Hard Truths

Moses!

Put on the kettle for me,

and don't fill it up too much,

one cup, not eight. It's a waste.

Mum, I'll see you in a bit.

Where d'you think you're going?

-Out. -Where out?

For a walk.

How many times do I have to tell you?

People are going to accuse you of loitering with intent.

Don't call me, if you get picked up by the police,

I won't be coming to bail you out.

My family's never been in trouble with the law,

we hold up our heads.

And make sure you shut the door properly!

All right?

Wait.

-Clear your end? -Yeah, yeah.

-Okay? -Yeah. Cool.

Nice day, innit?

What's this?

My banana.

I can't believe you're willing to lie there,

rotting your life away.

Don't you have any hopes or dreams?

What are your ambitions?

This place is a pigsty.

Look at it!

Dirty socks, chocolate wrappers, spoon!

How many times do I have to tell you

to not bring food stuff up here?

Toilet paper?

What you doing with toilet paper in your bedroom?

Moses Kingsley Deacon.

I am not your servant.

There's a healthy

selection of properties

on the market in Cabo Roig,

and depending on the amount of work needed,

three-beds here can start from around £106,000.

We found a recently renovated option,

a 30-minute walk to the sea,

with great space for their dog, Penelope.

What do you think of the neighborhood?

- Lovely. Lovely. - Nice and quiet.

Very peaceful.

Nice and clean, isn't it?

- Curtley? - Yeah.

-You good? -Nah!

What's that?

Where you going?

Where do you think I'm going?

I know exactly where you're going.

You're going out there into that godforsaken wilderness.

Digging about in your useless bits and pieces

in that rat-infested hovel of yours.

Stepping in disgusting squirrel doo-doo

and rancid bird droppings

so you can traipse 'em back in

through onto my kitchen floor.

Why you still got shoes on?

I'm going straight out.

- So? - So what?

You expect me to take them off, put them on,

take them off and put them on again?

Yes, of course!

I've told you a million times.

Curtley!

Don't leave the door open,

I don't want bloody filthy pigeons

coming in here scavenging.

Useless!

You all right?

Yeah.

You been out today?

Yeah.

Where'd you go?

You can't go in or out of a supermarket

without being harassed by those grinning,

cheerful charity workers begging you for money

for their stupid causes.

Why they gotta skin their teeth like that?

Cheerful, grinning people.

I can't stand 'em.

Loitering out there,

demanding your hard-earned cash.

It's a scam.

They're scamming people.

Can't trust them.

They want your phone number, your email.

I asked one of them.

I said, "Why do you want my postcode?

"I might as well just give you my front door key

"so you can bruk into my house, tief out my things,

"and kill my only child."

And nobody calls the police on them.

Police wouldn't come anyway.

They're too busy harassing Black boys walking.

And him round the corner with that dog.

Got it dressed up in a red coat

and green booties.

Why's the dog got on a coat?

It's got fur, innit?

It must be sweating under there.

Stinking.

That's cruelty to animals, that is,

putting it under all that plastic.

I've got a mind to report him to the NSPCG

or whatever they call 'em.

And her, over there, with that fat baby.

Cold. Cold. Cold.

And she's walking up and down the street

with nothing but a big pink bow on its bald head,

so everybody can tell it's a girl.

Like I care.

Parading it around in the little outfit,

not dressed for the weather, nah,

with pockets.

What's a baby got pockets for?

What's it going to keep in its pocket?

A knife? It's ridiculous.

-It's the RSPCA, Mum. -What?

The Royal Society

for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

I know! I'm not stupid.

Anyway...

When we gonna replace that bruk-down sofa in there?

Eh?

Look here.

Mm-hmm. - Hm? And look... look in here.

And round there.

What am I looking at?

Grey, grey, grey, grey. Ashman grey.

You not have no grey.

Oh, that man gave me so much stress.

And, you know, he don't have one grey hair

-'pon him head. Not one. Hm. -Hm.

People see him on road, they say, "Oh, Ashman,

"you look so young."

Him love that.

-You know how him vain. -Mm-hmm.

Stupid old fool.

Nobody knows the trouble I see

because I don't show it, you know?

-You look good. -Oh, thank you, my darling.

-Mm-hmm. -I just get on with it,

you know? That's me.

There are certain battles that I've just got to leave,

d'you know? I gotta choose my battles wisely.

No, that's one you need to pick.

Mm-hmm.

You come from your night shift?

Oh, long night.

Midnight, my patient started travelling,

and by 2:00 a.m., she pass over.

- Oh, no. - So sad. Lovely woman.

Touch of the dementia, you know.

No family?

One son. In New York.

-Mm-hmm. -Apparently, he too busy

-to travel. Mm-hmm. -No.

-People are wicked. -Wicked.

They don't know how lucky they are.

Thank you. They do not know.

Eh? Oh, stress, stress,

stress, stress.

Ashman says I stress too much.

-Mm-hmm. -He don't stress at all,

you know? 'Cause when he go to bed

he sleep like a baby.

That's why his hair

is still black.

Although, it could be hereditary

because his father never went grey until what?

- He was in his 80s. Mm, mm. - Mm-hmm.

Had one of my dreams again.

Hm.

-Is it? -Mark it.

I see Ashman stand up in some clear water.

When you look down, you can see him foot,

and you see the fishes, as they swim through.

Swim through.

-Him do it again? -Again.

Hmm.

Baby-mother number three.

22.

Half Greek, half Nigerian.

Live in Peckham.

- Hmm. - My Lord.

At this stage of his life?

You see how you're quiet?

Big people talking over here!

As we were saying...

Hm.

When I leave that man, you see,

his head going to spin.

Don't make him bruk you up, you know.

Bruk who?

After all I been through with that dirty brute?

No, sir.