INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Danny enters. Alex’s mum and dad are waiting. Silent.
The table’s laid for one. Danny stares at it.
MR. TURNER
We’ve already eaten.
Danny’s deflated. The clock on the wall says it’s nine.
Mrs. Turner is embarrassed by their rudeness. Mr. Turner is not. She tries to compensate.
MR. TURNER (CONT’D)
We won’t stand here and watch.
MRS. TURNER
If you need anything else we’ll be next door.
They exit into the living room, closing the door.
Danny’s abruptly left alone, in his smart shirt.
He peers down --
A cold plate of food under cling-film - a rectangle of anaemic cheese, a hardboiled egg, a half tomato, iceberg lettuce, gelatinous ham. A single white roll.
Two glasses of foil covered wine. One red. One white.
Danny walks to the door, about to open it, and ask why they can’t talk, but he decides against it.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Danny has finished the food. He washes up the plate, dries it, puts it by the sink. Wipes down the table.
Now half past nine. No sign of Alex’s parents. He walks to the door. No sound. Danny opens it.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT
Alex’s parents are reading. They look up at Danny.
MRS. TURNER
How was dinner?
Danny sounds less effusive than before.
DANNY
It was fine.
The Turners nod and return to their books. Danny stands, a little lost. And upset.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT
Danny sits with Alex’s parents. But he’s not reading - observing them. They read. Steadily. Heads down. No hint of conversation. Danny refuses to accept this.
DANNY
Alistair - tell me about him.
Both parents put down their books and look at him.
Mr. Turner abruptly stands up.
MR. TURNER
Tomorrow morning. When you’re rested.
Mr. Turner leaves. Danny is worried that he’s offended him. Mrs. Turner seems torn between various responses.
MRS. TURNER
Will you be able to sleep?
DANNY
Probably not.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Mrs. Turner is making hot milk, full cream, spicing it with fresh ground cinnamon. Danny observes --
Her hands are unkempt. Strong. Sturdy. Working hands.
Her shoes are plain, stout. And do not match the vintage clothes. In fact, the vintage clothes are not a good fit.
With subtle guile, Danny observes.
DANNY
Alistair suffered from insomnia.
She pours the milk, lovingly handing it to Danny.
MRS. TURNER
(natural)
That’s why he liked running so much. To exhaust him. His mind was so busy. He ran so he could sleep.
A hint of an accent when she’s more relaxed. Suddenly she’s nervous, intimacy too far.
DANNY
Why can’t you talk to me?
MRS. TURNER
In the morning, you’ll understand.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny in bed. Lights off. Can’t sleep, staring at the crucifix. He sits up, gets out of bed.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY / ROOMS. NIGHT
Danny enters the hallway of eight identical doors. He quietly walks towards one. Opens the door: a cupboard. He continues his search. Trying not to make a noise.
Finally he discovers a bedroom --
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. ALEX’S BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny enters. Shuts the door behind him. Quietly. And turns to examine the room --
A desk against the window. View out into the forest. Bookshelves. And many books. The spines are broken. Dense academic volumes. Mathematical equations.
There are annotations. From the way Danny touches them, we guess that he recognizes the handwriting.
Danny walks to the wardrobe. Opens it. A few clothes. Colour-coordinated. Searches their pockets. Finds nothing.
Danny to the writing desk. Opens the drawers. Nothing.
Danny to the bed. Looks under it. Nothing. Then stands, stares down at it, hand on top of the sheets.
No emotion. No reaction.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. HALLWAY. NIGHT
Danny exits, startled to discover Mrs. Turner in the hallway. He doesn’t know what to say: caught red handed.
But she’s not angry. She seems as lost as he is. About to speak but says nothing, turns and goes back to her room.
Danny watches as she shuts the door.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. MORNING
Danny woken by a sharp knock. The door opens. Mr. Turner looms in the doorway.
MR. TURNER
Time to talk.
Danny checks his phone. It’s six AM.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. MORNING
Danny enters. Unlike last night the table is laid for three. A hearty communal breakfast. Danny’s relieved.
He takes his seat. Alex’s mum pours Danny a cup of tea.
DANNY
Thank you.
Danny checks to see if she’s annoyed.
Mr. Turner seems oblivious. Apparently she didn’t tell him. A secret. A curious one.
Danny waits for them to take the lead.
MR. TURNER
We’d prefer it if there was no fuss.
He looks to his wife. She confirms, less convincingly.
MRS. TURNER
We’d both prefer it.
MR. TURNER
If there was no fuss.
DANNY
You read the article?
MRS. TURNER
We’re not making any judgements.
MR. TURNER
You see the life we lead. We’re private people. We don’t want attention. The past is the past. What Alistair did in London was up to him. He was an adult. Can’t bring him back. We’d just prefer it if there was no fuss.
Mr. Turner places a hand on his wife’s hand. She doesn’t seem comfortable. But doesn’t pull away.
DANNY
I won’t speak to the press again.
MR. TURNER
That’s good.
Danny can’t let it stand at that --
DANNY
But no one was saying it. So I said it. Your son was murdered.
Mr. Turner looks up sharply.
MR. TURNER
After breakfast, how about a walk? Just the two of us?
EXT. FOREST. DAY
Danny and Mr. Turner walking. Danny’s behind him. The forest is dense & dark.
DANNY
Your son was murdered.
Mr. Turner stops walking. But doesn’t turn. Danny arrives at his side, looking at his expression.
MR. TURNER
My son’s dead. My wife’s sick.
(beat)
Her nerves...
DANNY
I’m sorry.
MR. TURNER
Enough.
Holding each other’s eye. Danny doesn’t push.
The father turns, and walks on, offering no more explanation. Danny watches him go.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. DAY
Danny packing to leave, folding his white shirt. He stops, troubled and unsure.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. ALEX’S ROOM. DAY
Danny stands in the room, deep in thought.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY
Danny enters without his bags. And stands opposite Alex’s parents - his energies strangely elevated.
Alex’s parents notice the lack of a bag. They’ve made a packed lunch for him. In a plastic bag.
A pork pie. An apple. A juice carton.
MR. TURNER
We need to leave soon if we’re to make your train.
Danny doesn’t reply. He stares at Alex’s parents - not a polite, inquisitive glance - he really stares.
DANNY
What is this?
They look at Danny. They look at each other.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Who are you?
(beat)
That --
(points upstairs)
Is not his bedroom.
(beat)
This is not his home.
(points at them)
You are not his parents.
Danny is only seventy percent sure.
Mr. Turner’s expression darkens.
MR. TURNER
Have you lost your mind?
Mrs. Turner, however, says nothing. Danny’s attention concentrates on her.
Mr. Turner looks at his wife - an instruction to her to echo his comment. She does not.
DANNY
Who are you?
The couple simply stand. Impassive.
Now certain, Danny loses his temper.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Who are you!
Silence.
And, then, as if in reply to his question --
The telephone rings. Shrill and startling.
The man answers it. He listens. Eyes on Danny.
He does not say a word.
He hangs up.
Danny waits.
DANNY (CONT’D)
(exasperated)
Who was that?
UNKNOWN MAN
That was Alistair’s mother.
Danny looks at the now unidentified woman. There’s shame in her face. Danny is amazed that he was right.
DANNY
His mother?
Silence. Confirmation.
DANNY (CONT’D)
What does she want?
UNKNOWN MAN
To meet you.
Danny belatedly realizes the implications of the phone call. Looks around at the room.
Danny sits at the table. The packed lunch is so desperately ordinary. Danny takes out the pork pie breaking it in half, crumbling it.
Addressing the room in general:
DANNY
I’ll meet her.
EXT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. DAY
Danny, with bag, walks towards the car, discretely checking his phone - no reception.
The unknown couple open the car door for him.
DANNY
How far is it?
UNKNOWN MAN
Not far.
Except there’s nothing around but woods.
Danny registers the physical strength of the unknown man.
Danny climbs into the car. The door’s shut.
INT/EXT. CAR / COUNTRYSIDE / MANSION GROUNDS. DAY
Danny in the back. The couple in the front.
They pull out of the drive, onto the road and continue for no more than a few hundred metres.
Up ahead is a grand and dilapidated stone gateway - wrapped in ivy, crumbling brick.
They turn off the road, underneath the gateway. We pass through a mangled-branch-forest.
The forest abruptly gives way to the grounds of a mansion. Shaped hedgerow. Stone fountains. Long lawns.
At the top of a landscaped slope sits a Gothic country house - two hundred or so years old.
The exterior of the house shows many signs of neglect. The garden is on the threshold of wilderness.
The car descends the once opulent drive.
From afar, the figure of a woman in her sixties - dressed elegantly - waits at the front doors.
The car parks. Danny gets out.
EXT. MANSION. DRIVE. DAY
The woman stands at the top of the stone steps looking down at Danny as he advances towards her.
She’s Frances. A magnificently shrewd face with hair, touched with grey, glorious in its implied wisdom.
Her clothes are vintage designer. Like her house, splendour mingled with decay. Formidable.
We realize that Mrs. Turner was wearing this woman’s clothes. And wearing them not very well.
Seen on their rightful owner they take on a vivid life of their own. And make sense.
Danny comes face to face with her. Unlike yesterday, when he was demure, now he’s emboldened.
FRANCES
We needed to know who we were dealing with.
With ironic understanding Danny empties his pockets, for inspection, tossing the contents on the ground - his wallet, receipts, a clatter of loose coins.
DANNY
Anything else you need to see?
But Danny’s retort fades into nothing as Frances is struck by the dropped coins.
Dirty silver and copper in the gravel. She looks at them for a moment, her thoughts far away.
And then, a rebuff, almost as an afterthought --
FRANCES
Not everyone is comfortable inviting strangers into their home.
Danny’s staggered by the barb. Yet there’s a beguiling quality to her audacity.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
We thought, if you saw where we lived, you might try to extort us.
DANNY
Why would you think I’m after your money?
FRANCES
Because you have none.
(off Danny’s reaction)
You want an apology? I gave you an explanation.
DANNY
You I believe.
Frances reacts powerfully to that statement.
Danny catches sight of a figure at the window --
A hunched man in his seventies. Aged badly. A Tweed suit. A figure in the shadows, a vision of meanness.
Frances follows Danny’s glance.
FRANCES
My husband’s name is Charles. My name is Frances. And my son’s name was Alistair. Your name - Daniel - we read in the paper.
Danny registers the insult but is beyond hurt. He glances back at the people who pretended to be Alex’s parents.
Dressed in their masters’ clothes.
The man drives the vintage car towards the huge garage, where it belongs.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
My staff, you’ve met.
The woman sheepishly carries Danny’s bag to the house.
DANNY
Where’s she taking my stuff?
FRANCES
Surely you’re going to stay the night?
Frances turns and enters, without waiting for a reply.
After a beat Danny picks up the items he dropped on the gravel, puts them back in his pocket.
Wary, he follows Frances inside, glancing to the side: mean Charles still at the window.
INT. MANSION. GRAND HALL . DAY
Danny enters an impressive entrance hall. But we can see scaffolding up ahead.
Frances moves to the stairs. Danny follows her up.
INT. MANSION. GRAND HALL. DAY
We move through scaffolding and plastic, statues wrapped in protective coverings take on new forms.
FRANCES
We’re in the midst of restoring this house to its former glory.
Despite her claim there’s no sign of any new work being done. No craftsmen. No builders. The house is silent.
FRANCES (CONT’D)
We had hoped Alistair would finish the task.
They pass out of the scaffolding area into the main hall. It’s enormous. Alcoves. A fire place.
Danny is dwarfed by the space: his eyes exploring.
INT. MANSION. CORRIDOR. DAY
Danny following Frances through a corridor. She reaches a door and opens it for him.
INT. MANSION. GUEST BEDROOM. DAY
A second beautifully refurbished room.
High ceilings. Wood panelling. A regal four poster bed. An antique wardrobe. A grand desk at the window.
Danny inspects the room. Opens the wardrobe. Moth balls and nothing more. Walks to the huge desk. Touches it.
Looks out the win
dow --
EXT. MANSION GROUNDS. MAZE. DAY
In the grounds there’s an ancient and complex maze. The hedgerow is overgrown. Wild and tangled.
INT. MANSION. GUEST BEDROOM. DAY
Danny turns to Frances. He notices that her fingers toy with a silver necklace, leading to some pendant concealed beneath her shirt.
DANNY
This was his room.
Frances studies Danny with interest.
FRANCES
How did you know?
DANNY
Because it’s the loneliest room I’ve ever been in.
She absorbs his observation. A suggestion of sadness in Frances but she quickly controls it, hiding the emotion.
She lets go of the necklace which disappears.
FRANCES
Charles was sure that you’d catch the train home today, none the wiser. I was convinced you’d figure it out. It seems you did so not with reason. Or deduction. But with something akin to female intuition.
DANNY
I won’t sleep here.
FRANCES
I would never have allowed you to.
She leaves. Danny pauses at the door, looking back.
INT. MANSION. SECOND STAIRWAY. DAY
A utilitarian staircase. Narrow, cramped and cold. They climb up towards the attic. Danny follows Frances.
INT. MANSION. ATTIC BEDROOM. DAY
The top of the house - with low ceilings - a servant’s room. Stark. Functional. Cold. It’s deliberately rude.
Danny’s bag awaits him.
FRANCES
Dinner’s at eight.
She’s about to leave. Danny asks:
DANNY
You’re embarrassed by his death?
FRANCES
Yes.
DANNY
Upset, too?
Anger in Frances. A glimpse. Again, she controls it.