The Carer

Oh, shut up, Dolly, get on with it.

Don't talk to me like... okay.

Just as I said, don't step on my foot.

- Okay, darling. Okay. - That's all I want...

Have you seen my black toe?

Well, how did you...

I didn't stand on it on my own, darling.

- One, two, three, four. Good. - One, two, three, four.

- You're such a good teacher, darling. - I know I am.

- And one, and two... - Three. Now we go sideways.

- Yes, okay. - And don't forget. And side.

What is going on?

Dorottya.

May I inquire what on earth is going on?

Well, good morning, Ms. Trudeau.

Freddy and Dolly were just having an early morning dance,

and they weren't dressed warm enough, you know, so I thought that...

- It is not your place, Dorottya. - Mrs. Trudeau.

You should have notified the night nurse.

I'll take over now... Thank you.

Merciful God, I'm so bored.

Bored, bored.

- Why? - Must one have a reason?

It depends what you're bored with.

For one thing, you're the queen. I'm glad you mentioned it.

You've been on a crusade.

You must have seen wonderful things,

things that I've only dreamed of.

And do you dream a lot, Henry Plantagenet?

Yes, I do. I hold the world in my hands.

Daddy, please, be reasonable. For once.

That's a big dream.

Yes. Tell me about Jerusalem.

Jerusalem.

Jerusalem was boring and very hot.

Dimitri, Dimitri.

What have I done that I should be treated so disrespectfully?

- Please stop being such an old ham. - That it should come to this.

Hmm?

Hiring somebody to care about me.

Caring for you. It's not the same thing.

We could never hope to pay anyone to care about you.

Oh!

Thank you, Sophia. Always a kind word for your dying father.

Just see her for a few minutes.

Talk to her, is that too much to ask?

- Is she a Muslim? - Oh, don't start that again.

- Of course she's not a Muslim. - The last one was a Muslim.

- No, she wasn't. She was Russian. - She had a burka.

She didn't have a burka. She had a cold.

- I'm still not interested. - Daddy, please.

Oh! Bugger off!

And let me rest in peace.

You didn't say you were going straight to the Oscars.

I wish you all the luck in the world.

- You must be Dorothy. - Yes, Dorottya. Dorottya Horvat.

- I'm Sir Michael Gifford's chauffeur. - Nice to meet you, hello.

Mmm...

Sorry, what was your name?

Joseph, miss... Joseph McGill.

And how long have you been working for Sir Gifford, Joseph?

Over 40 years.

My father saw H. Lear in Belgrade.

He used to rave about it all the time.

- I was there, you know. - No way.

- I was his dresser back then. - Amazing.

He was the life and soul of the company.

He'd be laughing and joking in the wings,

and then go on stage and play tragedy.

If he had to cry in the part,

I'd be waiting there in the wings with a glass of champagne,

to dab his eyes.

Piper Heidsieck, 2002. That's the year at the moment.

Nowadays, I work mostly for his daughter, Mrs. Morley.

- Doing what? - Driving.

I do the gardening. Lovely garden.

- So you don't dress him anymore? - Good God, no.

He hates that now. Hates being dependent.

Quite right. I hate it, too.

Well, I'm told he is difficult.

No, no, miss, that's not right.

He's bloody impossible.

Wow.

My God.

- Rather big, isn't it? - Oh, yes. Let me help you.

No, no. No, no, no.

I tell you, it's a nightmare to keep up.

That's why I work in the garden.

And, um, Mrs. Morley? What's she like?

She's her father's daughter. Very strong willed.

She wants him to sell up and move in with her.

But Sir Michael's lived the whole of his life here.

The best years, anyway.

Oh, well.

Hello, Miss Horvat.

Dorottya, isn't it?

Unusual name. Though not if you're Romanian, of course.

Hungarian, actually. I am 100 percent Hungarian.

- Even if my name is Horvat. - Yes, yes, of course.

Which in Hungarian means "Croat". But I am Hungarian.

My mistake entirely.

This is Dr. Alastair Satterthwaite, my father's doctor.

A pleasure to meet you.

And this is Milly Holcombe, she manages the house.

Miss Horvat, I'm very sorry,

but it seems like you've come all this way for no reason.

My father refuses to have you as his carer.

I am very sorry.

I don't know what you mean. Sir Gifford hasn't even met me.

You mean, "Sir Michael."

We don't say "Sir Gifford" in this country.

I'm sorry.

Perhaps if we let Miss Horvat stay for a few days...

I don't think that's a good idea.

It's a jolly good idea.

He might change his mind. Just to spite you.

Joseph and I are perfectly capable of looking after Michael. We really are.

Joseph hates doing it. He said so himself.

And Sir Michael hates it, too.

You already know, I gather,

that Sir Michael suffers from a rare type of Parkinson's disease.

- Yes. - He has his good days, and,

well, less good ones.

For the time being, we can alleviate the symptoms with medication,

but he soon might need to be bathed, taken to the lavatory.

Wiped, if needs be.

Are you quite sure you're the kind of person that could do that?

Definitely, yes.

Unfortunately, I... I have experience.

Before my father died, near the end,

I saw how much he was suffering

because he couldn't produce... Stool?

Yes, the word is stool.

So sometimes I took him into the lavatory,

and I put my finger into his, uh...

Rectum...

Rectum, yes, thank you. To relieve him.

I didn't like doing it, but he was my father, and he was in pain.

And that's what it's all about, right?

Helping and relieving.

Okay, well, I suppose you can stay for a day or two.

Milly, will you take care of Miss Horvat?

Make sure she's fed and... Well, you know.

Is that okay with everyone? Good.

So, what made them change their minds, miss?

- I did. - Oh!

Excuse me, where is this one from?

Oh, Lord. BBC.

Some king or other.

Lots of kings. 1978.

- And that one up there? - Troilus and Cressida.

Very good.

Shit.

A-ha!

Got you, you little bastard.

Yes. Okay, you're going back in the pond.

Yes.

Shit.

Argh!

Help!

Someone, come on!

Help me!

Hey! Someone fucking help me!

Help me!

When you've quite finished gawping,

would you please be so kind as to get me out of this suppurating rose bush?

I feel like Buster fucking Keaton on a bad day.

- Who the fuck are you? - I am Dorottya.

I didn't ask your sodding name,

I asked who the fuck you are.

What are you doing in my garden?

I'm your new career.

- You're my "new career"? - Yes.

Now, there's a depressing thought.

Fucking frogs!

I've spent a fortune on this adventure park for them,

and the little buggers won't even go near the place.

Why do you think that is?

They just can't appreciate beauty.

What did you say your name was, again?

Dordogne? Torino? Burrito?

Dorottya.

You're a scrawny little thing. I pulled you up, didn't I?

Not very pretty. Actually... Well, I think...

You look like a girl I used to fancy in nursery.

Which you look as if you're still attending.

And don't say I look like someone.

I'm too famous to look like anyone else.

Other people look like me.

If they're lucky.

Oh! Oh.

I think I need to lie down. I'm going to be sick.

Oh! No.

Michael.

Michael, you are all right? What's happening?

Don't fuss, Milly. I'm all right. Tickety boo, never better.

You are covered in rose petals.

- Oh, yes, yes, rose petals. - Didn't you know?

This young lady and I just got married.

- Really? - I'm sorry you haven't been introduced.