Ever since you began to build your empire,
you've had a crutch to lean on.
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.
There will be a war in this family and one of you will die.
You've been too busy to punish the people that killed her.
How is the family?
Daddy.
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?
Son.
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.
Right, let's go.
Synced & corrected by -robtor- www.addic7ed.com
_
Tommy?
Yeah?
It was all good. Everything was clear.
That is a relief.
- That's a relief. - Yeah.
Driver's bringing the car round.
Daddy.
Hiya.
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.
Yeah.
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. - Yeah.
Everything on a list.
- Hey, baby. - When are we going home?
Tommy? Tommy?
Tommy? What's happened?
Fuck, fuck.
Fuck.
Tommy. Come here. Come here.
What's happened?
Tommy.
It is four years...
...one 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...
...you 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.
Comrades,
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.
...you 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...
..."Silence".
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?
YES!
Hush.
Hush, you working men and women.
Silence.
Good.
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 government.
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...
Sh.
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 sources
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...
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.
Well...
...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?
Perhaps.
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?
Yeah.
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?
Hm?
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.
Yeah.
And you're still looking for trouble big enough to kill you.
Well...
...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.
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...
...is 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, well...
...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 questions.
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?
Johnny.
Only me today.
Jack says a few more weeks...
- ...Then you'll be free. - When do you travel to London?
Tomorrow.
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.
Hm.
You're a traitor, Shelby! You're a fucking scab!
Darker.
Bluer.
Sharper.
And also from below.
Darling, how is that?
You look absolutely terrifying, my love.
Fuck lipstick.
Fun.
To launch the ship.
A long and terrible journey, Diana.
Don't fucking let me down.
Mr Shelby! Mr Shelby! Daily Mirror.
Off!
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 to... to 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?
Tonight, 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.
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.
Oi.
- 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 bastard.
- 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. 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.
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.
Mosely.
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.
Actually, 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.
Goodness.
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 "Lizzie".
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.
Mr Shelby.
Yes.
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?
No.
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.
You?
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.
Indeed. 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.
Fascists.
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.
Alternatively,
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?
Ruby?
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.
Let's open the windows, let in new light,
build a new Jerusalem brick by Government-owned brick.
Into there.
Doctor?
Yeah, Westminster 245.
Mr Shelby.
_
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.
Argh!
Mr Shelby. Is everything all right in there?
Mr Shelby?
Everything's fine.
- Hello? - Tommy.
Tommy, she has a temperature of 101 and nothing is working.
Just get here now.
- Lizzie. - Please.
Lizzie.
- 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.
Madonna,
put me through to the number I gave you for Esme Shelby Lee.
CREDITS