Anemone (2025) Movie Script
1
Father in heaven,
I kneel before you today...
...in your omnipotent
presence...
...to ask that you
grant me strength.
The strength to power
through all the tasks today,
whether little or big.
I know it is by your will
that I live, O Lord.
And I know it is also
by your will
that I will not go weak today.
I will not go lazy...
...nor will I fail to do the
things that are set before me.
Thank you for your
everlasting presence, Lord,
and in Jesus' name I pray.
In the name of the Father,
the Son and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Um, I'm gonna be
going away for a few days.
I won't be that long,
but your-your mother's here,
and-and she... um...
You know.
Anyway, I just thought
to let you know
I'm going away and, uh...
Viking, North and South Utsire,
Forties.
Southwesterly,
veering northwesterly,
six to gale eight,
perhaps severe gale nine later.
Rain, then wintry showers,
moderate or poor, becoming good.
Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger.
Southwesterly, veering westerly,
five to seven,
occasionally gale eight.
Rain, then showers,
moderate or good.
Fisher, southwesterly,
veering westerly,
six to gale eight,
perhaps severe gale nine later.
Rain, then wintry showers,
moderate or poor, becoming good.
German Bight, Humber.
Southwesterly, veering westerly,
seven to severe gale nine,
decreasing six in Humber later.
Rain, then showers,
moderate or poor, becoming good.
Thames, Dover, Wight,
Portland, Plymouth.
Southwesterly,
six to gale eight,
occasionally severe gale nine,
veering...
Is less
My future is shrouded
In dark wilderness
Sunshine is far away
Clouds linger on
Everything I possessed
Now they are gone
They are gone
They are gone
Oh, where can I go to?
And what can I do?
Nothing can please me
Only thoughts are of you
You just laughed
When I begged you to stay
I've not stopped crying
Since you went away
You went away
You went away
The world is a lonely place
You're on your own
Guess I will go home
Sit down and moan
Crying and thinking
Is all that I do
Memories I have
Remind me of you
Of you
Of you
The world is a lonely place
You're on your own
Guess I will go home
Sit down and moan
Crying and thinking
Is all that I do
Memories I have
Remind me of you
Of you
Of you.
Our inheritance.
Thank you.
Bless us, O Lord,
and these thy gifts...
...which we are
about to receive.
Through Christ our Lord,
we pray.
All my pictures are fallin'
From the wall
where I placed them yesterday
The world is turnin'
Get outta town
Think I'll get outta town
Get outta town
Think I'll get outta town
I head for the sticks
With my bus and friends
I follow the road
Though I don't know
where it ends
Get outta town
Get outta town
Think I'll get outta town...
20 years, huh?
Bless you, brother.
Fuck off.
Brian.
Brian.
Oh, sweetie.
Where is he gone?
Who?
Your dad?
Has he gone to see him?
But what the fuck
has he got to do with it, Mum?
-What has he got to do with it?
-Everything.
What?
Why'd you hurt that lad, eh?
He was fucking
asking for it, Mum.
Brian.
Did he say something
about your dad?
Jem is my dad.
Or he said something about Ray?
Well, if you know so much,
then why are you asking me?
Don't be so cheeky.
I'm just trying to talk to you.
You nearly murdered that lad.
Do you hear me?
One more killer in the family.
Who's counting?
Ray's not a killer.
And even if he was one,
does it mean you have to be?
Eh?
Come here.
Ray's not a killer.
Our Father who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
thy will be done
as it is in heaven.
Give us this day
our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those
who trespass against us.
Dear Ray,
I'm not sure you'll even
get this letter
or read it, even.
So in the fact of hope
and answered prayers
you'll be reading this one,
I want to start
by asking how you are.
The silence still burns
after all the years.
And I often wonder
if you think about me.
Us.
Did you read it?
Did you read it?
No, I didn't fucking read it.
Whoo!
"Give strong drink unto him
that is ready to perish,
and wine unto the bitter
in soul."
Amen.
Her Majesty the Queen.
What happened to "for what
we are about to receive"?
So it's only before eating
that you say grace?
He don't mind if you have a few
fucking bevvies without a word?
You forgot to wipe your arse
this morning.
I saw the shit in your pants.
No, that were from yesterday.
You dirty bastard.
Is cleanliness next to
godliness, would you say?
How do you know he's not filthy?
Is there any evidence
in the Bible
that says God takes a bath
three times a week?
Changes his undies every day?
God doesn't need undies,
'cause he's not full of shit
like you are.
Oh, is that so?
Has he got an endless supply
up there?
Bet he never has to wear
the same pair twice.
Does he like a nice, snug fit?
Or does he like plenty of room
for his big fucking God balls
to swing around in?
You know, like massive
fucking church bells, them.
Bet it's like
Canterbury Cathedral
down below decks.
You're going to hell, brother.
Family reunion?
Father Rippon died last week.
Saw it in the paper.
Don't read papers.
Did you ever see him again?
Is that a question?
Did hear he were carted off to
the nuthouse a few years ago.
-Please read that letter, Ray.
-When I were back on leave
after third tour
of the province--
lost two of our lads
on that one...
...started to think
about him, Rippon.
More I thought about him,
the more I wanted
to pay him a visit,
have a catch-up.
A debrief about
the good old days.
Anyway, when I got home,
I looked him up.
Weren't easy to find.
Course, they'd moved him
around a bit.
Business as usual.
Tracked him down
in Huddersfield.
Hmm.
Should've seen me all
togged out in my number twos.
I mean, for someone
that were in shit order
most days of the week,
I smartened up well.
Cacks under the mattress
the night before.
Razor-sharp creases
front and back.
I were bulling my boots
all morning.
Like mirrors they were.
This were
parade ground standard, Jem.
Could've done
a ceremonial duty at Buck Pal,
I looked that good.
Number two dress and medals.
I were that well turned out,
I could hear our dear mother's
voice saying,
"Come home, son.
All is forgiven."
-Number ones.
-The what?
Number one dress at the palace.
Yeah, right, right.
That's what I'm saying.
I were that smart, you wouldn't
have known the difference.
I suppose not
if you were pig-ignorant.
Hmm.
So, go round his house.
Lovely little
grace-and-favor cottage
paid for by His Holiness,
no doubt.
Window boxes,
perfect little lawn,
hedges trimmed.
Knock on the door,
and there he is.
All scrubbed up, pink and shiny.
He seemed so old.
I remember him
as a big, strong bugger.
And there he were,
scrawny little old man
with a potbelly.
I was surprised
at how small he looked.
I said,
"Father Rippon, isn't it?
"I'm collecting
for the Veterans Association.
Would you mind if I stepped
inside for a moment?"
I could tell he were impressed.
"Oh, do come in.
Do come in, young man.
You're very welcome, son.
Do come in."
He's all fluffed up,
bustling about.
The kettle's on.
Fine china, biscuits,
the whole works.
"You'll take a cuppa,
won't you, son?"
So we sit down.
We sit down
in his tidy little parlor,
chatting about this and that.
I say, "This is your parish,
is it, Father?"
He says, "Oh, I'm currently
between parishes.
Semiretired, you know."
I said, "Oh,
that must be difficult
after all the years of service."
We talk about...
talking about
the state of things,
the ungovernable, godless youth.
He asks me,
"Are you of the faith, son?"
And I say, "Faith runs
very deep in our family,
Father."
He says, "Of course,
what I miss most of all
is working with young people."
I nearly choked
on my custard cream.
Anyway, so, there's a lull
in the conversation,
and he says, "Oh, I do
beg your pardon, Corporal.
Perhaps you'd like
something stronger."
I just look at him
for a long time.
"Would you like
something stronger, Father?"
I could see the thrill of it
coursing through him.
He didn't dare believe.
His face darkened,
his eyes all glittery.
He said, "Well, I would
if you would."
He starts to get up.
I say, "I'm very strong,
Father Rippon."
He sits back down as if
his legs went from under him.
I say...
"Would you like to have a look?"
I start to unbutton my trousers.
I thought he might have
a heart attack.
He just couldn't believe it.
It was like Christmas
come early.
So I stood myself up...
teasing open the buttons
like a rent boy.
Dropped the cacks,
dropped my undies.
I say, "There it is."
I said, "Lie down on the floor."
He lies down,
eager to accommodate.
I said, "In a crucifix.
That would make me
nice and hard."
Waddled forward a few steps.
I'm stood right over him.
Oh, there's one detail
I forgot to mention, Jem.
For a few days
before I went round,
I were on a diet
of Guinness and curry.
And then the afternoon of,
I took a handful of laxatives.
It were hard to get
the timing right.
I was sat in my car
outside his house
for a couple of hours,
and nothing was shifting.
As soon as I felt
that stirring within,
I knocked on his door.
As I'm sitting there,
it's welling up inside me,
and now I swear
I'm coming apart at the seams.
The rivets are popping
out of me.
The army teaches you to grin
and bear it, doesn't it, Jem?
We do love the exquisite agony
of self-denial.
So...
I'm stood over him.
I say,
"Don't recognize me, do you?"
"What?"
I say, "Little Ray.
I'm your Little Ray
from the care home."
Takes him a good few moments,
his eyes flicking
this way and that.
When the penny drops,
fear runs through him
like electricity.
And the stinking sweat
poured out of him.
"Oh, please don't hurt me.
Please don't hurt me."
I said, "Don't move.
"If you move an inch,
I'll cut off
"your meat and potatoes
"and shove them down
your fucking throat.
You can suck yourself off
for a change."
Well, come to think of it,
shame he didn't learn
to do that a few years ago.
He might have been
self-sufficient.
Shuffled forwards, about-turn,
very awkward,
heels on his stringy
little arms.
He flinched. I could tell it
hurt him, but he daren't move.
"Now, look up the sluice pipe,
Father."
And I squatted down.
And I manured him.
Now...
This evacuation were in
three distinct phases.
First, I sprayed...
sprayed him.
Pebble-dashed him.
Like a flock of pigeons
taking off, they were.
Then a couple of waves
of hot lava.
And finally, one... one big...
...one big patty cake,
like wet cement,
flops out of me.
And he's retching and spitting,
and he daren't breathe in,
but he has to breathe.
And I'm laughing that much,
I feared I might topple over
into my own filth.
And that's it.
Stood up.
Little packet
of wet wipes in my pocket.
Cleaned myself up...
and walked out of there
light as a feather.
Did you believe that?
Did he do you in the hole?
Huh?
No.
I bet he didn't.
Even at that age,
they were scared of you.
Where were you when he was
fucking me up the hole?
Huh?
He done me proper.
He done me proper.
Didn't have much luck
with fathers, did we?
How about some tunes?
Fucking hell.
Fucking pig.
What's wrong with you?
All right?
Fucking hell.
What you doing that for?
What are you doing
that for, hmm?
-What are you doing that for?
-What?
Just chucking 'em in your mouth.
I'm not gonna eat them now.
You all right?
I'm fucking crossing there,
you fucking twat!
Look where you're
fucking going, you stupid...
Nessa?
Nessa.
Hattie?
Look at you in your white coat.
Oh, don't get ahead of yourself.
I'm only a trainee, Nessa.
It looks good on you, though.
Even the cleaners
get white coats in the chemist.
-Have you finished uni?
-Mm-mm.
Finals coming up this year.
-This is my workplace training.
-Right.
I'm-I'm glad I ran into you,
Nessa.
I've not heard from Brian
for an age now.
Is he all right?
What?
What?
I really hurt him, Hattie.
I don't know what I...
I-I don't actually know.
I just... I...
I couldn't stop myself.
I have, uh...
I hurt him badly.
What did he say to you?
I can't even remember, Hattie.
Well, I can.
But...
just-just usual stupid shit.
About him?
I just...
Fuck, I just...
I just...
You were in East Tyrone, right?
Ooh, let me just cast
my mind back for a moment.
Wrong.
You know exactly where I were.
Crossmaglen.
Bandit country.
There were an IRA
active service unit
operating in the area,
doing all sorts.
They were very good,
very skillful.
Cunning, ghosting back
and forth across the border.
It were cat and mouse.
Sometimes we were the cats,
sometimes they were.
As often as not,
you weren't even sure which.
You could have them
in your sights
with the safety catch off.
Meantime, they'd have
a high-velocity round
merrily winging its way
toward the back of your head.
Just in the week
before we'd dug in...
...we found and defused
three massive IEDs of theirs.
They shot and killed one of
our dog handlers and the dog.
And they shot down
a fucking helicopter.
One week's work.
Provo Army Council
expected results.
And they weren't disappointed.
Incendiaries,
IEDs, grenades, mortars,
sniper rifles,
heavy machine guns.
Were better-equipped
than we were.
What happened?
Are they the flowers
our dad used to grow?
Anemones?
I'll write as if you've read
all my other letters.
The desire to talk to you
and share everything is strong.
However, this isn't about me.
This is about Brian.
Brian needs you.
Never before have I asked you
in this way.
He's in trouble.
You leaving?
Accommodation not good enough
for you?
When you legged it,
every day, Nessa wrote to you.
How long was it?
When you went limping off
into the woods,
she didn't want to interfere
with your decision.
For a couple of years,
we thought
you'd just turn up one day.
She had no idea
if you got her letters,
let alone if you read them.
You knew she were pregnant.
You never answered her once.
You've been going
through my things?
Fuck off back to Toytown,
you fucking ape.
Got my girl, got my son,
got my life.
What more do you fucking want?
It was you that left. You.
Get over yourself, lad.
It's not about you. Fact.
It's about Brian.
Poor only child
of a deranged fugitive.
Didn't you want to give him
some brothers
and sisters to play with?
You're a big lump of a lad.
Don't tell me
you were firing blanks.
She prayed for you
every night, Ray.
Still prays for you.
Tell her to save
her fucking breath.
And our dad prayed for you, too,
every day for the rest
of his life.
Have you gone soft?
That miserable bastard?
Oh, he prayed.
He prayed, didn't he?
Prayed every time
he took his belt off.
Didn't he pray again afterwards?
Wet under the arms
from the efforts of his labor.
Oh, he prayed regular.
We learnt our violence from the
number one regional champion,
and he had
some stiff competition.
Who knows, maybe at the...
the British Legion
dominoes championships,
he's life and soul.
Blazer, badge, regimental tie,
chest out front,
just the long-range
desert patrol.
Now, that were war.
Sand for breakfast,
lunch and dinner.
If Rommel didn't get you,
the flies surely would.
He didn't talk like that.
That's right, he didn't
fucking talk at all, did he?
I've had plenty of fucking time
to fill in the fucking silence
for him.
What do you want from me,
brother?
You'd know if you read
the letter.
I've read the fucking letter.
I've read the fucking letter.
What the fuck?
What do you want?
I'm beyond your reach, Jem.
I'm well beyond her reach.
There'll be no epiphany.
So fuck off back to your
little family and sort it out.
You don't want me to leave, Ray.
Why in God's name
did you let that boy
join army
in the first fucking place?
This is nowt to do with me.
This is on you, mate.
Look,
though I've raised the boy,
do you think he's not
a pigheaded little bastard
like you are?
It were nowt to do with me.
I said my piece.
I didn't think he should do it,
follow in our footsteps.
I thought he were just
chasing after...
Anyway, regardless of what
I think or don't think,
do you honestly believe
that your son
wouldn't do a thing just 'cause
somebody told him not to?
Look, he's currently
absent without leave.
And as much as they like him,
you know as well as I do
there's no warm, fuzzy feeling
in the MOD.
There's only so long
they'll turn a blind eye.
Maybe a week, if we're lucky.
And then the MPs
will come knocking
and take him away.
But that's the least of it.
I've seen my share
of lost souls, Ray,
and at this moment,
your son is in the dark.
Believer or nonbeliever,
there are forces at work.
Fact.
I don't want anything
from you, Ray.
I-I don't want anything.
Nessa... Nessa believes
that if you met him
and talked to him,
gave him some answers,
it just might make a difference.
It might.
Before it's too late.
Brian savaged this lad.
He fucking savaged him.
He's convinced himself if...
if they hadn't pulled him off,
he'd have killed him.
And this has been following
Brian since primary school.
"Your father's this,
your father's that."
"He's in the nuthouse."
"Is he banged up?"
The invisible man, Ray Stoker.
Please.
Just tell me.
If you're not gonna help out,
then I'm gonna get out of here
double-time.
I fancy a bevvy.
He's still conscious?
That's-that's good.
Could you just ask the children
to move out of the way?
We don't want them
seeing this, do we?
A blanket on...
Yeah, a blanket on him is fine.
And, uh, do I move him?
-No, do not move him.
-But he's in the way.
I repeat that,
do not move him, madam.
And do not remove his helmet.
You're doing so well.
I know there's a lot of blood.
Why, he were
all over me at that stage,
like a bloody octopus.
And I were, like, whipping
my head back and forth,
just trying to catch
a clean breath.
But he must have thought
I was in ecstasy,
'cause that minging
wet gob of his
just kept reaching for me.
Oh, my... He wasn't gonna
back down, but...
I'm not lying.
His breath smelt like shit,
Nessa.
Have you ever had that?
Thank you.
-Here you are.
-Cheers, mate.
And here's some crisps.
I know you like them.
Cheese and onion.
This thing's out of juice, mate.
I won't be long.
Won't be long.
He's beautiful, kind,
funny, loyal.
He's so like you
in so many ways.
Funny that, eh?
Anyway, I implore you,
for the sake of Brian,
to please, please come home
and talk to him.
Let him meet you at least.
And maybe, just maybe
he can move forward
and let go of whatever demon
anger is holding him so tight.
I pray you are well
and see fit to answer.
God bless.
Love always, Nessa.
What?
What?
What? What the fuck?
Spitting image.
What?
Spitting image.
Spitting image? Who?
Fuck off.
Fuck right off.
Our father who art in heaven?
Fuck off.
Suppose I am a bit.
Suppose I am
a bit of a sad old bugger.
He been doing all right,
were he?
-Who?
-The boy.
"The boy," Brian,
is doing well, very well.
They think he's a real prospect.
Can't help himself.
The other lads
just fall in behind him.
-That right?
-Yeah.
You remember what it's like
when you're cold and hungry,
you haven't slept
in three nights.
It's every man for himself.
With Brian...
he's got strength to spare.
He may be at the end
of his rope,
but he's still looking out
for the others.
And they pay attention to that.
Hmm.
When you did selection and, uh,
were badged into the regiment,
I was so proud.
And I was so fucking envious.
I thought, "I want that.
I want some of that."
Suppose volunteering for 14 Int
were a way of getting closer,
you know.
The training at Bradbury Lines
with your lads and all,
I thought it were
within reach, but...
Weren't 'cause of me
that he signed up.
'Cause of you.
Even with all the shit that
he put up with over the years,
it was some idea he had,
it were...
It was the space
where you should've been
that he was chasing after,
that he was fascinated by.
Now he's frightened
of his own shadow.
He doesn't know who you are.
Knows nothing about you.
Except for the old stories
when we were youngsters.
You know, the short fuse,
street fights, vandalism.
You and me both,
we were both liabilities then.
But now he, uh...
I don't know,
he looks at his hands
as though they belong
to somebody else.
What?
Rumors, mate. Rumors.
Until you tell me what happened,
that's all we've got.
I realize I've never
properly spoken to you
about your father.
And that was
a fault in me, Brian.
Me and Jem thought we could
make a nice life for you,
and-and I think
in some ways we have.
But it can't have been easy
for you...
all these years.
You know, it looming
over everything.
Every family dinner.
Every birthday, every Christmas,
every special occasion.
And I suppose, by not talking
to you about it...
...it were my way
of protecting you from it.
How much do you know
about the early Troubles
in Northern Ireland?
We'll sleep outside tonight.
I lost him in stages.
I lost him in stages.
After the first few tours
in Northern Ireland,
he were already
quite hard to reach.
And then when he volunteered
for some special assignment,
the minute he raised
his hand, he...
he seemed to disappear
into another world.
Oh, but it wasn't just that.
He wanted it.
He were alive, eager.
He said goodbye
well before he left.
And when he came back,
you couldn't reach him.
You'd be sat at kitchen table
with him,
and he'd be looking at you
like you were at the other side
of a football pitch
and you're an acquaintance,
you know, maybe, and he were
trying to figure out
who you were.
I were pregnant with you.
And I were getting bigger
by the day,
and he seemed to be shrinking.
I-I... I felt like
a big lumbering giant
living with a miniature person,
afraid I were going to
crush him underfoot, but...
Then one day he were gone,
and I...
realized I'd been
waiting for it.
Ray never spoke to me
about what happened over there.
I tried to get
in touch with a...
you know, a few of the lads
that he served with, you know,
that were with him,
but they said nothing.
They were on a warning
from the MOD.
They must have been
on a warning.
So all I have is
what I'm telling you now.
But I knew Ray.
I knew Ray better
than I knew myself.
And as I said, those lads,
they couldn't say owt.
But I tell you this much--
they loved him
and they respected him.
And they never gave me... never
gave me one hint of a reason
that he'd done something
he should be ashamed of.
But he left us, didn't he?
He left us.
What's that, Mum?
Something to be proud of?
Why'd he leave?
Huh? Why did he leave us?
War crime.
That's what he called it--
a war crime.
Fucking war crime me?
The war were the fucking crime.
And we were
the phantom soldiers.
Our mission on this one were
surveillance, pure and simple.
We dug in at nighttime.
Two OPs.
Ours were in a hedgerow at
the end of an unpaved laneway
bordering the farm buildings.
The structure of interest
were the milking shed
no more than 30, 40 feet
from us across the yard.
On a tip-off, we'd scouted it
a few nights before.
They arrived
shortly after sunup.
The bomb maker were a player
well-known to us.
The young lad with him,
we'd never seen him before.
Our intel was solid, but...
for two days,
there were no movement.
We started to wonder if they'd
somehow slipped away,
if there were a...
a tunnel or concealed entrance
we'd missed
when we recced the building.
I was just writing up my report
when the bomb went off.
The explosion was so loud
you couldn't hear it.
The concussive force ran through
every cell of your body.
Filled you up, like there were
nothing left of you.
Just chaos.
The entire roof lifted
off the shed
on a cloud of black smoke,
like a cartoon.
Walls swelled outwards,
opened up.
Debris started
to rain down on us.
"Are we being attacked?
Do they know we're here?
Are they getting rid of it?"
They'd do that sometimes.
You know how it were.
If they... they thought
you were onto them,
they'd detonate the ordnance
and scarper.
And we were waiting
for the incoming, but so far,
there were nothing.
Then there were just the sound
of this fella screaming.
Like I said, we were on
surveillance, nothing more.
We weren't equipped
for anything serious.
Sidearms only,
couple of longs between us.
When that Semtex went off,
we should've called it in,
hand it over to your lads,
but...
I don't know why, but...
for some reason, we moved in.
Advance to contact.
I suppose it were a
"ride to the sound of the guns"
type of madness.
We started to crawl
toward the milking shed.
Could've been weapons
trained on us, snipers.
Could've been another bomb
waiting in the building.
We didn't know.
So we're crawling, heads down,
getting closer, getting closer.
All we could...
The only sound
were the screaming.
Obviously, we wanted to get
one of them alive,
if we could, get him to talk.
It were that smoky
in the building
you could barely see
in front of you.
Well, it turned out
it were just the two of them,
master and apprentice.
And the player
must have been stood
between the bomb and the kid.
There were nowt left of him.
Except his fucking teeth,
buried in the side
of the young fella's head.
Heard it were his nephew
a few days later.
And I must have slipped
when we went in on some...
piece of him, because I were
covered in, you know...
When I picked myself up,
I were covered in his slime.
The kid were on the ground.
Bits of him were...
He were alive, just about,
but bits of him were missing.
His innards were spilled out,
and he were crying out
for his mother.
Bomb maker's teeth buried
in the side of his head.
I was stood right over him.
Our three lads clearing
the room left and right.
I'm stood over him.
He were dying, this kid, Jem.
He were dying.
I could see the fear
in his eyes.
The fucking hatred.
He looked at me with hatred.
Couldn't have been
more than 16 or 17 years old.
Younger than Brian is now.
He's screaming at me.
Begging me to shoot him.
So I shot him.
He were dying?
Yes, Jem, he were
fucking dying. He fucking...
I didn't fucking kill him.
He killed himself.
Fucking killed himself.
I just nudged him
across the line.
Fucking little bastard.
Where were they gonna
put that bomb? In a pub?
In a shopping center?
In a nightclub?
Guaranteed, there'd be
innocent people blown to bits.
How fucking merciful.
Turns out they just
killed themselves.
And I'm the fucking murderer?
I wish... I wish
I had left him to die.
I wish I'd left him to
his full measure of suffering.
Lying there with his guts
spilled out,
crying for his mother.
I should've left him there.
Should've called an ambulance.
Told 'em to take
the scenic route.
I'm not fucking making out
I did him a favor,
but I fucking did.
He were begging me to do it.
17 years old,
shivering on the ground,
and I finished him off.
Just to stop the screaming.
And that's it.
That's all there were.
Yeah, listen,
of course they... lads knew.
The lads... lads knew
what I'd done.
They didn't question it.
They knew this fella were gone
and no one would get
anything out of him.
By the time we got him anywhere,
he-he wouldn't have survived.
No one said a word.
No one questioned it.
No one said a word.
But I called it into South Det
operations room.
That stage, our job were done.
Handed over, went back
to barracks, had the debrief.
That boy's injuries--
didn't occur to me
any questions would be asked,
but...
They were all in a twist.
The Ruperts, the higher-ups.
So, after...
the CO had me in his office.
Uh...
I could tell
he were under stress.
His whole fat head looked like
a boil that needed lancing.
"By all the rules
of lawful engagement,
that's a war crime,
Sergeant Stoker."
Oh, hello. Here we go.
He's looking hard at me.
"We need to make this go away.
"He presented a threat.
He raised his weapon."
"No, he fucking didn't, sir."
I shouted in his face,
"No, he fucking didn't."
"His arms were shredded."
I said, "I want to get out."
He-he said, "You can't."
He said, "Pull yourself
together and don't be thick.
"Take a couple of days,
see the head doctor,
"you'll be right as rain.
We'll make this go away." So...
I'm stood in front...
front of him,
hot tears squirting out of me.
If you'd asked me
what my name were,
I wouldn't have known.
So I...
I took a couple of days, but...
it-it weren't that long
for the shrink to see
there were a crack in the ice
that wouldn't heal over.
I were...
I were, as he put it...
-Hey.
-...an unstable element.
Danger to myself and others,
which, in our line of work,
meant generally bad
for business.
Time to go home.
So he declared me unfit,
"return to unit."
Signed me out, put me
on a plane back to my regiment.
Short while later, I find myself
on the streets of Sheffield,
staring at my old front door.
A civilian...
and a...
...a dirty little s-secret
war criminal.
Yeah, well, I were coming up
15 years' service,
due out anyway.
Could you have saved him?
I did save him, Jem.
I did save him.
Saved him from
more fucking pain.
I'd have enjoyed watching him
suffer a little bit longer,
so I did save him--
saved him from that.
Why did you shoot him?
Could we have kept him alive?
At the t-time,
I knew we couldn't.
At the time.
At the time.
Hey.
We've all done things.
We've all done things, Ray.
I don't need
your fucking absolution, Jem.
Maybe I could've saved him.
Maybe I couldn't have saved him.
Maybe I enjoyed killing him.
Maybe I didn't.
Maybe I pitied him.
Maybe I fucking hated him.
I don't know, Jem. I don't know.
But I don't need
your fucking absolution.
I did the crime.
I'm still serving the time.
I don't owe nowt to nobody.
I don't owe nowt to nobody.
Least of all to you.
How many fucking Hail Marys
do I get for that?
And he goes silent, morose.
His eyes searching for the exit.
Well, there were rumors,
as you only know too well,
that he'd lost his mind
over there, that...
you know, he'd...
he'd gone psycho,
that he'd been involved
in some bad things.
Even that he'd murdered
an unarmed civilian.
Oh, and the shame.
The shame of it
seemed to crush him.
I mean, regardless
of what happened, the shame.
It's hard to imagine that,
you know,
what shame can do to a person.
He was a very proud man,
your father, Brian.
He was very proud.
Proud?
You don't understand.
-He put his heart and soul
into soldiering. -Proud?
Just like your dad,
Jem, you know?
Listen to yourself, Mum.
So... so to take that away
from somebody,
to take it away from him,
it's like taking his name away.
How can you be so fucking
reasonable about it?
Oh, I wasn't reasonable
about it at the time.
You know, and if it...
if it wasn't for knowing
that there was a baby
on the way, and if it...
if it wasn't for you...
I don't know
what I would've done.
So, yeah.
He left us.
I'm sorry.
And is that what you think,
or is that what you know?
'Cause this is
what I think, Mum.
I think he were a fucking killer
and a coward.
Because only a weak,
cowardly person can walk away
from their family like that.
Don't talk about him.
You don't know him.
No, you're right.
I don't know him.
That's the problem, innit?
I don't fucking know him.
I know everything
I fucking need to know
about that bastard.
And that he's a big,
giant fucking sinkhole
in the middle of our lives.
Don't talk about him like that.
Don't talk about anybody
like that in my presence.
Least of all the man
who gave you life,
which is a blessed thing.
Blessed? Blessed?
Why does everything have to be
so fucking blessed
in this house, Mum?
You gave me life.
He gave me a fucking...
...fucking curse.
All these years.
All these years.
"All these years," fucking what?
How did you...
The winters,
I mean, the isolation.
How did I what?
How did I manage without you?
It's not over, Jem.
You make it sound as if it...
I mean...
I won't pretend I don't think
about it from time to time,
but this is it, Jem.
This is my life.
Does it have to be?
"As for man,
"his days are as grass:
"as a flower of the field,
so it flourisheth.
"For the wind passeth over it,
"and it is gone;
and the place thereof
shall know it no more."
Et cetera, et cetera.
A-fucking-men.
Good night, Ray.
Brian?
Brian?
Hey.
I've got to get going.
What are you doing?
Fucking hell.
Father in heaven,
I kneel before you today...
...in your omnipotent
presence...
...to ask that you
grant me strength.
The strength to power
through all the tasks today,
whether little or big.
I know it is by your will
that I live, O Lord.
And I know it is also
by your will
that I will not go weak today.
I will not go lazy...
...nor will I fail to do the
things that are set before me.
Thank you for your
everlasting presence, Lord,
and in Jesus' name I pray.
In the name of the Father,
the Son and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Um, I'm gonna be
going away for a few days.
I won't be that long,
but your-your mother's here,
and-and she... um...
You know.
Anyway, I just thought
to let you know
I'm going away and, uh...
Viking, North and South Utsire,
Forties.
Southwesterly,
veering northwesterly,
six to gale eight,
perhaps severe gale nine later.
Rain, then wintry showers,
moderate or poor, becoming good.
Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger.
Southwesterly, veering westerly,
five to seven,
occasionally gale eight.
Rain, then showers,
moderate or good.
Fisher, southwesterly,
veering westerly,
six to gale eight,
perhaps severe gale nine later.
Rain, then wintry showers,
moderate or poor, becoming good.
German Bight, Humber.
Southwesterly, veering westerly,
seven to severe gale nine,
decreasing six in Humber later.
Rain, then showers,
moderate or poor, becoming good.
Thames, Dover, Wight,
Portland, Plymouth.
Southwesterly,
six to gale eight,
occasionally severe gale nine,
veering...
Is less
My future is shrouded
In dark wilderness
Sunshine is far away
Clouds linger on
Everything I possessed
Now they are gone
They are gone
They are gone
Oh, where can I go to?
And what can I do?
Nothing can please me
Only thoughts are of you
You just laughed
When I begged you to stay
I've not stopped crying
Since you went away
You went away
You went away
The world is a lonely place
You're on your own
Guess I will go home
Sit down and moan
Crying and thinking
Is all that I do
Memories I have
Remind me of you
Of you
Of you
The world is a lonely place
You're on your own
Guess I will go home
Sit down and moan
Crying and thinking
Is all that I do
Memories I have
Remind me of you
Of you
Of you.
Our inheritance.
Thank you.
Bless us, O Lord,
and these thy gifts...
...which we are
about to receive.
Through Christ our Lord,
we pray.
All my pictures are fallin'
From the wall
where I placed them yesterday
The world is turnin'
Get outta town
Think I'll get outta town
Get outta town
Think I'll get outta town
I head for the sticks
With my bus and friends
I follow the road
Though I don't know
where it ends
Get outta town
Get outta town
Think I'll get outta town...
20 years, huh?
Bless you, brother.
Fuck off.
Brian.
Brian.
Oh, sweetie.
Where is he gone?
Who?
Your dad?
Has he gone to see him?
But what the fuck
has he got to do with it, Mum?
-What has he got to do with it?
-Everything.
What?
Why'd you hurt that lad, eh?
He was fucking
asking for it, Mum.
Brian.
Did he say something
about your dad?
Jem is my dad.
Or he said something about Ray?
Well, if you know so much,
then why are you asking me?
Don't be so cheeky.
I'm just trying to talk to you.
You nearly murdered that lad.
Do you hear me?
One more killer in the family.
Who's counting?
Ray's not a killer.
And even if he was one,
does it mean you have to be?
Eh?
Come here.
Ray's not a killer.
Our Father who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
thy will be done
as it is in heaven.
Give us this day
our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those
who trespass against us.
Dear Ray,
I'm not sure you'll even
get this letter
or read it, even.
So in the fact of hope
and answered prayers
you'll be reading this one,
I want to start
by asking how you are.
The silence still burns
after all the years.
And I often wonder
if you think about me.
Us.
Did you read it?
Did you read it?
No, I didn't fucking read it.
Whoo!
"Give strong drink unto him
that is ready to perish,
and wine unto the bitter
in soul."
Amen.
Her Majesty the Queen.
What happened to "for what
we are about to receive"?
So it's only before eating
that you say grace?
He don't mind if you have a few
fucking bevvies without a word?
You forgot to wipe your arse
this morning.
I saw the shit in your pants.
No, that were from yesterday.
You dirty bastard.
Is cleanliness next to
godliness, would you say?
How do you know he's not filthy?
Is there any evidence
in the Bible
that says God takes a bath
three times a week?
Changes his undies every day?
God doesn't need undies,
'cause he's not full of shit
like you are.
Oh, is that so?
Has he got an endless supply
up there?
Bet he never has to wear
the same pair twice.
Does he like a nice, snug fit?
Or does he like plenty of room
for his big fucking God balls
to swing around in?
You know, like massive
fucking church bells, them.
Bet it's like
Canterbury Cathedral
down below decks.
You're going to hell, brother.
Family reunion?
Father Rippon died last week.
Saw it in the paper.
Don't read papers.
Did you ever see him again?
Is that a question?
Did hear he were carted off to
the nuthouse a few years ago.
-Please read that letter, Ray.
-When I were back on leave
after third tour
of the province--
lost two of our lads
on that one...
...started to think
about him, Rippon.
More I thought about him,
the more I wanted
to pay him a visit,
have a catch-up.
A debrief about
the good old days.
Anyway, when I got home,
I looked him up.
Weren't easy to find.
Course, they'd moved him
around a bit.
Business as usual.
Tracked him down
in Huddersfield.
Hmm.
Should've seen me all
togged out in my number twos.
I mean, for someone
that were in shit order
most days of the week,
I smartened up well.
Cacks under the mattress
the night before.
Razor-sharp creases
front and back.
I were bulling my boots
all morning.
Like mirrors they were.
This were
parade ground standard, Jem.
Could've done
a ceremonial duty at Buck Pal,
I looked that good.
Number two dress and medals.
I were that well turned out,
I could hear our dear mother's
voice saying,
"Come home, son.
All is forgiven."
-Number ones.
-The what?
Number one dress at the palace.
Yeah, right, right.
That's what I'm saying.
I were that smart, you wouldn't
have known the difference.
I suppose not
if you were pig-ignorant.
Hmm.
So, go round his house.
Lovely little
grace-and-favor cottage
paid for by His Holiness,
no doubt.
Window boxes,
perfect little lawn,
hedges trimmed.
Knock on the door,
and there he is.
All scrubbed up, pink and shiny.
He seemed so old.
I remember him
as a big, strong bugger.
And there he were,
scrawny little old man
with a potbelly.
I was surprised
at how small he looked.
I said,
"Father Rippon, isn't it?
"I'm collecting
for the Veterans Association.
Would you mind if I stepped
inside for a moment?"
I could tell he were impressed.
"Oh, do come in.
Do come in, young man.
You're very welcome, son.
Do come in."
He's all fluffed up,
bustling about.
The kettle's on.
Fine china, biscuits,
the whole works.
"You'll take a cuppa,
won't you, son?"
So we sit down.
We sit down
in his tidy little parlor,
chatting about this and that.
I say, "This is your parish,
is it, Father?"
He says, "Oh, I'm currently
between parishes.
Semiretired, you know."
I said, "Oh,
that must be difficult
after all the years of service."
We talk about...
talking about
the state of things,
the ungovernable, godless youth.
He asks me,
"Are you of the faith, son?"
And I say, "Faith runs
very deep in our family,
Father."
He says, "Of course,
what I miss most of all
is working with young people."
I nearly choked
on my custard cream.
Anyway, so, there's a lull
in the conversation,
and he says, "Oh, I do
beg your pardon, Corporal.
Perhaps you'd like
something stronger."
I just look at him
for a long time.
"Would you like
something stronger, Father?"
I could see the thrill of it
coursing through him.
He didn't dare believe.
His face darkened,
his eyes all glittery.
He said, "Well, I would
if you would."
He starts to get up.
I say, "I'm very strong,
Father Rippon."
He sits back down as if
his legs went from under him.
I say...
"Would you like to have a look?"
I start to unbutton my trousers.
I thought he might have
a heart attack.
He just couldn't believe it.
It was like Christmas
come early.
So I stood myself up...
teasing open the buttons
like a rent boy.
Dropped the cacks,
dropped my undies.
I say, "There it is."
I said, "Lie down on the floor."
He lies down,
eager to accommodate.
I said, "In a crucifix.
That would make me
nice and hard."
Waddled forward a few steps.
I'm stood right over him.
Oh, there's one detail
I forgot to mention, Jem.
For a few days
before I went round,
I were on a diet
of Guinness and curry.
And then the afternoon of,
I took a handful of laxatives.
It were hard to get
the timing right.
I was sat in my car
outside his house
for a couple of hours,
and nothing was shifting.
As soon as I felt
that stirring within,
I knocked on his door.
As I'm sitting there,
it's welling up inside me,
and now I swear
I'm coming apart at the seams.
The rivets are popping
out of me.
The army teaches you to grin
and bear it, doesn't it, Jem?
We do love the exquisite agony
of self-denial.
So...
I'm stood over him.
I say,
"Don't recognize me, do you?"
"What?"
I say, "Little Ray.
I'm your Little Ray
from the care home."
Takes him a good few moments,
his eyes flicking
this way and that.
When the penny drops,
fear runs through him
like electricity.
And the stinking sweat
poured out of him.
"Oh, please don't hurt me.
Please don't hurt me."
I said, "Don't move.
"If you move an inch,
I'll cut off
"your meat and potatoes
"and shove them down
your fucking throat.
You can suck yourself off
for a change."
Well, come to think of it,
shame he didn't learn
to do that a few years ago.
He might have been
self-sufficient.
Shuffled forwards, about-turn,
very awkward,
heels on his stringy
little arms.
He flinched. I could tell it
hurt him, but he daren't move.
"Now, look up the sluice pipe,
Father."
And I squatted down.
And I manured him.
Now...
This evacuation were in
three distinct phases.
First, I sprayed...
sprayed him.
Pebble-dashed him.
Like a flock of pigeons
taking off, they were.
Then a couple of waves
of hot lava.
And finally, one... one big...
...one big patty cake,
like wet cement,
flops out of me.
And he's retching and spitting,
and he daren't breathe in,
but he has to breathe.
And I'm laughing that much,
I feared I might topple over
into my own filth.
And that's it.
Stood up.
Little packet
of wet wipes in my pocket.
Cleaned myself up...
and walked out of there
light as a feather.
Did you believe that?
Did he do you in the hole?
Huh?
No.
I bet he didn't.
Even at that age,
they were scared of you.
Where were you when he was
fucking me up the hole?
Huh?
He done me proper.
He done me proper.
Didn't have much luck
with fathers, did we?
How about some tunes?
Fucking hell.
Fucking pig.
What's wrong with you?
All right?
Fucking hell.
What you doing that for?
What are you doing
that for, hmm?
-What are you doing that for?
-What?
Just chucking 'em in your mouth.
I'm not gonna eat them now.
You all right?
I'm fucking crossing there,
you fucking twat!
Look where you're
fucking going, you stupid...
Nessa?
Nessa.
Hattie?
Look at you in your white coat.
Oh, don't get ahead of yourself.
I'm only a trainee, Nessa.
It looks good on you, though.
Even the cleaners
get white coats in the chemist.
-Have you finished uni?
-Mm-mm.
Finals coming up this year.
-This is my workplace training.
-Right.
I'm-I'm glad I ran into you,
Nessa.
I've not heard from Brian
for an age now.
Is he all right?
What?
What?
I really hurt him, Hattie.
I don't know what I...
I-I don't actually know.
I just... I...
I couldn't stop myself.
I have, uh...
I hurt him badly.
What did he say to you?
I can't even remember, Hattie.
Well, I can.
But...
just-just usual stupid shit.
About him?
I just...
Fuck, I just...
I just...
You were in East Tyrone, right?
Ooh, let me just cast
my mind back for a moment.
Wrong.
You know exactly where I were.
Crossmaglen.
Bandit country.
There were an IRA
active service unit
operating in the area,
doing all sorts.
They were very good,
very skillful.
Cunning, ghosting back
and forth across the border.
It were cat and mouse.
Sometimes we were the cats,
sometimes they were.
As often as not,
you weren't even sure which.
You could have them
in your sights
with the safety catch off.
Meantime, they'd have
a high-velocity round
merrily winging its way
toward the back of your head.
Just in the week
before we'd dug in...
...we found and defused
three massive IEDs of theirs.
They shot and killed one of
our dog handlers and the dog.
And they shot down
a fucking helicopter.
One week's work.
Provo Army Council
expected results.
And they weren't disappointed.
Incendiaries,
IEDs, grenades, mortars,
sniper rifles,
heavy machine guns.
Were better-equipped
than we were.
What happened?
Are they the flowers
our dad used to grow?
Anemones?
I'll write as if you've read
all my other letters.
The desire to talk to you
and share everything is strong.
However, this isn't about me.
This is about Brian.
Brian needs you.
Never before have I asked you
in this way.
He's in trouble.
You leaving?
Accommodation not good enough
for you?
When you legged it,
every day, Nessa wrote to you.
How long was it?
When you went limping off
into the woods,
she didn't want to interfere
with your decision.
For a couple of years,
we thought
you'd just turn up one day.
She had no idea
if you got her letters,
let alone if you read them.
You knew she were pregnant.
You never answered her once.
You've been going
through my things?
Fuck off back to Toytown,
you fucking ape.
Got my girl, got my son,
got my life.
What more do you fucking want?
It was you that left. You.
Get over yourself, lad.
It's not about you. Fact.
It's about Brian.
Poor only child
of a deranged fugitive.
Didn't you want to give him
some brothers
and sisters to play with?
You're a big lump of a lad.
Don't tell me
you were firing blanks.
She prayed for you
every night, Ray.
Still prays for you.
Tell her to save
her fucking breath.
And our dad prayed for you, too,
every day for the rest
of his life.
Have you gone soft?
That miserable bastard?
Oh, he prayed.
He prayed, didn't he?
Prayed every time
he took his belt off.
Didn't he pray again afterwards?
Wet under the arms
from the efforts of his labor.
Oh, he prayed regular.
We learnt our violence from the
number one regional champion,
and he had
some stiff competition.
Who knows, maybe at the...
the British Legion
dominoes championships,
he's life and soul.
Blazer, badge, regimental tie,
chest out front,
just the long-range
desert patrol.
Now, that were war.
Sand for breakfast,
lunch and dinner.
If Rommel didn't get you,
the flies surely would.
He didn't talk like that.
That's right, he didn't
fucking talk at all, did he?
I've had plenty of fucking time
to fill in the fucking silence
for him.
What do you want from me,
brother?
You'd know if you read
the letter.
I've read the fucking letter.
I've read the fucking letter.
What the fuck?
What do you want?
I'm beyond your reach, Jem.
I'm well beyond her reach.
There'll be no epiphany.
So fuck off back to your
little family and sort it out.
You don't want me to leave, Ray.
Why in God's name
did you let that boy
join army
in the first fucking place?
This is nowt to do with me.
This is on you, mate.
Look,
though I've raised the boy,
do you think he's not
a pigheaded little bastard
like you are?
It were nowt to do with me.
I said my piece.
I didn't think he should do it,
follow in our footsteps.
I thought he were just
chasing after...
Anyway, regardless of what
I think or don't think,
do you honestly believe
that your son
wouldn't do a thing just 'cause
somebody told him not to?
Look, he's currently
absent without leave.
And as much as they like him,
you know as well as I do
there's no warm, fuzzy feeling
in the MOD.
There's only so long
they'll turn a blind eye.
Maybe a week, if we're lucky.
And then the MPs
will come knocking
and take him away.
But that's the least of it.
I've seen my share
of lost souls, Ray,
and at this moment,
your son is in the dark.
Believer or nonbeliever,
there are forces at work.
Fact.
I don't want anything
from you, Ray.
I-I don't want anything.
Nessa... Nessa believes
that if you met him
and talked to him,
gave him some answers,
it just might make a difference.
It might.
Before it's too late.
Brian savaged this lad.
He fucking savaged him.
He's convinced himself if...
if they hadn't pulled him off,
he'd have killed him.
And this has been following
Brian since primary school.
"Your father's this,
your father's that."
"He's in the nuthouse."
"Is he banged up?"
The invisible man, Ray Stoker.
Please.
Just tell me.
If you're not gonna help out,
then I'm gonna get out of here
double-time.
I fancy a bevvy.
He's still conscious?
That's-that's good.
Could you just ask the children
to move out of the way?
We don't want them
seeing this, do we?
A blanket on...
Yeah, a blanket on him is fine.
And, uh, do I move him?
-No, do not move him.
-But he's in the way.
I repeat that,
do not move him, madam.
And do not remove his helmet.
You're doing so well.
I know there's a lot of blood.
Why, he were
all over me at that stage,
like a bloody octopus.
And I were, like, whipping
my head back and forth,
just trying to catch
a clean breath.
But he must have thought
I was in ecstasy,
'cause that minging
wet gob of his
just kept reaching for me.
Oh, my... He wasn't gonna
back down, but...
I'm not lying.
His breath smelt like shit,
Nessa.
Have you ever had that?
Thank you.
-Here you are.
-Cheers, mate.
And here's some crisps.
I know you like them.
Cheese and onion.
This thing's out of juice, mate.
I won't be long.
Won't be long.
He's beautiful, kind,
funny, loyal.
He's so like you
in so many ways.
Funny that, eh?
Anyway, I implore you,
for the sake of Brian,
to please, please come home
and talk to him.
Let him meet you at least.
And maybe, just maybe
he can move forward
and let go of whatever demon
anger is holding him so tight.
I pray you are well
and see fit to answer.
God bless.
Love always, Nessa.
What?
What?
What? What the fuck?
Spitting image.
What?
Spitting image.
Spitting image? Who?
Fuck off.
Fuck right off.
Our father who art in heaven?
Fuck off.
Suppose I am a bit.
Suppose I am
a bit of a sad old bugger.
He been doing all right,
were he?
-Who?
-The boy.
"The boy," Brian,
is doing well, very well.
They think he's a real prospect.
Can't help himself.
The other lads
just fall in behind him.
-That right?
-Yeah.
You remember what it's like
when you're cold and hungry,
you haven't slept
in three nights.
It's every man for himself.
With Brian...
he's got strength to spare.
He may be at the end
of his rope,
but he's still looking out
for the others.
And they pay attention to that.
Hmm.
When you did selection and, uh,
were badged into the regiment,
I was so proud.
And I was so fucking envious.
I thought, "I want that.
I want some of that."
Suppose volunteering for 14 Int
were a way of getting closer,
you know.
The training at Bradbury Lines
with your lads and all,
I thought it were
within reach, but...
Weren't 'cause of me
that he signed up.
'Cause of you.
Even with all the shit that
he put up with over the years,
it was some idea he had,
it were...
It was the space
where you should've been
that he was chasing after,
that he was fascinated by.
Now he's frightened
of his own shadow.
He doesn't know who you are.
Knows nothing about you.
Except for the old stories
when we were youngsters.
You know, the short fuse,
street fights, vandalism.
You and me both,
we were both liabilities then.
But now he, uh...
I don't know,
he looks at his hands
as though they belong
to somebody else.
What?
Rumors, mate. Rumors.
Until you tell me what happened,
that's all we've got.
I realize I've never
properly spoken to you
about your father.
And that was
a fault in me, Brian.
Me and Jem thought we could
make a nice life for you,
and-and I think
in some ways we have.
But it can't have been easy
for you...
all these years.
You know, it looming
over everything.
Every family dinner.
Every birthday, every Christmas,
every special occasion.
And I suppose, by not talking
to you about it...
...it were my way
of protecting you from it.
How much do you know
about the early Troubles
in Northern Ireland?
We'll sleep outside tonight.
I lost him in stages.
I lost him in stages.
After the first few tours
in Northern Ireland,
he were already
quite hard to reach.
And then when he volunteered
for some special assignment,
the minute he raised
his hand, he...
he seemed to disappear
into another world.
Oh, but it wasn't just that.
He wanted it.
He were alive, eager.
He said goodbye
well before he left.
And when he came back,
you couldn't reach him.
You'd be sat at kitchen table
with him,
and he'd be looking at you
like you were at the other side
of a football pitch
and you're an acquaintance,
you know, maybe, and he were
trying to figure out
who you were.
I were pregnant with you.
And I were getting bigger
by the day,
and he seemed to be shrinking.
I-I... I felt like
a big lumbering giant
living with a miniature person,
afraid I were going to
crush him underfoot, but...
Then one day he were gone,
and I...
realized I'd been
waiting for it.
Ray never spoke to me
about what happened over there.
I tried to get
in touch with a...
you know, a few of the lads
that he served with, you know,
that were with him,
but they said nothing.
They were on a warning
from the MOD.
They must have been
on a warning.
So all I have is
what I'm telling you now.
But I knew Ray.
I knew Ray better
than I knew myself.
And as I said, those lads,
they couldn't say owt.
But I tell you this much--
they loved him
and they respected him.
And they never gave me... never
gave me one hint of a reason
that he'd done something
he should be ashamed of.
But he left us, didn't he?
He left us.
What's that, Mum?
Something to be proud of?
Why'd he leave?
Huh? Why did he leave us?
War crime.
That's what he called it--
a war crime.
Fucking war crime me?
The war were the fucking crime.
And we were
the phantom soldiers.
Our mission on this one were
surveillance, pure and simple.
We dug in at nighttime.
Two OPs.
Ours were in a hedgerow at
the end of an unpaved laneway
bordering the farm buildings.
The structure of interest
were the milking shed
no more than 30, 40 feet
from us across the yard.
On a tip-off, we'd scouted it
a few nights before.
They arrived
shortly after sunup.
The bomb maker were a player
well-known to us.
The young lad with him,
we'd never seen him before.
Our intel was solid, but...
for two days,
there were no movement.
We started to wonder if they'd
somehow slipped away,
if there were a...
a tunnel or concealed entrance
we'd missed
when we recced the building.
I was just writing up my report
when the bomb went off.
The explosion was so loud
you couldn't hear it.
The concussive force ran through
every cell of your body.
Filled you up, like there were
nothing left of you.
Just chaos.
The entire roof lifted
off the shed
on a cloud of black smoke,
like a cartoon.
Walls swelled outwards,
opened up.
Debris started
to rain down on us.
"Are we being attacked?
Do they know we're here?
Are they getting rid of it?"
They'd do that sometimes.
You know how it were.
If they... they thought
you were onto them,
they'd detonate the ordnance
and scarper.
And we were waiting
for the incoming, but so far,
there were nothing.
Then there were just the sound
of this fella screaming.
Like I said, we were on
surveillance, nothing more.
We weren't equipped
for anything serious.
Sidearms only,
couple of longs between us.
When that Semtex went off,
we should've called it in,
hand it over to your lads,
but...
I don't know why, but...
for some reason, we moved in.
Advance to contact.
I suppose it were a
"ride to the sound of the guns"
type of madness.
We started to crawl
toward the milking shed.
Could've been weapons
trained on us, snipers.
Could've been another bomb
waiting in the building.
We didn't know.
So we're crawling, heads down,
getting closer, getting closer.
All we could...
The only sound
were the screaming.
Obviously, we wanted to get
one of them alive,
if we could, get him to talk.
It were that smoky
in the building
you could barely see
in front of you.
Well, it turned out
it were just the two of them,
master and apprentice.
And the player
must have been stood
between the bomb and the kid.
There were nowt left of him.
Except his fucking teeth,
buried in the side
of the young fella's head.
Heard it were his nephew
a few days later.
And I must have slipped
when we went in on some...
piece of him, because I were
covered in, you know...
When I picked myself up,
I were covered in his slime.
The kid were on the ground.
Bits of him were...
He were alive, just about,
but bits of him were missing.
His innards were spilled out,
and he were crying out
for his mother.
Bomb maker's teeth buried
in the side of his head.
I was stood right over him.
Our three lads clearing
the room left and right.
I'm stood over him.
He were dying, this kid, Jem.
He were dying.
I could see the fear
in his eyes.
The fucking hatred.
He looked at me with hatred.
Couldn't have been
more than 16 or 17 years old.
Younger than Brian is now.
He's screaming at me.
Begging me to shoot him.
So I shot him.
He were dying?
Yes, Jem, he were
fucking dying. He fucking...
I didn't fucking kill him.
He killed himself.
Fucking killed himself.
I just nudged him
across the line.
Fucking little bastard.
Where were they gonna
put that bomb? In a pub?
In a shopping center?
In a nightclub?
Guaranteed, there'd be
innocent people blown to bits.
How fucking merciful.
Turns out they just
killed themselves.
And I'm the fucking murderer?
I wish... I wish
I had left him to die.
I wish I'd left him to
his full measure of suffering.
Lying there with his guts
spilled out,
crying for his mother.
I should've left him there.
Should've called an ambulance.
Told 'em to take
the scenic route.
I'm not fucking making out
I did him a favor,
but I fucking did.
He were begging me to do it.
17 years old,
shivering on the ground,
and I finished him off.
Just to stop the screaming.
And that's it.
That's all there were.
Yeah, listen,
of course they... lads knew.
The lads... lads knew
what I'd done.
They didn't question it.
They knew this fella were gone
and no one would get
anything out of him.
By the time we got him anywhere,
he-he wouldn't have survived.
No one said a word.
No one questioned it.
No one said a word.
But I called it into South Det
operations room.
That stage, our job were done.
Handed over, went back
to barracks, had the debrief.
That boy's injuries--
didn't occur to me
any questions would be asked,
but...
They were all in a twist.
The Ruperts, the higher-ups.
So, after...
the CO had me in his office.
Uh...
I could tell
he were under stress.
His whole fat head looked like
a boil that needed lancing.
"By all the rules
of lawful engagement,
that's a war crime,
Sergeant Stoker."
Oh, hello. Here we go.
He's looking hard at me.
"We need to make this go away.
"He presented a threat.
He raised his weapon."
"No, he fucking didn't, sir."
I shouted in his face,
"No, he fucking didn't."
"His arms were shredded."
I said, "I want to get out."
He-he said, "You can't."
He said, "Pull yourself
together and don't be thick.
"Take a couple of days,
see the head doctor,
"you'll be right as rain.
We'll make this go away." So...
I'm stood in front...
front of him,
hot tears squirting out of me.
If you'd asked me
what my name were,
I wouldn't have known.
So I...
I took a couple of days, but...
it-it weren't that long
for the shrink to see
there were a crack in the ice
that wouldn't heal over.
I were...
I were, as he put it...
-Hey.
-...an unstable element.
Danger to myself and others,
which, in our line of work,
meant generally bad
for business.
Time to go home.
So he declared me unfit,
"return to unit."
Signed me out, put me
on a plane back to my regiment.
Short while later, I find myself
on the streets of Sheffield,
staring at my old front door.
A civilian...
and a...
...a dirty little s-secret
war criminal.
Yeah, well, I were coming up
15 years' service,
due out anyway.
Could you have saved him?
I did save him, Jem.
I did save him.
Saved him from
more fucking pain.
I'd have enjoyed watching him
suffer a little bit longer,
so I did save him--
saved him from that.
Why did you shoot him?
Could we have kept him alive?
At the t-time,
I knew we couldn't.
At the time.
At the time.
Hey.
We've all done things.
We've all done things, Ray.
I don't need
your fucking absolution, Jem.
Maybe I could've saved him.
Maybe I couldn't have saved him.
Maybe I enjoyed killing him.
Maybe I didn't.
Maybe I pitied him.
Maybe I fucking hated him.
I don't know, Jem. I don't know.
But I don't need
your fucking absolution.
I did the crime.
I'm still serving the time.
I don't owe nowt to nobody.
I don't owe nowt to nobody.
Least of all to you.
How many fucking Hail Marys
do I get for that?
And he goes silent, morose.
His eyes searching for the exit.
Well, there were rumors,
as you only know too well,
that he'd lost his mind
over there, that...
you know, he'd...
he'd gone psycho,
that he'd been involved
in some bad things.
Even that he'd murdered
an unarmed civilian.
Oh, and the shame.
The shame of it
seemed to crush him.
I mean, regardless
of what happened, the shame.
It's hard to imagine that,
you know,
what shame can do to a person.
He was a very proud man,
your father, Brian.
He was very proud.
Proud?
You don't understand.
-He put his heart and soul
into soldiering. -Proud?
Just like your dad,
Jem, you know?
Listen to yourself, Mum.
So... so to take that away
from somebody,
to take it away from him,
it's like taking his name away.
How can you be so fucking
reasonable about it?
Oh, I wasn't reasonable
about it at the time.
You know, and if it...
if it wasn't for knowing
that there was a baby
on the way, and if it...
if it wasn't for you...
I don't know
what I would've done.
So, yeah.
He left us.
I'm sorry.
And is that what you think,
or is that what you know?
'Cause this is
what I think, Mum.
I think he were a fucking killer
and a coward.
Because only a weak,
cowardly person can walk away
from their family like that.
Don't talk about him.
You don't know him.
No, you're right.
I don't know him.
That's the problem, innit?
I don't fucking know him.
I know everything
I fucking need to know
about that bastard.
And that he's a big,
giant fucking sinkhole
in the middle of our lives.
Don't talk about him like that.
Don't talk about anybody
like that in my presence.
Least of all the man
who gave you life,
which is a blessed thing.
Blessed? Blessed?
Why does everything have to be
so fucking blessed
in this house, Mum?
You gave me life.
He gave me a fucking...
...fucking curse.
All these years.
All these years.
"All these years," fucking what?
How did you...
The winters,
I mean, the isolation.
How did I what?
How did I manage without you?
It's not over, Jem.
You make it sound as if it...
I mean...
I won't pretend I don't think
about it from time to time,
but this is it, Jem.
This is my life.
Does it have to be?
"As for man,
"his days are as grass:
"as a flower of the field,
so it flourisheth.
"For the wind passeth over it,
"and it is gone;
and the place thereof
shall know it no more."
Et cetera, et cetera.
A-fucking-men.
Good night, Ray.
Brian?
Brian?
Hey.
I've got to get going.
What are you doing?
Fucking hell.