Disclaimer (2024) s01e05 Episode Script

1
- Hiya, Mum.
- Hello, poppet.
Thanks for letting me stay.
I really appreciate it.
How are you?
Oh, God. Everything's such a mess.
You know, with the builders and Robert.
Is Robert in America again?
Yeah. He's in America again.
Can I get you something to eat?
No, thanks. I'm not really hungry.
I feel a bit sick actually.
It's almost 8:00.
You should have something.
No, I think I'm getting a migraine.
Do you mind if I just--
Could I lie down for a bit?
I used to get headaches
when I was your age.
Yeah.
Your mother suffers from dementia.
Her notion of time and space
has lost any sense of linearity.
You can smell the peculiar merge of odors,
and the fake floral scents plugged in
to try and disguise them.
The smell of an old person's home.
You can't remember the last time
you slept on your mother's bed.
The same bed where your father once slept.
You think that if you manage to sleep,
you might be able to think more clearly.
Maybe start making sense
of what is happening to your life.
Thank you, Mum.
Tommy, Justin's ex-pupil,
helped me to bring Jonathan back to life.
He explained to me
that only old people use Facebook,
so we used the Instagram.
but nothing's happening.
Use the screen.
That's the keyboard. Touch screen.
I see.
The photos looked old,
but I've done some filtering.
I think they're looking all right.
This is remarkable.
Cheers. We should add some posts
about some of his favorite music, I think.
What's he listening to? You know?
No, I don't. Maybe Kylie Minogue.
Kylie. Yeah. Sexy.
We should add some other stuff as well.
Like Drake and Tyler, the Creator.
Post Malone. That sort of stuff.
I'll forward him
some of my posts, I think.
Sure. What about books?
Books?
He's 18, so I was thinking Demian.
Hermann Hesse.
Yeah. I've not heard of those.
Maybe Harry Potter,
but personally,
I wouldn't post about books.
You're the expert.
Yeah.
Now, we should work
on some of these comments.
I have kept Jonathan a teenager.
He is forever young,
forever on his gap year,
about to start at university.
Now our son has a future.
Robert is jealous of the dead young man
who had an affair with his wife
and saved his child.
He wonders how many times
Catherine has thought of this boy
when she has been with him.
How many times has she compared the sex?
Does she fake it with him?
Sometimes? Always?
Nicholas knows that he should be
helping his father to clear after supper,
but he doesn't want to.
He will go mad if his father keeps up
the cheery banter.
He knows that staying with him
won't be easy
but that it's worth it.
He's saving money.
He knows his father can't smell
the smoke drifting down,
but even if he could,
he doubts he'd say anything.
His father would be afraid
of breaking their special bond.
He figures that something
must be going on with his parents.
Earlier that evening,
he'd felt sorry for his mother,
and he can't remember
ever feeling sorry for her.
Seeing her leave that way
reminded him of when he was little,
and she used to go away for work.
And later, when she got home,
she'd fuss around him,
telling him she'd missed him so much.
He used to ignore her for days
because it never felt real.
Nighty.
Night.
You off to work tomorrow?
Yeah.
- Early?
- Late.
So I'll see you at dinner then.
Yeah.
Night then.
Night.
His parents know nothing about him.
You study your mother's face
and figure this is how she will look
when she's dead.
You're overwhelmed
with the sadness of things lost.
Your childhood
and your own child's childhood.
Your mother's strength
and your belief that you had
absorbed that strength into your bones,
that your mother's love had given you
the strength to overcome anything.
You know that your mother's name is Helen,
and that Helen must have suffered
anguish, loneliness and pain.
But you don't really know about it
because for you,
Helen has always been Mum.
Mum.
Mum, something's happened.
I'm not here because of the builders.
You probably don't remember,
but years ago
was about twenty years ago actually.
'Cause Nick was five.
We went on a holiday to Italy,
and, you know, I was really looking
You tell your mother everything
you have not been able to tell Robert.
All of it.
Your shame and your guilt.
Throughout, your mother is silent,
and you wonder if she can hear anything,
if what you are telling her
will slip into her dreams
and then she'll remember some of it.
- Yo.
- Looking for Elvis.
- Who are you?
- I'm Nicholas. Been here before.
All right.
- What'll it be?
- Two nickels.
If you're staying,
it'll be an extra fiver.
I get 15, don't I?
- Yeah, 'cause I laid a piece.
- Come on, son.
Chop-chop.
Nicholas had only been
in this place a couple of times before.
He doesn't want to make a habit of this,
and he is certain
that he is managing it very well.
Just a little something now and again
to soften the edges,
but never too much.
You revealed everything
while your mother snored peacefully.
And by the end, you felt drained,
and you relaxed into a deep sleep.
Verbalizing your story
was like prodding the core
of a malignant tumor
that had caused you so much pain.
And now, you understand, also to others.
I arrived early that morning,
before her office opened,
and waited for the Asian girl to arrive.
I think there's something going on.
She must have been a subordinate.
I'd seen her walking out
with Catherine Ravenscroft,
acting clearly honored
by having been invited to lunch with her.
I feel today was--
Excuse me. Miss, excuse me.
Sorry. You--
You-- You work with Catherine Ravenscroft,
- don't you?
- Yes.
Might I just borrow a minute of your time?
You can drop the packages at reception.
Oh, no, no, no, no. This is
about a rather important matter.
You can go ahead. And your name is?
Oh, yes.
Sorry.
Yeah, my name is Stephen Brigstocke.
My name is Jisoo Kim.
Why don't you come with me upstairs
so we can have a chat, Mr. Brigstocke?
Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
I'd rather stay here.
Okay. Why don't you
take a seat there then?
Fine.
You're sure
she won't be coming in anytime soon?
Catherine?
No, she called. She's not coming in today.
There she is. Hey, Jisoo.
How you doing? You all right?
- You know that email
- Good. Yes.
I sent you I wanted to show Catherine?
You done that yet?
- Can I have a minute please?
- Sorry.
- You're in the middle of something.
- Yeah.
How are you doing? You okay?
- But listen, it's really important.
- I know, I know.
So if you can sort that out
for me today, I'd love it.
Ambition has a stench
that is impossible to hide,
and Jisoo Kim reeked of it.
She had sniffed the opportunity
to dig out a great story
to snatch her career-making moment.
Clearly, she had worked closely
with Catherine Ravenscroft for a long time
because she tried on me Catherine's tricks
to making people open up.
So, what is this about, Mr. Brigstocke?
This is difficult.
I don't know if I should be here.
You're safe here.
You can talk to me.
Or if you prefer, I can give you my number
and you can call me anytime.
Catherine Ravenscroft
has been harassing me.
I'm sorry, Mr. Brigstocke.
Could you please elaborate?
She keeps on threatening me.
Why is she threatening you?
Because of what I wrote.
What did you write, Mr. Brigstocke?
A book?
Are you a writer, Mr. Brigstocke?
No, but I had to tell the world the truth.
I published it myself, with my own money,
under a pseudonym.
I brought copies for you and your staff.
The world needs to know
who Catherine Ravenscroft really is.
She keeps trying to prevent me
from distributing it.
That is terrible.
I'm sorry to hear this.
She has left threatening messages
on my answering machine.
But why is Catherine trying to
prevent your book coming to light?
Because it tells what happened years ago.
What is it that happened years ago,
Mr. Brigstocke? Can you tell me?
She was involved with someone,
and when he became inconvenient
she let him die.
That is awful.
- But how did she--
- I should go. She--
What if she--
She--
It's all there, in the book.
- No. Please wait.
- Yes, I really should go. Bye.
Can you please tell me?
Mr. Brigstocke! Stephen?
How delicious, predictable
and pathetic it was
to witness Catherine Ravenscroft's
closest allies and admirers so eager
to turn on her at the slightest chance.
Your head replays
your nighttime confession to your mother.
You wonder if any of what you said
has filtered through.
That morning,
your mother didn't say anything,
and you are moved by the thought
that she knows and doesn't judge you.
Nicholas's plan was
to be awake and dressed
when his father went down for breakfast.
He couldn't wake up.
It doesn't matter though.
He knows that if his father asks,
he will invent some story,
and that he'll believe it.
- Hello.
- Nicholas. Hi, how are you?
Fine. What do you want?
I was just online, and I saw
that they were publishing a book
with all of those comics
that you used to read.
Do you remember? Hellboy?
Yeah, I was just wondering,
do you want me to pick you up a copy?
- Nah.
- You sure?
I think it looks really cool actually.
Don't want it. Busy, gotta go.
Yes, I know. I know you are.
Okay, bye.
- Look, sorry. Nick. Wait.
- What?
You don't remember
going on a trip together to Italy
- when you were little?
- Wait.
- What?
- Oh, yeah, that's all right.
You don't remember,
we took a holiday to Italy
when you were little?
- Nah.
- You were about five.
- Don't remember?
- Don't remember.
You know, you had an inflatable boat,
- and your favorite swimming outfit.
- Fuck's sake.
Will you and Dad stop
with this bloody trip?
So, wha-- Has Dad talked to you
about it, sweetheart?
I don't have time for this.
I've got important stuff to do. Bye.
Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, da--
Sorry.
When I heard that bing, my heart stopped.
I'd never received a notification before.
The fish had bitten.
It surely hit the bait hard.
I needed to strike softly, very softly.
I never understood
the new generation's obsession
with reducing words to initials.
Thankfully, Tommy had left
a glossary of terms for my use.
He also told me no full stops,
no commas, or question marks.
Traveling.
Nicholas had never traveled
across the USA.
Two years before,
his father had to travel to Los Angeles
for a conference on human rights law
and had taken him along.
They spent five days there,
and they visited Universal Studios
and Disneyland together.
From the fake, I wish 'em well
This song already was turnt
But here's a bell
Nicholas likes
the sense of respect and admiration
that he commands over the young stranger
he has just met online.
Morning, Jodie.
Morning.
Hi.
Cathy, we need to talk.
Yes, of course.
Stephen Brigstocke came in.
He brought in the books.
- What? He was here?
- This book.
The thing is, Jisoo came to me
because she didn't know what else to do.
And she told me that you asked her
- to drop the story about Mr. Brigstocke.
- Yeah.
I'm just wondering
why you were so keen to kill it off.
Look, it has nothing to do with you.
But I think it does.
I mean, I wish that it didn't,
but when a junior member of the team
comes to me asking for advice,
it becomes my business.
A junior member of the team, Simon?
Come on.
You told Jisoo he was a pedophile
- and asked her to track him down.
- I--
And once she'd done that,
you told her to forget all about it.
I'm just-- I'm wondering why you did that.
I don't have to explain myself to you
or you, Jisoo.
This is a personal matter,
and it has absolutely nothing to do
with work.
Then why did you ask me
to get his address and telephone number?
- I don't have to explain myself to you.
- Yes, you do.
Okay. Here's the thing.
I don't know what's in this book.
I haven't had time to read it yet,
but a man you had been investigating
as a pedophile
turns up here with a book he has written,
and he tells Jisoo
that you are part of the story,
that you are in this book,
and that you harassed him, threatened him.
I mean, what's in this book, anyway?
- Jisoo--
- Some kind of confession?
- You're a liar.
- What?
I never once said he was a pedophile.
- I asked you-- No, no.
- No! No, no! You didn't correct me.
find the contact details
for Stephen Brigstocke
- It's all right.
- I'm the liar?
that was it. I'm sorry, I asked you
because I trusted you.
Stop. Don't take this out on Jisoo. She's
not the one who needs to defend herself.
You're enjoying this, aren't you?
No, I mean, we could have
had this conversation in the meeting room,
but you wanted everyone
to watch this charade.
- Cathy--
- It's Catherine.
This is a situation
that you created, okay?
- You've not been honest with us.
- Okay.
And that worries me.
I mean, it jeopardizes the reputation
- of the whole team.
- Yes!
This company's built on its integrity.
Who do you think you are?
Mr. Brigstocke came to us
because he was frightened.
You lied to Jisoo.
You used her to get his address
and his telephone number
and then left threatening messages
on his answer machine.
- Cathy--
- Get your hands off me.
He is the one stalking me, all right?
He is the one threatening me.
If he is threatening you,
why haven't you contacted the police?
Because it is private.
Can't you get that through your head?
All right. Listen.
Just to try to stay calm, all right--
Don't you dare tell me to stay calm!
You have no right
- to ask me about any of this.
- Listen to me.
- Cathy-- No, listen to me.
- No, no!
- Do I ask you about your personal life?
- That's not important.
- No. What drugs you've taken?
- Stop it. Enough!
- What sites you've visited?
- Look, clearly
- you're very upset.
- Yes, I am upset.
But I think whatever it is
that you're covering up,
I'm sure it would be better
if you just came clean about it.
Get your fucking hands off me.
Shit!
You shouldn't have done that.
Cathy, what are you gonna say about this?
That-- You asked for it.
My name is Catherine!
You are so canceled, Catherine.
- Are you okay, Simon?
- Yeah.
- She just went for him.
- Went for him.
What a psycho.
- Watch where you're going.
- Sorry.
Nicholas had been chatting
with Jonathan for most of the day.
He was eager to talk
and to give his advice,
and he thought that Jonathan
hung on his every word.
It was touching how he opened up to him.
Poor sod.
Dribbling out his sorry tales
to a boy six years his junior,
who had been dead for nearly 20 years.
My teaching days had taught me
to spot the boys
with the black hole at their center.
There was a time when I might
have felt something for that boy.
Once, I might even have tried to help him.
But Nicholas was not a boy.
He was a 25-year-old man.
And however much he bragged
to my 19-year-old self,
he couldn't hide
his shivering, shrinking soul
from a man with my experience.
He was desperate. Desperate to talk.
It was time to begin reeling.
I started making him wait for me.
Just ten minutes or so, to keep him keen.
fucking hands off me.
You shouldn't have done that.
What do you want me to say?
You deserved it.
You know that your reputation is at stake.
For years, your credibility has been
what has kept you going.
Now, you see the likelihood
of having to endure public shaming.
You will never again be
the person they thought you were.
But for you, right now,
the only thing that matters
is to protect Nicholas,
to keep him out of this situation.
Nicholas has given Jonathan
his full attention.
He feels he's only a kid
and looks up to him,
hanging on his every word.
They have a lot in common,
even considering the age difference.
Jonathan has even read the only book
Nicholas has picked up in years.
Why?
Ha, ha, ha.
What you think?
Right.
Hello? Mr. Brigstocke.
Would you please open the door?
It's Catherine Ravenscroft.
Open the door, please.
We need to talk.
Please. I know you're in there.
My husband's left me
and I'll probably be fired from my job.
You've won. Do you hear me? You've won.
The least you can do is look me in the eye
and listen to what I have to say.
Stephen.
Please open the door.
I know you're there.
I need you to listen to me.
I have a right to be heard.
This has to stop.
Nothing you do to me or my family
is gonna bring your son back.
You have reached 020 7946 0534.
Neither Stephen nor Nancy are here
to respond to this call,
but if you would please leave a message
with the date, time,
and your telephone number,
we'll try to get back to you.
Have a nice day.
- Yes, it's me.
- Yes, it's me.
- I want to talk about Jonathan.
- I want to talk about Jonathan.
- Look, I know you have my number.
- Look, I know you have my number.
- So, call me
- So, call me.
and speak this time.
She wanted me to listen.
She wanted to talk.
She said that she had something to say.
Well, it was too late for that.
But the snake was getting closer.
It was time to wrap things neatly.
The fish was ready to be landed.
It was time for the final thrust.
The poor sod
had opened his heart to Jonathan,
but it was I who had marched in.
It wouldn't take much to
nudge this feeble specimen to the brink.
All I needed was to feed his darkness
and lead him to a point of no return
then leave him there,
teetering on the edge.
how the mother left her child alone
in the sea?
She didn't want Jonathan to risk his life.
Was her lust for Jonathan
greater than her love for her child?
What the fuck?
young man
who saved the little boy in the book?
I'm sending you some photographs.
Check them against pages
of The Perfect Stranger.
There was no going back.
I was on a mission.
There was no chance of him
failing to recognize her or himself.
No child should have to see
their mother like that.
But it had to be done.
Fuck.
I felt as if I had stuffed
a kitten into a sack
and dropped it in a river.
I could hear it mewing,
but there was nothing I could do
to save it.
Sink or swim, it was up to him.
I could have stayed in the kitchen
and waited for an answer,
but I had to go.
I had an important dinner to attend.
There. Excellent. There we go.
- Hi, Catherine.
- Hi, Aleena.
- There we go. Under here now.
- You all right, Mum?
You're drenched.
- Yeah.
- That's better, isn't it?
- Gosh, this carpet needs a nice, good--
- So I am.
Do you know
what you should have, Catherine?
A nice warm cuppa.
I'll make you a cup of coffee
- or a cup of tea if you like.
- No, no, no. I'll do it.
Now, you gonna have tea
or you gonna have coffee?
- There he is.
- There he is.
Helen, you like him, don't you?
Must be that time of year.
The images of his mother
having sex with a 19-year-old boy
has deeply troubled Nicholas.
But the image that disturbs him the most
is that of the red and yellow dinghy
bouncing off the edge of the world.
Fucking hate you!
He knows that he had been saved
when he should have been lost.
He imagines a different story
for his mother.
That of a tragic heroine who
lost her only child in an accident at sea.
She would have made
a full recovery from that loss.
She would have played that part well.
It would have suited her better
than being the mother
of a low-key, low energy,
underachieving worthless shit.
Yo!
Nicholas.
You all right?
Yes.
Clean yourself up, mate.
Robert Ravenscroft
had become quite a pest,
leaving messages on the site
for The Perfect Stranger.
He was desperate to make up
for lost time, desperate to meet us.
He believed we were still us.
Still Mr. and Mrs. Brigstocke.
First, I had no interest in meeting him,
but then I saw
that I could dig the dagger deeper,
shove it further once it was inside.
The place reeked
of businessmen and politicians.
Mr. Brigstocke, I am so sorry
to keep you waiting.
It's a pleasure.
Beg your pardon.
No, no. It's not your fault.
It's arthritis.
It was good while it lasted.
Thank you so, so much for coming.
I was hoping
Mrs. Brigstocke might join us.
Sadly, my wife died some years ago,
Mr. Ravenscroft.
I am so very sorry.
Please, will you call me Robert?
Excuse me, gentlemen.
Glass of champagne? Kir Royale?
I read the book, and I--
I want to make clear
that the way my wife behaved was pitiful.
Absolutely pitiful.
Jonathan was our only child.
Nancy never recovered from his loss.
Dreadful.
All Nancy wanted was to meet your son.
To see that our son's giving his life
was for something,
for your little boy to breathe and grow.
Your wife wouldn't allow it.
She threatened my Nancy
if she ever tried to contact her again.
To set the record straight,
I believe that my wife's actions,
both past and present,
are absolute-- absolutely unforgivable.
It's clear to me that she behaved
with a completely shameful cruelty,
and you should know
that we are no longer living together.
Very sorry to hear that. I--
And I'm sorry for any pain and shock
that sending you the book
and photographs must have caused you.
No, don't be. I'm actually
relieved to finally know the truth.
It's been so many years.
Well
Thank you, Mr. Ravenscroft.
All I--
All I want now, all I--
All I hope for is some--
some form of reconciliation,
some forgiveness,
for Nicholas and myself.
You see, like you and your family,
we too have suffered
from my wife's awful cruelty.
Of course, Mr. Ravenscroft.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Of course.
He's a pitiful, poor man.
I think he was well aware
that he's only an incidental character
in this story.
And now, he'd joined the ranks
against his own wife.
Nick?
Nicholas, darling, what's wrong?
Nicholas.
Nick, talk to me.
Where are you?
Shit.
God.
Welcome to the O2 messaging service.
The person you are call--
Oh, God. No, don't do this.
Don't do this to me.
Welcome to the O2 messaging service.
The person you are calling is unable to--
I hate you! You f--
Nicholas doesn't want to move.
He just needs to close his eyes.
He never wants to leave this place.
This is where he knows
he can be his best self.