Ballykissangel Episode 6.1
“God.com.”
Written by Kieran Prendiville
Transcribed by Julie Barrett
SCENE: THE RIVER ANGEL RUNS UNDER THE BRIDGE, AND THEN WE CUT TO EXT. STRETT, LOOKING DOWN TOWARDS FITZGERALD’S FROM THE POV OF THE GARDA HOUSE. A DOG RUNS ACROSS THE EMPTY STREET.
CUT TO: EXT. FITZGERALDS, DAY. A BICYCLE LEANS AGAINST THE BUILDING
CUT TO: INT. FITZGERALD’S CLOSE ON TELEVISION. THE SCENE ON THE TV SHOWS AN EXTERIOR, THE CUTS ON AN INTERIOR, WHERE A NERVOUS PRIEST FOLLOWS A COMELY BLONDE WOMAN INSIDE A ROOM..
PRIEST: Oh, please. We can’t do this. You know that.
THE ACCENTS ARE AUSTRALIAN
WOMAN: (TOSSES HER HAIR) What’s the matter, Father? Don’t you like me?
CUT TO: SITTING AT THE BAR, WE SEE LIAM, DONAL, FR. MAC, SIOBHAN, BRENDAN, PAUL, AND OONAGH, ALL WATCHING WITH VARIOUS LOOKS OF DISGUST AND ANTICIPATION. IT’S LIKE WATCHING A CAR WRECK. THEY CAN’T TURN AWAY EVEN THOUGH THEY WANT TO. SOME ARE THINKING THAT THERE IS AN AIR OF FAMILIARITY TO THE SCENE PLAYING OUT IN FRONT OF THEM.
THE CAMERA CUTS BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN THE PATRONS AND THE TV AS THE FOLLOWING PLAYS OUT:
PRIEST: You know I do. You know I can’t do this. It’s wrong.
LIAM: Ooohh…
WOMAN: Is it ‘cause I’m Jewish?
FR. MAC: Ay, yi, yi. (SHAKES HIS HEAD)
PRIEST: God, no. Absolutely not
WOMAN: How long are you going to fight this, Father? (SHE POKES SEDUCTIVELY AT HIS CHEST) Your whole life?
LIAM: Give it up, Father.
CUT TO: TV
OONAGH Shut up!
LOUIE: (MOST OF WHAT HE SAYS IS UNILTELLGIBLE) ?? me, Father, it might be this hot in the outback. Otherwise ?(very unintelligible)
DONAL LOOKS CONFUSED.
PAUL: Right, Louie.
PRIEST: This ain’t fair.
BRENDAN: You can say that again.
DONAL: Shut up
WOMAN: You fought the good fight, Father. No one can blame you now.
DONAL (OFF): Dead man walking.
TV CUTS TO CRUCIFIX ON WALL.
CUT TO INT. FITZGERALDS, CL ON DOOR AT ACCOMODATION END. A MAN (WE PRESUME) IN BLACK ENTERS THE DARK ROOM. THE CAMERA TILTS DOWN. WE SEE HIS DUSTY SHOES, BLACK PANTS, AND A LONG BLACK COAT. HE CARRIES A BAG. THE SOUND ON THE TV BUILDS TO A CRESCENDO AS HE WALKS IN. THE ENTIRE SHOT IS VERY REMINISCENT OF A CLASSIC SPAGHETTI WESTERN.
CUT TO TV. WOMAN LOOKS AT PRIEST.
LIAM (OFF): Go on…
CUT TO CL FRANKIE IN UNIFORM. SHE LOOKS OUT OF THE WINDOW AS SHE TAKES A SIP FROM HER WATER, THEN LOOKS DOWN AT THE TABLE, THEN OVER AT THE FIGURE, WHO HAS STOPPED NEXT TO HER. THE MUSIC ON THE TV BUILDS
WE HEAR DIALOGUE CUT BETWEEN THE TV AND OCCUPANTS OF THE BAR: Take your time…unbelievable…no one can help you now…
CUT TO LS LOOKING OVER SHOULDERS OF PATRONS TO TV. THE PRIEST AND THE WOMAN KISS. SEVERAL MEN IN THE BAR LET OUT A “YESSS!”
CUT BACK TO BAR PATRONS. FR. MAC, SIOBHAN, AND OONAGH LOOK DISGUSTED. AS FOR THE LIAM, DONAL, AND PAUL, A FOOTBALL ANNOUNCER MIGHT WELL HAVE JUST SCREAMED, “GOAL!” THEY’RE SLAPPING HANDS AND YELLING “YES!”
CUT TO: TV. CL OF HEAD OF CHRIST ON CRUCIFIX, EMPHASIZING HIS PAIN. TV CUTS TO PRIEST AND WOMAN FALLING INTO BED. CREDITS ROLL.
SIOBHAN SHAKES HER HEAD. OONAGH POINTS THE REMOTE AT THE TV AND SWITCHES IT OFF.
PAUL: Oonagh!
FR. MAC: Well, there it is. That’s Australian’s for you.
VINCENT: (OFF): Not quite, Father. (CUT TO CL VINCENT. UNDERNEATH THE COAT WE SEE THE CLERICAL COLLAR) She’d have brought down a bishop, don’t you think.
EVERYONE TURNS TO SEE THE SOURCE OF THE COMMENT. FR. MAC GETS DOWN FROM HIS STOOL AND WALKS ACROSS TO VINCENT, WHO EXTENDS HIS HAND.
VINCENT: Vincent Sheahan.
CUT TO: HANDSHAKE. PAST THEIR HANDS, FRANKIE LOOKS DOWN IN DISAPPOINTMENT.
VINCENT: By the way, she does bring down a bishop. I saw it back home.
EVERYONE: Oh.
FR. MAC: (DRYLY) Really?
CUT TO: FRANKIE. SHE IS CLEARLY NOT PLEASED.
FRANKIE: Waiter…
FRANKIE: (LOOKS DOWN AT TABLE) There’s a priest in my soup.
WE SEE THAT THE BELT FROM VINCENT’S COAT HAS TRAILED INTO HER SOUP BOWL.
VINCENT JUMPS BACK, EMBARRASSED.
VINCENT: Oh, God.
FRANKIE: That’s all right, Father. As long as you’re truly sorry. (AS SHE WALKS AWAY, WE HEAR THE STRAINS OF SPAGHETTI WESTERN MUSIC. SHE TURNS TO FR. MAC ON HER WAY OUT THE DOOR.) Father.
VINCENT SMILES SHEEPISHLY.
ROLL CREDITS
TITLE GOD.COM APPEARS AS VINCENT HANGS A CRUCIFIX ON THE WALL OF AN INT. ROOM. CUT TO FR. MAC.
FR. MAC: You’re not here to find yourself Father, are you?
WE SEE THAT VINCENT IS UNPACKING
VINCENT: Finding Ballykissangel was hard enough.
FR. MAC: Then what are you doing here, so far from home?
VINCENT: I just do what I’m told, Father.
FR. MAC REGISTERS A LOOK OF DISAPPROVAL. WHERE HAS HE HEARD THIS BEFORE? THE TELPHONE RINGS, FR. MAC CROSSES OVER TO ANSWER IT.
FR. MAC: Ballykissangel presbytery. (PAUSE) No. Hang on. (TO VINCENT)It’s for you. The local TV want to know if you can do an interview about what it’s like to be an Australian priest in County Wicklow. (THE DISTATE IN HIS VOICE IS EVIDENT)
VINCENT: I don’t know what it’s like.
FR. MAC: He says he hopes he will not have a free waking moment except to serve his God and his parish priest. No, he’s far too busy. You too. Bye.
VINCENT: I think I can probably manage now, Father.
FR. MAC: Just think of me…as a guardian angel.
FR. MAC EXITS THE ROOM, LEAVING VINCENT WITH HIS MOUTH HANGING OPEN.
CUT TO EXT COASTLINE. WE SEE A CRAGGY ROCK. THE CAMERA MOVES TO FIND LIAM AND DONAL WALKING INTO VIEW.
LIAM: All that place up there is like Holland, you know. So half of it’s reclaimed from the sea.
WE SEE THAT LIAM AND DONAL ARE CARRYING BUCKETS AND LARGE SHOVELS.
DONAL: Oh, it’s terrible, yeah
LIAM: It’s like playing in a bog.
DONAL: Oh, God.
LIAM: And so the lady said, ‘Look lads, we understand your problem, but either you sort out the drainage, or you find another bark (?).’
DONAL: So, where do the worms come in?
LIAM: The worms come in to sort out the drainage. They dump thousands of them onto the pitch, so that they burrow down and make holes in the ground and soak up the water. It’s like a big, wriggly sponge.
DONAL: Did it work?
LIAM: No, the worms drowned.
THEY BOTH LAUGH. AS THEY WALK ON TO THE ROCKY COASTLINE, THE CAMERA DROPS DOWN TO SEE A PILE OF CLOTHES NEATLY FOLDED ON THE SHORT. ON THE TOP IS BRIAN QUIGLEY’S DISTINCTIVE HAT. BOTH MEN STARE. WE HEAR THE SURF CRASH IN THE BG AS LIAM AND DONAL LOOK AROUND, PERHAPS EXPECTING TO FIND QUIGLEY STANDING THERE.
LIAM: I don’t think so, Donal. Not Quigley.
THEY BOTH LOOK AT THE CLOTHES AS THE SURF BEGINS TO WASH AROUND THE PILE.
CUT TO INT. ST. JOSEPH’S. THE CAMERA MOVES UP FROM THE FLOOR AS FR. VINCENT WALKS UP THE AISLE FROM THE ALTAR. PRESUMABLY, THIS IS HIS FIRST TIME INSIDE THE CHURCH. HE TURNS, FACES THE ALTAR, AND SMILES IN SATISFACTION.
CUT TO EXT. CHURCH, TIGHT ON SIGN: “WEEKDAY MASS 8.30 AM CONFESSIONS THURS 2-4 & SAT. 6-8 PM”
WE SEE BRENDAN, WALKING HIS BIKE IN FRONT OF THE CHURCH, ALONG THE IRON FENCE.
BRENDAN: How’s it going, Father?
VINCENT: How can anybody commit four hours of sin in a place like this?
CUT TO BRENDAN, WHO STOPS.
BRENDAN: Well, you haven’t met the bold Brian Quigley. And you never know when a passing cleric might want to articulate a confession instead of listening to one.
VINCENT: (LAUGHS) I was just kidding. So what happened to the last fellow?
BRENDAN: Aidan? Ah, he didn’t think he made a difference. He did, but it was hard to tell.
VINCENT: So who is this Brian Quigley?
BRENDAN: Brian Quigley. Have you time?
VINCENT PURSES HIS LIPS AND SHRUGS. CLEARLY, BRIAN QUIGLEY IS ONE EXASPERATING PERSON, HE THINKS.
BRENDAN: You know how a shark has to keep moving?
VINCENT: Uh-huh.
BRENDAN: Brian Quigley has to keep making money. He’s a shark as well.
BRENDAN: See ya, Father.
CUT TO WATER LAPPING ON SHORE. THE CAMERA MOVES TO LIAM AND DONAL LOOKING AT THE PILE OF CLOTHES. FRANKIE JOINS FROM THE RIGHT, AND MOVES AROUND TO THE SIDE.
FRANKIE: And you’re sure you haven’t touched anything?
MS LIAM AND DONAL
LIAM: I’d say not.
FRANKIE LOOKS DOWN, AT THE PILE OF CLOTHING. SHE THEN LOOKS OVER AT THE TWO MEN, THEN UP TO THE SKY AND SIGHS.
CUT TO INT. FITZGERALD’S OONAGH IS SETTING CONDIMENTS ON TABLES. THE DOOR BURSTS OPEN AND GRANNIE RUNS PAST.
GRAINNE: Hi, Mummy!
OONAGH: Hi, honey, how was it?
GRAINNE: Oh, you know, the usual. Cleaning out the stables.
OONAGH MAKES A FACE AND GUESTURE TO INDICATE HER DAUGHTER DOES SMELL OF THE STABLES.
OONAGH: Now that you mention it…Hold on a second!
OONAH: Those boots (CUT TO CL OF NEW RIDING BOOTS) I don’t remember…
GRAINNE: Oh, no, I got them yesterday, in Cilldargan
OONAGH: With what? Did your father…
GRIANNE: (PROTESTING) No Mummy, with my own wages, of course. You don’t think I muck out the horses for free, do you?
OONAGH: No, I suppose not.
CUT EXT. BEACH. CL BRIAN’S CLOTHES. THE CAMERA MOVES UP TO SHOW FRANKIE, GINGERLY LIFTING BRIAN’S HAT.
LIAM: (CLEARS HIS THROAT) Frankie.
BACK TO FRANKIE, WHO LOOKS UP. BACK TO LIAM AND DONAL. LIAM NODS BEHND HIM, AND WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS. THE MEN TURN, AND THE CAMERA PULLS BACK TO SHOW TWO MEN, OBVIOUSLY PROFESSIONALS. ONE HAS SHORT BLOND HAIR AND WEARS A SUIT, THE OTHER DARK HAIR THAT FALLS WELL BELOW HIS COLLAR AND WEARS A JACKET AND NO TIE. THE FIRST MAN SPEAKS.
HACKETT: Detective Inspector Hackett. This is Detective Sergeant Lopez out of Cilldargan. (HE FLASHES HIS ID AND PUTS IT BACK IN HIS POCKET.
FRANKIE: Gard Sullivan, sir
THE DETECTIVES PAY NO ATTENTION TO HER, AND TURN TO LIAM AND DONAL.
HACKETT: Who are you?
LIAM: Ah, we did it.
LIAM NODS. CUT TO HACKETT, WHO LOOKS AT FRANKIE AS IF TO SAY, “AND WHY ARE THEY NOT IN CUSTODY?”
HACKETT: What:
FRANKIE: They called me. They found Mr. Quigley’s clothes.
DONAL: We work for him.
LOPEZ: You think you still do, do you?
FRANKIE: The thing is, sir, I’m not sure if…
HACKETT: That’s all right, Garda Mulligan we’ll take it from here.
FRANKIE: (SEETHING) Sullivan.
LOPEZ: (RISES TO FACE FRANKIE AND SMILES CONDESCENDINGLY) Yeah. We’ll take it from here.
FRANKIE IS NOT AMUSED. SHE TURNS AND WALKS AWAY. LOPEZ SMILES TO HIMSELF, THEN TURNS BACK TO THE REST OF THE MEN. CLEARLY, THEY DON’T SEE THAT A SMALL TOWN GARDA IS FIT FOR THEIR KIND OF POLICE WORK. I’LL BET THEY USE PHRASES LIKE “IT’S ALL GONE A BIT PEAR SHAPED,” TOO! AS LOPEZ TURNS TO FACE THE OTHERS, LIAM AND DONAL WALK BACK TO PICK UP THEIR SHOVELS.
HACKETT: Hey, where do you think you’re going?
CUT TO INT. GRAINNE’S ROOM. SHE’S ON THE BED, POLISHING HER BOOTS. WE SEE DERMOT BEYOND HER.
DERMOT: (AGITATED) Grainne, will you cut form (?) will ya? I told you don’t throw it around.
GRAINNE: I’m not throwing it around. It’s only a pair of boots.
DERMONT: Only a pair of boots?!? (Some person) doesn’t have a pair like that!
GRAINNE: I don’t wish to discuss it.
CUT TO EXT CHURCH. VINCENT EXITS THROUGH THE GATES. WE HEAR A CAR DOOR CLOSE:
REPORTER: Father!
(WE SEE WOMAN RUNNING FROM VAN. VAN SAYS “??ETH EYEWITNESS NEWS)
REPORTER: Father, hold on!
REPORTER: Do you have a moment?
VINCENT: Guys, I’ve only been here five minutes.
REPORTER RUNS UP, FOLLOWED BY A CAMERA AND SOUND MAN
REPORTER: Ah, go on. (SHE GRABS THE MICROPHONE AND PRIMPS HER HAIR) I’m Sinead. (SHE LOOKS AT CAMERA AND ASKS CAMERAMAN) Are we ready?
CAMERAMAN: Yeah.
VINCENT LOOKS SLIGHTLY PEEVED
REPORTER: Father, uh…
VINCENT: Sheahan.
REPORTER: Father Sheahan. You say you’ve only been here five minutes.
VINCENT: Uh, I, uh… (WHAT THE HECK, HE FLASHES THAT SMILE ESPECIALLY DESIGNED TO CHARM THE LADIES AND MELT THE HEART OF EVEN THE MOST ICE-BOUND SHOPKEEPER.) Yes. (HE LAUGHS NERVOUSLY)
REPORTER: You’re a fast worker
VINCENT: (OBVIOUSLY CONFUSED) I’m sorry?
REPORTER: You’re Australian, yes?
VINCENT: (GROWING MORE NERVOUS) Ah yes, yes I am, yes. (FLASHES THE SMILE AGAIN. IT DOESN’T SEEM TO BE GETTING ANYWHERE WITH THE REPORTER.)
REPORTER: So this Ballykissangel confessional web site, is this an Australian idea?
VINCENT LOOKS CONFUSED INDEED.
VINCENT: Is what?
REPORTER: Guiltgone.com. Your one stop confessional mailbox.
VINCENT: (THE SMILE IS GONE, REPLACED BY A VISAGE OF UTTER CONFUSION) My, uh, one stop what?
REPORTER: Post your sins, praise the Lord? Is that MasterCard, or VISA?
VINCENT: Oh. (HE TRIES TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT, AND GESTURES IN THE DIRECTION OF THE CHURCH). I believe we had a confessional with a fax machine at one time. (LAUGHS NERVOUSLY)
REPORTER: Air conditioning and leather upholstery. I know, I saw it.
VINCENT NODS.
VINCENT: Not that. (UH-OH.)
REPORTER: No.
VINCENT: No, uh... Apparently there’s a fax machine at the Wailing Wall. (HE SMILES NERVOUSLY)
REPORTER: Imagine. Can we stick with the web site?
VINCENT: Okay. Have you tried it?
REPORTER: Well I’ve seen it, obviously.
VINCENT: And it hears your confession.
REPORTER: Like I’m going to tell it mine.
VINCENT: Well, you can tell me.
REPORTER: (AH, A CHINK IN HER PROFESSIONAL ARMOR!) Father, can we…
VINCENT: Sinead, I’m stalling because I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ah, what can I tell ya? (THERE GOES THAT SMILE AGAIN, WHICH THE REPORTER TRIES TO RETURN IN KIND.)
REPORTER: Well, you can tell me what you think.
VINCENT: Think? Well, uh, I don’t know what to think. A confessional web site? I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. (SHE SMILES AND SAYS NOTHING) What?
REPORTER: What’s an Australian priest like you doing in a town like this?
VINCENT: (AFTER A PAUSE) Cutting a tragic figure. Uh, excuse me.
HE LEAVES THE REPORTER AND ONLOOKERS SHAKING THEIR HEADS.
CUT TO EXT. SHORE. THE CAMERA TILTS UP FROM THE PEBBLED SHORE, LOOKS OUT OVER THE WATER, THEN PANS LEFT TO THE ROCKY COASTLINE. IT TRACES THE SUMMIT OF A ROCK AND STOPS TO PICK UP A FIGURE IN THE DISTANCE, WALKING OVER THE CREST AND INTO VIEW. CUT TO CL FR. MAC, SHAKING IS HEAD IN DISBELIEF. HE LETS OUT A SAD SIGH.
CUT TO INT. HENDLEY’S KATHLEEN PULLS A CANDY BAR FROM A SHELF.
KATHLEEN: Gards will investigate? (SHE TURNS AND HANDS THE CANDY BAR TO BRENDAN. SIOBHAN ENTERS THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR.) I don’t need more of both. (?)
BRENDAN STICKS THE CANDY BAR IN HIS POCKET AND SPEAKS WITH DISBELIEF.
BRENDAN: Brian Quigley.
SIOBHAN: Ya heard.
WE HEAR THE CHIRP OF KATHLEENS TILL AND SHE TURNS BACK TO HER CUSTOMERS.
BRENDAN: He wouldn’t do that, would he? (KATHLEEN NODS, KNOWINGLY, BRIAN TURNS DEFENSIVE) What?
SIOBHAN: He wouldn’t do what, Brendan?
BRENDAN: He does have a bonk, hasn’t he? That’s what he’s on, isn’t he Siobhan?
SIOBHAN: I don’t know. I hope so. Any garlic there, Kathlen?
THE VET TURNS AWAY AND WALKS PAST BRENDAN, WHO SHAKES HIS HEAD.
CUT TO INT. FITZGERALD’S. OONAGH IS CLEANING TABLES, WHILE PAUL SWEEPS UP.
PAUL: I mean, even if he’s only done a runner… (OONAGH LOOKS AT HER HUSBAND IN SURPRISE) You know what he’s done, don’t you? He’s taken off with someone.
OONAH: Now come on, a floozy?
PAUL: Well, he’s a man, he’s got juices. All right, he’ll have to go to Cilldargan..
OONAGH: Paul, will you stop? This is about money.
PAUL: We make money. We keep an orderly house. Look, worst case: Let’s say he takes off owing money. (HIS WIFE LOOKS AT HIM INCREDULOUSLY) Let’s say we get a new landlord. Why would we get rid of us? We’re the best there is. (SMILES REASSURINGLY, BUT SHE DOESN’T BUY IT.) All right. You’re the best there is. (HE GIVES HER A HUG.) God, a man has to work hard around here! (THEY LAUGH. OONAGH EXITS TO THE KITCHEN, AND PAUL THEN SHOWS HIS WORRY.)
CUT TO. EXT. RECTORY. A GARD CAR IS PARKED OUTSIDE.
FRANKIE: But you were close to him, Father.
THE TWO OF THEM WALK OUT ONTO THE PORCH FR. MAC IS DRESSED CASUALLY – FOR HIM – IN HIS BLACK SWEATER AND HIS COLLAR IS OFF. FRANKIE IS IN UNIFORM
FR. MAC: I hope I still am.
FRANKIE: Oh, so you’re expecting that he might…
FR. MAC: Try… Will you stop? I have no idea where what happened to him.
WE HEAR A CAR PULL UP. FRANKIE LOOKS UP TO SEE A DARK CAR.
FRANKIE: Did he have any enemies?
FR. MAC: Garda Sullivan, look at me: Does he have any enemies?
HACKETT: A little bit out of your jurisdiction, Garda, wouldn’t you say?
LOPEZ: Or out of your league, anyway?
FR MAC DOES NOT TAKE A SHINE TO THESE YOUNG MEN, IT IS OBVIOUS.
FRANKIE: I was just asking…
FR. MAC: (CUTTING FRANKIE OFF) Parish matters. (HE LOOKS AT FRANKIE SIGNIFICANTLY) We’ll speak later, Garda.
FRANKIE: Father.
FRANKIE TURNS TO THE CAR, AND GLANCES AT LOPEZ. THE DETECTIVE SERGEANT LOOKS BACK, SUPPRESSING A GIGGLE.
FR. MAC: And you are?
LOPEZ: Detective Sergeant Lopez.
CL ON HIS WARRANT CARD, WHICH HE HAS HELD UP FOR FR. MAC TO SEE. THE FIRST NAME ON THE CARD IS MALACHY. DATE ISSUED: 16/08/00. THE PICTURE SHOWS LOPEZ SPORTING A DECIDEDLY UNATTRACTIVE MOUSTACH.. FR. MAC REGARDS THE ID.
FR. MAC: Oh, dear.
LOPEZ: Something you want to tell us, Father?
FR. MAC: No, the photograph.
FR. MAC LAUGHS, THE TWO OFFICERS SHOW THEIR DISPLEASURE. FRANKIE STARTS HER CAR IN BG. ONE CAN ONLY HOPE SHE WITNESSED THE EXCHANGE.
HACKETT: This is a serious matter, Father MacNally.
FR. MAC: I know.
CUT TO EXT ROAD. THREE PEOPLE ON HORSBACK RIDE AROUND THE BEND AND INTO THE SHOT. CUT TO LIAM AND DONAL. DONAL IS CARRYING A LADDER. WE SEE AVRIL’S TRUCK IN THE BG. CUT TO AVRIL, WHO RIDES UP ON A WHITE HORSE THE OTHERS FOLLOW. LIAM AND DONAL MAKE LIKE THEY’RE WORKING AT A DOOR AVRIL DISMOUNTS AND TAKES THE REINS IN HER HAND.
AVRIL: How’s it going, men?
LAIM: No problem. Is this for a dog we’re fixing?
DONAL: (GUESTURES AT NAME PAINTED ON DOOR) The Cat.
AVRIL: The Cat.
LIAM: Oh, right. Why The Cat?
AVRIL: Because she does her own thing, don’t you, girl? You don’t mind us. Come on.
LIAM: What form is she?
AVRIL: What form? She couldn’t beat an egg. (LAUGHS AND PETS HORSE) Once was enough for you, isn’t it, girl? You want to hear the gory details?
LIAM: (NODDING) Go on.
AVRIL: She nearly kicked the stalls down before blowing up in a five-furlong maiden at Clanmell (sp?) She took off through the car park, left a horse shoe print in an XJS and dumped her breakfast all over the sponsor’s picnic.
LIAM: (LAUGHING) Give her a shout, then?
AVRIL: She still the most honest horse in the yard, aren’t you? Will do the race, but she’s a great hack.
AVRIL LEAVES THE STABLE.
DONAL: (NOT LOOKING UP FROM REPAIRING A HINGE) Only one way to follow a horse properly, and that’s with a bucket and shovel. (THEY LAUGH)
AVRIL: And the (something) speaks truth? (LIAM LAUGHS) Oh. Sorry about your boss.
LIAM: Sorry for who?
AVRIL: Excuse me?
LIAM: No offense, Mrs., but whatever happened to Mr. Quigley, will be in Mr. Quigley’s best interests.
LIAM JUMPS DOWN, AND AVRIL WALKS AWAY.
CUT TO EXT. ROADSIDE ON A HILL OVERLOOKING BALLYKISSASNGEL. BRENDAN SITS NEXT TO THE TOP A LADDER THAT STRADDLES A STONE WALL, THINKING. HE LOOKS OVER THE TOWN BELOW, AND WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS. BRENDAN LOOKS UP TO SEE VINCENT, IN CLERICAL SUIT.
VINCENT: Brendan.
BRENDAN: Leaving town already?
VINCENT: Hounded out by the media.
BRENDAN: You what?
VINCENT SHAKES HIS HEAD.
VINCENT: Ah…
THE PRIEST CLIMBS THE WALL, PAYING NO ATTENTION TO THE LADDER. BRENDAN WATCHES AS VINCENT PERCHES HIMSELF ATOP THE STONES. VINCENT SMILES, AS THOUGH HE WERE SURPRISED HE COULD DO THAT.
VINCENT: Anything I can do?
BRENDAN BURSTS OUT LAUGHING.
VINCENT: What?
BRENDAN: In don’t want to upset you, but the way it works, we come to you.
VINCENT: (SMILING) Well, you’re here now.
BRENDAN TWITCHES AN EYEBROW AND LOOKS OVER THE TOWN.
VINCENT: Oh, it’s none of my business.
BRENDAN: Brian’s gone missing.
VINCENT: I heard the talk.
BRENDAN: It must be some kind of scam.
VINCENT: Maybe not out of character?
BRENDAN: (CHANGING THE SUBJECT) So you were looking for me, were you?
VINCENT: Does your school have a computer?
BRENDAN NODS, WONDERING WHAT HE’S ABOUT TO GET INTO.
CUT TO INT. HEADMASTER’S OFFICE. BRENDAN IS TYPING AWAY AT THE COMPUTER, AND VINCENT IS PACING, DICTATING.
VINCENT: w-w-w dot guiltgone
BRENDAN: guilt gone
WE SEE BRENDAN TYPING IT INTO A SEARCH ENGINE.
VINCENT: One word, dot com, that’s it.
WE HEAR BREND HIT THE ENTER KEY, AND A BEEP AS IF THE SEARCH ENGINE HAS COMPLETED THE TASK. VINCENT LEANS OVER BRENDAN’S SHOULDER. CUT TO MONITOR. WE SEE THE WORLDS GUILTGONE.COM UNDER A HALO. “WE.COME TO THE BALLYKISSANGEL CONFESSIONAL MAILBOX. WHATEVER YOU NOW CONFESS IS BETWEEN YOU AND GOD. NO ONE ELSE WILL KNOW! BLESS ME FATHER IT HAS BEEN [A FORM BLANK] WEEKS SINCE MY LAST CONFESSION.” TWO FORM FIELS ARE LABELED “NAME” AND “YOUR CONFESSION” AN ANIMATED PICTURE OF A POND SURROUNDED BY LILIES POPS INTO VIEW. AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SCREEN IS “THE GUILT STOPS HERE!” AND A CONTINUE BUTTON. WE HEAR ANGELIC MUSIC.
VINCENT: Whatever you now confess is between you and God. Confess to who?
CAMERA TIGHT ON “BLESS ME FATHER, IT HAS BEEN [BLANK] WEEKS SINCE MY LAST CONFESSION” WE SEE THE WORD “WEEKS” IS BLINKING
VINCENT: (READING) Bless me Father, it has been blank weeks since my last confession. (TO BRENDAN, WHO IS NERVOUSLY TWIRLING A PEN IN HIS RIGHT HAND) Well go on, how long?
BRENDAN: Father, if you don’t mind…
VINCENT: (URGING) Go on, Brendan.
BRENDAN TYPES IN THE NUMBER 2 AND WE HEAR A BEEP.
VINCENT: Go for it.
BRENDAN: You go first.
VINCENT: Come on, any old thing. Just see what happens. You’re way quicker than I am.
BRENDAN LOOKS UP AT VINCENT, WHO NODS. BRENDAN PAUSES AND BEGINS TO TYPE, THEN PAUSES.
BRENDAN: Nothing’s happening.
VINCENT: There you are. Like it says, it’s between you and God. Come on, give the big man something to chew on.
THEY SMILE AT EACH OTHER.
BRENDAN: Why not?
HE PUTS HIS PEN BETWEEN HIS TEETH, LAUGHS, AND BEGINS TYPING IN EARNEST.
BRENDAN: Now what?
VINCENT: I don’t know. Press Enter, I suppose.
HE REACHES OVER AND PRESSES THE ENTER KEY. THE NEXT PAGE SHOWS THE GUILTGONE.COM LOGO, A PICTURE OF “GOD”, AND A SILHOUETTE OF A PIREST HEARING CONFESSION. A ROUND BUTTON NEXT TO THE WORD “ACCEPT” BLINKS, AND THEY SEE WORDS START TO POP UP IN A FORM BOX.
VINCENT: Uh-oh.
BRENDAN: That’s not supposed to happen.
CUT TO: INT. DERMOT’S ROOM. HE LOOKS IN SURPRISE AT SOMETHING.
DERMOT: Oh, Janey Mac (I think that’s what he says)
CUT TO CL OF SCREEN. WE SEE WORDS POPPING UP ON A FORM FIELD ON GUILTGONE.COM PAGE.
FR. MAC: (OVER, READING THE TEXT, IGNORING A RINGING TELEPHONE) And instead of handing to the church £20, which had been collected by my class…
VINCENT: (OVER) …for the orphans and dispossessed children of the (?).
VINCENT LOOKS AT BRENDAN, WHO WINCES. CUT BACK TO CL OF WORDS FORMING ON SCREEN.
FR. MAC: (OVER) I put it on a horse called the Cat.
CUT BACK TO VINCENT, READING FROM SCREEN.
VINCENT: Brendan of Ballykissangel. (TO BRENDAN) What did you want to write that for?
BRENDAN: (ANGRY) I thought I was writing a confidential letter.
VINCENT: Ah, right. God doesn’t know who you are.
BRENDAN: Well, I suppose He does. Then again, he knows what I’m thinking. In which case, there wouldn’t seem much point in giving confession at all, would there?
VINCENT: I’ve often thought that. That was a pretty low blow with the £20.
BRENDAN: (TENSELY) I gave it back.
VINCENT SMILES, AND THE TELEPHONE IN THE HEADMASTER’S OFFICER RINGS. THEY BOTH LOOK AT EACH OTHER SIGNIFICANTLY. THE TIMING IS SUSPICIOUS. VINCENT ANSWERS.
VINCENT: Hello? Father Mac.
BRENDAN LETS OUT AN EXASPERATED SIGH. HE BEGINS TO TWIRL THE PEN FURIOUSLY
VINCENT: No, no. I was just here looking for him myself. You bet.
CUT TO INT. WE SEE A PAIR OF HANDS TYPING AWAY AT THE KEYBOARD. THEY LOOK LIKE THE HANDS OF A CHILD. WE LEARN IT IS DERMOT. HE PRESSES THE ENTER KEY. CUT TO HIS MONITOR. WE SEE THE CONFESSION BOX PAGE FROM GUILTGONE.COM.
CUT TO INT. HEADMASTER’S OFFICE. VINCENT AND BRENDAN WATCH THE SCREEN.
VINCENT: There ya are, mate – absolution!
WE HEAR ANGELIC MUSIC, THEN THE CAMERA CUTS TO BRENDAN’S MONITOR. (HE USES INTERNET EXPLORER) WE SEE GOLDEN CHERUBS SURROUNDING THE GUILTGONE.COM LOGO AND: “ANY DONATIONS THAT WE MAY CONTINUE GOD’S WORK TO: GUILTGONE LTD. DORGAN’S FARM, BEALOUGHBEAN, BALLYKISSANGEL, IRELAND.
VINCENT: (READING) GuiltGone, Ltd. Dargan’s farm, Bil..Bellyeah..
BRENDAN: Blay-loc-bean
VINCENT: Know where that is?
BRENDAN: Sure, I do. That’s old Louie’s place. But it’s derelict. He only uses that as a shepherds hut.
CUT TO EXT. ROAD. A RED CLASSIC 70’S MUSCLE CAR (WIF 570) PULLS UP TO A FARM GATE. BRENDAN EMERGFES FROM THE PASSENGER SIDE. THE DRIVER IS VINCENT. THIS MUST BE HIS CAR. THE TWO MEN WALK UP TO THE HOUSE.
BRENDAN: Guiltgone.com
VINCENT: I don’t’ think so.
CUT TO INT. ABANDONED HOUSE. BRENDAN ENTERS, FOLLOWED BY VINCENT. THE LOOK AROUND. WE HEAR A LOUD BLEAT, FOLLOWED BY A SHEEP BOLTING THROUGH THE ROOM. BRENDAN GRABS HOLD OF A HANGING ROPE FOR SUPPORT AS HE TURNS IN SHOCK. VINCENT TURNS AND SMILES.
BRENDAN: What was that?
VINCENT LAUGHS
BRENDAN: What?
VINCENT: Aw, nothing. I was just thinking that it’s a long way from Waga (sp?)
BRENDAN SMILES. THEY GOTH LAUGH AND EXIT THE BUILDING.
BRENDAN: Maybe they meant (unintelligible perhaps Over the Mill?).
VINCENT: Eh?
BRENDAN: Where Louie lives now.
VINCENT: The address was pretty clear.
THE MEN WALK TO THE GATE AND LEAN THEIR HANDS ON IT.
BRENDAN: Well, let’s ask him.
VINCENT: Nah. This makes sense.
VINCENT OPENS THE GATE, AND BOTH MEN EXIT. THEY GET INTO VINCENT’S CAR AND BUCKLE UP.
VINCENT: Can we dummy up on this? Just for now?
BRENDAN NODS ASSENT.
CUT TO INT. DERMOT’S ROOM. AS THE CAMERA PANS ACROSS TO HIM, WE HEAR FURIOUS TYPING. DERMOT IS COPYING FROM A BIBLE. GRAINNE WALKS IN, DRESSED IN PAJAMAS AND A BATHROBE, FILING HER NAILS.
DERMOT: I’m busy.
GRAINNE: The price just went up.
DERMOT: What?
GRAINNE: I’m going to a party, and I have nothing to wear.
DERMOT. Go on. How much money do you think I’m making out of this?
GRAINNE: You do all right.
DERMOT: You’re killing me, here.
GRAINNE TURNS AND EXITS. CUT TO INT. FITZGERALD’S. OONAGH IS BEHIND THE BAR. SITTING ARE BRENDAN, SIOBHAN, FRANKIE (IN CIVVIES), LIAM, AND DONAL. DR. RYAN IS STANDING BETWEEN FRANKIE AND LIAM.
RYAN: Oonagh, we know Niamh, and whatever happened to Brian, there’s no way she’d see you and your family out on the street.
PAUL MOVES BEHIND THE GROUP AT THE BAR, COLLECTING GLASSES.
PAUL: Siobhan, you tell her.
SIOBHAN: Well, of course she wouldn’t.
DONAL: She might not have a choice.
SIOBHAN: Donal, would you ever go and take a running jump...
LIAM: (INTERRUPTS) What are ya gettin’ on to him, for? He’s only saying what you’ve all been thinking. There’s music to be faced.
FRAKIE: (ADMONISHING) Liam.
LIAM: No, I’m sorry guys, but it has to be said. There’s music to be faced.
THE DOOR OPENS BEHIND LIAM, AND NIAMH SLIPS IN.
LIAM: And with Quigley’s leaving someone has to face it.
BRENDAN: Niamh! Great to see you.
NIAMH: You too, Brendan
SIOBHAN: Niamh!
SHE WALKS ACROSS TO NIAMH, AND THEY HUG. PAUL DOOLEY LOOKS DOWN AT THE BAR. OONAGH LOOKS ON NERVOUSLY.
SIOBHAN: Now you’re not to worry.
DR. RYAN JOINS THE GROUP AND KISSES NIAMH ON THE CHEEK.
NIAMH: Hi.
RYAN: I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.
PAUL: There’s no way he walked into the sea.
SIOBHAN, RYAN, AND NIAMH TURN TO PAUL.
NIAMH: Let’s hope not, Paul.
PAUL DEJECTEDLY WALKS TO THE KITCHEN
NIAMH: Liam, it’s good to see you.
LIAM: Thanks.
NIAMH: Is there any news?
LIAM: Not so far, no.
NIAMH: Donal, are you well?
DONAL: Grand. (HE DOESN’T SOUND GRAND) Yourself? (NIAMH SHRUGS) Apart from… (HE REALIZES HE’S JUST PUT A FOOT INTO HIS MOUTH.)
BRENDAN: Good one, Donal. Apart from that, Mrs. Lincoln, what did you think of the play?
DONAL: Well, a lot you know, Headmaster, because Lincoln was shot, and Quigley walked into the sea. (AN AWKWARD SILENCE DESCENDS AS HE REALIZES HE’S PUT IS FOOT IN IT AGAIN.) Well, no, he didn’t. Of course, he obviously didn’t do that. He did a runner. Only, obviously he didn’t do that. (NIAMH SMILES IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. HOW MANY FEET DOES THIS MAN HAVE, AND CAN HE STUFF THEM ALL IN HIS MOUTH AT ONCE?)
LIAM: Well, I’d tell you now, Donal, or do you want to finish your drink first?
NIAMH: Ah, leave him, would you? (LOOKS BEHIND THE BAR) Oonagh.
IN WALKS EDSO, WITH A YOUNG, BLONDE WOMAN.
EDSO: Howdy, then. Pint of stout, and a diet cola please, Oonagh.
HE SHOWS HER TO THE TABLE, THEN GOES TO THE BAR TO GET THE DRINKS.
EDSO: Jeez, wasn’t that something about your man, Quigley?
OONAGH: Edso..
EDSO: I tell ya what, I bet he didn’t leave his wallet on the beach.
HE LAUGHS AND LOOKS OVER AT NIAMH, OBVIOUSLY OBLIVIOUS AS TO HER IDENTITY. SHE IS NOT AMUSED.
OONAGH: This is his daughter.
EDSO: I was only joking, man. Sorry, I meant no harm.
SIOBHAN: I think you’re date’s getting lonely without you.
BRENDAN: You’ve put on your best boiler suit for her.
EDSO LOOKS DOWN AT HIS CLOTHES.
OONAGH: I’ll bring them over to you.
EDSO: Yeah. Thanks, Oonagh.
EDSO RETURNS TO THE TABLE.
NIAMH: Who is he?
SIOBHAN: Edso Dowling. Took over Padraig’s place.
NIAMH: (GRUDGINGLY) He’s cute.
LIAM: Oh, Mother of God.
NIAMH: What is he, a mechanic?
SIOBHAN: Mechanic? He’s a love machine. Isn’t that right, Liam?
LIAM AND DONAL DRINK FROM THEIR BEERS, DOING THEIR BEST TO IGNORE THE VET. NIAMH SMILES. LOPEZ ENTERS THE BAR, AND POINTS IN A VERY MACHO MANNER AT FRANKIE.
FRANIKE: Oooh.
SHE GETS UP FROM HER STOOL AND CROSSES OVER TO LOPEZ.
NIAMH: As long as I have any say, your home is safe. Okay?
OONAGH SMILES NERVOUSLY.
FRANKIE HAS JOINED LOPEZ IN A QUIET CORNER. SHE’S BROUGHT A DRINK. PROBABLY WATER. LOPEZ LOOKS INTO HER EYES. HE APPEARS TO HAVE HAD A DRINK OR FOUR ALREADY.
LOPEZ: So, you run a tight ship here, do you?
FRANKIE: (SQUIRMING) Well, you know…
LOPEZ: Crack the whip? (SHE IS OBVIOUSLY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE TONE OF HIS QUESTIONING, WHICH IMPLIES THAT SHE MIGHT HAVE SOME VERY INTERESTING USES FOR A WHIP. SHE LOOKS DISGUSTED.)
FRANKIE: (TRYING TO BE CORDIAL) Now and then.
LOPEZ: Crash the cups?
FRANKIE: Sir, can we just stick to the ma—
LOPEZ: (TAKES HER HAND) – The matter at hand.
FRANKIE: (ALL BUSINESS) You said you had some information.
LOPEZ: For your ears only.
HE LEANS CLOSE TO WHISPER IN HER EAR. HE WHISPERS SOMETHING WE CAN’T HEAR, BUT OBVIOUSLY REPULSES HER. FRANKIE WIGGLES HER FINGER IN A “COME HITHER” MANNER. LOPEZ LEANS CLOSER, AND SHE STANDS BACK AND LETS HIM FALL OVER TO THE FLOOR. WE SEE MOVEMENT IN HER RIGHT LEG THAT GIVES THE IMPRESSION THAT HER KNEE MAY HAVE CONNECTED WITH A SPOT RATHER NEAR THE POCKET WHERE HE KEEPS HIS GUN. A LOOK OF INNOCENT SHOCK AND CONCERN CROSSES HER FACE AS HE HITS THE FLOOR.
FRANKIE: Sir, are you all right?
LOPEZ STANDS UP AND SMOOTHS HIS CLOTHING.
LOPEZ: You did that – deliberately?
FRANKIE: You’re lucky I didn’t give you a squeaky voice. (HER DEMEANOR CHANGES TO THE SUBSERVIENT GARDA) Shall I call you a taxi, sir? Oonagh! Would you order a cab to Cilldargan?
OONAGH: (TRYING TO KEEP A STRAIGHT FACE) Straight away.
FRANKIE: Yesterday.
SHE LOOKS LOPEZ IN THE EYE AS IF TO SAY, “STAY OFF MY TURF OR YOU WILL GET A SQUEAKY VOICE” AND WALKS OUT. SIOBHAN LOOKS AFTER HER, WORRIED.
CUT TO INT. FRANKIE’S HOUSE. HOT WATER IS BEING POURED INTO A CUP FOR TEA. FRANKIE LEANS AGAINST THE COUNTER, OBVIOUSLY UPSET. THERE IS A KNOCK AT THE DOOR, AND SHE SLAMS THE CUP ON THE TABLE, SPILLING THE LIQUID. EXPECTING LOPEZ, SHE OPENS THE DOOR IN A HUFF.
FRANKIE: Yes?
SHE SEES IT’S SIOBHAN.
SIOBHAN: Er, tell me to mind my own business, but I was worried about you.
FRANKIE CHANGES HER DEMEANOR AND TRIES TO BE PROFESSIONAL.
FRANKIE: Siobhan.
SIOBHAN: I can go away if you like.
FRANKIE MOTIONS HER IN.
CUT TO EXT. FITZGERALD’S NIGHT. NIAMH EXITS AS FR. MAC WALKS BY.
NIAMH: Father Mac.
FR. MAC: Yes. It’s good to see you.
NIAMH: What’s going on, Father?
FR. MAC LOOKS UNCOMFORTABLE.
FR. MAC: Niamh…
NIAMH: Don’t. Please. You know what I mean.
FR. MAC: I won’t patronize you. I do want to say the right thing… but… which shows your father in a better light, that he took his own life, or that he just…took off?
NIAMH: I don’t want to hear the right thing. I just want to..
FR. MAC: (FIRMLY) Niamh, I don’t know what happened to your father.
NIAMH: He confided in you.
FR. MAC: No. I heard his confession from time to time, but confiding (HE SHAKES HIS HEAD) I don’t think Brian did that. But to my mind, it’s inconceivable that he walked into the sea.
NIAMH NODS.
CUT TO INT FRANKIE’S HOUSE. SHE HANDS SIOBHAN A MUG OF TEA.
FRANKIE: Why is it that people treat me like that?
SIOBHAN: Like what?
FRANKIE: What do you mean like what? Like with a total lack of respect!
SIOBHAN: He’s a Gard.
FRANKIE: What does that mean? I don’t treat people like that.
SIOBHAN: Maybe you should.
FRANKIE: (INCREDULOUS) What?!?
SIOBHAN: Frankie, if you’re a Garda, you’ve got to start behaving like a Garda.
FRANKIE: What?!?
SIOBHAN: You’re too nice. You can’t be a Garda and one of the boys at the same time.
FRANKIE: I’m part of the community.
SIOBHAN: Yes, in the sense that every community has an ‘us’ and a ‘them.’ You’re a ‘them.’
FRANKIE: That’s nice. Anything else?
SIOBHAN: All right, yes. You need more…presence. I mean, look at ya. There’s more meat on a butcher’s apron.
FRANKIE: Well, you must come around more often. Will I ask Dr. Ryan for steroids?
SIOBHAN: (SMILING, NOW THAT FRANKIE HAS CALMED DOWN) You can get them off me if you like. Look, Frankie, I like you fine the way you are. But you’ve got to decide: Are you a human being, or are you a Garda?
FRANKIE IS SILENT AND LOOKS AT HER TEA.
CUT TO INT. FITZGERALD’S. VINCENT’S INTERNEW IS AIRING ON TV.
REPORTER: This Ballykissangel confessional web site, is this an Australian idea?
FR. MAC ENTERS
VINCENT: (OFF) Is what?
FR. MAC MOVES TO THE TV, INTERESTED IN THE INTERVIEW
REPORTER: (OFF) Guiltgone.com Your one-stop confessional mailbox.
VINCENT: My one-stop—
REPORTER: Post your sins, praise the Lord? Is that MasterCard, or VISA?
FATHER MAC LOOKS ON, CLEARLY HE IS NOT PLEASED. HE LEANS AGAINST THE BAR NEXT TO BRENDAN, WHO IS DRINKING HIS USUAL. DR. RYAN AND OONAGH LOOK ON IN THE BG.
VINCENT: Well, I believe we had a uh, confessional with a fax machine…
FR. MAC: (IN A LOW TONE, TO BRENDAN) Is your guilt gone?
VINCENT: (ON TV AS INTERVIEW CONTINUES): Not that.
BRENDAN LOOKS DOWN AT HIS DRINK, THEN BACK AT PAUL. OBVIOUSLY, HIS GUILT IS NOT GONE.
VINCENT: (ON TV) Apparently there’s a fax machine at the Wailing Wall.
REPORTER: Imagine.
THE INTERVIEW CONTINUES, AS BRENDAN WHISPERS TO FR. MAC.
BRENDAN: I gave that money back.
FR. MAC NODS AND SMILES TO HIMSELF.
CUT TO EXT. LONG SHOT OF ST. JOSEPH’S
VINCENT: (OFF) Father, it’s a stunt, why are we taking it seriously.
CUT TO INT. SANCTUARY. FR. MAC AND VINCENT WALK INSIDE.
FR. MAC: Because the television are taking it seriously.
VINCENT: No they’re not, they’re taking it…
FR. MAC: Exactly!
BOTH MEN GENUFLECT TO THE ALTAR
FR. MAC: And they’re taking it out of us. And I want it stopped. I want to know who’s behind it, and I want it stopped.
VINCENT: Father, I’m a priest, you want the cops.
FR. MAC: The cops are on their way. Well, Frankie is, anyway.
VINCENT: So what do you want?
FR. MAC: Listen out. You hear things.
VINCENT: And if I don’t.
FR. MAC: If you don’t, what are you doing here?
THE SANCTUARY DOOR OPENS. WE SEE ONLY SOMEONE BLACK PANTS AND HIGHLY POLISHED BLACK SHOES. THE WEARER STRIDES CONFIDENTLY IN TO THE DARK SANCTUARY. VINCENT LOOKS BACK WITH MILD SURPRISE. WE HEAR STRAINS OF THE “DRAGNET” THEME AS FRANKIE REMOVES HER HAT. HER HAIR HAS BEEN CUT SHORT, AND SHE WEARS THE VISAGE OF STREET-HARDENED LA COP. INDEED, WE EXPECT THE NEXT WORDS OUT OF HER MOUTH TO BE, “JUST THE FACTS.” THE PRIESTS LOOK ON IN MILD SURPRISE AS SHE WALKS DOWN THE AISLE.
FR. MAC: Frankie?
SHE STOPS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE AISLE.
FRANKIE: Garda Sullivan, Father. What’s occurring?
FR. MAC: Excuse me?
FRANKIE: (SHOWING IMPATIENCE) What’s happening, Father? There’s a lot going on.
FR. MAC: Well, as I told you, there’s this confessional web site.
FRANKIE: Oh, that. Well, I had a look at it. There’s nothing illegal about it. So, not for us.
SHE EXITS THE CHURCH. FR. MAC IS NOT PLEASED.
CUT TO EXT. ST. JOSEPH’S. FRANKIE WALKS OUT THE DOOR, AND FR. MAC FOLLOWS.
FR. MAC: Now, just hang on a second! These people are soliciting money here in BallyK. Are they returning it for tax?
FRANKIE: Father, I have no idea. Do you?
VINCENT EXITS THE CHURCH AND HOVERS IN THE BACKGROUND.
FRANKIE: I doubt very much that they’re local, anyway. Probably some hustler in, I don’t know, Waga Waga.
FR. MAC: (CLEARLY INCSENCED) Thank you…for not very much, Garda Sullivan.
FR. MAC RE-ENTERS THE CHURCH, AND VINCENT LOOKS AT FRANKIE.
FRANKIE: Something I can help you with, Father?
VINCENT: Well, you’re obviously on a roll. Uh, nice haircut by the way.
FRANKIE OPENS THE DOOR TO HER CAR.
FRANKIE: Gee, thanks. It’s the first time I’ve been patronized by a Kiwi today.
VINCENT: I’m not a Kiwi, I’m an Aussie.
FRANKIE: Oh, is there a difference?
VINCENT CHOOSES NOT TO ANSWER.
CUT TO CL OF GUILTGONE WEB SITE. SOMEONE IS TYPING. WE SEE ..”BUT IF YE WILL NOT DO SO, BEHOLD YE HAVE SINNED…” CUT TO PAUL DOOLEY, TRYING TO SLEEP, BUT THE CLICKING OF THEY KEYBOARD IS KEEPING HIM AWAKE. HE ROLLS OVER IN BED.
CUT TO EXT. STREET IN CILLDARGEN. NIAMH WALKS UP TO A BUILDING, AND A MAN WALKS UP TO THE SAME BUILDING TO UNLOCK IT. WE SEE A BRASS PLATE NEXT TO THE DOOR.
NIAMH: John.
JOHN: Good Morning, Niamh.
JOHN LETS NIAMH INSIDE, AND WE SEE THE PLATE: “GANLEY & CO. SOLICITORS. COMMISSIONS FOR OATHS.” CUT TO INT. OFFICE.
NIAMH: John, protecting me from the truth is not protecting me at all. Obviously, dad’s in trouble. What is it?
JOHN: Okay, okay. He was broke.
NIAMH LOOKS ON IN SILENCE.
JOHN: All right, he is broke. I don’t know what happened to him, do you? Either way, he doesn’t have a pot to p--. The bank owns it all.
NIAMH: What?
JOHN: You gave him power of attorney.
NIAMH: I know, but…
JOHN: He needed cash – lots of it. The Ireland Bank of Commerce was happy to lend it.
NIAMH: Using the pub as collateral.
JOHN: Oh, not just the pub.
NIAMH: The house?
JOHN: And the golf course.
NIAMH: (BECOMING AGITATED) The priest’s house?
JOHN: In your father’s house there were many mansions.
NIAMH: Yeah, thanks, John…
JOHN: Dot com madness. Quadruple your money dot com. So he thought. You know these Internet companies that make millions overnight. He found one. Borrowed up to his jacksey, piled in, and …
NIAMH: Struck out.
JOHN: Oh, yes.
CUT TO INT. DOOLEY’S BEDROOM. THE CLACKING CONTINUES, AND HE’S HAD ENOUGH. HE WALKS DOWN THE HALL TO DERMOT’S ROOM, AND DISCOVERES HIM TYPING AWAY ABOUT SINNING FROM A COPY OF THE BIBLE. “…REST ASSURED WE TAKE CHEQUES ON A FOREIGN BANK OR INDEED CREDIT CARD DONATIONS.” PAUL LOOKS OVER DERMOT’S SHOULDER, AND DERMOT REALIZES HE’S BUSTED.
DERMOT: Oh, shoot.
PAUL: Dermot, how could you?
DERMOT: Take it easy, da.
PAUL: Without telling me first?
GRANNIE ENTERS.
PAUL: What?
DERMOT: Nothing. (HE GUESTURES TO HIS SISTER) Get in line.
PAUL LOOKS AT GRANNIE WITH SURPRISE. CLEARLY, THE KIDS HAVE LEARNED TO TAKE AFTER THE OLD MAN. PAUL DOESN’T KNOW WHETHER TO BE PROUD OR DISGUSTED.
CUT TO INT. FITZGERALD’S KITCHEN, DAY. OONAH AND NIAMH ARE TALKING OVER TEA.
OONAGH: Let’s cut the…
NIAMH: Oonagh, I can’t say what they’ll do if we don’t own Fitzgerald’s anymore.
OONAGH: I understand that Niamh, but I (unintelligible)
NIAMH: Speculation, Oonagh. He’s dad’s solicitor. Not the bank. He says…he says Fitzgerald’s isn’t living up to its potential. (OONAGH LOOKS OFFENDED) He sees the books. It’s not a criticism of you. You and Paul were doing as well as anyone could. But he says the bank may not see the pub as a …
OONAGH: Social service? (NIAMH LETS OUT A SIGH. SHE SEEMS TO BE THINKING ALONG THE SAME LINES) Well, I think I know what you’re going to say now, Niamh, but … let me go through the motions anyway. (OONAGH CLOSES THE KITCHEN DOOR) If we’re doing as well as anyone could, and it’s still not enough, what use is Fitzgerald’s anyway? It’s real estate, isn’t it?
CUT TO: INT. DERMOT’S ROOM
PAUL: I don’t care, Grannie, I will not have blackmail in this house. It’s…
DERMOT: Immoral?
PAUL: Yes, it’s immoral.
GRANNIE: And extortion isn’t?
PAUL: What extortion? That money was freely given.
DERMOT: Actually dad, this is getting a bit out of hand.
OONAGH ENTERS
OONAGH: What is?
PAUL: Oh, hi, love.
DERMOT TURNS OFF HIS MONITOR
OONAGH: What’s going on?
PAUL: Eh, erm, family conference.
PAUL AND THE KIDS LOOK GUILTY AS ALL GET OUT.
PAUL: I was just telling the kids we ought to…pull together.
OONAH: (SUSPECTING SOMETHING’S UP) Because things are getting a bit out of hand?
PAUL: Exactly.
OONAGH: You know it’s not polite to listen to other people’s private conversations.
PAUL: No, it’s not.
OONAGH: No, it’s not. (TO KIDS) And I don’t know what he’s told you, but we’re not out of here yet.
PAUL: (SMILING WITH RELIEF) And we won’t be.
OONAGH EXITS. PAUL GIVES THE KIDS A SIGNIFICANT LOOK, AND THEY NOD.
CUT TO EXT. NEXT TO RIVER. DAY. BRENDAN IS FISHING. NIAMH SITS ON A STOOL NEXT TO HIM.
NIAMH: I felt ashamed, Brendan. I love my father, but I don’t think I could forgive him for this.
BRENDAN: He must have had his reasons, Niamh.
NIAMH: I don’t care. Oonagh could lose her home.
BRENDAN: You’re so sure he’s still alive.
NIAMH: Aren’t you? (BRENDAN LOOKS DOWN AT THE GROUND, UNABLE TO ANSWER) The only way my father could die, God would have to ask his permission.
THEY SHARE A LAUGH, KNOWING THAT’S ALL TOO TRUE.
CUT TO INT. DOOLEY’S BEDROOM. OONAGH SITS ON THE BED WHILE PAUL BUTTONS HIS SHIRT. WE HEAR THE KIDS ARGUING IN THE BG.
OONAGH: Family conference? We’ve come back from worse.
PAUL: Indeed we have, Oonagh. But we’re not coming back from this because it’s not going to happen.
OONAGH: All I care about is the family.
PAUL: Yeah.
HE LEANS OVER ON THE BED. THE ARGUMENT BETWEEN THE KIDS REACHES A CRESCENDO, AND WE HEAR A DOOR SLAM.
PAUL: All I care about is you.
OONAGH: You’ve a good heart, Paul.
PAUL: Well, I’ve got a black heart if the need arises.
HE LAUGHS AND EXITS, LEAVING HER WONDERING ABOUT THAT REMARK.
CUT TO EXT. TOWN. WE HEAR THE “DRAGNET” THEME AGAIN, AND FRANIKE STRIDES INTO VIEW, ON PATROL. SHE STOPS AND LOOKS PEEVED. SWTCH TO HER POV. BRENDAN’S BIKE STANDS NEAR A LOW STONE WALL, HIS BAG ON THE PAVEMENT NEXT TO THE REAR WHEEL. A WOMAN WALKS BY WITH HER BABY. FRANKIE GETS THIS “RIGHT THEN” LOOK, AND WALKES TO THE BIKE. SIOBHAN LOOKS ON FROM THE WINDOW OF HER JEEP. FRANKIE PICKS UP THE BIKE AND MOVES IT CLOSE TO THE WALL TO GET IT OF THE WAY OF FOOT TRAFFIC. THEN SHE BEGINS TO CHECK THE TIRES, BRAKES, AND LIGHT.
BRENDAN: (OFF) Good day, Mrs. Kerry. I’ll be back tomorrow with Nula’s homework.
HE COMES DOWN THE WALK FROM THE HOUSE TO FIND FRANKIE LOOKING OVER HIS BIKE.
BRENDAN: (JOKING) Frankie, is your car broken down?
FRANKIE: (IGNORING THE JEST) You know it’s illegal for a bike not to have working light?
BRENDAN: At night.
FRANKIE: Oh, and you don’t use it at night?
BRENDAN: Frankie, it’s a dynamo. (SHE LOOKS DOWN AT THE BIKE) It only works when the wheels go ‘round.
FRANKIE SEEMS SLIGHTLY DISMAYED THAT SHE GOT CAUGHT NOT KNOWING HOW A BICYCLE HEADLIGHT WORKS.
FRANKIE: I know where you live.
SHE TURNS AND WALKS DOWN THE STREET, LEAVING BRENDAN SHAKING HIS HEAD. HE LOOKS ACROSS THE STREET AND NOTICES SIOBHAN LOOKING ON. THE VET DRIVES OFF.
CUT TO INT. QUIGLEY’S HOME OFFICE. NIAMH IS ON THE PHONE.
NIAMH: Six figures, I don’t know exactly…Ireland Bank of Commerce, yeah…I don’t know yet, love. I’m getting a sort of picture but I—
THE DOORBELL RINGS, AND SHE LOOKS OUT THE WINDOW.
NIAMH: I have to go, Sean. Yeah, me too.
SHE WALKS, CARRYING THE CORDLESS HANDSET, TO THE FRONT DOOR.
NAIMH: Give him a hug for me. Yeah. Bye for now.
SHE RINGS OFF AND OPENS THE DOOR. A MAN DRESSED IN A GRAY SUIT STANDS OUTSIDE.
WORDSMITH: Mrs. Dillon.
NAIMH: Yes?
WORDSMITH: Sorry to trouble you, my name is Wordsmith, from the…Credit Bank of Ireland?
HE HANDS HER IS CARD, WHICH SHE EXAMINES.
NIAMH: Not the Ireland Bank of Commerce?
WORDSMITH: No.
NIAMH: (SUDDENLY BECOMES VERY CORDIAL) Hello.
THEY SHAKE HANDS.
CUT TO INT. QUIGLEY’S HOME OFFICE. THEY SIT AT A TABLE, NIAMH IS EXAMINING PAPERS.
NIAMH: But I thought the Ireland Bank of Commerce…
WORDSMITH: Has first claim on everything. They do. Only we didn’t know. (NIAMH LOOKS AT HIM QUESTIONINGLY) Don’t ask. Fact is, we lent your father the same amount against assets we thought were clear.
NIAMH: Will I write you a check?
WORDSMITH: (LAUGHS) What?
NIAMH: What can I tell you?
WORDSMITH: You can tell us where he is. You can tell us if he’s alive or dead.
NIAMH: Ah. In which case, your condolences.
WORDSMITH: I wouldn’t have thought so.
NIAMH LOOKS AWAY.
CUT TO INT. VINCENT’S BEDROOM, TIGHT ON CRUCIFIX. WE HEAR THE BEEP OF AN ALARM, AND THE CAMERA TILTS DOWN VINCENT’S HAND SILENCES THE CLOCK. IT IS 6:01. THE CURATE GETS OUT OF BED WITH A MOAN.
CUT TO EXT. CURATE’S HOUSE. DAY. VINCENT IS DRESSED IN BLUE JEANS, AND A T-SHIRT UNDER A SWEATER, HOLDING A BLACKLEATHER JACKET IN HIS HAND. HE CLOSES THE DOOR AND GETS INTO HIS CAR.
CUT TO EXT. FARM, DAY. A GREEN POST TRUCK PULLS UP TO THE GATE. VINCENT CLIMBS TO THE TOP OF THE HILL, BINOCULARS IN HAND. THE POSTMAN PULLS A LARGE BAG FROM THE TRUCK AND PLACES IT INSIDE THE FARMHOUSE. THE POST TRUCK DRIVES OFF, AND DOOLEY’S RED STATION WAGON APPEARS. VINCENT LOOKS ON FROM THE HILLTOP AS DERMOT RETRIEVES THE SACK FROM THE HOUSE AND HANDS IT TO PAUL, WHO TOSSES IT IN THE BACK AND CLOSES THE HATCH WHILE SHAKING HIS HEAD. VINCENT, THROUGH HIS BINOCULARS, SEES DERMOT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT, LOOKING LIKE HE COULD USE SOME GUILTGONE ABOUT NOW. THE CAR DISAPPEARS AND VINCENT MULLS THE SITUATION OVER IN HIS HEAD.
CUT TO EXT. TOWN, DAY. SIOBHAN EXITS HENDLEYS WITH TWO BAGS OF GROCERIES. FRANKIE STANDS AT THE VET’S JEEP, WRITING A TICKET FOR AN EXPIRED TAX STICKER.
SIOBHAN: Oh, Frankie.
FRANFKIE: SIOBHAN.
SIOBHAN: It’s in the post. The new one.
FRANKIE: Not here yet, then?
THE GARD WALKS OFF, WHILE SIOBHAN LOOKS UP AND SIGHS AS THE CILLDARGAN BUS PULLS IN.
SIOBHAN: I’ve created a monster.
CUT TO EXT. FITZGERALD’S DAY. FRANKIE CONTINUES ON PATROL AS THE BUS PULLS BEHIND HER. THE “DRAGNET” THEME CONTINES, BUT SLOWER AND A LITTLE MELONCHOLY, PERHAPS. SHE STANDS ON THE BRIDGE AS THE BUS PULLS PAST AND SHAKES HER HEAD. SHE REALIZES THAT THE “NEW” FRANKIE ISN’T HER CUP OF TEA.
CUT TO EXT. RIVER. DERMOT IS SKIPPING STONES. VINCENT LOOKS ON AND DECIDES TO APPROACH. DERMOT LOOKS UP TO SEE THE PRIEST.
VINCENT: Best of three?
DERMOT: I’m not in the mood.
VINCENT: Fair enough. I’m Vincent.
DERMOT: How’s it going?
VINCENT SKIPS A STONE.
VINCENT: Only been here a day.
DERMOT: You’re the priest.
VINCENT: Yeah.
DERMOT: You’re from Australia?
VINCENT: Sure am. Ever been? (DERMOT SHAKES HIS HEAD) Reckon you could afford it.
DERMOT LOOKS BACK AT VINCENT, WHO TOSSES HIM A STONE.
VINCENT: Here ya go, mate. Your turn.
DERMOT THANKS HIM AND TOSSES THE STONE ON THE WATER.
VINCENT: How much is the sack worth?
DERMOT TURNS AROUND AND TRIES TO PLAY INNOCENT.
DERMOT: What?
VINCENT: How much money in the sack? From the web site?
DERMOT: Oh, hang on a second…
VINCENT: Hey, take it easy. I’m not going to give you a hard time. (DERMOT SCRATCHES HIS HEAD, AND VINCENT CHANGES THE SUBJET) How far down does the river go?
DERMOT: (WONDERING IF HE’S GOING TO GO UP THE RIVER) Far enough.
VINCENT: Show me.
VINCENT FOLLOWS DERMOT OFF THROUGH A GATE IN A STONE WALL.
VINCENT: How come everything’s so green?
DERMOT: Da said it was the law.
VINCENT: Ah-huh.
CUT TO EXT. DAY. A GREEN POST VAN PULLS UP TO QUGLEY’S HOUSE. NIAMH SIGNS THE CLIPBOARD, AND THE POSTMAN HANDS HER AND ENVELOPE, WHICH SHE TAKES APPREHENSEIVELY. SHE THANKS THE POSTMAN AND SHE LOOKS AT THE ENVELOPE WITH A FEELING OF DREAD. THE FACE ON THE INTRNATIONAL POST ENVELOPE READS: “URGENTE: NIAMH QUIGLEY, ‘CARAFELL’ BALLYKISSNAGEL, CO. WICKLY, IRELAND.” THE POSTMARK IS FROM ARGENTINA. NIAMH PEELS OPEN THE FLAP AND PULLS OUT A CHEQUE DRAWN ON THE BANK OF RIO DE JANIERO. FOR 551,000,96550 WRITEN ON 2/4/?. NIAMH SMILES, KNOWING THAT HER FATHER MUST BE ALIVE.
CUT TO EXT. BUILDING, LIAM IS SWEEPING THE FLATBED TRUCK. HE HEARS SOMEONE CALL HIS NAME, AND SEES THE POSTMAN EXIT HIS VAN. HE HOLDS UP A LETTER. IT BEARS LIAM’S NAME AND “URGENTE,” ALSO FROM ARGENTINA. LIAM OPENS IT TO FIND A CHEQUE DRAWN ON THE SAME BANK FOR 110,200,19310. THE DATE IS 2/4/01. LIAM STARES IN ASTONISHMENT.
CUT TO EXT. VINCENT AND DERMOT SIT ON AN OLD STONE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER.
DERMOT: I think the company was foreign, I cannot remember. But I do remember reading about how the boss suckered a whole bunch of Irish investors apparently.
VINCENT: Do you know all that stuff?
DERMOT: Yeah. I think I’ve become the laird.
VINCENT: Go on.
DERMOT: I don’t know, I just thought a religious web site had a better chance of working in Ireland than Brazil.
VINCENT: Really? I didn’t think this was a very religious country anymore.
DERMOT: No, but there are enough Yanks who think it is.
VINCENT: These confessions people made, you give ‘em penance?
DERMOT: Oh, God, yeah. I was brutal.
VINCENT: You oughtta try me.
DERMOT: I don’t go to confession, Father.
VINCENT: Oh.
THE LOOK ON HIS FACE SAYS, “YOU JUST DID, MATE.”
DERMOT: But I don’t want to do this anymore.
VINCENT: Good.
DERMOT: Don’t know how to get out.
VINCENT SMILES. APPARENTLY HE’S GOT A PLAN.
CUT TO EXT DONAL’S HOUSE. THE GREEN POST VAN LEAVES AS DONAL OPENS HIS LETTER, WHICH HE STARES AT WITH A MIXTURE OF AMAZEMENT AND CONFUSION.
CUT TO INT. FITZGERALD’S. PAUL DOOLEY WALKS IN FROM THE KITCHEN AND STARTS TO FIDDLE WITH GLASSES BEHIND THE BAR. LIAM AND DONAL ARE HUDDLED TOGETHER IN CONVERSATION AT A TABLE.
LIAM: How much didja get?
DONAL: I don’t know. It’s all in Reals. Doesn’t look like very much.
LIAM: It’s ten thousand. In Punts.
DONAL: No way!
LIAM: (NODDING) Um-hmm.
DONAL: Is it a wind-up?
LIAM: Why? What’d be the point? Listen to me, Donal: Don’t try and cash it – not yet.
DONAL: Don’t worry about that. Did you ever see that film, “Charlie Varnick?” (QUOTING) “Hi, I’m Molly…”
LIAM: Donal, this isn’t Mob money, this is from Quigley.
LIAM LOOKS BACK AT PAUL, WHO SEEMS TO BE LISTENING IN.
LIAM: This is from Quigley. Let’s just see how things pan out.
DONAL: (WHISPERS EXCITEDLY) Ten grand!
DONAL DRUMS AT THE TABLE, AND THEY BOTH TRY TO DRINK THEIR BEER NONCHALANTLY.
CUT TO INT. CONFESSIONAL AT ST. JOSEPH’S VINCENT IS LISTENING. WE SEE A PAIR OF LIPS THROUGH THE GRATE.
VINCENT: This cheque you received, how much was it for?
NIAMH’S VOICE: Six figures. Near enough seven.
VINCENT: Punts?
NIAMH: Mmm-hmm.
VINCENT: Which belongs to the bank.
NIAMH: One of them, yeah. The one he borrowed it from.
VINCENT: (SHAKING IS HEAD IN DISBELIEF) What a guy.
NIAMH: He is to his family.
VINCENT: What was he thinking?
NIAMH: My guess? He could stand to lose everything, but that would have meant leaving nothing to us.
VINCENT: But he wasn’t ill, was he? He could have bounced back?
NIAMH: He doesn’t do miracles, Father. He would have been bankrupt.
VINCENT CONSIDERS THE STATEMENT
VINCENT: The way I hear it, your tenants at the pub are living on borrowed time.
NIAMH: That’s what I mean. But if it’s not my father’s money, how can it be mine? I’d love to help them.
VINCENT: What if I did?
NIAMH: You?
VINCENT: Sure. Bank’s money, my conscience.
NIAMH: I want to do the right thing.
VINCENT: You will be.
NIAMH: If the church doesn’t know what’s right, who does?
VINCENT: That’s what we’re here for.
NIAMH: Cash, or cheque?
VINCENT BARELY NODS. HE HOPES HE’S DOING THE RIGHT THING.
CUT TO GANLEY & CO. BRASS PLATE. THE CAMERA PANS TO SEE A BLACK-SUITED FIGURE WALK OUT OF THE DOOR CARRYING A SHEAF OF LEGAL PAPERS, BOUND AND SEALED WITH RED WAX AND RIBBON. WE HEAR VINCENT’S VOICE AS TWO HANDS SHAKE.
VINCENT: Thank you, Mr. Ganley.
JOHN: You’re welcome. Have a good day.
VINCENT: Bye-bye.
VINCENT WALKS AWAY, HODLING THE PAPERS AND SMILING.
CUT TO EXT. SCHOOL, DAY. CAN’T READ SIGN, BUT THE DATE 1958 STANDS OUT. BRENDAN IS LOCKING THE DOOR. VINCENT WALKS UP THE STREET, DRESSED IN CASUAL CLOTHES.
VINCENT: (CALLING) Brendan! I need your computer, mate.
BRENDAN WALKS PAST THE SCHOOL SIGN. IT IN CELTIC AND ENGLISH: “BALLYKISSANGEL INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL.”
BRENDAN: Uh, Father…
VINCENT: Vincent. Call me Vincent.
BRENDAN: Vincent. Whatever. If the school computer is about to become a church resource at any given moment…
VINCENT: You’re not gonna charge me, are you? Brendan.
BRENDAN: No. But the thought had crossed my mind.
THEY WALK TO THE SCHOOL
CUT TO INT. HEADMASTER’S OFFICE BRENDAN TURNS ON HIS MONITOR. HE PLACES HIS PEN BETWEEN HIS TEETH AND RUBS HIS HANDS. VINCENT LOOKS AT HIS WATCH, AS IF TIMING SOMETHING,
BRENDAN: Well…
VINCENT: Not yet.
WE HEAR A BEEP. CUT TO INT. DERMOT’S ROOM. GUILTGONE.COM POPS UP ON HIS MONITOR. HE LOOKS BACK TO HIS FATHER.
PAUL: Dermot, I’m sure their very tragic, but that’s the point, isn’t it?
DERMOT: I know, Da, but I just think—
PAUL: All right! All right.
GRANNIE ENTERS AND WATCHES.
CUT TO INT. HEADMASTER’S OFFICE. VINCENT LOOKS UP FROM HIS WATCH.
VINCENT: Okay, let’s go.
BRENDAN BEGINS TO TYPE, AS VINCENT DICTATES. WE SEE THE WORDS POP UP ON THE SCREEN AS HE TYPES.
VINCENT: I’ve never asked for anything before..
CUT INT. DERMOT’S ROOM. PAUL IS READING FROM THE SCREEN.
PAUL: But if in your infinite mercy, this one time you could restore her to even partial health, I will be truly thankful.
DERMOT AND GRANNIE LOOK GUILTY. PAUL LOOKS AT DERMOT, AND HE LOOKS UNCOMFORTABLE.
PAUL: Dermot, you think we’d be doing this unless we really had to?
HE LOOKS AT THE KIDS. GRANNIE SHAKES HER HEAD.
CUT TO INT. HEADMASTER’S OFFICE. VINCENT RUBS HIS HANDS.
VINCENT: Okay, Brendan, you ready? No more Mr. Nice Guy.
BRENDAN BEGINS TO TYPE “NO MORE MR….”
VINCENT: No, no, Brendan, you don’t have to write that.
BRENDAN ERASES WHAT HE JUST TYPED.
VINCENT: All right. (DICTATES) Paul Dooley, this is God.
BRENDAN LAUGHS AS HE TYPES.
CUT TO MONITOR. THE WORDS APPEAR AS BRENDAN TYPES.
VINCENT: And this is how it’s going to be.
CUT TO INT. DERMOT’S ROOM. PAUL LOOKS AT MONITOR. GRANNIE READS THE TEXT
GRANNIE: Paul, Dooley, this is God. (DOOLEY JUMPS BACK AND LOOKS AT THE KIDS) And this is how it’s going to be. The money from this rip-off goes back or I’ll tell the taxman. Grainne can keep the boots, but not the hat. (SHE LOOKS BACK IN SURPRISE) I didn’t even get the hat!
PAUL LOOKS AT DERMOT. WHO SHRUGS.
CUT TO INT. HEADMASTER’S OFFICE. VINCENT IS STILL DICTATING
VINCENT: I haven’t finished yet, sport.
HE TAPS BRENDAN’S SHOULDER AND MOTIONS HIM TO TYPE.
CUT TO INT. DERMOT’S ROOM. GRANINE READS FROM MONITOR
GRAINNE: I haven’t finished yet, SPORT?
PAUL SMILES. HE THINKS HE KNOWS WHAT’S UP.
CUT TO INT. BRENDAN’S OFFICE.
BRENDAN: Sport.
THE HEADMASTER TURNS OFF HIS MONITOR, AND VINCENT RUBS HIS HANDS IN SATISFACTION.
VINCENT: A cup of coffee, I think.
BRENDAN: (RISING FROM HIS CHAIR) Father Vincent, I take dictation, but I don’t do coffee.
VINCENT: Fair enough. Buy you a beer?
BRENDAN: You’re getting more Irish by the minute.
HE HOLDS THE DOOR OPEN FOR VINCENT AS THEY EXIT HIS OFFICE.
CUT TO INT. FITZGERALD’S NIGHT. THE PLACE IS BUSY. FRANKIE ENTERS, IN UNIFORM. OONAGH LOOKS UP.
OONAGH: Okay, everyone. Drink up. I won’t say it again.
BRENDAN: Ah, Oonagh.
OONAGH NODS TO THE DOORWAY WHERE FRANKIE STANDS, ARMS CROSSED.
BRENDAN: What’s gotten into that woman? Edso! Put some love into her live will you?
EDSO AND AVRIL ARE SHARING A TABLE.
EDSO: You’ve got to wait until Tuesday.
LAUGHTER.
OONAGH: Come on now, on your way.
FRANKIE STANDS AT THE DOOR WHILE EVERYONE EXITS AND SAYS THEIR GOOD-BYES.
EDSO: Avril! Hang on!
VINCENT STOPS BRENDAN AT THE DOOR and takes his hand.
VINCENT: Brendan
BRENDAN: Father
VINCENT: Thanks for today.
BRENDAN: Thank you.
PAUL’S VOICE: ‘night Louie.
LOUIE SAYS SOMETHING TOTALLY UNINTELLIGBLE TO FRANKIE
FRANKIE: Yeah.
FRANKIE SEES BRENDAND AND LOUIE OUT THE DOOR.
BRENDAN: Safe home, Louie
LOUIE MUBLES WHAT MAY BE “GOOD NIGHT”
BRENDAN: Thank you, Frankie.
FRANKIE: Garda Sullivan.
BRENDAN STARTS TO GET ON HIS BIKE, AS FRANKIE OBSERVES.
FRANKIE: Hope you’re not riding home on that thing.
BRENDAN PAUSES, STARTS TO SAY SOMETHING, THEN THINKS THE BETTER OF IT. HE WALKS HIS BIKE DOWN THE STREET.
CUT TO INT. FITZGERALD’S, NIGHT. VINCENT SLIDES A PITCHER OF WATER DOWN THE BAR AS OONAGH WATCHES APPREHENSIVELY. FRANKIE WALKS BACK INSIDE.
FRANKIE: Come on, Father, let’s go.
VINCENT HAS JUST POURED HIMSELF A DRINK AND SEEMS TO BE IN NO HURRY TO LEAVE.
VINCENT: Mumbles a response as he drinks.
FRANKIE: Father.
VINCENT: Garda, I’m going nowhere. And I’d really appreciate it if you’d shut that door.
FRANKIE COMPLIES, THEN STANDS TO FACE THE PRIEST. SHE’S ALL BUSINESS.
FRANKIE: Why are you doing this, Father?
OONAGH: (CALLING TO KITCHEN) Paul?
VINCENT TAKES A BITE OF HIS SANDWICH
VINCENT: (WITH MOUTH FULL) There’s a draft. Hey, I’m paying the bills. Do you leave your front door open?
HE POURS HIMSELF SOME MORE WATER. FRANKIE DOES NOT LOOK AMUSED AT ALL. OONAGH LOOKS CONFUSED. VINCENT TAKES ANOTHER SIP.
VINCENT: I own the place. Don’t want it much, but what can you do?
HE SMIRKS LIKE THE CAT WHO JUST SWALLOWED THE CANARY.
OONAGH: Paul? I think you’d better get in here.
PAUL ENTERS SLOWLY.
VINCENT: He hasn’t told you, has he?
OONAGH LOOKS AT PAUL, WHO RETREATS TO THE SAFETY OF THE KITCHEN.
VINCENT: Garda, what can I get for ya?
FRANKIE LOOKS AT HIM STERNLY. VINCENT JUST SMILES.
CUT TO INT. BRIAN QUIGLEY’S HOUSE, NIGHT. NIAMH WALKS INTO THE HALLWAY AND SETS DOWN A PACKED BAG. SHE IS PREPARING TO LEAVE. SHE TAKES ONE LAST LOOK AROUND THE HOUSE, SAVORING THE FOND MEMORIES. SHE ENTERS DOOLEY’S OFFICE AND LOOKS AROUND. THE COMPUTER BEEPS. SHE TURNS AROUND. WHAT COULD THAT BE? A PICTURE OF AN ENVELOPE APPEARS ON THE SCREEN. THE TEXT BELOW SAYS: “YOU’VE GOT MAIL!” NIAMH SLOWLY WALKS TO THE COMPUTER, AND WITH A FEW CLICKS OF THE MOUSE, OPENS THE MESSAGE. A PICTURE SLOWLY FADES IN. WE SEE WHAT APPEARS TO BE THE BACK OF BRIAN QUIGLEY, WAVING AT THE STATUE OF JESUS IN RIO. ON THE LOWER LEFT HAND CORNER: “XXX” NIAMH SMILES AND BEGINS TO CRY.
ROLL CREDITS