Peaky Blinders (2013–…): Season 6, Episode 2 - Black Shirt - full transcript

Tommy gets involved in a power game with fascists, freedom fighters and Boston gangsters. As the players plan to double cross him, Tommy visits an old ally in Camden.

Are you wondering how healthy the food you are eating is? Check it -
Ever since you began
to build your empire,

you've had a crutch to lean on.

MICHAEL: I swear in the name
of Almighty God,

I will take revenge on
Tommy Shelby.

That, my friend,
is the finest opium in the world.

Perhaps we can meet after you've
spoken with your wife's uncle,
Jack Nelson.

Tommy Shelby wants
to do business with Jack Nelson?

So, speak to your uncle
and get me out of here.

If he doesn't want to buy my opium,

I will sell to the
East Boston Jews.

It's Ruby. She's not well.

I'm coming home.

POLLY: There will be a war in this
family and one of you will die.

MICHAEL: You've been too busy to
punish the people that killed her.

How is the family?


Hello, Ruby.

Come here.

Let me see you.

I missed you. I missed you.

That is a Black Madonna.

What presents did you get us, Dad?


She's all better, Tommy.

You came back for nothing.

But I'm glad you're back.

Right, before we do anything else,

we're going to go for a drive, OK?

Let's go. What about me?

Yeah, you can come too, come on.

A drive where?

I've asked the driver to take
us to see Dr Robert.

I want him to have a look at Ruby.
Why, love?

The appointment is in one hour,
you can stay here or you can come.


Right, let's go.





It was all good.
Everything was clear.

That is a relief.

That's a relief.

Driver's bringing the car round.



Come here.

When did you last sleep?

Not much since we last spoke
on the phone.

Well, now you know Ruby's all clear,
you can sleep.


Lizzie, I am very happy that
Ruby's results are clear.

But still you won't sleep.

I will speak to Johnny
and I will speak to Esmeralda.


We could be on holiday.

We could be up a mountain
in America.

That wouldn't have been possible.

The man I'm dealing with is coming
to London. I need to be there.

No escape.

We will escape, Lizzie.
One last deal to be done.

It'll be difficult.
Difficulties are to be expected.

This is why I must move
from item to item.

Do you feel that?

Do you feel anything?

You know, you talk as if you're
watching everything on a screen.

When we go home. When we go home,

we'll give the kids to Frances,
and then you and me will go to bed.

And I will be the next item.

That's how it feels now, Tommy.

Everything on a list.

Hey, baby.
When are we going home?



Tommy? Tommy?



Tommy? What's happened?

Fuck, fuck.


Tommy. Come here. Come here.

What's happened?




It is four years... month and six days

since I had a drink.

My head is clear.

I am myself.

Is this the first time?

Once on the ship back. Not as bad.

Tommy... need to see a doctor.

I've work to do.

It's the work that's to blame.

The people you meet,
the lies that you tell.

We're going to keep going till
the Boston business is done.

Then we rest.

Then we Peaky Blinders fucking rest.

Comrades, before we
end this planning meeting

and send you out into the rain...

..we have a surprise.

He just arrived back from
a trade mission to America.

He came back early

and he has insisted on addressing
you volunteers in person.


your Labour representative
for South Birmingham,

Mr Thomas Shelby MP, OBE.

I bring with me on
the train from London...

..a message from Westminster.

No. No, no, no, not a message.

Not a message.

An instruction, in fact.


You must be silent.

You must say nothing.

Say nothing about the present
situation in this city.

Say nothing about hunger.

Say nothing about jobs.

Say nothing about pay.

But those in greener pastures,

they may speak.

They may raise their voices.

But here in the smoke,
you men and women,

Irish and Italian

and English who support
the Socialist cause...

And even your socialist cats and
dogs and canaries.

CROWD LAUGHS must hush.

Because the King, and all the King's
horses and all the King's men...


..want you to be silent.

But it is you, my friends,
who must suffer

the cuts in wages and
in welfare and in dignity.

And you must not complain,

because that would be unpatriotic.

You soldiers,
who have fought in France,

you are traitors if you speak up.

You veterans of their wars
and their booms and their busts,

it is you who must take the blows,

and carry the burdens
for the sake of those

in greener pastures who
bellow at you...




Well, watch this, comrades.

I will not be silent.

Not this Englishman.


No silence from me.

No silence from me,

because I have heard your voices
when you come to me

and tell me about
the cries of your hungry children,

and I will gather up every
single one of those cries

and I will take 'em with me
on the train to Westminster...


..and I will let them out
of the bag in the House of Commons,

and let them
try to silence that, eh?



Shouldn't that involve
some sharing of the burden?

All of us taking
a smaller slice of the cake, eh?

After all, it's bloody us
who bakes the cake

and makes the cars
and melts the metal.

And the King, remember him,

the man who ordered all of this,

shouldn't he be taking
some of the cuts?

Eh, some of the blows?

Some of the pain? No or yes?



Hush, you working men and women.



WHISPERS: Save your voices.

You are going to need them on
Saturday when we rally together

at the Bull Ring Market...


..and together,
we'll raise the roof,

we'll break the damned silence...

..and bring down this broken


CROWD CHANTS: Tommy, Tommy.

Tommy, Tommy...

Thank you.

Laura McKee.

Battalion Commander, Fermanagh IRA.

You missed the first
and second act.

Thank you for coming, Mr Shelby.

Thank you. Thank you.

The third act was enough.

You both have reasons to hate me

and to want to seek revenge
for the killing of...


Gypsy tradition.

We do not mention the name of
the dead in company.

Laura McKee,

in the Shelby family,

business comes before issues
of vengeance.

Our beloved departed would
understand and approve.

Let's go, boys.

Our agreement was we meet
in a crowded place.

No need for crowds.

We need you alive.

After you.

You know, Mr Shelby,
even though we've been doing
business for a while,

we've never met in person.

You spoke with passion
and compassion.

You understand forgiveness

and you drink water.

Yet I heard from many reliable

that you have a reputation
for moral turpitude.


"Moral turpitude".

It's a good name for a racehorse.

You don't know what it means?

I know what it means.

It means you fuck people.

Fuck people over. Don't give a fuck.

It means you covet and steal

and burn all principles
for the sake of self-interest.

Well, I'm changing, Laura McKee,

and my organisation
is also changing.

So, what happened in Boston?

Jack Nelson said no.

Are we accepting "no" as an answer?

These are letters written to

and by Jack Nelson
over the last three months.



This is a private letter from
the President of the United States.

Where the fuck did you get this?

My racehorse, Moral Turpitude,

is just one of many in my stables.

Sometimes even now I'll
take her out for a run,

if there is a good cause that
requires her services.

Jack Nelson's coming to London.

Officially, he's coming
to buy liquor import licenses.

Unofficially, he's on
a fact-finding mission.

He's come to measure the strength of
support for fascism in Britain.

He'll report back to the President.

And how does that help us?

In this letter to his son,

Jack Nelson expresses
strong support for fascism.

In this letter to a friend
in Berlin,

he says some, erm,
interesting things about Jews.

He's not coming to Europe
to find facts.

He's coming to find proof
that fascism will prevail.

And you and I are going
to help him in that task.

I thought you were a socialist.


..since I've entered politics,

I've learned that
the line doesn't go out from

the middle to the left
and the right.

It goes in a circle.

I'll show you.

You go far enough left,

eventually you'll meet someone
who has gone far enough right

to get to the same place.

Working-class socialists like me,

working-class nationalists like you.

The result?

National Socialism.

And that's me,

in the middle.

Just a man trying to make an honest
living in a very dark world.

You have friends in Dublin,
Laura McKee,

who are actively fighting for
a Fascist Ireland.

And you are acting on their behalf,
ain't you?

When Jack Nelson comes to London,

I can give him access
to Oswald Mosley

and to Fascist sympathisers
in the House of Commons

and the House of Lords,
on both sides of the divide.

Fascism is quite the thing...

..among the very best people.

And with your help,
I can also offer him Dublin.

And you think this will allow us
to ship our merchandise to Boston?


There may be other
benefits for your cause.

All you have to do
is sit with Jack Nelson

and talk to him about a new
"golden age"

and let him put a pin in
the map of Ireland

for the President
of the United States.


I came to collect
Arthur and put him to bed.

I found him in the Garrison Lane
with a syringe in his hand.


A friend loves at all times...

..but a brother is born
for adversity.

Proverbs 17, 17.

I have two brothers in need,
but yours is the more urgent, Tommy.

Will you come with me?

So, Laura McKee...

..are you going to help me
change the world?

Mr Shelby, this meeting
is not what I expected.

Never is.

Is that a yes or a no?

My answer's yes.

The answer's always yes.

The back door is unlocked.
You can let yourself out.

And tell your friends back home,

Tommy Shelby has changed.

Where is he?

When I found him,
the syringe was empty.

He was sleeping it off
on the cobbles.

Shit, Tommy. Shit.

It's all under control, Ada.

Well, I'm not under fucking control.

I'm not you, Tommy,
and I'm not Polly either.

Even though I'm trying to be.

She would have stopped this.

We will pull Arthur through this.

I'm not talking about Arthur,
I'm talking about you.

I heard everything
you were saying in there.

Ada, this will be the end of it,
do you hear me?

This is the way out for all of us.

And along the way,
I will be doing good.

No, along the way,
you're going to make yourself
a lot of fucking money.

All right, fair enough.

Any incidental rewards
for my good work will be welcome.

But you will get
your fair share, sister.

And by being among the Fascists,
by being among 'em,

I can undermine them.

Polly would approve.

Beneath all the gold and diamonds,
and fucking,

fucking mink and lace,

she was a solid Socialist.


Look, I know it's too late for this,
Tom, but...

..this doorway,

this same fucking doorway.

We used to come here for Dad's beer

and we were so little it took two
of us carry one bucket.

Yeah, I remember.

Look at us now, eh?


Fucking look at us.

Take a good look, Tom,

cos one of us isn't going
to be here for long.

Fuck, opium and presidents!

Ada, if you don't want
to help me carry the bucket...

..then I wouldn't blame you.

But this is my mission.

And I will have no limitations.

Where are you, Tom?


My big brother?

You know you used
to stop sometimes and laugh.

Do you even remember this place?

You walk into the Garrison like a
stranger and you sip fucking water.

But I'm alive, Ada.


And you're still looking for trouble
big enough to kill you.


..I think you might have found it.

I have children, Tommy.

You have to carry
this bucket on your own.

One brother half-dead in
the rain in Garrison Alley

and the other has no limitations.

By Puccini

I'm expected.

# Dilegua, o notte

# Tramontate, stelle... #

Oh, and Mr Solomons
no longer tolerates

the smoking of tobacco
in his presence.

# All'alba vincero

# Vincero

# Vincero! #

I always thought that opera was just
fat people fucking shouting.

Yeah. What do you think now?

I think the sound of a tenor
in full passion

reminds me of the crying
out of Italian soldiers

when they had my bayonet
inside them.

Ever since my own death,
I have been somewhat haunted by it.

Dear me.

But instead of fighting
these voices, I decided

to write their songs down, y'know,
turn them into an opera of my own.

Do not light that.

No. No. Were you not told?
I have a condition.

What I was told, Alfie... that you have withdrawn and
that you spend your days alone...

..obsessing about opera singers.

Opera's not fucking singing, is it?

It's not singing.

It is the sound that people make
before words.

And I do not allow smoking because
I do need to see fucking clearly,

all right?

What, do you sense weakness
in the Israelite?

Not a sense of weakness,
no, Alfie. Huh.

A certain knowledge of it.

Since you have been sat
here...writing your opera...

..a member of your family has died.

Charles Solomons. Your uncle.

He ran all the narcotics,
bootlegging, prostitution,

gambling syndicates
out of east Boston.

But last January, poor old Charlie,

..he was shot in the Cotton Club,

in the lavatory,
by men that you know.

And yet you did nothing, Alfie.

Now my opera is called America.

America is my fucking masterpiece.

The truth is, your uncle is dead.

Boston is gone and you,

once the big man
who ran Camden Town,

now can't even extinguish
another man's cigarette.

Let alone his fucking life.

You need favours, Alfie.
I need a fucking final act, right.

Just a final fucking act
for my opera. Yeah?

Alfie, I think I may have written
your final act.

Why don't you sit down
and have a listen, eh?

I have five tonnes of pure,
refined opium

sitting in one of my warehouses
in Liverpool.

I have safe storage
off the coast of Canada.

I have men willing
to distribute it in Toronto,

Quebec, New York and Boston.

The income would be immediate
and would shift the balance of power

in Boston back in the favour
of the Solomons family.

In the final act
that I am giving you, Alfie,

it is you who takes the revenge.

Why would you sell?

The Irish are being difficult.

The Italians are not an option.

Also, Alfie, you are my friend.

Pay you with credit? No.

Oh. I will take property.

You own half the warehouses
in Camden.

I would take them and knock them
down, build houses

for the needy and the deserving. Oh.


Yeah, well, the, erm...

The Irish have always been
difficult, Tommy, ain't they?

For about fucking 700 years.


You know that I once saw
an Irishman arguing with

the statue of Oliver Cromwell
in Parliament Square.

The argument went on for quite
a while, actually.

It went into the night and his
little voice echoed all around

the Houses of Parliament
as he got more

and more angered at
Oliver Cromwell's reluctance

on what to answer his legitimate

So angered, in fact,
that eventually he punched

the statue on the nose
and broke his fucking hand.

And there it is, y'know.
the Irish question, innit.

How come you can remember so much
about what happened 200 years ago,

but you just can't remember
what fucking happened last night?


How much is a tonne?


Only me today.

Jack says a few more weeks...


..then you'll be free.
When do you travel to London?


I came to say goodbye.

When you go to London,
stay away from the devil.

Block your fucking ears
if you have too.

I will be with you, Michael.

I've been thinking about you.

Only you.

And don't worry about Tommy Shelby.

I have no interest in a dead man.

Jack says he has to die.

Well, you tell Jack to wait.

If anyone is going to kill
Tommy Shelby...

It will be you. I know.

I told Jack.

And Jack said,
"OK. Let the kid do it."

And in return, he can collect
the cash that Tommy won't.

Five million dollars.

The devil will be dead.

The future belongs to us.

Oh, and, erm, Michael.

Every night...

..midnight in Boston,
5am in London...

..I'll be wide awake in my big
wide bed,

and you'll be wide awake
in this prison cell.

And our souls will come together,
and we'll fuck.

I won't need an alarm clock.

And you won't sleep until I'm done.

Midnight fucks 5am.

Every day.

Because we trust each other.




You're a traitor, Shelby!
You're a fucking scab!




And also from below.

Darling, how is that?

You look absolutely terrifying,
my love.

Fuck lipstick.


To launch the ship.

A long and terrible journey, Diana.

Don't fucking let me down.

Mr Shelby! Mr Shelby! Daily Mirror.


May I ask why a socialist MP
would attend a Fascist rally, sir?

Let him in,
let me answer the question.

Mr Mosley's constituency borders
my own.

We have worked together in the past.

He was once a socialist himself.

My role here tonight
is act as a bridge

between ideologies.

I am in the middle.

Mr Shelby, you once shared
a platform with Mr Mosley.

Will you be sharing the stage
with him tonight? No.

I am simply here to remind my friend
Mr Mosley

that the way of the British people
is compromise.

And you can print that, pal.

Fucking rag.

Lizzie, you should know Mosely's
wife died six months ago.

Give him your condolences, will you?

he will be with his mistress.

Who is apparently
a Lady of some standing...

..and has given him great comfort
in his time of grief.

ARTHUR: Fuck off, you dozy bastard!

Move out of my fucking way.
What is Arthur doing here?

Mosley invited him. I agreed.

Arthur made me a promise,
which he appears to have broken.

Move. I said fucking move.

I tried my best.

He hid some junk in his sock. OK.

Move along.


Tommy Boy.
Come on. Get in. Get in. Come on.

Tom, tell them to fuck off.
My brother.

Tommy. Johnny Dogs.

Mosely invited me.
He said wear a black fucking shirt.

I said I would look like every other

Lizzie. Come on. For fuck's sake.

You're an angel.
I know I've fucking let you down.

I've fucking let you down,
I know I have. All right?

I've fucking said sorry a million
times and I'll say it again.

I'm sorry, all right? Yeah? I'm
fucking sorry. Look at Johnny Dogs.

Fucking look at the state of him.

He looks like a fucking waiter.

Oh, Shut up. Get me a fucking drink.

Johnny, take your shirt off
and give it to me.

For fuck's sake, Tommy.

Take your fucking shirt off and give
it me now. Get it off!

Arthur, this is my fault.

This is my fault. Yeah.

Remember, we voted on getting
involved in the opium trade?

You voted no. I said no.
Remember, I overruled you.

I've not been here, I've been away.
Where have you been, Tom?

Ada tells me you've been hanging
out with Mosely?

Yeah, he's... Yeah? Yeah, in his
big beautiful fucking house.

Had parties there in Belgravia.

And they give me fucking respect.

And what do you give them?
Snow and junk from the company.

Look at you, brother.

Half of you has gone.
Half of you has gone.


The fuck! Rag and bone.

You fucking slapped me.

You slapped me.

I have to remain unresolved.
Do you understand?

Unresolved in everything.

I have to move between left
and right, light and shade.

And maintain the trust of both.

And I cannot have my brother wearing
a fucking black shirt

on the cover of the Daily Mirror.

If anyone takes my picture in this,

they'll find their fucking camera
under my heel, Tom.

They are throwing petrol bombs out
there Tommy.

I thought Ada was taking care
of you.

Ada's got decisions to make about
working with us.

She doesn't know what she wants.
I'll speak to Ada.

Listen, I'm going home, all right?
No. You stay there.

I have something for you.

Lizzie, you go with Johnny.
Johnny, take Lizzie to her seat.

I don't have an invitation, Tom.

You're wearing a fucking black
shirt, you can do what you like.

Go on. I'll follow you. Go on.

Go on, Dogs. Get me a fucking drink
while you're there.


I know, Tom. Look at me.

Arthur, before I went to America
I wrote a letter.

Yeah? Who to?

To Linda.

And in that letter I wrote,

"Linda, as a Christian woman,

"do you believe in forgiveness?"

And this is what I got back.
Two days ago. Have a look.

"As a Christian woman, I do believe
in forgiveness."

Yeah, and the word "do"
is underlined.

Arthur, I am no Christian.

But I also believe in forgiveness.

So, get yourself clean.

Stay clean for two weeks,
I'll write Linda another letter.

Cos I know where she is.

First, I need you back.

I need my brother.

Got a lot to do.

Need someone to do the real work.


Yeah. Look at your smile, Tom.

Look at your smile, brother.
It's been so long.

Come on. Let's see what this bastard
has to say. Come on.

All right. All right. Come on.
Come on.

Yeah, I'm coming.

He is a bastard and all, Tommy.

Black shirts and Jews.
Here we go. Here we fucking go.


Stay in the middle
and do nothing, Tom.

But not fucking me.

Come here you, you Nazi bastard.

Oof! Ugh!

You! You!

Come here, man,
I'll take your fucking eye.

Not here. Not here.

Come here. You've had your fun,
let's go home.

We have business.

Johnny, you get him home.

This time, check his fucking socks.


For fuck's sake.

Tommy, we should get out now.
Forget this American business.

We've got enough.

Not yet enough. Here she comes.

Remember to smile. Come on. Shit.


Ladies and gentlemen,

tonight he has truly earned
your adulation.

The future Prime Minister
of this great country,

Sir Oswald Mosley.

Fuck you, Mosley.



Fuck. I look terrible.
You look beautiful, Lizzie.

I need to impress this woman,

so I will act as if she is
beautiful as well.


Diana, this is Tommy Shelby MP, OBE.

Mr Shelby, Lady Diana Mitford.

Oswald's most recent
and last-ever mistress.

This is my wife. Lizzie Shelby.
Beautiful earrings.

Oh, I stole them from Tiffany's.

he bought the earrings in Paris.

We were in Paris on our honeymoon.
God, I hate Paris.

Hmm. I hear you prefer Berlin.

Oswald and I are going to marry
there, aren't we, Oswald? Hm.

Mosely, I have business to discuss.

Perhaps you and I could find
somewhere a bit quieter, eh?

Darling, Mr Shelby just made
the astonishing suggestion

that we men go off
and discuss business

while you women wait around
looking glamorous.


What year do you think this is,
Mr Shelby? 1807?

In Birmingham, the centuries
grind by quite slowly.

But, Mr Shelby, if it's business,

Diana is the engine
of my enterprise.

It's the modern way, Mr Shelby.

Yes, we know.
I am company director.

I will join the meeting as well.

But of course,
you must come as well, Elizabeth.

By the way, I really don't like

I prefer Liberated Elizabeth.
She must be part of this.

She's been all the way to Paris, so
she is a woman of the world. Bravo.

Do you know, Oswald has told me
everything about you.


Only three, because I know
these days Mr Shelby doesn't.

Our friend in Berlin doesn't either.

They have that in common at least.

Oh, I imagine they have lots
in common.

Report to me, Shelby.

Officially Jack Nelson is in London
to buy import licences.

And unofficially,
he's Roosevelt's envoy.

Well, as you can see from this
private letter,

he is far from a neutral
point of view.

Look at the bottom
of the second paragraph.

"Individually Jews are fine
but as a race they stink."

Hm. Elizabeth, do you even know
why the bridge

to President Roosevelt
is so important?

Actually, no.

I don't really know much about this
business at all.

But I have fucked
your future husband.

So, I know lots of things about him.

Tommy, I'll be outside.

Well done, Elizabeth.


Do you people want to meet Nelson
or no?

Mr Shelby, from now on,
can I call you Thomas?

If you like.

Of course we would.

And we are very grateful
for your efforts.

But, Mr Shelby, before this
enterprise goes any further,

you really must do
something about your wife.

# There ain't no grave

# Can hold my body down

# Oh

# Oh. #

Mr Shelby.


Mr Nelson.

I came early.

I wanted to come and take a look
around this beautiful church.

You're Catholic, Mr Shelby.

I hoped that by suggesting we meet
in church it might make us both

more cautious with lies and truth.

Well, your hope would be forlorn.

There ain't no-one listening here.
You don't believe in God?


It was the way Catholics were
treated in my country

that made me angry.

Made me what I became.

What made you angry?

Slowness in anything.

I wanted to have everything already.

Two working-class Catholic boys.

Did they mess with you
when you were small?

Some man in the shadows.

I carried a screwdriver and a blade.

And everyone believed
I had the power to lay curses.

And do you?

Yes, I do.

First man I killed was a priest.


A Prussian boy with green eyes,
he was already underground.

When did you last kill a man,
Mr Shelby?

Four years ago.

His name was Tommy Shelby.

He drank whisky.

You want me to allow you
to enter my city

and deal narcotics that will
kill people?

You deal in whisky, Mr Nelson.

I recently read a report
by the Vatican, actually,

which said that whisky
disproportionately kills

more of our Catholic brothers
and sisters,

whereas opium is the sedative

more often chosen
by Protestants and atheists.

In return, there are people in
England who you think I should meet?

Yes. Yes, like minds.

I'm here to buy import licences
for booze.

The booze of the blue blood elite.

In America, we like...

..we like labels and aspiration.

Well, I have a brand of my own
vodka and gin.

You can add that to your portfolio.

I hear Shelby labels are favoured
by the working class.

A fact of which I am very proud.

They say you are a poet, too.

No, I only read it.

There are some people in this
country who I'd like to meet.


Not the ones in boots and black
shirts. The ones in tuxedos.

I know men who are friends
of the cause.

I also know men who are enemies
of the cause.

For many years now,

I have been working closely with
Winston Churchill,

in many different capacities.

I have his trust.

He's opposed to the rise of fascism.

You, I believe,
see it as inevitable.

Well, I can give you men
of influence who support your cause.

I can also offer you a full report
on Churchill's strategies.

All this in return for access
to south Boston.


you can take on Churchill
on your own,

without my intelligence.

And I can sell my opium to the Jews.

You are a brave man, Mr Shelby.

A war hero, I hear.

Every war hero I ever met,
they're just someone

who wanted to get themselves killed.

Do we have a deal, Mr Nelson?

I'll think a great deal about
what you've said.

Ruby, have you finished
your spelling, love?





What are you doing, love?

I can hear voices.

Coming from up the chimney.

What voices? The grey man.

Gentlemen, Mr Thomas Shelby.

Birmingham South.


Mr Speaker.

I was raised in a family

that endured living conditions
that would test

the morality of even
the most virtuous.

Indeed... Indeed, even the best of
us would have our virtues trounced

and thwarted by life in the meanness

and the bitterness of
an overcrowded British slum.

What would you know about virtue?

Quickly, please.

Therefore, Mr Speaker, I intend
to put before this House

a bill which will offer radical
reform in housing in this country,

in which slums are cleared
and new houses are built

with new standards
in health and hygiene.

Westminster 245. House of Commons.


The time has come for change, the
people have had enough. They have!

Let's open the windows,
let in new light,

build a new Jerusalem
brick by Government-owned brick.


Into there.


Yeah, Westminster 245.

Mr Shelby.

DISTORTED: Tickner Maura O Beng,
O Beng over and over again.

How is the family?
And one of you will die.

They are staring at me, Daddy.
A man with green eyes.

Can you stop the voices?

There are no voices, my love.

It's the grey man.

He says he's coming for me...

..and he's coming for Daddy as well.



















MUFFLED: Mr Shelby. Is everything
all right in there?

Mr Shelby?

Everything's fine.

Everything's fine.


Hello? Tommy.

Tommy, she has a temperature
of 101 and nothing is working.

Just get here now. Lizzie. Please.



Where is she?
She's with the doctor upstairs.

Listen, Tommy.

He said we shouldn't come close
to her, in case...

In case of what?

When she coughs, there's blood.


put me through to the number
I gave you for Esme Shelby Lee.

# On a gathering storm

# Comes a tall handsome man

# In a dusty black coat

# With a red right hand

# A shadow is cast
wherever he stands

# Stacks of green paper

# In his red right hand. #