Ripped By mstoll
So that's it, Jen. It's in the can.
One 90 minute thriller.
I've actually finished my first screenplay.
I can't believe it. I'll book a table at Solange tonight.
Do you realise, this'll be the first night I'll have had off in six weeks?
I'm going to let rip!
What? Course, I'm not being complacent.
There is no way that Hunter can chuck it back at me now.
Or can he?
Nah! No, he can't.
No, no, course not.
Again?
He wants me to do the ending again?!
But I've done everything. I mean, I've had Henshaw killing Watson.
I've had Watson killing Henshaw.
I've had Henshaw killing Watson, his family, the police and then killing himself.
I have tried every permutation down to Henshaw killing Watson,
realising he was in love with him all along, resuscitating him
and the two of them nipping off and buying a house together in Muswell Hill!
It is mathematically impossible to come up with another ending.
Oh, well. Here we are, back to the night shift!
Eat a jar of Gold Blend and get the matchsticks out.
And if anyone so much as dares phone me...
Yes?
'Colin, is this a bad moment? '
Er, no, Sarah. No, not at all.
- 'I didn't catch you in the bath again, did I? ' - No.
I've got some absolutely terrific news.
'Oh, yes? '
Go on, guess what it is.
Well, come on - what could be the most wonderful news possible?
You're having your mouth sewn up.
It's to do with Richard.
'I don't know... What, he's agreed to let you keep the house? '
No.
'He's doing us all a favour and emigrating to Beirut? '
No! No. We're back together again.
- What?! - 'Colin, I know what you're going to say... '
Look, Sarah, this is absolutely absurd!
Only the other week, you told me that splitting up with Richard was the best thing
that ever happened to you, that he was a a blight on your life
and that you were best shot of him.
- 'Hello, Colin... ' - Oh, Richard! Hello, mate. How's things?
Er, great news about you and Sarah...
Look, Colin, I know it's a bit sudden, but, well, we had a long chat last weekend,
thrashed all our problems out, and just felt
it would be wrong not to give it another chance.
We wanted everyone to know, especially you and Jenny.
The main thing is, we're going to be sensible about it this time and not rush into anything.
Bloody engagement parties! Get them the ugliest card in the shop.
- Yeah, and some aspirin while I'm about it. - Meaning?
- You haven't stopped since we left Kilburn. - All right, all right!
Does it ever occur to you that I've got work to do, that I've got to get back early
and that I am also get tired of being sucked into Sarah's emotional sagas.
No, because you're a selfish, self-centred, self-absorbed, little baby!
Look, if you've got something to say, just come out and say it.
Yeah, I love you too!
Right.
Scene 97, Police Sergeant McNeill
pulls into the driveway leading down to Henshaw's house.
.22 automatic in one hand.
Walkie-talkie in the other.
He switches off the ignition
and coasts silently. It...
Hang on a minute.
.22 automatic in one hand.
Walkie-talkie in the other.
He switches off the ignition.
Hi.
- Hello, Colin. Glass all right? - Oh, fine, thanks, yes.
- So how are things, then? - They're great!
- Yeah? Social life hectic? - Could say.
Well, nice of you to drop by and squeeze us in.
Yes, well, it's nice to see some old faces again.
Yeah, I'll be over in a minute.
- Plenty of talent, eh? - "Talent"?
- See that one in the corner there? - Yeah?
Well, the kitchen's empty at the moment,
I'll keep Sarah talking while the two of you go in there and do some serious humping.
Pardon?
You've been here three minutes you haven't flown your chopper yet. You must be in agony!
- What are you talking about? - Look, erm...
- Jen cuts here toenails in bed, by the way. - What?
I thought I'd point that out in advance in case you were planning anything.
- Colin... - She is with me, actually.
I don't know whether that throws a spanner in the works.
If you find it tough going with Jenny, remember...
- Remember what? - There's always me.
- Colin, if you've got something to say... - Yes, I have. I am besotted with you.
- Look... - It's ridiculous I know!
But I just can't let it go on like this. It's such a relief just telling you.
- You've got a warped sense of humour. - You don't want a permanent relationship.
- You're afraid of getting tied down. - Just go away!
It doesn't matter - we could meet once a week, a fortnight, a meal, a film, anything.
A quick afternoon somewhere. I know this seedy hotel in Bayswater.
It would be so romantic - the two of us lying there with rays of dusty sunlight
filtering through the curtains, me twiddling my fingers in your chest hair.
- You're cracked. - I crave your body, Richard!
I need you. I'm desperate for you. You're my fix!
Why don't we go outside and continue this conversation?
- Oh, cut the crap, Richard! Who's the girl? - What?
I don't give a damn about your private life but Sarah's been through enough with you already.
Who was the girl outside the station this morning?
So that's what it's all about, is it? Why don't you just come out and say so?
Look, that was the girl I left Sarah for. We were saying goodbye.
I'm still attracted to her. I can't help that.
But I really want to make it work with Sarah this time.
I don't know, maybe you're right - maybe I am irresponsible,
maybe I'm unable to keep a commitment, but I want to give it a chance. All right?
It doesn't rule out that afternoon in Bayswater though.
Richard's anathema to you, isn't he?
Why do you say that?
Well, he's tactile, affectionate. He expresses his feeling.
Meaning? Well, go on, say it.
Look, when you wake up in the morning you wake up with me beside you.
Sarah wakes up to hair gel on the pillow and her car keys missing.
I may not come abseiling through your window with chocolates every night,
- but at least you know where you stand. - That's the whole point - I don't.
- What? - Look, what's happening with us?
Where are we heading? I haven't a clue.
When I was made redundant - was there any suggestion of one of us selling up
and getting a place together?
I'm now busting a gut to get to a job 40 miles outside London every day.
Do I move out? Do I stay?
I don't know how you feel about our future.
I don't even know how you feel about me. You never say anything.
Of course you know.
And I thought I used to be aloof.
I never dreamt in a million years I'd actually tell someone I loved them.
Do you know I've told you three times? Three times!
You've never said it to me. You couldn't.
That's absurd and you know it.
Say it, then.
What?
You heard.
- Look this is childish. - Say it.
- Look, you know damn well I do. - Say it.
- Look, it's out of context. - Say it.
- You can't do it under duress. - Say it.
- How can I possibly... - Say it!
- It wouldn't mean any... - Say it!!
I... I love you.
- You're pathetic. - Don't call me pathetic.
- I'll call you what I like. You're pathetic! - I said don't call me pathetic!
You're a pathetic bastard!
Don't you ever speak to me like that again!
Not only are you a pathetic bastard, you're a...
God, I hate her when she's like this. I want to boil her in oil.
Stick her head in a vat of nitric acid. I hate her so much!
Yeah.
'Hello, Colin. It's Sarah.'
Oh, hi, Sarah.
'Can you and Jenny make Saturday the 22nd?
We're fixing the registry office for 12:00
and then Richard's hiring a canal boat from Little Venice for the reception in the afternoon.'
Yeah, OK, hang on. Sarah wants to know if we can make the 22nd.
It's a Saturday.
Ceremony at 12:00, reception in the afternoon.
Er, yes - the 22nd's fine.
Yep, 22nd's fine, Sarah.
- 'Great. We really enjoyed seeing you today.' - Yeah, we enjoyed it too.
- Bye. - 'Bye.'
Now listen here, Jennifer Adamson! Shut up!!
12 years we've been together and right from the start we knew it was special.
Everybody else we knew was belting down the aisle and swearing God knows what
to each other and what happened? We outlasted them all...
This is ridiculous. I'm absolutely livid and I'm dying to giggle.
I go away for three years and when I come home, we just pick from where we left off.
You're trying to be impressive and dramatic, but you just look a berk.
We didn't have to say anything to each other - what we had didn't need spelling out,
and now 12 years on...
Especially when you wag your finger.
...without either of us so much contemplating another relationship.
If you giggle, you'll ruin everything.
You started with all this "tell me" crap. You're like the rest of them -
you just want the tokens, the rings, the meaningless promises...
Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit!
Well, why don't you just go, then?
The world's packed with Richards strutting around with their brains between their legs.
That's obviously what you want. Well, no-one 's stopping you.
Oh, Christ! That was a bit over the top, that last bit.
I'll have to apologise, I suppose.
Look, Jen...
- You hit me! - I'll do it again.
You hit me!
- Yes? - 'Col, it's me.'
- Oh, look, Des... - 'Your mum's been trying to get you all day.
Your dad's had a stroke and been taken into Ealing General.
I'm afraid he's in a coma, Col.'
Colin.
Jenny.
So, er... So what's the situation?
Well... the consultant's been.
They've done all they can to rouse him...
...and, erm,
it should be any time tonight.
When... When did it happen?
This morning.
This morning? Well, why didn't you tell me?
Colin, I've been trying to reach you all day.
- Has the consultant been? - Yes. I told you. He came this morning.
- What about the registrar? - What about him?
- Does he know? - I presume so.
- Have you told him? - No.
- Has the consultant? - I don't know.
- Do they know he had a stroke last year? - I told the consultant.
- When? - When he came this morning.
Did you tell him everything? Have they got his records?
Well, he was in St Thomas' the last time. I presume they'll get them.
- We ought to find out! - We will.
- When? - When the consultant comes.
- You said the consultant's already been. - He's going to come again, isn't he?
- When? - I don't know! Colin, please...
Sorry.
So how did it happen?
Well, he woke up this morning feeling weak and giddy.
We know what happened last time - so I told him to stay in bed.
But no! He has to get up and have his ritual ten-hour soak in the bath.
This morning it was Tosca.
Tosca?
Frank listens to an opera in the bath every Saturday.
Ten o'clock - he asks me to do the first turn-over.
Half past ten - the second turn-over.
Dad's hifi's in the study - he gets Mum to go and turn the records over for him.
- Can he hear it from there? - He's got speakers in the bathroom.
Four of them.
Anyway, we get to the end of act two and I don't hear anything.
But I changed the record, anyway.
It wasn't until the middle of act three I went in and found him on the floor.
It was bizarre, staring at your husband unconscious and naked on the floor
and Pavarotti yelling in the background.
Listen, do you want me to stay?
- No, no, you go. - Are you sure?
Do you want me to bring you a change of clothes?
No... It should be over by tonight.
- Joyce? - No, I'm fine thanks.
- Colin, where did you get that bruise? - I hit him.
Good for you.
Mm, this bin is strictly reserved for waste soiled with sputum,
blood, urine...
pus, vomit, faeces...
And egg and tomato sandwiches.
You understand we're only doing this with your full consent?
Yes.
I mean... how long now?
Well, now we've withdrawn water, dehydration will set in fairly quickly.
Mr Watkins won't see out tonight.
Amanda Robinson -
Grade-A material, model pupil.
Intelligent, articulate, logical and, arguably, the most boring person I've ever taught.
She's spelled "accommodation" wrong.
No, she hasn't.
Bitch!
Well, I've read today's paper. I've read yesterday's papers.
I've read my book. I've read your book.
Hang on - did I get through all the Sunday Times?
A-ha! The Business Section.
The Business Section, arguably, the most useless, redundant four and a half square feet
of newspaper ever printed.
Destined for the cat-litter the moment it comes through the door.
Well, at least old Tiddles gets to have a quick scan of the Dow Jones Index
while it dumps its load.
I can't concentrate. They'll just have to fail this year.
Look... when this is all over,
do you want me to come and stay for a while?
You're joking?!
I'll have that place to myself for the first time in 30 years.
It's not been easy. Your father's been getting worse and worse.
Look, why didn't you tell me?
I don't mean his health. I mean the whole thing.
We've lost contact with so many people.
It's impossible to invite anybody round any more.
Every room in the house is a monument to some unfinished task.
The living room - 2,000 records scattered about, waiting to be catalogued.
Ten years of holiday photos on the floor still not in their albums.
The kitchen - four crates of empty jars, pining for the chutney that was never made.
The study... Oh, I don't go in there!
And tell me - why does anybody need two dark rooms?
I've got nowhere to myself.
Well, I have... the spare room.
But that's only because I Chubb-lock it.
And nobody invites us any more.
Don't you see Ray and Anna?
Even they've stopped. And you know how good they were with him.
They knew how much he loathed conversation, so they put up with his snoring.
Let him wander about the house when he got bored.
Put him in the other room with the records and the video.
And Ray only got that machine for him, you know.
And then, one day, he went too far.
We went to Ray's brother's funeral. You know what he did?
During the service, he put his Walkman on.
I wish it were funny.
Look, I love the man. I've never once resented nursing him, looking after him,
doing everything to keep him happy, even though I'm still working.
But to sabotage my life, to gradually erode contact with all my friends.
Mine, not his!
He's never lifted a finger, socially.
That I find hard to forgive.
And he has the gall to ask why nobody contacts us any more.
How can he be so obtuse, so selfish?
Sorry.
Look, you only have to pick up the phone, you know.
You've got shaving foam in your ear.
The other one.
No. You've got a life of your own.
You've got a film script to write. It's an important break for you.
Lord knows, it's nice to have somebody in this family pull through.
- Have you jacked in thatjob yet? - No.
Well, yes... Well, it's sort of... It's sort of on ice, you know.
I resigned and they asked me to think about it.
Your father spent the first ten years at the Inland Revenue "thinking about it".
And then the worst thing possible happened.
The bastards made him district manager.
Do you know what he did when your story was published in the Langley Book of Horror?
What?
He went straight to Smith's on Ealing Broadway and bought the entire display stand.
It's in the living room, right next to the double bass.
Bad moment, Col?
Des, mate... No, no worse than any other.
Oh! What's the latest?
It's disaster. Dad's holding on.
They want to start feeding him again.
Well, he'll go when he's ready, Col.
Oh, I bought your post and stuff.
Thanks, mate - you're a brick.
Also, er... this stuff that came through your door.
Didn't know if you wanted it or not.
Brent Recorder, Cameron Steel Estate Agents - they've moved...
Free cup-a-soup, something about cleaning and plumbing...
Oh, this one - you scratch it and you get a free gift.
I was going to scratch it but I didn't know if your mum or you might want to do it.
And, er, good news -
your Yellow Pages.
Thanks. Listen, mate...
thanks for staying over and minding the fort.
- Have there been many calls? - Mostly family and friends.
I've made a list. Oh, and someone called Sarah.
The wedding's now on the 23rd.
Jesus, she doesn't half go on a bit. She even invited me as well. I don't even know her.
Did you send the script to Hunter?
Yeah, and they've sent it back again.
I don't believe it! Well, they're just going to have to wait for it now.
There was a note with it, Col.
"Dear Colin, Sorry to hear about your father.
I hope everything works out peacefully. I'm afraid the ending still doesn't work
and I've got the production team breathing down me neck for the final draft.
The last thing I want to do is hassle you now,
so I've handed the script over to Tony Garson and Pete Daniels to rework the final section.
This shouldn't affect your fee too much and I'll make sure you get full co-writer's credit."
Die, Dad, just die!
Kick the bucket, skedaddle, clear off before they get their hands on you!
What are you saying, Watkins?
How often did you go round and see him? You never got him that Caruso record, did you?
The one he asked for from that shop in Dean Street.
He's looked after you for 35 years and you couldn't make a little detour on the way home.
And now you're telling him to die.
Oh, for Chrissake, why doesn't he just die?
Make him a transvestite.
What?
Roll these Henshaw and Watson fellows into one person and make him a transvestite.
A transvestite?
They never actually appear in the same scene together, do they?
You can make the whole thing about the boss
and the employee with a grudge a red herring.
It's all about Henshaw and the woman inside him trying to get out.
That'll give the police a surprise when they turn up.
Yeah.
- I really don't see why I have to do this. - What?
- Other people's work. - Look, I'll do it in a minute.
Mum, will you please... Beavering about, it's driving me mad!
Dress him, wash him, shave him, change him, dress him again...
Look, for the 10,000th time, why didn't you ever call?
A little imagination on your part would have helped.
Why do you have a complete inability to speak up when something's wrong?
Eh? Why do I always have to guess?
That time when Dad went off to Manchester with both sets of house keys.
Do we ring up Colin and ask him to pop round with the spares? No!
We do a Joan of Arc routine and spend three nights sleeping on the back seat of a car.
This is a bad time, I think.
- Come on, Jen, we're going. - Where?
I don't know.
You know, it's only a week since he came in.
I've lost count of the number of times I've been up and down that corridor...
in and out of the day room, looking at that painting of a girl milking a cow,
by Karen Peebles aged five.
More like a grasshopper changing the wheel on a Datsun, if you ask me.
By the way, what's Ygoloceanyg dna Scirtetsbo?
Obstetrics and Gynaecology spelt backwards.
You told me yesterday.
I'll be off. Give me the Hunter script, then.
- Give him a ring, they'll send a bike round. - Aren't you coming?
No, I'm going to the park. I need some oxygen.
See you then.
Jen...
Ten minutes after you left. We didn't know where to find you.
...And, of course, if you don't want the brass handles, you can always have them in plastic.
And so this package comes to £1,589, plus VAT -
that includes, of course, five dark blue Volvos, all G-registration,
and three wreaths, one of which can have any message up to ten words.
Right, well, if you feel you have to cut corners,
there's a package that includes a version in lacquered chipboard,
real flowers in the first two cars and one wreath.
By the way, you can view Mr Watkins' body any time during office hours.
After five o'clock, there's a viewing fee of £10.
To commemorate Mr Watkins, we suggest a rose bush,
planted in the Garden of Remembrance at a cost of £25 for the first ten years.
- If you wish to keep him there longer... - Give me that! Let's have a look.
We'll have one of those. We'll have one of these. We'll have a bit of that.
We'll have that one in teak. That one in mahogany. Do you do that one in Formica?
We'll have a couple of those. We'll take all the wreaths
and a ten-foot display of geraniums, saying "That's All Folks!".
We'll put him in the Garden of Remembrance for ten years, on the proviso
we get a refund if we forget about him in the meantime. Now, what do you do about music?
Er, well, we have a selection of hymns, requiems.
Er, The Lord Is My Shepherd is always popular.
Oh, sod that! I want Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree.
Why should Dad have all the fun? I know it's early days but, hell,
I want a piece of the action too - is it all right if I test-drive one of these things?
Mr Watkins, don't you think you owe your father a little more respect at a time like this.
The only thing I owe my father is to piss off out of this place
and not listen to the likes of you telling me how to behave while his body's still warm.
Dad couldn't give a toss if he was stuffed in a bin liner,
put in the back of a Ford Fiesta and dumped in Staines Reservoir.
We'll have this one here.
No handles, no flowers and we'll take a minicab.
"Col, heard the news. My heart goes out to you. Give us a call when you're ready. Des.
PS - Alan Hunter phoned. New ending's brilliant. Start filming in two weeks.
PPS - Sarah phoned. Richard walked out on her last night.
Between you and me, Col, I don't blame him. I had to take the phone out in the end.
PPPS - Fresh bread and butter in fridge,
although not sure about the butter, it might be off. Smell it and see what you think."
Better not take any chances.
Ripped By mstoll