The Man Who Invented Christmas Page #7

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I can't.

The wrong fire

is burning in my head.

Oh, don't be daft. Now, come on,

your wife will be worried sick.

Who? Kate?

She doesn't understand me.

I've got news for you, Charles.

None of us understand you.

You're...

You're a freak of nature.

I'm exhausted spending

two hours in your company.

Come on, go home.

It's cold tonight, yeah?

I'll see you Friday.

Oh, she's a big lass And a bonny

lass And she likes her beer

[singing continues, faint]

[horn blows]

Here. Bye.

Put that one over there!

Boys!

This here

is Charley Dickens.

And what was you just telling me, lad?

About your dad?

My father

is a gentleman.

- [laughing]

- Where is he then?

- Dining with the queen?

- I heard he's been sent to prison.

Hush, you lot.

Get back to work!

Master Dickens.

No shirkin' here.

You're no better than us, cocker,

and you'd best learn that.

You.

What are you doing?

Hello, Charley, old boy.

Father?

What are you doing here?

Oh, I had some business that I had

to attend to, so I thought...

You just left town. What business

could you possibly have?

- Oh, I... [chuckles]

- What's that?

You're going

to sell this?

Well, it's no good to you,

is it?

Is that what

you've been doing?

Going through the rubbish like a

tramp, selling bits and pieces of me.

Is this your business?

- Aren't you ashamed?

- What?

I bought you a house.

I gave you an allowance.

What more can you

possibly need?

Need?

Oh, reason not the need.

- [shouting] You see me here, you gods?

- No. No. Shh. No.

- A poor old man!

- No! Shh! Stop it.

Charley, you don't know what it's

like to be poor, to be nothing.

At 11 years old

I was made to know.

Working 12 hours a day,

going hungry,

alone and afraid

because your father, who is

supposed to care for you,

is so utterly

thriftless!

No, please. [crying]

I beg you.

No, you are not

the victim here.

This is about me and your

family and all of us

who've lived our whole lives in

the shadow of your recklessness.

Charley...

[crying continues]

Go away. I am sickened

at the sight of you.

You are nothing but a drag

and chain upon my life.

I owe you nothing. Go!

Ah, Charley.

[sobs]

[door closes]

- [woman] Who's that then?

- [Scrooge] Nobody.

- The author.

- Huh.

No wonder he looks

so depressed.

Right. That's enough.

Back to work.

God bless us,

every one.

Why are you so miserable?

What else can I be, when I live

in such a world of fools as this?

- You mean-spirited, cynical...

- Oh, yes?

Well, you look

in the mirror sometime.

"Is that a new candle, Kate?"

"Your services

are no longer required."

- Ah, a hypocrite.

- [knocking]

[grunts]

- What?

- Pardon me, sir.

- Mrs. Dickens just wanted me to ask...

- This is intolerable.

- Mrs. Fisk! Mrs. Fisk!

- Yes, sir?

Take this child away from here and see that she

never disturbs me ever again. Do you hear?

Yes, sir.

Come with me, girl.

Oh, yes. Banish her.

Banish them all.

- Quiet!

- Humanity's great benefactor.

- Humbug!

- Shut it.

Or I'll make you bald,

with bad teeth.

Oh, yeah, go ahead.

It won't change a thing.

You still won't have an ending.

This is ridiculous.

You're all being ridiculous.

[shouting]

[angry shout]

If you be a man!

Come on then, coward!

Fight me!

You miserable old fool!

Fight me! Come on!

Tara.

- [door closes]

- Tara!

Has anybody seen Tara?

- She's gone.

- You asked Mrs. Fisk to send her away.

Well, go and search for her.

Find her.

Rehire her at once.

An Irish orphan in London? That would be

like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Come on, out. Come on,

children, off you go.

Quick sticks.

That's it.

Why didn't you

stop her?

How was I to know you didn't mean it?

You said...

I say a lot of things that are

nonsense when I'm working.

- Charles...

- You know how ideas take possession of me.

- You knew what I was like when you married me.

- Yes. I did.

But you have no idea

what it's like to live with you.

Always walking

on eggshells,

trying to guess your mood,

to know which of your commands are

a whim and which are in earnest.

You know, sometimes I...

I feel your characters

matter more to you

than your own flesh and blood.

I am who I am.

And who is that?

It's as if

there are two of you.

One who's kind and gentle,

and a secret self

that no one is allowed

to know or question.

[coughing]

[man] This here

is Charley Dickens.

What was it you was telling me,

lad, about your dad?

[young Charles]

My father is a gentleman.

[boys laughing]

[boy] Where is he then?

Dining with the queen?

[boy 2] I heard he's

been sent to prison!

[man] Hush, you lot! Where's your manners?

Get back to work.

Master Dickens.

[boy 3] Got a present

for the young gentleman,

seeing as it's Christmas.

[boys laughing]

[young Charles crying]

Blood of iron,

heart of ice.

[boy] You're no better

than us, cocker!

Hello, Charley.

So, this is

your miserable secret.

The famous author,

the inimitable Charles Dickens,

was once a scabby

little factory boy.

Leave me be.

A common bit of riffraff,

a squalid wretch.

No use to anyone!

[angry shouting]

[angry shout]

[chuckling] Look for yourself.

What do you see, huh?

A nothing. A nobody.

A debtor's son.

Who could ever care

for you?

Certainly not your father.

He abandoned you. [laughing]

Enough of that.

Stand up tall.

Blood of iron,

heart of ice.

[Scrooge]

He failed you again and again.

Oh!

You said so yourself.

Nothing but a drag and chain

upon your life.

Who are you? Huh?

You know me, Charley.

I'm hunger. I'm cold.

I'm darkness.

I'm the shadow on your thoughts,

the crack in your heart,

and the stain upon your soul.

And I will never,

ever leave you.

Go away.

Why? We're having such fun.

People don't change, Charley.

Look around you. You're

still the same scabby boy.

Useless,

just like your father.

No.

"No one is useless in this world who

lightens the burden of another."

My father

taught me that.

- [rumbling]

- [laughing]

Which grave is that?

- There's no name on it.

- Well, why should there be?

The man to whom

this grave belongs

never made himself useful

to anyone but himself.

No friends.

No family.

Never felt love or joy.

Never took any kind

of pleasure in life.

And now it's too late.

It's time, Mr. Scrooge.

We've come to the end.

I don't want to die.

Not like this...

alone,

unloved, forgotten.

It's too late.

No, it's never too late.

It's never...

It's never too late.

[rumbling]

I will honor Christmas

in my heart

and try to keep it

all the year.

I will live in the past,

the present, and the future.

The spirits of all three

will strive within me.

I will not shut out

the lessons that they teach.

Oh, please. I beg you.

Let me do some good...

before I die.

[rumbling stops]

So we come

to the final chapter.

Oh, I told you we'd do great

things together, Mr. Scrooge.

[bell tolling]

[gasping, laughing]

[laughing continues]

[pen tapping on inkwell]

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