madam.

I'm gonna get myself...
Another orange juice.

Hi, you've reached Craig.
Leave a message after the beep.

That's not the beep.
Here comes the beep.

- Melody.
- Hi.

Walk with me.

It's the IT boy, right?

How'd you know that?

Melody,

why do you think I get to
sit in the big glass office

and shout at you all the whole time?

I know things about people.

It's my job.

Hold it between your fingers, darling.

You're not a shepherd
with a dog whistle.

You're not upset
because you want him back,

you're upset because you feel guilty

about choosing this.

Well, don't.

You're young, you're smart. You
could actually be good at this.

But there's a choice.

What's the choice?

This job is a cuckoo's egg.

It gets dropped in your nest,
with all the other eggs,

and, at first, it seems manageable,

but once it hatches the cuckoo chick

grows faster than all the others.

It demands more food,
more attention, it begs louder.

Its beak is always open,

screeching at you to bring it more worms

and bugs and insects for it to eat.

Until finally,

all the other chicks have either
been pushed out the nest,

or they've died of starvation.

So, make the choice.

If you don't want it,
then kick out the egg

before it hatches. But if you do,

then embrace the cold, hard,
brutal ambition in your belly.

Don't be ashamed of it.

Celebrate it.

Do you really think I could be good?

Sorry.

I thought I already said that,
or did I stutter?

Just so we're clear,
you get one pep talk from me,

and that was it.

This is the nicest
I will ever speak to you.

So,

drink it in.

Fuck it.

I think you need to
keep an eye on your boyfriend.

If he's not careful, he could become

the victim of an aggressive Brummie.

It's a drag
having him up in these things.

It's like having your little
brother at your 21st.

Oh, come on. I think it's sweet.

He's like a boy with cancer
who's won a competition.

I'm not. Going straight tonight.

Stop it. You're freaking me out.

Oh, I just thought
because of Tom's whole...

Being boring thing.

You're gonna make me kill myself.

Please have a drink.

Okay, fine.

But strictly because
your life is in danger.

This is mental, right?

Patrick's about to show me
his table tennis room.

Just make sure that's all he shows you.

- Huh?
- Nothing.

- Have fun. Play nice.
- Yes, Mum.

Thank you for having a brilliant job.

What a day!

What's it feel like to have
someone who likes you that much?

There you are.

You're allowed to hang out with
me yet, or do I have to continue

standing alone in the corner,
talking to strangers,

pretending I know about football?

Um, no, we are officially clear.

From now on, if I avoid you it's
purely personal, not professional.

Anzo's here!

Anzo is here.

- Who's that?
- Anzo.

- He's a professional party starter.
- A what?

He makes sure that people are
having enough fun, drinks, drugs.

Are there enough beautiful people
around? Is the music right?

Give it 20 minutes,
and everyone will be loaded,

half-naked and dancing or fingering
each other in the garden.

So which of the bridesmaids
do you most want to bang?

I don't wanna bang any of them.

Oh, don't be so boring, come on.

Play. I'll tell you which of
the ushers I wanted to fuck.

I'm not really in the
mood, to be honest.

The redhead? She looks like she's filth.

Don't you think, Rob?

The kind of girl that takes you home

and makes you squat on the coffee table.

- Or... Or...
- Eve!

Or, the tubby one at the end.

Not the most attractive, granted,

but, you know, she put the work in.

She put in like a fat kid
with a lollipop.

Why don't we talk about something else?

Oh, don't get all,

hashtag, ThislsWhatAFeministLooksLike.

Fine. The blond.

The blond with big tits?

How dull.

I thought you're
more original than that.

Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

Well, you can take a boy out of Essex,

but you can't change
his taste for a basic bitch.

For Christ's sake, Eve!

Stop it!

I know you think it's spiky,

and sexy, and... French.

But it's not, okay?

It is tedious.

I'm not gonna get bored of you, okay,

just because we don't have an argument

every two minutes.

I like you.

Please, I'm trying to like you.

Please stop making this hard.

- One, five and three.
- What?

Those are the ushers
that I wanted to fuck.

In that order.

Why is everyone
so serious the whole time?

Can you deal with that?

Tom!

Jesus, this is stupid.

I know she's winding me up,

I just can't...

She knows how to get under my skin.

Of course, she does.
We're evil geniuses.

I'm awful to Sam. I mean, really awful.

And I love him genuinely
with my whole heart.

But, sometimes,

all I wanna do is just...

Hurt him, profoundly.

- Why?
- Christ knows.

Maybe because his presence makes
me feel like a horrible bitch.

And that's not because
he's doing anything wrong.

In fact, it's because
he's not doing anything wrong.

And he just lets me get away
with all this shit.

I'm a monster.

And sometimes I just wish

he would fucking stop me.

Just scream at me,

or leave me, or punch me in the face.

Just anything to stop me.

We're fucked, aren't we?

Robyn, you having a good night?

You've seen that cake with the cheese?

I don't even like cheese,
but it looks amazing.

Had it first. Now it's gone, yeah.

Look, um, I just wanted to speak to you.

I just wanted to say thank you.

You know, not because
I'm drunk or anything.

But, just, I wanted to say thank you

for looking aft... Out for me, and that.

And I spoke to Caroline

she was super nice, super scary.

But, look, I know you
don't always get things right.

But that's gonna change,
because I'm with you 100%.

So, whatever you need,
whenever you need it.

Okay? Just tell me.

'Cause I'm gonna feed the bird,
and I'm gonna celebrate it.

Is that cocaine?

Yes, yes, yes, it's a little bit.

It's Eve's.

Oh, God. I'm so sorry.

It's okay. But maybe,
I'll just look after it.

Yes, because you're really cool.

- Thank you, totally.
- Oh, okay.

I really appreciate that,
Robyn, thank you.

I'm gonna get a drink.

Wow.

Jesus Christ.

There it is.

Oh, easy. It's strong.

- You okay?
- Fuck.

Tom?

Fuck's sake!

Fuck!

Fuck it.

Three fucking years.

- I'm so sorry.
- Ah, Christ, Robyn.

I knew

you were trouble

the moment I first saw you.

Well, that was weird.

Patrick kept trying to help me
out with my ping-pong technique.

He got a bit grabby.

Yeah, they don't tell you about that
stuff on Match of the Day, too?

Have you seen Robyn about?

She's fixing Tom for me.

- Where is she?
- I don't know.

Eve! Where is she?

Shit.

Melody!

Hey, have you seen Robyn?

Melody!

Melody, you okay?

Fuck off, Eve!

Yes!

Robyn! Rob!

Jesus, will you slow down?

Robyn!

Look, we were... Shut the fuck up.

- All right, please.
- Mate, just do us all a favor

and shut the fuck up.

Sam...

You're rotten.

That better not be my coke.

Sam!

- Miss Robyn...
- Sam!

Come let's have a drink.

Not to be funny but your man Jay knows
this stuff's not for real right?

He keeps following me around,
trying to hold my hand.

Sam!

- Sam!
- Babe.

Babe, babe, you havin'
a good time, yeah?

Listen, listen, can you... Can
you get me more of that here?

Can you call someone?

- Robyn!
- Sam!

What?

You might wanna keep
an eye on your friend.

Oh, shit.

Um...

Hey!

Get off her!

- Get off!
- It's cool, all right? Leave it.

No. You touch her again
and I will kill you!

Now, get out!

Out!

Whatever.

What were you doing?

- I'm fine.
- No, you're not fine.

- I am fine.
- No, no, no. I need to get you home.

Oh, God, just get off me!

I'm not a little girl. I am a...
I am a cuckoo!

I can do this, Robyn. I can be like you.

You're fired.

You're fired.

Don't come in on Monday.

Really?

Oh, God.

I'll take her.

I enjoy putting drunk people to bed.
It makes me feel superior.

- Eve...
- No.

You don't get to say anything.

Robyn, what are you doing?

I need to stay here tonight.

But you can't.

- Get Ruth, please?
- No.

- Ruth?
- Robyn, the kids are in bed.

- Ruth?
- Robyn, just, please.

- Ruth!
- No.

Hey!

Just...

I need to stay.

Sam...

- It's...
- You'll figure it out. You always do.

No.

Not this time.

Well, you got what you wanted, then.

What's that supposed to mean?

So...

Mark's home?

That is my business.

And if he lies to me again...

I'm a grown-up, Robyn.

I'm a mother.

And the idea that you and
he need to protect me is...

- Ruth...
- No, listen to me.

You don't have to look after me.

You cannot look after me.

You can't even look after yourself.

I love you...

So much.

And I see what you do with everyone.
It is so clever.

You pull all the strings
and you spin all the plates

and you make it all work out,

and it's really impressive.

It really is.

But you mustn't do that with me.

Rob, okay?

Not with me.

I need you to promise me

that you will never lie to me,

you will always tell me the truth.

Mark kissed me.

- What?
- He was drunk, and it was stupid,

- and it didn't mean anything.
- Why would you tell me that?

What?

This.

This is when I see her, Rob.

Mom. In you.

This whirlwind. This spinning and
spinning and sucking everything in,

and the thing is that
when the whirlwind stops,

there's nothing actually there.

It's just motion.

The only thing that is real is
the mess that you leave behind.

God.

You followed me here, Robyn.

I just wanted a boring life.

Cry, you c... t.