The Broken Circle Breakdown

Ghent, June 2006

Round your arm.

Look at Mummy.

It'll feel a bit tight.

Keep still, sweetie.

Don't cry.

All done. All done.

Don't do that. It's all done now.

Right. The doctor will see you now.

And I'll stay with this little lady.

- Be good, eh?

Hello, little lady.

What's this?

- My rucksack.

No, it's a giant ladybird.

- It's a rucksack!

A giant ladybird!

Hello, doctor.

- Come in.

Can you watch on your own for a moment?

Mummy and Daddy are just popping out.

There's a good girl.

Can we agree on one thing?

We do our crying at home.

When we're in here we're positive, OK?

OK.

Come on.

Look at her.

She's fine.

- Yeah...

Isn't she?

We're going to shoot it dead tomorrow.

What are we going to do?

- Shoot the cancer dead.

Yes!

Yes!

Bump heads!

Go to sleep now, you silly sausage.

- That'll do.

7 years previously

Does all that belong to you?

- Yes.

Wow! Very nice!

- But it needs a lot of work done to it.

Still...

- So for now I sleep... there.

In that caravan?

You're a real cowboy after all!

- I do my best.

Is that horse yours too?

- Yes, that's Earl.

Chickens!

Is he bad-tempered?

- No, he's very sweet-natured.

J.D. Crowe and The New South.

Then the Tony Rice Unit.

Manzanita is definitely

my favourite CD ever.

He used to have a fantastic voice.

But he lost it.

It's such a shame.

I don't know how. Following an illness

or something. Or a bit too much whisky!

Why do you play the banjo?

I'm too stupid to play the guitar

and too dumb to play the mandolin.

No, no. I used to be a punk rocker

and a banjo sort of snarls,

which reminds me of punk rock.

I love it.

How come you've got so many tattoos?

Elise?

Hi, cowboy.

Seeing as you don't want a tattoo...

Do you like it?

Yes.

Good afternoon.

- Shhh, shhh.

Here we are with lunch.

She's just fallen asleep.

- The hospital has its set times.

Maybelle is ill!

- Sweetheart...

Ill!

- Sweetheart...

You could say something too, Didier.

- Say what? Eh? What?

Sorry.

Sorry.

Hey, Maybelle.

Sorry, sweetie.

Mummy shouldn't shout like that, eh?

Sorry.

Sorry.

- It's alright.

Now we're going to do our best to sit

very still. You'll feel a little prick.

Well done.

OK, ready?

That hurt.

You knew, eh? Who gave it to me?

- Your mummy.

Before that it belonged to

my mummy's mummy.

And before that to

my mummy's mummy's mummy.

And now I'm giving it to you.

Because I'm your mummy.

And when you're grown up,

you can give it to your little girl.

But until then I want you to hold on

tightly to it when you feel sad,

or when you're scared

or when you feel lonely.

Then close your eyes

and think of something nice.

Shall we give it a try?

Dirt-poor fortune-hunters

from all over the world

were there on the Appalachians,

on that slate

that was bloody difficult to mine.

The Spaniard had a guitar,

the Italian a mandolin,

the Jew a violin

and the African a banjar,

from which the banjo is descended.

To combat the hunger and the misery,

they started singing songs

about their dreams of a promised land,

often about their fear of dying,

their hope for a better life

in the hereafter

and their sorrow, their hard life.

Didier?

Didier?

Elise, can you come and help me,

sweetheart?

Where are you?

Didier?

What?

What's the matter?

Are you alright, sweetheart?

I'm pregnant.

Three months.

What?

Maybe I don't want that.

How did that happen?

How come...?

I... I've never been regular.

What do you think?

That I knew?

That I've tricked you into this?

Maybe I don't want to make decisions

about someone else's life.

I didn't know.

D'you expect us to carry on

living in that caravan with a baby?

Hello, Maybelle.

- Hello, doctor.

I love your face.

You can go home tomorrow.

- Yes!

Great, eh? But you have to

come back in a few weeks.

Like I told you, eh?

- Yes.

Then we can see

if Captain Chemo won the fight.

Thank you, doctor.

What are you?

- A tiger.

A tiger.

And what is Mummy?

- A butterfly.

What do tigers do?

What's that?

Can you hear what I can hear?

There's someone in our house.

Do you dare go and take a look?

Cos I don't. Go and see.

Are you going to go and see?

Well? Can you see anything?

Funny, aren't they?

I'm so pleased you're back.

- Welcome home.

That's beautiful!

Do you like it?

- Yes.

Go on.

- What?

Carry on.

Hey, darling.

- Yeah?

How about building a veranda

onto the front of the house?

A what? A veranda?

There's nothing more useless

than a veranda.

You never sit in it.

You bought some steak tartare.

But it'd be great, wouldn't it?

- A veranda is great.

Oh, come on, sweetheart.

In summer you go outside when it's hot

and in winter you stay indoors

by the stove.

But we live in Belgium,

where it's a bit too cold to sit outside

and a bit too hot to stay indoors.

You really bought some steak tartare?

That's not steak tartare!

- It's vegetarian. Nice, isn't it?

Bloody hell! Come on!

I don't like sitting in the wind

and neither does our baby.

So it's decided, you need a veranda.

OK, you'll get your veranda but this is

the last time you use that argument.

Thanks.

- What? It's only a veranda.

Well? Do you know what it is yet?

- A baby, I reckon.

But I can't be sure. With Didier being

such a stallion, it could be a foal.

Sh*t.

It's coming. My water has broken.

Keep calm. Sit down.

- No.

Keep calm, keep calm.

Elise has had the baby. It's a girl.

Yes, it's really...

Maybelle. Maybelle.

Yes, like Maybelle Carter.

You know nothing about names!

No, no. Hands down.

What's that?

What?

That's not a veranda, sweetheart.

- No... No, it's a "terranda".

The perfect combination of

a terrace and a veranda.

It's lovely. It's wonderful.

Thank you.

Go on. Go on. That's it!

Go on. That's it!

Look. Oh, watch out...

It is the worst terrorist attack

ever experienced by the United States...

Look, look.

Happy New Year!

Are you going to become a cowgirl too?

- Yes.

Daddy!

Put that down, Maybelle.

Give it to me, sweetie.

Don't cry.

Give it to me, sweetie.

Why is the birdie dead, Daddy?

Well, sweetie...

the birdie flew into the glass...

Birds don't know what glass is.

They think that

if they can see through it,

they can fly through it.

Not very clever of them, eh?

Where does the birdie go when it's dead?

We... We just have to throw it away now.

Eh, Maybelle?

We mustn't put it on the compost heap.

It's like a chicken,

it's got bones in it.

We'll throw it in the dustbin. Come on.

No, Daddy.

It's dirty, darling.

Give it to me, sweetie.

I'll throw it away for you, OK?

Do you want to throw it away?

Give it to me. Come on.

Come on. Give it to me.

Give it to me.

No!

Maybelle!

The chemo isn't working.

Her bone marrow is producing

abnormal white blood cells again.

Which isn't very good news, of course.

But, as we've already discussed,

we're not giving up yet.

We will simply move on to

the next stage in the treatment,

a stem cell transplant.

First, we will destroy

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