See No Evil: The Moors Murders

All right, sweetie.

Oh, look, you brought her!

Oh, what's she called?

Angela Dawn.

- Oh, she's just gorgeous!

- I know.

Everyone says she looks like Dave,

but I reckon she looks like me.

Moby!

Oh. I'll see you after.

- He's lovely.

- I'll see you in a minute.

What a lovely surprise!

I promised the girls

that I'd pop back with the baby.

Sod the other girls!

They're not her auntie. I want her.

There you go.

Oh, you get bonnier by the day.

Don't you, my little Angela Dawn?

Eh? Ooh, eh?

Have you no care at all about the reputation

of this company, Miss Hindley?

You of all people

should know that the word "consignment"

contains a letter G.

And it's no' there.

I do apologise, Mr Brady.

Retype it, please.

Of course,

Mr Brady.

Ssh! Ssh.

- Ian.

- Maureen.

So, where's the father?

In the Tap Room in the Steelworks'

with his old man, I'll bet.

No, Dave's come over all responsible

since she was born. You wouldn't believe it.

You're right. I wouldn't.

He's scarce more than a kid himself.

No, honest,

he's taking fatherhood dead seriously.

I've just left him soaking nappies.

Good.

Erm...

Listen, erm...

Ian and I were only saying the other night,

it's about time you brought Dave round.

Give him a proper welcome to the family.

I mean... he and Ian are practically

brothers-in-law now and yet...

Well, they still hardly know each other.

Yeah. I'd love to come round.

Good. Good.

I don't see the point in going round

to Myra's.

She doesn't like me. As for Ian,

I can't make head nor bloody tail of him.

Dave, we agreed, we're making a new start

and that includes my mam and dad.

- Hiya, Mam.

- Hello, love.

- Hiya, Dad.

- You're late, aren't you?

I know. It's taken ages getting

her stuff together.

- You're sure you don't mind?

- Of course not. Any time.

- Ooh.

- Hello.

Aaah. Give her to me.

I don't think we should leave her.

Oh, come on, of course you can.

Give her to me.

Come on, David. We're all family now.

Ooh, there you are.

Yeah.

She'll be fine.

You get off to Myra's.

Let's go.

- See you later.

- Ta-ra, love.

Ee! Ee.

Hey, come on, you. They won't bite.

- Hiya, Gran.

- Hello, Maureen, love.

- Are you all right?

- Yeah, fine. Fine, thanks.

- Gran's just going up, aren't you?

- Am I?

But she's only just come.

Yeah, and you're tired.

Come on. I'll bring you a cuppa

and a slice of bread and butter.

Hello.

Night, love. Nice to see you.

- Yeah, you, too.

Eh! Don't forget that. There you go.

- And how are you, buggalugs?

- All right.

Anyone fancy a drink?

Do the honours, Hessy, please.

Jawohl, Liebling.

All right, Ian?

All right, Maureen. How are you?

Good.

And how's the weather?

Not bad.

Good.

- And how is the little 'un?

- She's fine, thanks.

- You like dogs, do you?

- Yeah, I've got one.

I have a question for you.

Does a dog have a soul?

You what?

I said, does a dog have a soul?

We can agree that a dog

maybe has a personality.

So why not a soul?

Or maybe you think

the entire notion of a soul is trash.

Eh?

That dog is no more than a...

complex biological machine,

as are we, us, here now,

in this room.

And that, by extension,

the whole notion of a soul is shite.

Ergo.

The whole notion of God is, too.

Bloody hell, Neddie. You've confused him now.

Language, Hessy, please. Language.

That's rich coming from you.

Are you saying I'm a hypocrite?

Eh?

Then why,

why would I have started a swear box?

Eh?

I mean, standards have to be maintained.

Isn't that right, Maureen?

After all, we do share this house

with a respectable old lady.

Not to mention a f***ing budgie,

who must no', under any circumstances,

be encouraged to learn filth.

Pardon my French, Joey.

Oh, deary me.

That's me skint.

- How are you doing, Dave?

- Not bad, Ian.

So, yous got a job yet?

Well, no, but I'm seeing someone

next week, so, hopefully.

Eh, you, I thought you were coming

straight up.

Does a dog have a soul?

You daft bugger!

I've never met anyone like him.

I told you, Ian can be all right

when he wants to be.

Just got to get to know him a bit.

And what's all that Neddie/Hessy stuff?

Hessy! Hessy!

They're just nicknames.

Neddie is from The Goon Show

and Myra Hess is some famous piano player.

Never heard of her.

Yeah, well, Ian's into all that

kind of stuff.

Classical music. Jazz. Books.

So is Myra now.

I think he's been really good for her.

Opened her mind up to new things.

Not like me, then.

What do you mean?

What have I ever done for you?

Well, not much, really.

Apart from marrying me

and giving me the most beautiful baby

in the world.

Come on. Let's go up.

Does a dog have a soul?

Give over!

Ergo, the whole notion of God is shite.

Quick!

Look at that!

Take a picture, Hessy.

Eine andere Flasche, Hessy.

Jawohl, mein Herr.

- So, what do you think, Dave?

- I don't get it.

Dave!

It's lovely.

- I don't know what hills are for.

- It's wasted on him, Ian.

You'll be stuck in Gorton with him,

Mo, for the rest of your life.

Oh, no, he won't. Redevelopment.

The powers that be are going to raze

Gorton to the ground, son.

- But that's not for ages, is it?

- No.

Gran's just heard she's got to go next month.

Which obviously means Neddie and I, also.

Where to?

Hattersley.

The big estate

they're building in the Peak District?

There's lovely countryside all round.

They can't just knock Gorton down.

Deary me.

Is the boy getting emotional about his home?

Yeah, well, wouldn't you,

about where you're from?

You know nothing about where I'm from, son.

So, tell us. What's it like, Scotland?

Like this or what?

Some places, aye.

Others are a wee bit more urban.

There's not a loch or a bank...

...or a bonny brae in sight,

but, in those places,

a man may split another man's head open

for simply looking at him in the wrong way.

So, which part are you from, then, eh?

I have an acquaintance with both.

Why can't you just give a straight answer

to a straight question?

There's a wee thing called "privacy".

I'll thank you to respect mine.

Need a piss.

Yeah, me, too.

Stick the radio on, Mo.

I'm glad I'm seeing more of you again.

I hardly saw you at all

when you and Ian first got together.

Eh, we are sisters, Moby,

and nothing will ever get in the way of that.

Would that be that Mrs Reade, eh?

The lady whose daughter disappeared?

Yeah, Pauline.

Almost two years now.

That's her bedroom.

I often see her mam up there at night.

You must have known that lassie well.

Yeah.

So did Maureen and Myra.

The police said she'd met some lad

and run off with him.

What? You did nae believe that, eh?

She weren't that type of girl.

Yeah, right.

They're all that type of girl.

Eh! Come here.

Whoa.

Giddy-up!

Get in there!

Where are we, Maureen? Are we on Mars?

I think it's all right.

Careful, Maureen! Don't bump her.

- So, what do you think, then?

- Better than staying in Gorton.

Excuse the mess.

We've still not finished unpacking

properly yet.

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