Remainder Page #2

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And you know something else?

OK, you're going to love this.

She's my wife. That's something, innit?

But we haven't spoken in ages,

so... feel free to shag her.

But it's a bit weird her suddenly

turning up after all this time.

Where's she been this past year?

I don't think she's in Oxford.

She's a f***ing liar, mate.

- Why don't we call her?

- Leave me alone!

Hey! There's a queue here!

Hey, man... Hey man, what are you doing?

Open the door.

What the f*** are you doing in there?

What?

'Hello? Hello?

'Come on now!'

Come on! Hurry up!

For f***'s sake!

For f***'s sake!

Why are you always being like this?

You were nearly an hour in there. What...?

Just take it easy.

- Hey! Watch it, you twat!

- Oi, d*ckhead.

Hey, look! Dick Cheney!

'Hello, your call

cannot be taken at the moment,

'so please leave your message

after the tone.'

'Hey, man. It's Greg.

'Are you all right?

'What happened last night?

Have you become, like, rich and eccentric?

'Anyway, it's... it's Sunday afternoon

and I'm a bit worried about you.

'Give us a call, all right?

OK, ciao, amigo.'

Hey. I thought you'd be sleeping.

What happened to your head?

I banged into something.

What is this?

How was Oxford?

Oh, you know, pretty touristy.

But you went?

Sure I did.

I even took stupid pictures.

You want to see?

Look.

This is me on the quadrangle.

Uh, this is me at Christchurch Cathedral.

Me at Blackwell's bookshop.

And, voil, me again

at the Headington Shark.

- Who took the pictures?

- Oh, just someone I know.

Was it Greg?

No. No, just someone from the conference.

Look, there he is.

He's just an old friend.

Not really my type, you know.

University guy. A bit too predictable.

He asked you to marry him.

Yes!

How did you know? God, can you imagine?

We'd live in some country cottage

and eat shepherd's pie every Sunday.

I'd paint landscapes

and develop a drinking habit

and act all American and gauche

in front of his friends.

You know?

Stuck together, but barely communicating,

like characters in a...

- Uh...

- A Harold Pinter play.

Yes! Oh, sh*t! Let me clean that up.

We've had this conversation before.

Do you remember?

No, I don't.

Please, you're hurting me.

Come on. Do you remember?

No... I don't.

Don't stop.

Wait. I know who's calling.

We've been through this already.

Uh, no, it's not what you...

Give...

Get the f*** out of here.

Yes, I-I-I'm looking to buy a property.

No, t-t-the borough's not important,

but the building is very particular.

Old on the outside,

but 1980s on the inside,

and there's a sculpture of a woman...

Sorry? No.

It's not historical features I'm after,

it's very particular ones.

A red-brick facade. Cats on the roof

of the neighbouring building.

Of course you're not a pet shop,

but I-I-I'm just...

I'm trying to explain what I've seen.

Hello?

'I don't remember.'

Look, what's important is that

I can describe it and I have to find it.

Find it or make it.

Well, if, if you can't help me,

then who can?

Nazrul what?

Can you spell that?

Tell me, what sort of building

did you have in mind?

It's old.

It's a five-storey tenement house.

Red brick and white windows.

The tops of the windows have curves.

Inside it's like it's stuck in the '80s.

There's a bust...

hanging over the entrance,

and underneath there's a carving

that says, it says something like,

"Madison Gardens" or "Marilyn Mansion".

I have drawings at home, but... most

of the details haven't come to me yet.

Good. But tell me about the people

you're proposing to fill the building with.

Well, there's an old lady.

And she wears a head wrap.

- What, like a hijab?

- No, like a handkerchief.

Wisps of white hair, socks, slippers,

but she cooks liver constantly.

So, the smell of fried liver has to...

...waft up to my flat.

And she's also required

to deposit her rubbish

outside her flat whenever I leave mine.

And we exchange words.

I haven't worked them out yet.

Understood. Who's next?

Are you Muslim?

No. Are you?

No, I just... Erm... the hijab.

I'm not particularly fond of religion.

Neither am I.

Good. Who else lives in this house?

There's a pianist two floors below me.

And in the afternoons he teaches children,

but the rest of the time he composes.

And the sound of the piano

has to waft up to my flat,

just like the smell of fried liver.

There's also a boy I keep seeing.

When everything's right, he'll appear.

But I... I can't describe him now.

It seems like my colleagues have found

a match for your building already.

The interior may need gutting.

- But essentially...

- This is it.

Madlyn Mansions.

How did...? Where is this?

Where...? What's the address?

Is this a childhood home or...?

- What is it?

- How much do you charge?

- Well, there are several options.

- I want you full-time, all the time.

I'm not cheap.

I'll pay you in advance.

Waste of time. The little twat's not in.

- But maybe the suitcase is here.

- It's not.

I spent the whole of yesterday

looking for the bloody thing.

Stop f***ing doing that.

The last of the holdouts have left.

- Have the window people arrived?

- They're upstairs measuring.

- I thought the windows were done.

- They were.

The ones on the third floor have had

to come out to squeeze in the piano.

- We're two weeks behind schedule.

- Sir, you are a bit of a perfectionist.

If it wasn't for Nazrul,

it'd be two years behind schedule.

Is there anything else

you're not happy with?

- The cracks on the walls look contrived.

- What's that supposed to mean?

- The opposite of natural.

- I know what the word means, Naz!

But how can the bloody cracks

not looked contrived?

- For f***'s sake, we made them!

- I'd like to get the windows blocked.

- Yeah, I know. We'll use paper for that.

- And we need cameras.

And I want to get a security guard.

I'll make some calls, but first there's

something I'd like to show you upstairs.

That guy by the phone box,

I didn't realise he was so close.

- They loiter there every day. A problem?

- No.

No. It's good that they're there.

They look out for me.

- Why are the cats tied?

- They sometimes fight and fall.

We've lost five just this week.

Well, that's not how it should be.

Have them untied.

Hi, Sam. Could you untie the cats?

These are the last cats we have.

- And?

- Well, if they fall, we'll be catless.

What? Then we'll get more cats.

Why are we even talking about this?

Sam... untie the cats.

Our cat handler's just quit.

- F*** him.

- F*** her. Sam is a woman.

Are we having a problem, Naz?

Er, no.

Get a new handler.

And get rid of those cats.

We'll start from scratch

with unspoilt ones.

And if they fight, have them sedated

or castrated or whatever.

- You have to make mistakes.

- Sorry?

Go over the parts you got wrong

and play it again and again slowly

until you get it right.

In the day you teach children,

in the night you compose.

And when we're on,

you never leave the flat.

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