The Boys Are Back

I don't know whether you've ever

seen a map of a person's mind.

Doctors sometimes draw maps

of other parts of you,

and your own map can become

intensely interesting,

but catch them trying to draw

a map of a child's mind,

which is not only confused,

but keeps going round all the time.

There are zigzag lines on it,

just like your temperature on a card,

and these are probably roads

in the island,

for the Neverland is always

more or less an island.

You idiot! What the hell

do you think you're doing?

No, it's okay. It's fine.

Get off the beach, you stupid moron!

What's your problem?

What do you think you're doing,

you clown?

Take it easy. Relax.

You're insane! Get that child off there!

- Right on!

- Yeah!

- Do you want to get wet?

- No! I don't want to!

You do. You love it.

Get off the windscreen,

you horrible little bug.

I wouldn't be the first to say

that life is a journey

that must be traveled

no matter how bad the road.

When Artie's mother was alive,

the place didn't look like this.

The house was just

so much more welcoming.

Everywhere you turned,

Katy was there,

in the smell of freshly-picked

rosemary in the kitchen,

the tomatoes from the garden,

the vase of flowers in the window.

We miss that now. We do miss that.

Stop washing your face?

Are you crazy?

"...for Neverland

is always more or less an island,

"with astonishing splashes of color

here and there,

"and coral reefs

and rakish-looking craft in the offing."

Do you want to try reading

some of that yourself?

- Where, Mum?

- Here.

"You could say of them

"that they have each other's noises..."

Noise...

- Nose.

- "...nose and so forth."

- That looks good, Mum.

- I hope I've made enough.

- Katy, he's here.

- Look, Artie, it's your long-lost father.

Daddy!

- Hello, stranger.

- Hey, you.

- Daddy!

- Hey, cheeky bum. Here's your pressie.

- Welcome home, mate.

- Digby.

- Good copy.

- You like the piece on Nadal?

- How was the old country?

- Same old Wimbledon.

Strawberries with lashings

of English rain.

- Hi.

- Good to see you.

- Hiya, Barbara.

- Hi.

You shouldn't have gone

to all this trouble just for me.

As if.

- That got my name on it, Tom?

- Branded it myself.

All right, kids, let's have

an Olympic race. Line up here.

On your markies,

get your car keys. Go!

- Go!

- Come back for sunscreen

...when you're done.

- Go, Eddie!

And so we lived

happily ever after.

- Come on, now.

- Gold, silver...

Now, you know that's not true,

don't you?

Is this okay?

- You look great.

- But?

- But what?

- There was a "but" in your voice.

- You don't like it?

- I do. It's just...

Just what?

Well, it's a little black number.

What can I say?

What does that mean?

- I like this one.

- For God's sake.

Are you saying

you want me to change?

- No.

- Then tell me you like this dress.

All right. I'll tell you I love the dress,

but only on the strict understanding

that you know

I'm not telling the truth, okay?

Just tell me what you think of the dress.

I love that dress. That dress is fantastic.

Thank you. At last.

It was very good. Very...

Just picture it.

- I just find it does capture it...

- Sounds great.

But, you know,

I think it would be fantastic...

Excuse me. Sorry, sorry. Hi.

Hi. How are you? How are you?

We're just going to grab some air.

Thank you. Nice to meet you.

- What was that?

- Oh, my God.

You just saved me

from the most boring man ever.

My God, you're beautiful.

In a slightly spooky kind of way.

Katy?

These will be safer with you.

I'm so sorry.

Don't be silly.

- She'll be fine. I know she'll be fine.

- How do you know?

Well, I know

she won't let this defeat her.

- What, you know she's immortal?

- No, I'm just saying...

Digby, she's sicker than sh*t.

The cancer has rooted in her bowel

and grown through her body

like Russian vine.

She's got two tumors in her intestine,

three in her liver,

which means

it's probably spread to her lungs.

You don't have a clue

what you're talking about.

I'm so sorry.

It's okay, sweetheart.

Gently.

Hey.

You know how Mummy's been getting

more and more tired

because she's been so ill?

We think that soon, she's going to go

into a very deep sleep.

A sleep so deep that we don't think

she's ever going to wake up again.

We think she's going to die.

When?

Soon.

Will Mummy die by dinner time?

I don't know.

Will she die by bedtime?

I don't know, sweetheart.

None of us knows.

Okay.

Katy?

Katy?

I'm making Artie's lunch.

The way he likes it.

It's the middle of the night.

What?

Artie's in bed, sweetheart. He's asleep.

Oh, no.

It's okay.

Did Mummy die last night?

Artie...

See? See? I told you. I told you.

What did you tell me?

I told you Mummy would die last night.

Oh, my baby. My baby.

My baby. My baby.

If you want to

leave a message for Felicity or Harry,

please speak after the tone.

Flick, it's Joe.

I guess it's about lunchtime there.

Listen, could you call me

as soon as you get the...

Dad?

- Harry?

- Hi.

I thought you'd be away at school.

Are you okay?

What is it you wanted to tell Mum?

Katy passed away

in the early hours of this morning.

I'm so sorry.

Could you tell your mother for me?

Of course.

Harry, can I call you back?

- Are you going to be okay?

- Yeah, of course I am.

I love you.

I love you, too. I miss you, Daddy.

- Daddy?

- Yes, sweetheart?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes