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Episode |
Eight |
Simon: Well, you had to meet her. Wouldn’t listen to me, would you? Went behind my back and dragged her here all the way from bleeding Italy. I worked hard to get her there in the first place, you know. And now she likes you. Thinks you’re ‘fabulous.’ Well, I don’t.
Ann: Oh, come on, Simon, don’t pout. She isn’t that bad. Admit it, you were pleased to see her.
Simon: And Luigi! What a gem he is! I’m surprised the two of them didn’t end up in hospital, no, in jail, on drink-driving charges. I mean was the man ever sober?
Ann: You know, I’m not sure. I don’t think I saw him without a glass in his hand the whole time he was here.
Simon: Glass? You mean bottle! He wiped out half the wine cellar in an evening! Image what he’ll do at the wedding!
Ann: Well, I am glad I met her. I just needed to see that part of you. You know, genetics means a lot these days.
Simon: Oh God. Between her and Dad, I’m surprised I haven’t got an extra head or something. The pair of them…
Ann: It’s a shame your Dad didn’t stay.
Simon: Are you nuts? They’d have killed each other in the first five minutes. If they didn’t, I’d have killed both of them. Oh Ann, what are we going to do about the wedding?
Ann: Well, we’ll just have to find your Dad a date.
Gary: Oh hello Suzanne. I really didn’t know you were here this weekend.
Suzanne: I came back early. Thought I’d pop in before going on to say good-bye to Peter.
Gary: Right. I mean, of course you would, after doing the love scenes and that I guess you do get close.
Suzanne: It’s acting, Gary. I think you should understand that.
Gary: Of course, acting. Look I’m sorry about the picture in the paper. That must have been when we took that weekend in Norfolk. I’ve no idea how they got hold of it.
Suzanne: The press. What can you do?
Gary: I know, and that was the photograph you used for the publicity shot as well!
Suzanne: Indeed.
Gary I don’t suppose you ever think of that weekend?
Suzanne: I remember it as one of the nicest I’ve ever had.
Gary: Really!
Suzanne: Let’s go to Peter’s farewell party, shall we?
Martin: I hope you’re proud of yourself. Your Gran was at her wit’s end last night. Thought they were going to throw you in the nick with that no-good Dad of yours. And you deserved no better, either.
John: Alright, granddad, alright. Do you have to shout?
Martin: I’ll bloody well shout if I want to! Who bailed you out, eh? Answer me that! And I haven’t heard so much as a thanks out of you yet!
John: Thanks.
Martin: Well, alright then. You’re welcome… You’re looking a bit poorly there, lad. You must have been pretty drunk.
John: I was. I don’t even remember leaving the Idiot. To be honest with you, I don’t remember much of anything except being pulled off the steeple and throwing up on Reverend Banks. I think it was his shoes.
Martin: Was Sergeant Archer who pulled you down. Woke the whole bleeding village, you did. What did you think you were going to accomplish, bellowing from a bell tower in the wee hours?
John: I don’t know. I feel like an idiot.
Martin: Well, you are. I don’t like to say it, but my grandson’s a half wit.
John: Granddad…
Martin: Now don’t go "granddadding" me. I’ll tell you something that you don’t want to hear, but it’s for your own good. She doesn’t want you. There’s nothing you can do about it, nothing at all.
John: But maybe if I…
Martin: You’re not listening to me lad. She doesn’t want you. And you don’t want her. Do you know why?
John: No.
Martin: Because there’s nothing in this life worse than being in love with a woman who doesn’t love you, who’s dreaming about someone else. Now I’m not saying that Emma knows what she wants, don’t really see her fancying old Nigel Banks forever, but it’s clear that she’s made up her mind and she doesn’t want you. Women today aren’t used to settling. They are used to getting what they want, and if they don’t, they’ll make you bloody miserable. So give her up. Move on.
John: What will I do without her?
Martin: Well, I can’t answer that. You’re a bright lad. The world is full of things to do. You’ll sort it out. Anyway, seems to me like you should start by going to bed. You look awful.
John: I feel worse.
Martin: Well, go on then.
John: Thanks, Granddad.
Reverend Banks: Is John around?
Ann: No, haven’t seen him. My guess is that he’s sleeping it off.
Reverend Banks: Well, could you ask him to phone me when he wakes up?
Ann: I doubt that will be high on his list, but yeah, I’ll give him the message.
Reverend Banks: Thanks. You know, I feel really quite silly about all this.
Ann: You? Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.
Reverend Banks: Well, I’ve…we’ve obviously upset him badly. Maybe we should have waited awhile. Let things cool off before we started dating.
Ann: Are you happy?
Reverend Banks: Yes. She’s a marvellous girl, you know.
Ann: Nigel, don’t let her hear you say that.
Reverend Banks: Why not?
Ann: To start with, she’ll bite your head off for calling her a girl. And marvellous? Well, it’s a bit dated, isn’t it?
Reverend Banks: Maybe so, but that’s what she is.
Simon: So, I’m secretive and insensitive, am I?
Ann: What?
Simon: You know what. You said that to Amy!
Ann: Oh, Simon, I’m sorry. I was trying to explain to her how meeting your mother has helped me…
Simon: To figure out what a git I am.
Ann: No. Not at all. You know I love you. It’s just that, well, you are secretive sometimes, and you yourself have joked about not being the most sensitive of men.
Simon: Give me one example of being secretive!
Ann: The fact that you’re still gambling but you haven’t told me.
Simon: Well…okay, there’s that. But I haven’t spent a lot of money. And we do have enough.
Ann: Right now this isn’t about your gambling, it’s about your secretiveness. Let’s stick to one thing at a time.
Simon: Okay, okay. I understand your concern. Was that sensitive enough?