INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny staring at his closed fist. Bloodshot eyes contemplate the object hidden within his palm.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. NIGHT
Danny peering into every room, checking that he’s alone. Fist tight by his side.
Checks complete, he secures the front door.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BATHROOM. NIGHT
Danny furtively glances out of the window --
EXT. DANNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING. COURTYARD. NIGHT
The apartment with the closed shutters.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Danny closes the blinds. Lights the gas. Boils water. An arbitrary manufacturing of kitchen noise.
He takes a tatty white table cloth and spreads it over the table so that it hangs down to the floor. Done, he turns the kitchen lights off.
Finally he sits under the table, on the bubbled linoleum floor, like a child sheltering from angry parents. He lights the squat stub of a candle.
Only once protected, within the soft glow of this space, does he feel secure enough to reveal --
The item he swallowed: a titanium cylinder with a row of seven numbered rotating dials. Slender. Impregnable.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Danny unbuttons his shirt, picks up a roll of duct tape and fixes the cylinder snug against his sternum.
EXT. DANNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING. NIGHT
Danny exits the building wearing anonymous colors - a hooded top. Skittish, he scrutinizes passers-by, the windows overlooking the street & parked cars.
EXT. VAUXHALL UNDERPASS. NIGHT
A line of traffic held at a red light. Danny uses the side mirrors of stationary cars to check who’s behind him. Various, including a man.
Danny turns to the underground station.
INT. UNDERGROUND STATION. ESCALATOR. NIGHT
Danny on the escalator. He looks back at the people behind. The man from the underpass tunnel.
Danny sidesteps out of line and descends at pace. At the bottom he glances back to see the tunnel man has also stepped out of the line, also descending.
INT. UNDERGROUND STATION. PLATFORM. NIGHT
Danny walks down the platform, almost all the way, then abruptly turns, walking back up the platform --
The tunnel man is coming straight towards him. Their eyes meet. The train rushes into the station. Danny and the man pass. People surge to the edge.
Danny and the tunnel man board adjacent carriages.
INT. UNDERGROUND CARRIAGE. NIGHT
Danny looks through the window to the adjacent carriage. He sees the tunnel man, standing sideways to him.
Danny studies the other passengers. An older handsome Asian man in an expensive suit.
A woman seated nearby, reading one of the free London newspapers. Front Page headed - “Spy Sex Attic”.
Danny peers over her shoulder to see a tabloid-style article. A photograph of the gas mask outfit. Juxtaposed with a photograph of Alex.
INT. UNDERGROUND STATION. PLATFORM. NIGHT
Danny steps onto the platform amidst the crowd. In the reflection of a glossy advertisement he glimpses the tunnel man only a few paces behind.
Danny weaves through the crowd but as the doors to the tube begin to close Danny sharply alters course and runs back towards the carriage.
INT. UNDERGROUND CARRIAGE / PLATFORM. NIGHT
Danny lurches inside. Doors shut. Breathless, he peers out at the tunnel man on the platform. But the man is seemingly unperturbed by Danny’s departure.
As the train disappears into the darkness Danny notices the woman, previously seated and reading the paper is now standing and reading. An odd change.
And behind her, the older handsome Asian man in the sharp suit regards Danny with cool detachment.
EXT. EAST LONDON TUBE STATION & STREET. NIGHT
Danny exits into a rough area. He walks with certainty and purpose - this area is evidently known to him.
A row of pawnbrokers, loan shops, pound stores. Danny heads towards a busy fast-food restaurant.
INT. FAST FOOD JOINT RESTAURANT. NIGHT
Crowded. Dirty. Cheap.
Danny goes straight through to the back - the toilets.
INT. FAST FOOD JOINT RESTAURANT. TOILET. NIGHT
Danny takes off his hooded top, reversing it, now a different color. He puts on a hat. Then climbs through the small back window, dropping down onto --
EXT. EAST LONDON SIDE STREET. NIGHT
A dark side street. No cameras. Danny swings towards the shadows away from the main road.
EXT. EAST LONDON SCRUBLAND. NIGHT
Danny climbs over a fence and into scrubland. Abandoned washing machines. Burnt mattresses. He arrives at --
The skeleton of a former factory. Late 19th century. A dramatic ruin, towering into the night sky.
From the shadows, Danny surveys the approach - no one following. Once he’s sure, he enters the ruins.
INT. DERELICT INDUSTRIAL WAREHOUSE. NIGHT
Danny passes a wall covered in graffiti, pausing, locating his own name, amateurishly painted. No nostalgia: a touch of sadness and regret.
INT. DERELICT INDUSTRIAL WAREHOUSE. MACHINE ROOM. NIGHT
Danny nimbly clambers up the shell of a long-dead furnace towards the ceiling. Up high, rusted pipes crisscross in all directions.
Danny finds a section of the pipe and removes the bolts. It comes free. Inside is a teenage hiding place.
Soft drug paraphernalia. Faded gay porn & poppers.
And a diary wrapped in plastic. Danny flicks through. Sketches. Lyrics. Aimless teenage creativity.
Danny checks he’s alone. From under his shirt he removes the cylinder. He finds it hard to let go.
Finally Danny hides it inside the spine of the diary, wraps it in plastic, secretes it away.
He puts the pipe back. Secures the bolts.
To the naked eye there are no clues as to where it might be. Just a labyrinth of pipes.
EXT. DERELICT INDUSTRIAL WAREHOUSE. ROOFTOP. NIGHT
On the rooftop, like a feral cat, Danny perches on the edge guarding his secret. All around poverty.
And in the distance the twinkling lights of the city.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAY
Danny standing close to the mirror about to knot his tie. He’s wearing a smartly ironed shirt.
He attempts a knot. It’s too small. It looks awful. With some irritation he unties it. Too much irritation, he’s brittle emotionally. A great deal at stake in his appearance.
And he’s about to try again. When he stops, pausing...
FLASH BACK TO:
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAY (PAST)
Danny & Alex getting ready to go out. A smart event, something celebratory. They’re both in good moods.
Alex is immaculately dressed. Shirt, tie, jacket. Danny struggling with his tie. Alex steps close to him --
But Alex waits a beat in case Danny is offended by the notion of being helped.
Danny, however, gladly allows Alex to tie the knot.
Which Alex does. The movements are assured. Precise. Alex glancing from the knot to Danny. From the knot to Danny.
Finished, Alex neatens it. His fingers linger on Danny’s shirt collar. Careful. Meticulous. The moment is intimate.
BACK TO:
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAY (PRESENT)
Danny caught by a wave of emotion. Upset, with tears in his eyes he ties his own knot, capturing some of Alex’s rhythm. Precise. Meticulous.
Danny ties it well. He neatens the knot, alone.
Finished, Danny’s eyes move to the side of the mirror --
Now see that the wall is covered with pages from various newspapers. Tabloid & Broadsheet.
The pages are all about Alex’s death. Without exception every paper claims it was a sex game gone wrong.
All the pages are carefully annotated by Danny. In red ink. Underlined. By the headlines and by individual points:
THIS IS A LIE.
A LIE.
THIS IS A LIE.
Danny’s eye move over all the pages. Finished, his eyes return to his reflection.
DANNY (TO HIMSELF)
(practising)
Your newspaper has printed a series of lies...
(too negative)
Your newspaper needs to print the truth about...
(too baggy)
Your newspaper needs to know the truth...
(wrong again)
The public need to know the truth.
(too saintly)
I’m here - today - to tell you the truth.
(too soft)
I’m here to tell you the truth.
(more blunt)
I’m here to tell you the truth.
(he likes it)
I’m here to tell you the truth.
(faster)
I’m here to tell you the truth.
(final)
I’m here to tell you the truth.
We can bleed these final attempts over Danny’s entrance into the newspaper office.
Building and building, a crescendo, faster and faster, more and more determined, more and more absolute.
Convincing. Powerful. Angry.
Who couldn’t believe him?
What couldn’t go wrong?
EXT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE. DAY
Danny wearing a shirt, not a suit, as formal as he can manage. Tie knotted so-so.
Danny stands outside a glass and steel office. The new industrial heartland of London.
INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE. LOBBY. DAY
An impressive atrium. Busy with journalists.
Danny waits, observing office life - the security fob, chic shoes, strong coffees and smart phones.
He glances up, at the many windows, and spies a man in a suit, high up, staring down at him.
An assistant arrives and makes a snap evaluation of Danny: her eyes flick up from his shoes to his hair.
INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE. ELEVATOR. DAY
Danny and assistant in the elevator.
Jarring silence.
INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICES. CONFERENCE ROOM. DAY
Danny seated on one side of a vast glossy table.
On the other side: a woman in her fifties - a senior news editor. Dressed sharp. Stern. Cross-trainer thin.
A woman in her late twenties - a journalist. Around Danny’s age, dressed less angularly.
A sturdy old-fashioned lawyer. Tortoiseshell glasses.
A recording device in the centre of the table.
EDITOR
In your phone call you asked --
(from transcript)
“How it all works?”. We took that as negotiating payment.
Danny’s taken aback.
DANNY
No. I’ve never spoken to a journalist before...
(no one believes him)
I don’t want any money.
The lawyer whispers to the editor. She nods.
EDITOR
You used the word “partners” to describe your relationship?
DANNY
We were partners.
EDITOR
What do you mean by that?
He struggles and stumbles.
DANNY
I mean...
Against a wall of scepticism, Danny rallies.
DANNY (CONT’D)
I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
He’s never articulated that before. It catches him emotionally. But cuts no ice with his audience.
EDITOR
You’d been together eight months.
DANNY
Yes.
EDITOR
During those eight months how many times had you visited the attic?
DANNY
I’d never visited the attic.
(correcting)
Except when I discovered...
(beat)
That was the first time.
EDITOR
But you must have known about it?
DANNY
No.
EDITOR
The activities that went on up there?
DANNY
That’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t know if anything went on. I never saw him use those items. I never heard him talk about them.
EDITOR
You were his sexual partner. For eight months. He never mentioned sadism? Never asked you to participate? Never discussed his predilections? You know nothing. That’s what you’ve come here today to tell us?
DANNY
I’ve come here to tell you...
Danny’s eye turns to the swirling grey sky over London.
FLASH TO:
EXT. COUNTRYSIDE. ESTUARY. DAY (PAST)
Danny and Alex’s first walk together at this melancholy and magic landscape. The water laps about their feet.
Danny looking at Alex. And Alex turns to look at him.
BACK TO:
INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICES. CONFERENCE ROOM. DAY (PRESENT)
The newspaper team waiting for Danny to answer.
Danny, lost in the memory, we’re not sure how he’ll react. Frustration is replaced by grief.
DANNY
Why won’t you ask what I think happened to him?
EDITOR
What do you think happened to him?
DANNY
He was murdered.
EDITOR
Who murdered him?
DANNY
I don’t know.
EDITOR
Why did they murder him?
DANNY
I don’t know.
Silence.
The lawyer cleans his spectacles.
EXT. NEWSPAPER OFFICES. DAY
Danny exits the building, removing his tie.
Away from the immediate proximity of the offices he’s surprised by the younger journalist. She must have used a different exit. She seems nervous.
JOURNALIST
Not here.
INT. CASUAL RESTAURANT. DAY
The restaurant is casual and scruffy. Danny and the journalist in a corner. No recording device.
JOURNALIST
My brother was an addict. Cocaine, for seven years, and I didn’t know. Until he was in hospital, telling me he used to do it on Christmas Day --
Danny shakes his head.
JOURNALIST (CONT’D)
How can you be sure?
DANNY
I’ve done drugs. And if you’ve done them you can tell.
JOURNALIST
People lie, Danny. And they lie well.
DANNY
Guys who own rooms like that attic, when it comes to sex they know what they want. How they want it. The sex is professional. He didn’t know what he enjoyed. He’d never found out.
JOURNALIST
You don’t use his name? Is it true you didn’t even know it?
DANNY
He told me his name was Alex.
JOURNALIST
I get it. He’s a spy. He needed to be careful. You met by chance. First date he lied. But eight months later, you want to spend the rest of your life together, but you’re still using the wrong name to say how much you love him?
The pain of the lie is raw. Danny doesn’t understand it.
DANNY
I can’t explain.
JOURNALIST
Did he tell you he was in danger?
DANNY
No.
JOURNALIST
Are you afraid?
The idea takes Danny by surprise.
EXT. CASUAL RESTAURANT. DAY
Outside the entrance a neon sign flashes the name of the diner. Danny shakes the journalist’s hand.
DANNY
Do you believe me?
The question is wonderfully naive. She says, sincerely --
JOURNALIST
It doesn’t matter what I believe.
(to Danny it does)
But yes, I do.
Danny watches her go, a little more hopeful.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD. STREETS. DAY
Scottie and Danny walking towards a pub or a restaurant. Their pace is slow. Leaden. Danny seems solemn, guarded, hanging back a little from Scottie. Their energy is off.
SCOTTIE
Journalists make difficult bedfellows. You can’t just tell them what to print.
(Danny doesn’t respond)
You didn’t want to discuss it with me first?
DANNY
I was sure you’d talk me out of it. Make me realize what a dumb idea it was.
Danny sharp. Scottie stops walking. He studies Danny.
SCOTTIE
What is this?
(beat)
Mistrust?
(beat)
It is.
(beat)
I see...
Scottie struggles to process it. He’s hurt.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
You’ve trusted me with your life. But not now? Not with this?
DANNY
My life is small. This is... organizations... Institutions...
SCOTTIE
You see me as ‘one of them’, don’t you? The suit. The education. The job. I’m part of the establishment?
DANNY
Aren’t you?
SCOTTIE
How dare you - young man. How dare you presume to know me. I know you because I’ve heard every secret you have to tell. But what do you know about me? Answer me!
Scottie’s angry seems to come from nowhere. And it takes Danny by surprise. He can’t process it.
DANNY
I know...
SCOTTIE
Where I live? What films I like? What music I listen to?
(beat)
Did you know I suffer from depression?
(Danny didn’t)
Did you know that in the past I drank. Every night. Every day. Every morning. I drank. Until a stranger could smell it on me --
(he didn’t)
And do you know - young man - how fucking far I am from being part of the establishment?
(he doesn’t)
How dare you. Mistrust me. When you don’t know.
It’s the first, and only time, we’ll hear Scottie swear. It’s the first, and only time, we’ll see Scottie lose his temper.
It surprises Scottie as much as it does Danny.
Danny is taken aback by this anger. He’s never seen it before. But he isn’t swayed, either.
Scottie walks away from him, trying to calm down. His attention turning to the heath. At the end of the street.
An idea strikes Scottie. His anger turns into solemn contemplation.
The heath....
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
You want to know who I am? Who I really am? I’ll show you.
Scottie sets off toward the heath. Danny remains where he is. Scottie looks back. He’s firm.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Come on! Then you can decide if you trust me or not.
Danny follows. Just behind. They enter the heath.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. FOREST. DAY
Scottie leads Danny towards a magnificent oak tree. They pause, admiring its awesome size and shape.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. FOREST. SADNESS TREE. DAY
Up close Scottie presses a hand against its trunk as if reunited with an old friend. Danny observes.
Scottie looks into the branches above.
SCOTTIE
We are at the spot my career as a spy came to an end.
For Danny, it’s a revelation.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
I was a spy, once.
Scottie’s mood turns sombre.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
A long time ago. In a world very different to this one.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. FOREST. SADNESS TREE. DAY
Scottie and Danny seated, side by side, on a dead, moss-spotted trunk, staring at the ‘sadness tree’.
SCOTTIE
I was recruited at Cambridge. I said yes partly because it wouldn’t be a normal life, with regular hours, and I was desperate to avoid a five o’clock home time, while not being bohemian enough to imagine life without a proper profession. Not very patriotic motives, I suppose. They rather liked that about me. An utter lack of idealism. Romantics make unreliable spies.
Danny reacts to that idea.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
It was my third year with MI6. I was travelling back to London by night train. A handsome man joined my carriage. He sat close to me. The tips of our shoes touched. Our eyes chanced. He asked the most mundane questions in the most exciting way. When we arrived at Paddington I went to the ‘Gentlemen’s’, waiting in a cubicle, door ajar, hoping...
(beat)
I cannot express how happy I was to see him. It meant I hadn’t been wrong. And for the next fifteen minutes, or so, I wouldn’t be alone.
(embarrassed)
After all these years - prudishness runs deep. The next day I was approached by a Soviet operative. He described how the Soviet Union welcomed ‘men like me’. Under Communism we were all equals. Once I’d completed my mission here, in a country that would always hate my kind, I could make a home in Moscow and be free.
Scottie’s hands shake. Despite his measured account this is upsetting. Unspoken about. He glances at Danny.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Some ‘men like us’ actually believed that lie. But I wasn’t one of them. So all that remained was the blackmail. I’d be exposed. Arrested. Disgraced. That night I bought a rope. And walked here.
Scottie’s eyes move to a specific branch.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
But sitting on that branch, noose ready, I thought to myself - there is another way.
DANNY
You told your bosses that you were gay?
SCOTTIE
That’s a wonderful wrong answer. However, the option did not yet exist. No, I explained to my section head that I’d been approached by a Soviet operative and detailed the nature of the blackmail. He asked if the allegations were true. I admitted that I’d made a mistake. With a man. And that the operative might have evidence. Of that mistake. But it was only once. An act of madness. An act of disgusting madness --
(re-enacts)
‘I am not a homosexual!’
(beat)
And I am not a traitor.
(beat)
Hard to believe the second statement when the first is a lie. So I proposed, preposterously, that they employ someone to follow me for the rest of my life. Photograph my every move. I’d never touch a man. I didn’t discover until later that it hadn’t been a Soviet operative. It had been an internal investigation. You’ve heard of a mole hunt? This was a fag hunt. Which they saw as more or less the same thing. Her Majesty’s Secret Service had its fingers burnt by one too many queer spies. My prompt confession saved my life. I was moved out of MI6 and into, as it was then called, The Ministry for Transport, where I became little more than a bookkeeper, whispered about by those in the know. Out of gratitude, and fear, I kept my end of the bargain. And for eleven years I did not touch another man.
Silence.
Danny reaches out and takes hold of Scottie’s hand. The gesture catches Scottie off guard.
He looks down at Danny’s hand around his - the different skins, one marked with age, one glossy with youth.
Cementing their rapprochement, Scottie clasps his other hand around Danny’s.
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Scottie has made fresh soup. Danny and Scottie eat.
SCOTTIE
Will you sleep?
Danny shakes his head.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Then I propose we stay up all night and wait for the morning papers together.
Danny nods - accepting the proposal.
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT
Shelves of books, antiques, not fusty but cosy. Like a gentleman’s club. Without the formality.
Scottie in a leather chair, reading Berg’s biography of Woodrow Wilson.
Danny lying in the sofa. Not reading. He peers over at Scottie’s book. Scottie catches his glance.
We think, for a second, that he’s going to read some aloud. And Danny wants him to. But Scottie isn’t sure whether to suggest it. Danny isn’t sure whether to ask.
The moment passes.
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. DAWN
Danny at the window as day breaks. He turns to Scottie. Scottie puts the book down. It’s time.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD VILLAGE. DAWN
Danny and Scottie walk to the newsagents. Nervousness from both. The streets are deserted.
They stop at the stack of various papers being delivered. The truck still there.
Danny breaks the plastic and takes out a classy looking broadsheet. Scans the front. Not on the cover.
Danny turns the pages, slowly at first, then faster.
There’s nothing.
About to check from the beginning for a second time Danny sees, to the side, the front page of a tabloid --
Danny’s face is on the front.
The photo was taken outside the diner. By a photographer that Danny never saw or knew was there.
Even though it was daytime the photo appears dark, as if it were nighttime. A fragment of the neon sign in the frame. But it’s a blur. Unable to identify the letters the overall effect is strip-club-soho-sleazy.
The headline: “Attic Spy Sex Partner Secrets”.
Danny opens the paper to reveal a double page spread --
“I took drugs.” “I never knew his name.”
There’s a lurid graphic illustrating the attic - the sex toys, the video, the drugs, and trunk.
Danny’s admission that he’d been with guys who had rooms “just like this one” before.
Danny’s expression falters as he realizes the depth of his miscalculation.
INT. HAMPSTEAD. CAFE. MORNING
Scottie and Danny sit at a table. Danny seems dazed. Vacant. Unable to believe his own stupidity.
Scottie is concerned. But unable to do anything, unable to say anything, he merely pours a tea for Danny.
Unable to say anything, or do anything, Danny stares at the tea, until finally he takes a small sip.
EXT. WAREHOUSE. DAY
Danny arriving for work. Other members of staff glance at him. Not hostile. They’re curious. He’s news.
INT. WAREHOUSE. LOCKER ROOM. DAY
Danny’s getting changed into work clothes. He stops as a man in a suit enters.
INT. WAREHOUSE. BOSS’S OFFICE. DAY
Danny seated opposite his boss. Newspaper on table.
DANNY
Drug test me.
(beat)
I need this.
But we know the answer is no.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAY
Danny, despondent, slumped on the bed.
Sara brings in a letter. She sits on his bed. Danny doesn’t stir. She shows him the letter. Handwritten.
SARA
I’m going to open it, okay?
Sara opens it. She finds, inside, a pair of train tickets. And reads the accompanying letter.
SARA (CONT’D)
It’s from his parents.
Danny moves like a bullet, taking the letter, devouring the words. He turns his attention to the train tickets --
INT/EXT. INTERCITY TRAIN / COUNTRYSIDE. DAY
Danny seated in a packed standard class carriage. Racing through English countryside.
At first glance it looks like Danny is doing the jumbo crossword. In fact he’s writing the name “Alistair” in the across grid and “Alex” in the down grid.
EXT. STATION PLATFORM. REMOTE VILLAGE. NIGHT
Danny waiting alone. An old station building. Countryside. Could be in an England from sixty years ago.
Danny has completely filled the jumbo crossword with Alex / Alistair, and continues writing over the letters.
A couple in their early sixties appear at the far end of the platform. Standing under a moody lamppost.
Danny spots them. He stands, picks up his bag, and walks towards the couple. They come plainly into view --
The mother, Mrs. Turner, is imperious. Dressed in vintage black designer.
The father, Mr. Turner, appears in excellent shape. Physically strong. Country manor tweed.
DANNY
Mr. and Mrs. Turner?
Mr. Turner gives a nod and offers his hand. Danny shakes it. The man seems cold, not hostile - neutral.
Mrs. Turner puts on an affected air of aloofness, but Danny can tell that she’s curious & warmer.
No polite questions. No mention of their being late.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Thank you for sending the tickets. I’m happy to pay for them myself.
Danny reaches for his wallet. The parents watch as Danny takes out an envelope. Mr. Turner accepts the envelope. Checks the money. And then offers it back to Danny.
MR. TURNER
There’s no need.
Mr. Turner holds the money outstretched towards Danny.
DANNY
It wouldn’t feel right.
MRS. TURNER
You’re our guest.
DANNY
(uncertain)
If you’re sure...
MR. TURNER
We’re sure.
It feels like a test. Danny calculates it’s ruder to refuse. He gives in. Accepts the money back.
Mr. Turner looks at his wife, as if he just won a bet.
Mr. Turner picks up Danny’s bag, walking off. Danny’s embarrassed but is unable to extricate it.
Mrs. Turner walks by Danny’s side, looking him up and down. Danny catches her glances. He smiles at her.
She seems flustered by the smile.
EXT. TRAIN STATION. REMOTE VILLAGE. NIGHT
A vintage car. Impressive but not well preserved.
Mr. Turner deposits the bag in the back. There are walking boots, maps, various other outdoor items.
INT/EXT. VINTAGE CAR / COUNTRYSIDE. NIGHT
Danny in the backseat. Alex’s parents in the front.
Danny’s eyes pick up on every detail.
The view outside is darkness and gloomy forest.
Mr. Turner looks at Danny in the rear view mirror.
INT/EXT. VINTAGE CAR / TURNERS’ HOUSE. NIGHT
The car turns off the road onto a narrow drive.
An old stone house embedded in a forest. No neighbours. Modest in size. And run down.
Danny fascinated with his first view of the property.
EXT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. NIGHT
Danny gets out of the car. He stands before the house. Eyeing it up and down. As if it were a character.
DANNY
How long have you lived here?
MR. TURNER
Alistair didn’t tell you?
DANNY
No.
His parents look at each other.
MRS. TURNER
What did he tell you about us?
DANNY
He told me you were dead.
With ice-cold British understatement --
MR. TURNER
We weren’t close.
The Turners head in.
Danny takes a moment to walk to the edge of the wintery forest - menace and beauty in equal measure.
He’s about to go inside when he sees a distant light in the depths of the trees -- the flicker of a flashlight.
And then it’s gone. Danny waits. Nothing more. He heads back to the house, glancing over his shoulder.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. HALLWAY & STAIRS. NIGHT
Danny enters, shutting the front door. The interior is angular and unsettling. Not homely.
Mrs. Turner is halfway up the stairs. Waiting. Like a statue. It’s weird.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY. NIGHT
The corridor is long and narrow with eight identical doors, creating a cramped and claustrophobic feeling.
Mrs. Turner opens a door for him. In the harsh light Danny regards her peculiar heightened anxiety.
He enters the bedroom.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. NIGHT
A single bed. A side cabinet. A wardrobe. Lace curtains. A towel and hand-towel neatly folded on the bed. Along with a small square of pale soap.
A bedroom from fifty years ago.
She enters the room, as if she were intending to stay and talk. Danny can sense she wants to.
MRS. TURNER
Bathroom’s opposite. It’s all yours. Is one towel enough?
DANNY
Plenty.
MRS. TURNER
You’ll want some time. Before dinner. Is one hour enough?
She seems unaware of the repeated phrase. Danny fights the urge to say ‘plenty’.
DANNY
More than enough.
She still doesn’t want to leave, stealing glances at Danny, pretending to check the room is in order.
Danny watches her. In the end, as if caught by a sudden thought, she hurries out, shutting the door.
A small crucifix on the wall. Danny takes it off the hook. Wallpaper faded underneath.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BATHROOM. NIGHT
Awkward jarring cut as Danny opens the vanity cabinet in the bathroom. On one shelf there is a laminated sign. “For Guest Use”. The other shelves are empty.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny has showered. He takes out of his bag a dry-cleaned white shirt. And unwraps it.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY. NIGHT
Danny smart in a crisp white shirt. The house is silent. He studies the various closed doors. His hand rests on a handle, tempted to explore. But he doesn’t.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Danny enters. Alex’s mum and dad are waiting. Silent.
The table’s laid for one. Danny stares at it.
MR. TURNER
We’ve already eaten.
Danny’s deflated. The clock on the wall says it’s nine.
Mrs. Turner is embarrassed by their rudeness. Mr. Turner is not. She tries to compensate.
MR. TURNER (CONT’D)
We won’t stand here and watch.
MRS. TURNER
If you need anything else we’ll be next door.
They exit into the living room, closing the door.
Danny’s abruptly left alone, in his smart shirt.
He peers down --
A cold plate of food under cling-film - a rectangle of anaemic cheese, a hardboiled egg, a half tomato, iceberg lettuce, gelatinous ham. A single white roll.
Two glasses of foil covered wine. One red. One white.
Danny walks to the door, about to open it, and ask why they can’t talk, but he decides against it.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Danny has finished the food. He washes up the plate, dries it, puts it by the sink. Wipes down the table.
Now half past nine. No sign of Alex’s parents. He walks to the door. No sound. Danny opens it.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT
Alex’s parents are reading. They look up at Danny.
MRS. TURNER
How was dinner?
Danny sounds less effusive than before.
DANNY
It was fine.
The Turners nod and return to their books. Danny stands, a little lost. And upset.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT
Danny sits with Alex’s parents. But he’s not reading - observing them. They read. Steadily. Heads down. No hint of conversation. Danny refuses to accept this.
DANNY
Alistair - tell me about him.
Both parents put down their books and look at him.
Mr. Turner abruptly stands up.
MR. TURNER
Tomorrow morning. When you’re rested.
Mr. Turner leaves. Danny is worried that he’s offended him. Mrs. Turner seems torn between various responses.
MRS. TURNER
Will you be able to sleep?
DANNY
Probably not.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Mrs. Turner is making hot milk, full cream, spicing it with fresh ground cinnamon. Danny observes --
Her hands are unkempt. Strong. Sturdy. Working hands.
Her shoes are plain, stout. And do not match the vintage clothes. In fact, the vintage clothes are not a good fit.
With subtle guile, Danny observes.
DANNY
Alistair suffered from insomnia.
She pours the milk, lovingly handing it to Danny.
MRS. TURNER
(natural)
That’s why he liked running so much. To exhaust him. His mind was so busy. He ran so he could sleep.
A hint of an accent when she’s more relaxed. Suddenly she’s nervous, intimacy too far.
DANNY
Why can’t you talk to me?
MRS. TURNER
In the morning, you’ll understand.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny in bed. Lights off. Can’t sleep, staring at the crucifix. He sits up, gets out of bed.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY / ROOMS. NIGHT
Danny enters the hallway of eight identical doors. He quietly walks towards one. Opens the door: a cupboard. He continues his search. Trying not to make a noise.
Finally he discovers a bedroom --
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. ALEX’S BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny enters. Shuts the door behind him. Quietly. And turns to examine the room --
A desk against the window. View out into the forest. Bookshelves. And many books. The spines are broken. Dense academic volumes. Mathematical equations.
There are annotations. From the way Danny touches them, we guess that he recognizes the handwriting.
Danny walks to the wardrobe. Opens it. A few clothes. Colour-coordinated. Searches their pockets. Finds nothing.
Danny to the writing desk. Opens the drawers. Nothing.
Danny to the bed. Looks under it. Nothing. Then stands, stares down at it, hand on top of the sheets.
No emotion. No reaction.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. HALLWAY. NIGHT
Danny exits, startled to discover Mrs. Turner in the hallway. He doesn’t know what to say: caught red handed.
But she’s not angry. She seems as lost as he is. About to speak but says nothing, turns and goes back to her room.
Danny watches as she shuts the door.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. MORNING
Danny woken by a sharp knock. The door opens. Mr. Turner looms in the doorway.
MR. TURNER
Time to talk.
The door’s shut.
Danny checks his phone. It’s six AM.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. MORNING
Danny enters. Unlike last night the table is laid for three. A hearty communal breakfast. Danny’s relieved.
He takes his seat. Alex’s mum pours Danny a cup of tea.
DANNY
Thank you.
Danny checks to see if she’s annoyed.
Mr. Turner seems oblivious. Apparently she didn’t tell him. A secret. A curious one.
Danny waits for them to take the lead.
MR. TURNER
We’d prefer it if there was no fuss.
He looks to his wife. She confirms, less convincingly.
MRS. TURNER
We’d both prefer it.
MR. TURNER
If there was no fuss.
DANNY
You read the article?
MRS. TURNER
We’re not making any judgements.
MR. TURNER
You see the life we lead. We’re private people. We don’t want attention. The past is the past. What Alistair did in London was up to him. He was an adult. Can’t bring him back. We’d just prefer it if there was no fuss.
Mr. Turner places a hand on his wife’s hand. She doesn’t seem comfortable. But doesn’t pull away.
DANNY
I won’t speak to the press again.
MR. TURNER
That’s good.
Danny can’t let it stand at that --
DANNY
But no one was saying it. So I said it. Your son was murdered.
Mr. Turner looks up sharply.
MR. TURNER
After breakfast, how about a walk? Just the two of us?
EXT. FOREST. DAY
Danny and Mr. Turner walking. Danny’s behind him. The forest is dense & dark.
DANNY
Your son was murdered.
Mr. Turner stops walking. But doesn’t turn. Danny arrives at his side, looking at his expression.
MR. TURNER
My son’s dead. My wife’s sick.
(beat)
Her nerves...
DANNY
I’m sorry.
MR. TURNER
Enough.
Holding each other’s eye. Danny doesn’t push.
The father turns, and walks on, offering no more explanation. Danny watches him go.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. DAY
Danny packing to leave, folding his white shirt. He stops, troubled and unsure.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. ALEX’S ROOM. DAY
Danny stands in the room, deep in thought.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY
Danny enters without his bags. And stands opposite Alex’s parents - his energies strangely elevated.
Alex’s parents notice the lack of a bag. They’ve made a packed lunch for him. In a plastic bag.
A pork pie. An apple. A juice carton.
MR. TURNER
We need to leave soon if we’re to make your train.
Danny doesn’t reply. He stares at Alex’s parents - not a polite, inquisitive glance - he really stares.
DANNY
What is this?
They look at Danny. They look at each other.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Who are you?
(beat)
That --
(points upstairs)
Is not his bedroom.
(beat)
This is not his home.
(points at them)
You are not his parents.
Danny is only seventy percent sure.
Mr. Turner’s expression darkens.
MR. TURNER
Have you lost your mind?
Mrs. Turner, however, says nothing. Danny’s attention concentrates on her.
Mr. Turner looks at his wife - an instruction to her to echo his comment. She does not.
DANNY
Who are you?
The couple simply stand. Impassive.
Now certain, Danny loses his temper.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Who are you!
Silence.
And, then, as if in reply to his question --
The telephone rings. Shrill and startling.
The man answers it. He listens. Eyes on Danny.
He does not say a word.
He hangs up.
Danny waits.
DANNY (CONT’D)
(exasperated)
Who was that?
UNKNOWN MAN
That was Alistair’s mother.
Danny looks at the now unidentified woman. There’s shame in her face. Danny is amazed that he was right.
DANNY
His mother?
Silence. Confirmation.
DANNY (CONT’D)
What does she want?
UNKNOWN MAN
To meet you.
Danny belatedly realizes the implications of the phone call. Looks around at the room.
Danny sits at the table. The packed lunch is so desperately ordinary. Danny takes out the pork pie breaking it in half, crumbling it.
Addressing the room in general:
DANNY
I’ll meet her.
EXT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. DAY
Danny, with bag, walks towards the car, discretely checking his phone - no reception.
The unknown couple open the car door for him.
DANNY
How far is it?
UNKNOWN MAN
Not far.
Except there’s nothing around but woods.
Danny registers the physical strength of the unknown man.
Danny climbs into the car. The door’s shut.
INT/EXT. CAR / COUNTRYSIDE / MANSION GROUNDS. DAY
Danny in the back. The couple in the front.
They pull out of the drive, onto the road and continue for no more than a few hundred metres.
Up ahead is a grand and dilapidated stone gateway - wrapped in ivy, crumbling brick.
They turn off the road, underneath the gateway. We pass through a mangled-branch-forest.
The forest abruptly gives way to the grounds of a mansion. Shaped hedgerow. Stone fountains. Long lawns.
At the top of a landscaped slope sits a Gothic country house - two hundred or so years old.
The exterior of the house shows many signs of neglect. The garden is on the threshold of wilderness.
The car descends the once opulent drive.
From afar, the figure of a woman in her sixties - dressed elegantly - waits at the front doors.
The car parks. Danny gets out.
EXT. MANSION. DRIVE. DAY
The woman stands at the top of the stone steps looking down at Danny as he advances towards her.
She’s Frances. A magnificently shrewd face with hair, touched with grey, glorious in its implied wisdom.
Her clothes are vintage designer. Like her house, splendour mingled with decay. Formidable.
We realize that Mrs. Turner was wearing this woman’s clothes. And wearing them not very well.
Seen on their rightful owner they take on a vivid life of their own. And make sense.
Danny comes face to face with her. Unlike yesterday, when he was demure, now he’s emboldened.
FRANCES
We needed to know who we were dealing with.
With ironic understanding Danny empties his pockets, for inspection, tossing the contents on the ground - his wallet, receipts, a clatter of loose coins.
DANNY
Anything else you need to see?
But Danny’s retort fades into nothing as Frances is struck by the dropped coins.
Dirty silver and copper in the gravel. She looks at them for a moment, her thoughts far away.
And then, a rebuff, almost as an afterthought --
FRANCES
Not everyone is comfortable inviting strangers into their home.
Danny’s staggered by the barb. Yet there’s a beguiling quality to her audacity.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
We thought, if you saw where we lived, you might try to extort us.
DANNY
Why would you think I’m after your money?
FRANCES
Because you have none.
(off Danny’s reaction)
You want an apology? I gave you an explanation.
DANNY
You I believe.
Frances reacts powerfully to that statement.
Danny catches sight of a figure at the window --
A hunched man in his seventies. Aged badly. A Tweed suit. A figure in the shadows, a vision of meanness.
Frances follows Danny’s glance.
FRANCES
My husband’s name is Charles. My name is Frances. And my son’s name was Alistair. Your name - Daniel - we read in the paper.
Danny registers the insult but is beyond hurt. He glances back at the people who pretended to be Alex’s parents.
Dressed in their masters’ clothes.
The man drives the vintage car towards the huge garage, where it belongs.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
My staff, you’ve met.
The woman sheepishly carries Danny’s bag to the house.
DANNY
Where’s she taking my stuff?
FRANCES
Surely you’re going to stay the night?
Frances turns and enters, without waiting for a reply.
After a beat Danny picks up the items he dropped on the gravel, puts them back in his pocket.
Wary, he follows Frances inside, glancing to the side: mean Charles still at the window.
INT. MANSION. GRAND HALL . DAY
Danny enters an impressive entrance hall. But we can see scaffolding up ahead.
Frances moves to the stairs. Danny follows her up.
INT. MANSION. GRAND HALL. DAY
We move through scaffolding and plastic, statues wrapped in protective coverings take on new forms.
FRANCES
We’re in the midst of restoring this house to its former glory.
Despite her claim there’s no sign of any new work being done. No craftsmen. No builders. The house is silent.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
We had hoped Alistair would finish the task.
They pass out of the scaffolding area into the main hall. It’s enormous. Alcoves. A fire place.
Danny is dwarfed by the space: his eyes exploring.
INT. MANSION. CORRIDOR. DAY
Danny following Frances through a corridor. She reaches a door and opens it for him.
INT. MANSION. GUEST BEDROOM. DAY
A second beautifully refurbished room.
High ceilings. Wood panelling. A regal four poster bed. An antique wardrobe. A grand desk at the window.
Danny inspects the room. Opens the wardrobe. Moth balls and nothing more. Walks to the huge desk. Touches it.
Looks out the window --
EXT. MANSION GROUNDS. MAZE. DAY
In the grounds there’s an ancient and complex maze. The hedgerow is overgrown. Wild and tangled.
INT. MANSION. GUEST BEDROOM. DAY
Danny turns to Frances. He notices that her fingers toy with a silver necklace, leading to some pendant concealed beneath her shirt.
DANNY
This was his room.
Frances studies Danny with interest.
FRANCES
How did you know?
DANNY
Because it’s the loneliest room I’ve ever been in.
She absorbs his observation. A suggestion of sadness in Frances but she quickly controls it, hiding the emotion.
She lets go of the necklace which disappears.
FRANCES
Charles was sure that you’d catch the train home today, none the wiser. I was convinced you’d figure it out. It seems you did so not with reason. Or deduction. But with something akin to female intuition.
DANNY
I won’t sleep here.
FRANCES
I would never have allowed you to.
She leaves. Danny pauses at the door, looking back.
INT. MANSION. SECOND STAIRWAY. DAY
A utilitarian staircase. Narrow, cramped and cold. They climb up towards the attic. Danny follows Frances.
INT. MANSION. ATTIC BEDROOM. DAY
The top of the house - with low ceilings - a servant’s room. Stark. Functional. Cold. It’s deliberately rude.
Danny’s bag awaits him.
FRANCES
Dinner’s at eight.
She’s about to leave. Danny asks:
DANNY
You’re embarrassed by his death?
FRANCES
Yes.
DANNY
Upset, too?
Anger in Frances. A glimpse. Again, she controls it.
FRANCES
Beyond anything you could possibly imagine.
She gently shuts the door.
Danny sits on bed - exhausted.
EXT. MANSION GROUNDS. EVENING
Danny exits the house. Surveys his surroundings.
He spots the man who pretended to be Alex’s father. In fact, he’s the lone groundsman. With the impossible one-man task of trying to keep the savage gardens in order.
He’s now wearing his regular clothes.
Danny sets off, in the opposite direction.
EXT. MANSION GROUNDS. ENTRANCE TO MAZE. EVENING
Danny stands at the entrance to the maze. Before him is a tunnel of hedgerow, entwined with brambles.
Only a smudge of light left in the sky. Danny enters.
EXT. MANSION GROUNDS. MAZE. EVENING
Danny reaches the first junction. He turns. He comes to a brambly dead-end. Danny backtracks --
FLASH TO:
EXT. MANSION GROUNDS. MAZE. DAY (PAST)
Little Alex, running through the maze, his tiny legs moving at speed, turning right and left with the utmost confidence. Navigating it expertly.
The dark passage way brightens, opening out into --
BACK TO:
EXT. MANSION GROUNDS. MAZE. EVENING (PRESENT)
Danny at the centre of the maze, standing before a stone statue - a male statue with arms missing at the elbows, facial features eroded to smooth-anonymity.
Danny reaches out, touching the stump of the statue’s outstretched arms. He turns to the house.
Frances stands at the window of Alistair’s room. Watching Danny. Upon being seen she pulls back.
INT. MANSION. ATTIC ROOM. NIGHT
Danny changing for dinner. He looks at the clean white shirt, picks it up and reconsiders.
INT. MANSION. GRAND STAIRWAY. NIGHT
Danny dressed in a T Shirt - bright, tight, appropriate for a sweaty club. Scruffy jeans. White sneakers.
A wilfully incongruous figure in this mansion.
Passing an antique mirror he regards his reflection. He has doubts. Mustering courage he continues.
INT. MANSION. GROUND FLOOR HALLWAY. NIGHT
Danny arrives at double height doors. He pushes them open and enters --
INT. MANSION. DINING ROOM. NIGHT
This room has not been refurbished. Rotten wood panelling. Cracked floor. Rusted, ancient radiators.
No art on the walls. Just sad shadow marks where paintings once hung. Implication of artwork sold off.
A formal dining table at the centre.
Frances is at one end. Charles at the other. A place is set for Danny in the middle. Candles the only light.
Danny walks to his seat. Every step under scrutiny. Though deliberately dressed as a rebuttal of tradition he finds his entrance awkward, regretting his decision.
Frances is inscrutable. Danny takes his seat.
FRANCES
Did you realize your provocation was infantile before, or after, you opened those doors?
Spot on. And crushing.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
Before, I see. And yet you didn’t decide to change?
Danny accepts his miscalculation.
DANNY
Would you like me to?
FRANCES
No. I think, I prefer you like that.
Charles is already eating, fast, slurping, and without pleasure. Something wrong with his demeanour.
The woman who pretended to be Alex’s mum serves Danny food. She wears a sad tatty uniform.
Danny finds her reversed position sad and strange. He’s polite rather than hostile.
DANNY
Thank you.
She studiously avoids meeting his eye. Around Frances the woman is rigid with formality.
Danny peers down at the chipped china plates. The starter is fussy. But not expensive.
FRANCES
Alistair completed that maze, unassisted, three months before his fifth birthday.
DANNY
When did you realize he was so smart?
Frances considers this.
FRANCES
I always knew. Others consider him to be ‘disturbed’. But what they saw as a disturbance of the mind was, in fact, an exceptional gift. However, it’s not enough, in this world, to be born brilliant - you need direction and discipline.
You need someone who reminds you, day after day, never to waste your talent on triviality.
The word ‘triviality’ hangs over Danny.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
How many brilliant minds are out there, right now, rotting in squalor or neglect? It took every ounce of my strength to make Alistair realize his potential. He hated me for it, in the end. You guessed that already?
Danny doesn’t reply. Frances accepts it as confirmation.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
Children are often the worst judges of their own destiny.
DANNY
Your son was murdered.
Danny lets the statement sit.
Charles stops eating. Frances stops eating.
DANNY (CONT’D)
The attic was staged.
Suddenly Charles slams a fist against the table, rattling every item of crockery, demanding silence.
Danny’s baffled.
Charles goes back to his food. Head down.
Danny turns to Frances. She’s quite calm.
FRANCES
After dinner perhaps you’ll join me for a drink?
Danny nods. Frances delicately continues eating.
Danny turns, catching the ‘fake mother’ slipping out of the room. She’d been listening to their conversation.
INT. MANSION. DINING ROOM. NIGHT
At the end of dinner Charles throws down his napkin and leaves the table without a good-night.
He exits, throwing open the doors, shuffling into the darkness of his decaying house.
FRANCES
It’s very sad. He was once an important man.
DANNY
What did he do?
FRANCES
He was head of MI6.
She stands.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
Shall we?
INT. MANSION. GRAND HALL. NIGHT
Danny and Frances have retired to the Grand Hall. A formal and formidable space.
A fire burns.
Danny is seated in a cracked leather chair. Frances pours him a brandy. She brings it to him.
FRANCES
Your number is 82.
Danny doesn’t understand.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
The sum of the coins you dropped on the ground.
Frances pours herself a large scotch.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
When he was a child Alistair would amuse our guests with a trick --
FLASH TO:
INT. MANSION. GRAND HALL. DAY (PAST)
Five year old Alex sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, eyes upwards as a man throws a shower of coins.
In the air - coppers, silvers - of various face values - rising up, catching the light from the fire.
FLASH BACK TO:
INT. MANSION. GRAND HALL. NIGHT (PRESENT)
Danny is hungry for these glimpses of Alex’s past.
FRANCES
In a glance he could add up all the coins. He’d rarely bother to remember anyone’s name. But he’d never forget their number.
Frances offers Danny a cigarette from a silver box. He accepts. She also takes one. And sits.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
You would’ve been 82.
(considers)
An easy one.
While she smokes Danny merely holds the cigarette, waiting to see how this will play out.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
My son wasn’t gay.
Danny tenses: the cigarette disappears into the palm of his hand.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
Before you hold some sort of ‘parade’ through the house, hear me out. My son wasn’t gay. But I wish he had been.
Danny senses a trap. But is unsure of its nature.
Frances speaks with lethal precision that somehow sounds casual, fluid and easy.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
Alistair didn’t think like ordinary people. And he didn’t feel the way ordinary people feel. In his eyes everyone was a puzzle. He took immense satisfaction from figuring out what a person wanted and then giving it to them. As if we were all computers waiting for the correct code.
The provocation is subtle. Danny holds his tongue.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
Alistair could be anything a person wanted him to be. In your case, it appears that you craved romance. A good-old-fashioned love story. He gave it to you. Meanwhile, he continued giving other kinds of stimulation to other kinds of people. Men and women.
Danny’s finding it harder to control his emotions.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
If he was involved with someone who hankered after risk he will have provided it. Danger. Pain. Submission. Domination. You see, my son was a mirror to the desires of others - completely free of inhibition. How do I know? It was always this way. Alistair was as precocious sexually as he was intellectually. To him, they were one and the same. Sex was just another form of decryption.
Frances speaks without enjoyment or relish.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
You think I’m cruel? Perhaps I am. But not in this instance. I wanted to preserve your illusions. We had hoped you’d go home and mourn in the belief that your relationship was perfect. You loved him, I see that. Your love was real, of course it was. As his mother I appreciate your love for my son. However, I cannot allow you to be unaware of the facts in case you blunder further into a situation you simply do not understand.
Frances finishes her cigarette.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
I’m not surprised he used a different name. He was playing a part - the part of a conventional lover. Ordinary would have been a challenging role for such an extraordinary mind. Soon, he would’ve become bored. Once he was bored he moved on. And he always became bored in the end.
She is quite brilliant. And with a concluding flourish:
FRANCES (CONT’D)
I don’t know what went on in that attic. And, the truth is, neither do you.
Danny broods, taking it all in - overwhelming.
He opens his closed fist and removes the crushed cigarette. He stands, carefully placing it back in the antique silver box.
He sits back down: opposite Frances. Finally he collects his thoughts enough to speak. With a quiet anger.
DANNY
I haven’t read many books. I haven’t been to many places. But I have fucked a lot of people. And there’s one thing you just can’t fake...
(beat)
Inexperience. The body’s tense when it should relax. It hurts when it should be fun. And it’s dirty when it should be clean.
Frances is inscrutable.
DANNY (CONT’D)
I don’t care how smart you are, your muscles don’t lie. I’m talking about feeling his inexperience as clearly as I can feel this glass.
Danny raises the tumbler up, on the palm of his hand. His fingers coil around the glass, forming a fist.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Do you follow me, Frances?
Frances hasn’t moved. Rigid poker face. For the first time since his arrival Danny has her on the back foot.
DANNY (CONT’D)
I can see that you do. So, I know, for a fact, that you’re lying. I know, for a fact, that your son - the man I loved - was a virgin. What I don’t know is why you’re so keen to convince me otherwise.
Danny necks his brandy. Puts the glass down. He stands.
Danny turns his back on her. And Frances is not an easy person to turn your back to.
As he’s walking towards the door --
FRANCES
Daniel?
Danny stops and turns. Frances is standing, staring directly at him. The full force of her eyes on him.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
Amongst all the lies told here this weekend recognize one truth -- ‘No fuss’ was the best piece of advice you will ever be given.
DANNY
When he told me you were dead, he wasn’t lying, was he?
She has no reply.
Danny leaves.
INT. MANSION. CORRIDOR. NIGHT
Alone, Danny leans against the wall, steadying himself.
INT. MANSION. ATTIC ROOM. NIGHT
Danny sitting on the edge of the bed. Not even trying to sleep. He waits, looking at the clock.
INT. MANSION. STAIRWAY. NIGHT
Danny descends, barefoot, in the darkness.
INT. MANSION. CORRIDOR. NIGHT
Danny approaches a door, quietly. He opens it.
INT. MANSION. ALEX’S BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny enters - shutting the door behind him.
He stares at the bed. Surprisingly he climbs into it.
In contrast to the ‘fake’ bed in the hunting lodge, which meant nothing to him, Danny becomes emotional.
INT. MANSION. ALEX’S BEDROOM. MORNING
Danny wakes. He’d fallen asleep in Alex’s bed.
The other side, Alex’s side, is untouched and empty.
INT. MANSION. DINING ROOM. MORNING
Danny enters.
The table is set for breakfast. For one. He sits, alone, in this absurdly formal room.
He can’t take it any more. He stands, leaves.
INT. MANSION. LOWER STAIRWAY. MORNING
Danny follows the sounds of pots and pans to --
INT. MANSION. KITCHEN. MORNING
An enormous kitchen that once made meals for hundreds of guests. Now only a tiny area is being used.
A vast empty larder. Rat bait. Appliances out of date and broken. A losing fight against disarray and decay.
The woman who pretended to be Alex’s mum is preparing Danny’s breakfast. She’s alone.
In a reversal of roles Danny watches her unobserved. Eventually she turns, shocked to see him.
DANNY
I prefer it down here.
Without waiting for permission he sits at the table. She’s nervous. He’s deviating from plans.
NANNY
She won’t like it.
DANNY
No. I don’t think she will.
She reluctantly allows him to remain there, readying his breakfast. Danny ponders and speculates.
DANNY (CONT’D)
You cared about him?
She tries not to react but now we realize why she was largely silent in the hunting lodge. She’s a lousy actress, a rotten liar, and she hated playing the part.
Danny sees the gap opening. And he takes it.
DANNY (CONT’D)
You cared for him?
Danny‘s intuition is exceptional. And he’s so easy to talk to. Good at inspiring confidential conversation.
DANNY (CONT’D)
When he had a problem, he came to you - didn’t he?
(points upstairs)
Not her?
The nanny has stopped cooking altogether. Eggs and bacon blacken and burn behind her. She allows them to.
DANNY (CONT’D)
You loved him?
Her lips tremble with a desire to speak.
NANNY
Alex.
Danny stands.
DANNY
Alex?
She nods. A stunned moment. Then happiness and relief.
NANNY
He hated the name Alistair.
DANNY
What happened here?
NANNY
Get as far away from these people as you can.
Danny’s about to speak when --
The groundsman enters.
The nanny radically adjusts her interaction with Danny from confessional to functional - serving breakfast. Much of it burnt. Her guard is up. Her face impassive.
NANNY (CONT’D)
He insisted.
Her movements are clumsy with nerves.
She’s afraid.
Danny obliges her performance, mechanically eating the burnt eggs and bacon.
The groundsman watches the two of them.
EXT. MANSION. DRIVE. MORNING
Bag over his shoulder, Danny approaching a small beat up car, not the vintage vehicle.
Neither Frances nor Charles are there to say goodbye. Or the nanny. Just the groundsman.
Danny looks back at the many gloomy windows. No one is standing in any of them.
INT/EXT. CAR / MANSION. MORNING
Danny in the cramped back seat. Groundsman in the front. Danny catches a glance in the rear view mirror.
EXT. RURAL TRAIN STATION PLATFORM. MORNING
The groundsman gives Danny a new set of tickets.
He leaves. Danny watches him go.
INT. MANCHESTER TRAIN STATION. PLATFORM. DAY
Danny walks the length of the busy platform. The Intercity train is full. A ruckus of passengers.
Reaching his designated carriage a weary Danny boards.
INT. INTERCITY TRAIN. CARRIAGE / STATION. DAY
His carriage is empty.
Every seat is reserved. Paper slips stick out from the seat tops. As yet no one sitting in any of them.
Checking his ticket, Danny finds his seat. Part of an arrangement of four. By the window.
INT. INTERCITY TRAIN CARRIAGE / STATION DAY
Danny resting against the window.
The train pulls out.
It dawns on him that he’s still the only person in the carriage. He stands, curious.
The adjacent carriages are completely full.
INT/EXT. INTERCITY TRAIN CARRIAGE / COUNTRY. DAY
A ticket inspector enters the carriage. Apparently also surprised that the carriage is empty.
He checks some of the reservations slips, finding nothing amiss. Danny assesses the man carefully.
The Inspector’s uniform is suitably drab. Shoes scuffed.
Danny gives him the ticket. He punches it. Hands it back. And without a word walks towards the next carriage.
INT/EXT. INTERCITY TRAIN / STATION. DAY
The train’s stopped. An announcement crackles out.
Passengers board. Some enter the carriage. But all the seats are reserved and they move on.
Danny is still alone. And increasingly uneasy.
The train pulls out. At this point --
A striking man in his fifties, or sixties, enters.
Dressed in quintessential British attire: Henry Poole of Saville row suit. Schnieder of Clifford Street shoes. Not a guy who looks like he’d be in standard class.
The man studies the reservation slips, as many others have done, paying no attention to Danny. Searching for his seat number, he eventually finds it --
Directly opposite Danny.
The man squeezes into his allotted seat. The two of them face to face, knees grazing, in an otherwise empty carriage. The man seems unaware of any absurdity.
He places his leather satchel on the seat beside him and smiles at Danny. The smile appears warm and real.
Danny doesn’t smile back. The man doesn’t notice. Or seem to mind, instead, he takes from his satchel a small paper bag. He crinkles it open, offering it to Danny.
Danny peers inside.
It’s filled with traditional English boiled sweets.
The man speaks with an American accent - appealing and melodic - but its precise nature is unimportant.
THE AMERICAN
I have a sweet tooth.
Danny’s guard is up. He declines the sweets.
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
It’s easier to quit smoking, I swear.
The man’s engrossed in the sweets and carefully selects one, putting it in his mouth. Satisfied with his choice.
He sucks.
Danny’s eyes never leave the man. Yet the man isn’t troubled by the intensity of Danny’s stare.
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
Not very British, talking to a stranger on a train?
Danny doesn’t reply. The American continues nonetheless.
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
I’ve worked in this country for ten years now --
DANNY
(interrupting)
What line of work?
In a flash the American produces an elegant business card - ‘Insurance Broker’. Various details. Looks real.
THE AMERICAN
Own a house?
DANNY
No.
THE AMERICAN
Car?
DANNY
No.
THE AMERICAN
Valuables?
Danny offers the card back.
DANNY
Nothing.
The American doesn’t take the card.
THE AMERICAN
You have your health - that’s the most precious asset of all.
A faint touch of menace - imagined, or accidental. Sales pitch over, the man contemplates Danny.
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
Over the years I’ve adopted many of this country’s customs. Except for that famous British reserve. I enjoy talking too much. Once in a while someone...
(considers carefully)
Unexpected, tells you something...
(considers carefully)
Useful.
Danny wonders if this is a cue. He takes the bait.
DANNY
Such as?
The American muses. As if he hadn’t expected the question. A strange dance between these two men. One full of suspicion. The other excessively innocent.
THE AMERICAN
You’ve put me on the spot.
(sucks hard on sweet)
Okay...
The American leans forward. As though about to impart a vital secret of some kind. Danny also leans forward.
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
Do you mind if I take the sweet out of my mouth?
DANNY
Go ahead.
They both sit back.
The American removes the boiled sweet, placing it in the centre of a white silk handkerchief and neatly depositing it on the side table.
THE AMERICAN
I was told this story by a gentleman I’d never seen before. And I’ll never see again.
Silence. Danny waits. But the American refuses to speak.
Danny turns around to see --
The Ticket Inspector entering the carriage.
The American has produced his ticket. And waits...
The Inspector clips the ticket. Danny watches the interaction between the Inspector and the American very carefully. The Inspector hands the ticket back.
The three hold a moment. And then the Inspector moves on. Once the Inspector is gone and the carriage is empty --
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
There was a farmer living in the Greek Peloponnesian Hills.
It had been the hottest-driest summer for hundreds of years. One day the farmer saw smoke rising into the clear blue sky. Out of the smoke appeared an old man, riding on the back of a mule. He said: “A terrible fire’s coming! The worst I’ve ever seen. Jump on the back of my mule!” The pious farmer thanked the old man for his offer but declared: “I will pray to God. My faith is strong. He’ll protect me.” The old man shook his head at the farmer’s folly and hurried on.
(beat)
Soon, across the nearby hills, spread a horizon of flames. Fleeing the destruction came a truck carrying many families. They called out to the farmer: “A terrible fire’s coming! The worst we’ve ever seen. Jump in our truck or you’ll surely be killed.” But the farmer said: “I will pray to God. My faith is strong. God will protect me.” Aghast at this stupidity, the truck drove off.
(beat)
Soon the fire arrived at the foot of the farmer’s hill, consuming every tree and bush and blade of grass. Miraculously, in the sky, there appeared a helicopter --
(breaking flow)
You can guess where this is going?
DANNY
He said no to the helicopter?
THE AMERICAN
And sure enough the flames climbed his hill, scorching his crops, killing his livestock, burning his farmhouse. Finally, with the heat blistering his skin, the pious farmer cried out to God. But received no reply.
(beat)
Soon there was nothing left on the hill except for smouldering carcasses, burnt timbers and hot ash.
The American pauses, as if the story had ended. But just as Danny is about to react, he continues -
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
In heaven the farmer knelt before God and said: “I am a pious man. My faith is strong. I did no wrong. I committed no sin. Why didn’t you answer my prayers?”
The American wants Danny to ask the question.
DANNY
What did God say?
THE AMERICAN
He said: “I sent you a mule, a truck and a helicopter. Yet still you could not be saved.”
The American smiles. The same smile we saw before. But now doesn’t feel quite so warm.
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
“Yet still you could not be saved.”
Like a mirage, the moment of menace passes.
THE AMERICAN (CONT’D)
Told to me by a gentleman I’d never seen before and will never see again.
The American turns to look out the window. And pays no more attention to Danny.
INT/EXT. INTERCITY TRAIN. CARRIAGE / LONDON. DAY
Danny seated opposite the American. The man is fascinated with the view -- the approach into London’s outskirts.
THE AMERICAN
I love this city.
Danny stands, leaving the carriage.
INT. INTERCITY TRAIN. RESTAURANT BAR. DAY
The bar is packed with drunken travellers, returning from football matches, in contrast to the stillness of the empty carriage.
Danny buys two miniature bottles of Scotch.
INT. INTERCITY TRAIN. TOILETS. DAY
Danny drinks the first double measure of Scotch in one gulp. He looks in the mirror.
DANNY
Who you are?
(more assertive)
Who are you?
Are you threatening me?
Danny drinks the second double measure.
INT. INTERCITY TRAIN. CARRIAGE. DAY
Danny returns to his carriage. Only to see that The American is gone. Danny approaches the seat.
An announcement declares that they’re arriving at King’s Cross Station.
Danny looks into the adjacent carriages and sees that the corridors are full. No one can move. Everyone standing ready to disembark. Aisles are blocked.
No sign of The American.
Danny’s attention returns to his seat.
The American has left behind his white silk handkerchief. It sits on the side table.
We see the distinct, small curve of an object at its centre. Around the curve the white material has been stained an ominous-bloody red.
The train stops. Passengers seep onto the platform.
But not Danny. He sits down. And slowly opens the handkerchief revealing --
A bright boiled sweet.
At first, relief, then anti-climax. But there’s something unusual about it --
Danny holds it up to the light as though it were a precious gem.
Encased in the transparent centre is something angular and blue. We can’t see what. Blurred, through the sugar.
The Inspector enters the carriage, taking down all the reservation slips from the back of the seats.
And looking at Danny.
Danny wraps up the sweet in the handkerchief and puts it in his pocket.
EXT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. FRONT DOOR. NIGHT
Danny knocks on the door. Scottie opens up, surprised to see him. He’s about to speak when --
Danny shakes his head, indicating a need for silence. He gestures outside.
Scottie obliges, grabbing a coat. He leaves the house, pulling the door shut.
The two stand in his front garden - hidden from the street. Danny’s in evident turmoil.
SCOTTIE
You think my home is bugged?
DANNY
It can’t be a coincidence... the train... the stranger...
SCOTTIE
Danny?
DANNY
They heard us.
SCOTTIE
Who?
DANNY
The people who murdered Alex.
Scottie’s thoughtful.
SCOTTIE
Suppose he was murdered. Suppose you’re right. Then follow it through. The implications of what you’re saying.
Danny nods. Trying to calm down.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
You believe you’re at the beginning of something but really you’re at the end. It all happened whilst you weren’t looking. And now... It’s over. It’s done. Everything you think of will have already been thought of. You know nothing about them. And they will know everything about you.
If they don’t kill you it will be for one reason - they consider you less of a nuisance alive than dead.
(off Danny’s reaction)
You’re insulted by the idea of your insignificance? You should cherish it.
DANNY
If the police won’t do anything... Maybe the press will... If the press won’t do anything... Maybe the parents will... If the parents won’t... who’s left?
SCOTTIE
No daring journalists will come to your aid. No rogue police officers. It will just be you. You alone. Ask yourself, Danny, honestly - who are you? You’re friends with everyone. You trust everyone. And you know no-one.
DANNY
You know these people --
SCOTTIE
I knew them thirty years ago.
DANNY
Help me.
Scottie considers. It’s hard for him.
SCOTTIE
In one way or another I’ve spent much of my life being afraid. It is a privilege spending time with a man who’s never been afraid of anything. And that’s not just because you were born in a different time. You’re fearless. I’ve always wondered how that must feel. But, Danny, occasionally, it is right to be afraid.
Danny’s unsure.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Leave this alone. Promise me?
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny, seated, on the floor of his bedroom. The boiled sweet is positioned in the middle of plate.
Using a sharp knife, Danny carefully chips away the sugar shell, chiselling and chiselling, revealing --
A blue pill.
Not an illicit drug. A professionally produced medicine of some kind. A serial code on the side.
With the pill in one hand, Danny reaches into his pocket, taking out the American’s business card.
He appears to be weighing them in his hands.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. HALLWAY. NIGHT
Danny slips out, in silence.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING. COMMUNAL STAIRWAY. NIGHT
Danny heads up the stairs, towards the fire exit --
EXT. DANNY’S APARTMENT ROOFTOP. NIGHT
The rooftop view of Vauxhall. The park. The pubs. Looming over the area is the MI6 building.
A light snow falls.
Danny walks to the ledge. Highly visible from every direction. Directly facing the MI6 building.
He pulls out the insurance business card and slowly - deliberately - rips it into the tiniest shreds, making sure his actions can be clearly seen.
He collects the fragments in his hands and raises them up - offering them to the heavens.
The wind catches them and they blow up, higher and higher, the paper merging with the snowflakes, disappearing into the night sky.
END OF EPISODE 2