Le Week-End Page #3

the whole collapse.

I understand it, apparently.

Who am I to disagree?

Hey, listen...

We're having a little

thing tomorrow.

I'd love it if the two

of you could come along.

- I don't know.

- I think we're free.

You are? That's great. May I?

May I write a little something?

Seriously, Nick, this

must be synchronicity.

We gotta catch up on so many

things. Thank you, Meg.

Mmm. There's so much to talk about.

There is?

- Thanks.

- Eight o'clock.

You can be unfashionably on

time for once in your life.

Wow!

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, oh, my God!

Nick... Burrows!

Rue de Rivoli. Wow!

We were at Cambridge together.

Haven't you got his

book by the bed?

Possibly.

You read it twice and said it was a

bad day for the English language.

It was very well received.

It was a sensation.

He was in the year below me.

I introduced him to everybody.

What happened?

Life happened.

That's mine.

- Give it to me!

- No.

You're gonna get gum disease!

Yeah, I'll give you gum disease.

- Ow!

- Give it to me!

Oh, sorry.

Blood.

Show me your breasts.

Are you sleeping?

Awaiting your noises.

What are you thinking?

Should I have had the creme brule

instead of the poires belle Hlene?

It'll be my dying thought.

- Would it be okay...

- Mmm?

for me to briefly mount you...

Mmm-hmm.

and soon after ejaculate

a miniscule amount?

I'm dropping off.

Nick?

Nick?

Nick?

What is it? What's happened?

I thought you'd gone.

Wasn't that what you wanted?

Hold me.

I've got you, darling.

I've got you.

- I thought you'd gone.

- It's all right, it's all right.

I've got you. I've got you.

I never read short stories

in the papers at home.

It's good.

- Bonjour.

- Bonjour, madame.

Over here?

You know, Morgan seems

to really like you.

He wasn't joking. He really

does want to see you.

Why?

What have I got that he

could possibly want?

Me, for a start.

- Oh.

- Couldn't he help you?

- I like your collage.

- You do?

Yeah, it looks great.

- You look great.

- Thanks.

You've always had

elegance and grace.

You've always had class.

Thank you!

Well?

Well... Thanks.

- What about me?

- What about you, what?

Have I got class?

What?

I want to do the ultimate

Cambridge novel.

God!

Beginning in the '70s.

Orgies, drugs, work, kids,

divorce,

multiple sclerosis,

assisted death...

I'd rather stick

pins in my breasts.

Haven't you got any

less tired ideas?

Don't put me down.

Mistress Realism, you used

to call me. You liked that.

Up to a point.

What are you doing?

Come on. Take what you want.

You can cut out the pictures.

I'll pay.

Be kind, don't look.

Every time I take off my knickers,

I think there's going to be an eclipse.

I love to look at you.

Slightly chubby in places

now. Voluptuous.

I don't want to be f***ing

chubby in places. Any places.

I thought you'd like

to be appreciated.

Well, I am.

The other day, I'll have

you know, a young man,

not entirely retarded,

tried to pick me up in Waterstones.

Doesn't surprise me. You're hot.

Thank you.

Hot but cold.

Our generation was

into weird living:

Communes,

vegetarianism,

lesbianism.

Nothing straight where possible.

But I'm glad we got married. That's why

I wanted to celebrate this weekend.

It's the commitment...

The sacrifice of other

pleasures that makes it work.

You're terrified.

- Of what?

- Being left alone.

You follow me round the house like

a child with a popped balloon.

You really are becoming more

self-obsessed, Nick. It's getting worse.

Some people brag about

their ability to be alone.

But I've started to feel a sort

of physical dread of desertion.

Oh, come on!

Why doesn't anybody

want my company?

Do you like the shoes?

Do I please you, monsieur?

Tell me who you bought

those shoes for.

What do you mean? You know who.

Who, for me?

For you? For me, you idiot.

I've decided to give

up everything I like.

- Why?

- It's a discipline,

the only advantage of masochism.

I want to stop desiring

things which are impossible.

You won't like this, then.

What?

What?

Get down.

Look.

Can you see?

Let me smell you.

Please... Just a sniff.

You're a naughty dog.

Get ready while I put my dress on.

Haven't got any...

Anything to get ready in.

Stay here, then, and

write your masterpiece.

Just leave it, like Jack does.

I wouldn't rely on him

in matters of the head.

You envied him.

You made sure he had

more of you than I did.

He was the child. Now you

want him back in the house.

You can't let anyone go.

I haven't seen this

since I read Gramsci

and contemplated kidnapping

a captain of industry.

This is the last time I save you.

What?

On the room, madame?

Always on the room.

It's my new mantra.

"On the room."

Everything on the room.

I think I'm gonna ask Morgan to help you

get your philosophy book published.

I'm not ready to start that.

What's so amusing?

You are always about to write a book

or about to decorate the bathroom

or about to tell me something which

will alter our lives forever.

But you know what you are?

A potential Nobel laureate?

You are the postman

who never knocks.

And you know why that is?

Please, darling, lighten

my burden of ignorance.

I'm not sure you've got any balls.

When we met, you were part

of the feminist Taliban

and you insisted I contact

my feminine side.

Have I not contacted

it sufficiently?

Contacted it?

You practically married it.

Perhaps one day I'll

be as tall and manly

and as nifty with

Microsoft Word as Melik.

Melik.

The computer guy? Melik?

Yes, Melik.

Well? Are you going to admit it?

Admit what?

Your lover.

Yes?

That kid?

That bald, sweaty nerd

in a badly-fitting T-shirt?

Are you having a nervous breakdown?

Admit it.

How many times do you expect me to

believe your bloody laptop can go wrong?

Admit it!

You're ill!

I saw how you were with him.

Tell me the truth.

You're an idiot. I've

had enough of you.

Meg, tell me the truth.

Have I ever lied to you? Ever?

What on earth was I thinking of,

depriving myself of love,

of sex, of male company,

to keep this pathetic thing going?

I thought you were

interested in someone else.

- It's me I want more of!

- Why? What for?

- I want to sell the house.

- What?

I'm to be thrown out

of my own home?

- Get a flat.

- I don't have an income.

Divorce happens to everyone now.

You went with a student!

Fifteen years ago. How could

you bring that up now?

Just as Jack was having all

those problems at school,

all you said was, "He'll be fine."

I was out of my mind with worry.

You couldn't believe

that any child of yours

could possibly have

anything wrong with him.

I was isolated. You

preferred the boys to me.

Do you blame me?

Meg. Meg...

If we go in there, our lives

will never be the same again.

Great! Let's hurry,

let's open the door.

In fact, why don't you stay out here

whingeing and complaining as usual?

I actually want to go to a party.

Come on, Meg!

Meg, please.

F***ing apologise!

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