The Beat Beneath My Feet

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Tom. Where's your helmet?

I chained it to my bike.

You are using it, aren't you, Tom?

Yes, Mum.

Do you know the number of people I've seen that'll still be alive

if they'd worn a helmet?

Did you see those paramedics?

Yeah.

The old lady downstairs.

Maybe if she had worn a helmet.

Tom!

Tom!

What you should have is Na2 SO4...

our old friend sodium sulphate.

Tom Heath.

Tom?

Tom!

Since you're so far ahead of us,

why don't you come up here and talk us through the answer?

Come on.

Tom.

Tom!

Tom!

Mr Freeze.

Hi, love!

Thank you, God.

Tom-kins.

Is everything okay?

Mr Freeze.

What are you doing?

Nothing.

Signing up for that?

Hey, Felix...

look, we've got some pretty serious competition for Battle of the Bands.

Come on then. Entertain us, mate.

- Show us what you can do. - Damien!

No?

Then give me my guitar and shove off.

Go on.

And close the door on your way out, please!

Mr Freeze! You sent your form off yet?

Don't worry, you'll be alright. Anyway, you're looking cool.

Cool!

Whoa!

Hey, what do you think you're doing? Stop that!

- Get off him! - This one, this one.

Bloody hell.

Tom, what's the matter with you?

Book him, Lou.

Lunatic.

Tom is very quiet today.

- Oh, we're both... - ... exhausted.

Poor old Mary's got a new neighbour from hell, apparently.

- Yeah, and Tom... - ... is fighting at school, getting into trouble.

Do you want me to go and have a word with him now?

Why not?

I'm sure he's got a few sentences that need finishing.

Tom.

You don't just attack someone for no reason.

If I was schizophrenic, I might.

Schizophrenics hear voices.

I hear music.

Does that count?

- I don't think that... - Do you defend schizophrenics?

No.

Just break up families, then?

Isn't there some kind of law about getting involved with your clients?

- I'm not involved with your mother. - You'd like to be, though.

Listen, you've got two choices:

stop fighting...

put in some work, get into university — or...

be a sad loser...

like your dad.

That is appalling.

Have you spoken to the council?

They told me to keep a noise diary.

Your constant racket is driving me crazy.

Why don't you let me?

You're always doing this.

- What? - Speaking for me. Finishing my sentences.

Mary!

I am a perfectly functioning intelligent woman,

quite capable of fighting my own battles.

But you asked me to.

Yes, I know.

Sorry, I'm just at the end of my...

You are destroying my life.

Is that marijuana?

Mary!

Rock 'n' roll.

Why do people feel they can inflict their life choices on everyone around them?

Useless, selfish, bloody...

You don't know anything about him.

I had nine years of it with your father.

Thomas the Tank.

How are you going, buddy?

Hi, Dad.

You've got the best of my love,

but only on the weekend.

He's a great singer.

Yeah.

I'm a singer, in a band.

Really?

It's called Risk Factor.

Heard of us?

- No. - No.

Um, you know, in fact, if you wanted to, just give me your number then I could...

get you on the guest list.

V-I-P.

Can I help you with anything?

I'm just waiting for him over there.

Yeah, is that your son?

No.

No, no, no. It's just something I do. I mentor

special... uh... well difficult children.

He doesn't look difficult.

He's actually on sedatives.

Really?

Yeah.

I mean, you wouldn't think that...

he...

runs...

the most dangerous gang in Sutton.

Yes!

Whoa!

It's okay, it's okay. I got it.

He gets excited.

See?

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

It's just for my peace of mind, darling.

Jonah's gonna write us a letter.

A move to get him evicted.

Sleep well.

Finish the questions.

Look at the text for tomorrow and no talking.

How very sad.

Come on, class, gather round.

Tom, get the page back!

So, tomorrow...

a thousand words on uses for the compound silicon.

Apart from breast implants.

Mr Perv.

What the hell do you want?

Teach me.

You got loads of time.

You're always here.

I know about your dead boy.

Maybe teaching me...

If you ever

mention a dead child to me again, that is exactly what you'll be.

I'd rather be dead than not be able to play the guitar like you!

Ahh...

Teach me.

The blue one:

you teach me and you get to live your secret life in peace.

The red one:

and I'll tell everyone that you're not dead.

Think about it.

I bet the tabloids would love a story like this.

"Crippled tax dodger living under false identity."

"Wacko saddo benefit...

cheater."

Sad little loner...

with no life.

So are you.

At least I had one.

And my mum's getting a solicitor onto you,

so you'd better stop playing music all night and start teaching me guitar...

or you'll be locked up.

Do you hear?

He's stopped playing his music.

I wonder why.

Sounds great.

Carry on.