Work Text:
Feb 6, 2020. 17:16; Zoom call initiated by Andy_Wilman
*
JEREMY: It won’t be delayed.
RICHARD: Jeremy.
JEREMY: It won’t!
ANDY: Have you taken a look at the news recently?
JEREMY: There was a war going on in Middle East when we went filming, what the fuck is the problem now?
ANDY: There were already existing regulations constructed for individual countries and for filming at that particular location. I don't think geopolitical boundaries apply to a growing viral epidemic.
JEREMY: Which growing epidemic? This isn’t a Dustin Hoffman movie!
ANDY: And you fucking know it. I know you prefer being a nine-year-old, but I can't trust that Jeremy with decision-making. I'm sorry, I already spoke to the execs. The way it looks from here, Russia isn't happening. And I don’t want to hear another word about it because if someone put a Geiger counter next to my ear it would crackle louder than if you threw it at the Elephant’s Foot, that’s how many phonecalls I’d made in the last three days.
JEREMY: Well guess what, Wilman. The main briefing hasn’t happened yet and when it does, I’ll be there and explain to those experts the concept of a media-spread panic.
ANDY: You won’t be there because I won’t send you a link. Anyway, what’s up with James? It’s been ten minutes and he still isn’t here.
RICHARD: Uh, yes, hello, I’m still here. He said it was the camera problem. He’s trying to fix it. Won’t be long.
JEREMY: Hm, interesting. If it’s like he’d do a chassis he should’ve made it by now. If it’s anything like his interpersonal relationships, he’s probably given up already.
RICHARD: [Sighs something that could be ‘Oh, God’ and leans his elbows on the desk, grabs his hair so only a few messy dark tufts are visible in the laptop cam.]
ANDY: Don’t start, Jeremy. Not today.
JEREMY: Absolutely, I agree with you. I should’ve brought this up a decade ago.
ANDY: I didn’t schedule this meeting so that you two can have your marital arguments. I’m barely paid enough to tolerate them in real life as it is.
JEREMY: Don’t worry. The way things are going, you might not have to for much longer. And for once it’s not gonna be my fault.
RICHARD: [Bolts his head up with hands outstretched.] Okay, Jeremy, listen to me. Hey. I know you’re angry and I know what you’re angry about. But I disagree with Andy. If you go there and it explodes, and I know it will because I know you both well enough, it won’t be fun for either of you or for anyone else. Just please, please, I know it’s difficult for you, bu please try not to shout straight away and let him explain. I’m sure there’s a perfectly sound reasoning for what he said.
JEREMY: [Pushes glasses on top of his head, leans in.] He said he’s backing out of the show, Hammond. He’s not an idiot to not word it the way he did, but he meant it.
RICHARD: I know. I know. But can’t you just hear him out? Maybe it’s not the way it seems. Just, you know. Feel the terrain first.
JEREMY: I'm sorry, are we talking about the same James May? Or if we are, we clearly have a different point of view.
ANDY: Just try diplomatic.
JEREMY: Diplomatic?
RICHARD: Methodical.
ANDY: No sudden movements or loud noises. Take a breath every time you think of something to say.
JEREMY: I'll faint. [...] Okay, okay. I'm calm. I'm diplomatic.
ANDY: Right. Here he is, he's coming.
[James joined the call]
JEREMY: There you are, you back-stabbing piece of shit!
[James’ greeting smile falls into a startled frown. He briefly lifts a finger in a universal sign of “hold on a minute” and points at the earphone. Everybody hesitates a moment as he seems to be frantically searching for the source of evident error.]
JEREMY: What– [He cuts himself off with a desperate sigh.] What the fuck is he doing now?
ANDY: [Holds out his hands, which he uses to emphasise important bits with.] He can’t hear you. Thank. Fuck. He can’t hear you.
JEREMY: He’s not even letting me yell at him the way I want, he’s always got to ruin the moment!
ANDY: If you don’t calm down, I will end this call and start a new one without you.
JEREMY: Fine by me!
ANDY: Jeremy, please. I know you don’t give a shit about stuff like this which is why I’m doing them, but this is bloody important. Please, please, you’ve got to be civilised today.
JEREMY: I’m psychologically incapable of seeing his mug today!
[Richard facepalms.]
ANDY: Then do what you fucking do best — pretend.
JAMES: Is it- did it work? Ah! [He grins.] Hello!
RICHARD: [Removes the hand from his face and throws on a cheesy grin and his voice intertwines with Andy’s greeting.] A’ight, mate?
[Jeremy says nothing.]
JAMES: Sorry about that, some technical issues. Did I miss anything?
RICHARD: Just some moaning.
[Jeremy tuts, rolls his eyes.]
JAMES: So nothing new.
ANDY: Not on that front, anyway, but I’m afraid I have to yet again be the bearer of bad news.
JAMES: Oh. I’d say the year hasn’t even started yet but it’s already February and given our general pace, I’m not surprised.
ANDY: Well, surprisingly, it’s not anyone's fault this time around.
JEREMY: [Mumbling.] Not sure about that.
[James twitches his head in a way that reads he is going to ask Jeremy to repeat himself but doesn’t get a chance.]
ANDY: We’ll have to bin this special. [He leans back in the chair with an exhale.] The lot. Ideas, bookings, everything. We’re not going.
JAMES: Oh.
RICHARD: [Frowns.] You don’t seem surprised. Again.
JAMES: Well, I did assume it would come to that—
JEREMY: Yeah, it’s not like you’ve suddenly got senile dementia, Richard, or have you sincerely forgotten who we’re talking about here?
ANDY: [Through gnashed teeth.] Jeremy, diplomacy!
JEREMY: No, I am being diplomatic, Wilman. For how long have you been assuming, May? It’s been bothering you for a long time now, has it?
JAMES: Whatever you’re insinuating, I’m sure it’s far away from what I’ve been trying to say, which is addressing this spreading dise—
JEREMY: No, I don’t care what you have to say because it’s plain bullshit. I’m not even sure if you care remotely that they are shutting the door in on us because I know for a fact the word ‘care’ doesn’t stand nowhere near your name in the dictionary.
JAMES: Well, whatever dilemmas you’ve forged for yourself in your head right now, they are exclusively on you because in case you’re forgetting, I’ve spent just as many hours hanging over that script as you, Clarkson.
JEREMY: Oh, no, no, no, we’re not doing that.
JAMES: Doing what?
JEREMY: [Launches forward in his chair, index finger stabbing accusingly at the screen.] Pointing fucking fingers! I know what you said! I know you’re trying to leave the show!
RICHARD: Gentlemen—
JAMES: What, this show? This show that’s starting to balance on a knife edge?
JEREMY: Oh, that’s fucking shallow, May, for a show that saved you from fucking poverty.
[They start to yell over each other, an occasional adjective ‘fucking’ preceding whichever noun sharp enough to penetrate the cacophony. Andy stares at the void in space between his eyes and the screen, waiting for the storm to wind down. Jeremy and James break off almost a the same time, both leaning back and breathing hard, rage in their eyes the same fire burning differently.]
RICHARD: [Tentatively.] Can we all take a step back?
JAMES: [Completely ignoring Richard.] For the record, I was going to elaborate on that topic in person with you, but I see that you can’t resist running ahead of yourself, as usual.
JEREMY: You just have to make everything so fucking difficult.
JAMES: You would know. [He exhales.] I need to arrange things with Tom, if any show-making is still salvageable. Happy fucking New Year.
JEREMY: [Darts forward, hands on the desk.] Don’t you fucking dare—
[James left the call]
[Jeremy sits back in the chair and rubs his face. Richard stares at the screen with his brain still in the middle of processing. Andy bores a face of someone closely but unwillingly familiar with this set of outbursts.]
RICHARD: Well done, chap.
JEREMY: [Staring at the ceiling.] Shut the fuck up, Hammond.
RICHARD: What, like you’d been telling James for almost twenty years now?
JEREMY: No, don’t start. He’s fifty-seven years old, he doesn’t need a fucking nanny.
RICHARD: He needs friends.
JEREMY: [Lowers his gaze, eyebrow up.] Is that what you are?
RICHARD: I’d say “we”.
JEREMY: [Snorts.] Perish the thought. I’ve gotta go. Someone's got to supervise the construction works if you don't want your new house to have leaking walls.
[nicholas witchell left the call]
[The call is down to two participants. Andy and Richard are in various states of disbelief. Eventually, Andy leans out of the frame retrieving a bottle of strong spirit, pulls out the glass cork and takes a bold swing.]
RICHARD: That’s a great idea. Mind if I knock one back, as well?
ANDY: [Waves him away without breaking the chug.]
[Call ended]
____________________
Mar 11, 2020. 11:56; Zoom call initiated by James
*
RICHARD: I’ve decided to open up a workshop.
JAMES: [Eyebrows bouncing up and settling back down again.] Interesting. What kind of a workshop?
RICHARD: Classic car restoration.
JAMES: Oh, that’s good. It’s not like it’s been done before, though, hasn’t it? Plenty of times. You know, Tim and Fuzz for example.
RICHARD: So has a show about someone pretending to cook.
JAMES: I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I’m just saying it’s not exactly the frontface of authenticity.
RICHARD: Yeah, but I’m not looking for authenticity, am I? It’s about doing what I love and being close to my family. Only two things I ever wanted.
JAMES: Absolutely, I think it’s a fantastic idea. I only feel sorry for your girls, they’d forgotten what it’s like to constantly be around you.
RICHARD: Har-har, Captain Slow. I’m sure Sarah is much worse for wear.
JAMES: I should think not anymore.
RICHARD: What, you’ve suddenly developed a pathological revolt for Airfix models?
JAMES: [Pauses, looks this way and that, then lets his gaze fall somewhere below the laptop screen. His voice comes out quiet.] I don’t think it would’ve helped, actually.
RICHARD: What are you talking about?
[James doesn’t answer, bearing a face of zoned-out concentration. Then he reaches off-screen and retrieves a pipe. While he’s stuffing it with tobacco, Richard is silent, other than busying himself with aimlessly displacing things around his desk. James lights the pipe and puffs an impressive cloud of smoke.]
JAMES: She’s staying at her mother’s. Says she needs some time to think if she needs a break or if continuing is senseless.
RICHARD: Shit, mate.
JAMES: Yeah.
RICHARD: Did she say why?
JAMES: She said… [He breaks off, eyes rolling upwards in a way they do when he’s discussing something painstakingly analytical.] She said she feels trapped… let me just see if I got this right… but only when I’m away. When I’m present I apparently started to feel like a total stranger as the years were going by.
RICHARD: [Rubbing his face.] Jesus.
JAMES: [Shrugs.] Can’t say I didn’t see it coming, to be honest. I thought she’d binned us years earlier. I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did.
RICHARD: Don’t say that.
JAMES: Just be happy to have Mindy. Send her my greetings, by the way, and don’t tell her about this. Sarah probably will, sooner or later, and I don’t want Mindy to hear it from anyone else.
RICHARD: Oh yeah, of course. Don’t worry.
[Several seconds go by in silence that isn’t exactly uncomfortable for two friends who’d known each other for nearly three decades.]
RICHARD: [Suddenly finds his nails particularly worthy of attention; his voice comes out barely loud enough for the mic to catch it.] Heard from Jeremy?
JAMES: I did text him a couple of times, but it was like drawing graffiti on the wall. And none of my calls were returned, but I think he hasn’t forgotten how to operate a mobile because some of them were quite intentionally rejected.
RICHARD: Are you going to tell him?
JAMES: No, because I know he’s either going to be pitiful and sympathetic or dismissive or he’s going to bombard me with questions. Or, even worse, he’ll do his best to fix it when it’s not his place to do so, and none of this is something I need right now.
RICHARD: I don’t believe he’d actually do that last bit, but I understand where you’re coming from.
JAMES: We’re mechanically capable, Hammond, people like you and I. When we need to get away from things, we retreat to the shed. That’s all. It usually solves most dilemmas or existential crisis.
RICHARD: Yeah, that makes me even more thrilled about the whole workshop idea.
JAMES: No, yeah, definitely, I think you should go on. Now will you tell me more about it or am I going to have to think of another excuse to open a bottle of Merlot?
____________________
Mar 16, 2020. 10:35; Zoom call initiated by Richard Hammond
*
[Two screens display empty rooms. The mic of one of them captures noises and Izzy Hammond appears from one of the corners. Her hesitation is minimal before she leans in close.]
IZZY: Hello?
[Receiving no response at first, but still urged by curiosity, she sits down and crosses her arms on top of the desk, still looking expectantly at the other room on the screen.]
IZZY: Hellooo!
JEREMY: [Walks over chewing on something and takes a seat.] Oh, hi, sweetheart! What's going on?
IZZY: I'm gonna be shouted at!
JEREMY: What have you done?
IZZY: Apparently, you can't accidentally break the fuse box with a cricket ball because you mess with the thermostat for the entire barn and now this weekend's party is ruined.
JEREMY: [Double-takes.] Shouldn't you not do that?
IZZY: No, it's just the four of us and the dogs. And chickens. And maybe a horse. We haven't had a gigantic party in a month and Mum's a bit party-deficient. You know. First world problems. She’d actually developed a twitch.
JEREMY: [Displays an index finger of unparalleled wisdom.] But do you have the drinks?
IZZY: Yeah, loads, why?
JEREMY: Then the party isn't ruined, you see. It just means there's more drink for the lot of you.
IZZY: That might be a useful defence argument, I'll keep it in mind, thanks! What's going on with you? Did you call Pa?
JEREMY: No, he called me, but immediately fucked off.
IZZY: Why is that?
JEREMY: Because your dad is a little bit angry with me.
IZZY: I thought he never really stopped being angry with you since I was born.
JEREMY: Well this time it's because Uncle James and I are in a bit of a disagreement.
IZZY: Thought that went on for as long as I exist as well, what are you, badgers?
JEREMY: Some things never change.
IZZY: Have you tried not arguing?
JEREMY: I think that kind of messes with the same concept that makes weekendly shopping possible for you.
IZZY: I know you can discern reality from fiction, Uncle Jeremy, because I know you watched "A Cock and a Bull Story" but I thought when you implement it for yourself it's much easier to tell them apart.
JEREMY: That's the thing, peanut. Fiction doesn't always stand as a front for reality. It's not that simple. Sometimes you have to shove some things under the carpet to make something else work. For the greater good.
IZZY: Are you saying you don't like working with James anymore?
JEREMY: [Takes a deep sigh.] Your father is the first best thing that happened to this show. He brought it to life by nearly losing his own. I wouldn't replace him for anything in this world. Uncle James is a different story.
IZZY: Is it a bad different? Or did it become bad different?
JEREMY: No, I wouldn't call it a bad different, not at all. Just… Different. We have a different perspective on big things.
IZZY: You know Pa isn't cross with you. He's just at a bit of a loss at how to help you. I mean, this is the longest he's been home in one piece since he started working with you.
JEREMY: You think so?
IZZY: Think of how this must feel right now. I mean obviously, you're not an exception, we’re all in the middle of it. Me breaking a thermostat is probably the closest to his up-until-recently everyday life. But I don't think it's a bad thing.
JEREMY: What, you think this pandemic came as a necessary evil?
IZZY: Think how it's going to feel when you start travelling again. It's going to be like losing your virginity for the second time!
JEREMY: [Laughs openly but as it dies out, his eyebrows knot together in a frown.] Hang on, what were you doing with a cricket ball?
IZZY: [Leans in close with a deadly serious expression and speaks in an even more grave tone.] It’s the quarantine. Nobody is expected to stay sane in such a situation, Uncle Jeremy. We play cricket because the alternative is indefinitely worse.
JEREMY: [His frown turns concerned as he slowly nods in an attempted, failed, but polite comprehension.] Right.
____________________
Jun 3, 2020. 17:48; Zoom call initiated by Felix Project
*
[Felix Project launches a charity pub quiz hosted by Jeremy, Richard and James. The topics revolve around car models, manufacturers, Top Gear and The Grand Tour trivia, vomiting in cars and planes and a frustrated rant from Jeremy concerning mostly COVID.]
JEREMY: Lying fucking toerag.
RICHARD: This probably shows why you never came to power, Clarkson.
JEREMY: Yeah?
RICHARD: Yeah, when you lie you at least make an effort to make it sound believable.
JEREMY: [Chuckles.] You say that, Richard Hammond, but that’s ‘cause you can’t lie for shit.
RICHARD: I have no concept of lying, that’s true. It’s the radio host thing.
JEREMY: Says a man who's literally built his entire fortune on daytime television!
RICHARD: Thinking how I'd fare if I were an actual journalist like you. Certainly, I'd make some better decisions and take care of myself a bit. But the rest 'd be a chuffing holiday, innit? I'd be snug and fixed like a Swiss president.
[Jeremy starts, then fiddles something off-screen. Pauses speculatively, then fiddles some more.]
RICHARD: What are you doing?
JEREMY: Just checking my speakers because I think I just heard you say the word "Swiss president".
RICHARD: Yeah, so what?
JAMES: Switzerland has no president, darling.
JEREMY: Daft as a brush.
[Lights flicker in the background of all three screens before dying out for a few seconds. The faces freeze and James’ image disappears completely. Moments go by in eerie silence until at last, the stream comes back to life with the lights and James’ face back on, Jeremy muttering to himself and Richard looking mildly confused.]
JEREMY: Shit. [He punches a few keys. The screen reflects against his spectacles.] What the fuck?
RICHARD: I think I just had a small blackout.
JEREMY: You’re not the only one. Are we still online? James?
JAMES: [...]
JEREMY: James.
JAMES: Yeah, hang on, we have comments in the chatroom. They say the visual is lost but they can still hear us.
RICHARD: That’s not us, it’s the system, is it? [He raises his hands.] Sorry everyone! [He awkwardly lowers his hands with an expression of embarrassed clarity.] Sorry.
[Jeremy doesn’t elaborate because he is writing in a spare notebook. When he lifts it up, it says “Router okay?”]
JAMES: [With words deliberate and slow, distracted as he is by trying to uncover the problem.] We did have one more subject to touch on…We’ll be there in just a minute… Even though I’m not sure why anyone would want to see us if they had a choice.
JEREMY: Good news, everybody, Richard Hammond is with us, he knows what it is to be heard but not seen.
RICHARD: [In his radio host voice which he never really lost because of voiceover.] Yes, hello, good afternoon! You are witnessing primates trying to figure out technology.
[James lifts a scribble to the camera: "Internet ok, mic ok but not in app".]
JAMES: Well, one of us, at least.
RICHARD: Anyway, I’m not sure cameras are strictly required for this next bit because it’s indeed only a pub quiz, and if you’re someone audibly impaired and lip-reading is a necessity, we sincerely apologise.
[James shows another text: “App fault probably, will try and fix” and a second later Jeremy lifts a “Restarting”. Neither of them checks the screen while doing so.]
RICHARD: [Hesitantly.]: Um, right, whilst they’re trying to deal with that indiscretion, we can move this along. Now, if you happen to own a classic car, pay close attention because, as it happens, the Felix Project is doing a giveaway for one lucky participant of this pub quiz.
[Jeremy snaps his fingers three times as Richard is speaking. It does the trick at making James look up to see Jeremy circling one finger around the other, mouthing “I’m gonna restart”. He ignores James’ silent “no” with skilled practice and doesn’t hinder James’ gesticulations.]
RICHARD: All you have to do is write them the manufacturer and model names, after which your car will be taken over by a car restoration team in Oldsbury, West Midlands and completely restored to no expense at all.
[James types furiously in an effort to beat Jeremy for once in a race against time. He types something that makes Jeremy frown and redouble his efforts, but it’s like James had typed a combination to stall the off button, regardless of Richard being in the middle of speaking. Jeremy refuses to budge and performs too many tasks in rapid succession for the software to bear.]
RICHARD: The only thing you have to do is answer this simple question, and that question is…
[Stream completely crashes.]
JAMES: Oh, you utterly impatient clot!
JEREMY: Fuck!
JAMES: You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself, I was onto it, I could’ve fixed it!
JEREMY: Those viewers saying they weren’t born yet? They would’ve grown old by the time you decided to do something, I could’ve restarted it all no problem at all.
JAMES: And lost all the audience by the time we finished with all our “can you hear me”-s.
JEREMY: You know, sometimes there’s no need to complicate things that are already complicated. There’s a cure for that — brevity. But I shan't waste any time trying to explain it to you because it’d take a while.
JAMES: The density of your logic still continues to amaze me, even though I deemed it impossible for years now.
[Jeremy makes a frustrated sound and looks like he will say something vile, but pushes his chair back and storms out of view. James leans back in his chair and looks off to the side, arms crossed over his chest. Richard inhales to say something, but James’ image disappears as he ends the call. Richard helplessly sighs, writes something down, then raises a piece of paper up showing a thinly visible “We’ll be okay” for no one left to see.]
____________________
Jun 22, 2020. 16:06; Zoom call initiated by Richard Hammond
*
RICHARD: You’ve locked a lady into the closet?
JAMES: She was better off in there considering all the atrocities that were going on outside of it.
RICHARD: You mean the kitchen?
JAMES: Of course, what else would I mean?
RICHARD: Never mind. You know, you've offended my daughter.
JAMES: [Looks towards the ceiling, chin perched on a palm.] Which one?
RICHARD: The youngest. She said you promised her collaboration and a share of profit. Why the hell don’t I know anything about it?
JAMES: Because parties of interest don’t elaborate to external counterparts. And she misunderstood me, I said I’d do it off camera with no contractual obligations whatsoever.
RICHARD: That’s not what I gathered.
JAMES: You’re too busy with your little garage projects to notice. That a warmup for your restoration idea?
RICHARD: People want content, and as far as I can make out, I’m the only one who’s momentarily making them.
JAMES: You pave a bumpy road for us to smoothly walk on, Hammond.
[They sip their chosen drinks. A dog barks in the background of Richard’s side. James’ is completely silent.]
RICHARD: [Abruptly.] James, do you think I’m funny?
JAMES: I haven’t thought you were funny since 1995. Why? Why would you ask if you obviously knew the answer.
RICHARD: Neil said my terrible sense of humour will ruin the show before it even starts.
JAMES: I hardly think a hamster on speed would mess with the show about classic cars that much.
RICHARD: [Expression having softened only just.] How are you faring, mate?
JAMES: I don’t know. Pretty well, I would say. I haven’t started drinking from the moment I wake up to the moment I crash yet, but I think I’m at a tempting risk to. I’m still keeping the house, but the pub papers are close to being finalised, so….
RICHARD: [Puts on a delighted face.] Oh, well that’s splendid news!
JAMES: You’re not allowed, though.
RICHARD: Of course.
JAMES: Neither of you are.
RICHARD: I’d be worried if you claimed otherwise. Wasn’t it pre-owned?
JAMES: Uh, yes, but we’re sort of hoping to restore its former glory and gain more visitors, which is partially the reason I’d agreed on ownership in the first place.
RICHARD: [Comically appalled.] You’re using your fame to collect positive reviews! Oh, you sly snake!
JAMES: I’m not famous, Hammond, you and Clarkson are the famous bit. I’ve just been tagging along.
RICHARD: [Rubs an eye with a finger.] Don’t wallow in self pity, you old goat.
JAMES: You’re right. I’ll save that for my new pub. It should be a fun dart night.
RICHARD: James… Does it have to do with her? You thinking of leaving?
JAMES: [Hesitates, face unreadable, perhaps due to the grainy quality of the old, bad laptop camera. After a moment, he opens his mouth to reply.]
[Dog barks again, a female voice loudly demands something, then calls out.]
RICHARD: [Looks off to the side with an expression of startled exasperation.] I’ve gotta go, my daughter’s new dog still thinks wires are toys.
JAMES: Hammo.
RICHARD: Yes?
JAMES: I think you’re funny enough for the viewers.
[Richard smiles cheesily.]
[Call ended]
____________________
Jul 2, 2020. 17:24; Zoom call initiated by nicholas witchell
*
RICHARD: Do you think I’m funny?
JEREMY: [Puts a significant pause between them, searching for the words.] You… say and do things that are funny.
RICHARD: Oh, thanks very much.
JEREMY: But your daughter is funnier than you.
RICHARD: When did you talk to my daughter?
JEREMY: When you were busy sulking.
RICHARD: Why do you all talk to my daughters, what is going on?
JEREMY: Never mind, Hammond, I’m up to my neck in agriculture laws, which is apparently mandatory read if you want to make a farming show. I called you to check if you got a consensus for the new show.
RICHARD: I did indeed, I just haven’t managed to get a good look at it yet.
JEREMY: Well, get it as soon as possible. I’m aware we’re in a pandemic but time isn’t moving any slower than it did before. We’re lucky to have been able to put this together at all.
RICHARD: I know, I know, don’t worry, I’ve just sort of… been busy with some other stuff.
JEREMY: What, playing cricket?
RICHARD: Now, as it happens I’ve been busy doing some… obligatory reading of my own. I… have serious plans about making my own show, actually.
JEREMY: What, you too?
RICHARD: Well, what’s wrong with that, I thought you’d be glad?
JEREMY: Now you’re pulling May’s scheme, what the fuck is wrong with you two?
RICHARD: No, I’m not having that, hold the front page, Clarkson. You know how much this show means to me. Remember ‘Braniac’ ? You lost your shit when I first started doing it, and guess what, we’re still here, I never went anywhere.
JEREMY: [Shifting in his seat.] Right.
RICHARD: It’s just, I’d really love to have something of my own. You know, you’re about to start being a professional farmer, James is travelling the world and cooking… And I really just want to settle with three things that are the dearest to me. My girls, cars and The Grand Tour. I literally don’t need anything else.
JEREMY: [Pushing his glasses up on the top of his head, rubbing his eyes.] Right, right, you’re right, sorry, Richard. I haven’t been sleeping much. Not since Andy got the plague. It’s messing with me.
RICHARD: [Sighs.] I know. It’ll be alright, you giant moaning bugger. It’s always been alright. The show will be over when you say so, without anyone dying beforehand or anything like that.
[Jeremy scoffs, then sniffs, arms crossed, but his eyes are glassy and tired.]
RICHARD: You know I’m surprised you’ve decided on farming so vehemently.
JEREMY: Why?
RICHARD: How can you be a farmer with hay fever? And why haven’t the bees done the world a favour already and killed you?
JEREMY: [Leans his underarms on the work desk, gaze becoming piercing and calculating.] What exactly do you want, Hammond?
RICHARD: Did you call him?
JEREMY: No, why would I?
RICHARD: Why wouldn’t you?
JEREMY: Well, it occurred to me that if I wanted to endure a torrent of mindless crap, I could just put my head in the bog.
RICHARD: He's alone, Jeremy.
JEREMY: So?
RICHARD: Do I have to break out my easel? He's alone in the pandemic.
JEREMY: I think you’ll find it’s his fucking choice.
RICHARD: Not his fucking choice, this fucking pandemic wasn’t anyone's choice!
JEREMY: I’ll have you know that he’s made his fucking choice a long time ago, as it seems.
RICHARD: [Removes his spectacles and throws them on his desk with sudden vehemence that makes Jeremy jump, then leans forward.] You know what? I’m hardly the most patient man in the world, but I have my moments. And I think I deserve a medal for putting up with this entire drama as long as I have. But I’m done now, Clarkson, I’m done with this conversation. You’re acting like he murdered your entire family and got away with it since you read that stupid article, and I have no idea when you’ve suddenly developed such trust in the tabloids you've loathed your entire career. I know you two disagree and you’ve got all sorts of social branches outside of our little team, but the two of you are my best fucking friends in the whole world. And I’m not going to let either of you destroy us. Make some effort Clarkson, make some fucking effort.
[Richard slams a palm down at the expletive further startling Jeremy, who had adopted an expression of utter bewilderment at this unexpected outburst. Richard stares at the screen with murderous intent, jaw clenched. His chest rises and falls in a laboured rhythm. Jeremy’s expression slowly loosens into self-pittying melancholy.]
[Call ended]
____________________
Aug 6, 2020. 17:16; Zoom call initiated by Mary Beard
*
MARY: My publicist claims Twelve Caesars won’t sell because it’s too political.
JAMES: Has he read it?
MARY: Not all of it.
JAMES: Does he know you?
MARY: I should hope so.
JAMES: What does he think Ancient Romans were doing? Dipping their toes in thermae and drinking vomit cocktails? [He uses the finger of the hand that’s holding a glass of wine to point at the screen.] I think you need an adjudicator. A proper one. I would like to offer my services at absolutely no expense at all.
MARY: I think you’re better off talking to little robots and embarrassing yourself on trains, darling.
[James grins clumsily, more than tipsy at this point.]
MARY: What are you up to? How are things in this new situation?
JAMES: [Sets the glass down and leans his fist against his temple.] Quite alright, I think. It’s getting easier by the day. But I sorta started drinking earlier and earlier. Is that alarming? I mean I can say that making videos with Lucy helps at least. And cooking makes for bloody good therapy.
MARY: And work? How’s that holding up?
JAMES: It’s holding up. Surprisingly, we’ve managed to put together something sensible in this shitshow of the current world situation. People expect us to move on, they want more content, so we are forced to become more creative with restricted possibilities. ‘S not bad.
MARY: You say people expect you to move on.
JAMES: Yeah.
MARY: Then where does it put you? What are your expectations?
JAMES: It doesn’t matter, does it? I have no say in it, mine is only to do what the script says. Ultimately, it all goes through Clarkson’s hands.
MARY: [Smiles knowingly.] You’re belittling yourself again.
JAMES: No, it’s just how it is. It is a three-man show, but Jeremy is the ultimate speaker. [He pauses, digging his tongue into his cheek midst contemplation.] All due credit to him, of course, but I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to put up with this tempo, pandemic notwithstanding.
MARY: Well, to put it into perspective, you three lasted longer than most emperors. I really don’t have an adequate technique to draw a stat board about your friendship. It’s like… [She makes a vague gesture with her hand, squinting in concentration.] It’s like one of those polyrhythmic pendulum waves. Mathematically poetic, but polychromatically chaotic.
JAMES: [Has a moment of hesitation trying to correlate the previous few phrases but eventually finds words of his own, pathetically simple-minded.] I don't care about them enough to lose my temper with them.
MARY: Well you say that, but have you lost it with me?
JAMES: No because you never gave me a reason.
MARY: That just means we're too formal with each other.
JAMES: You'd rather I cuss you out?
MARY: Look, I won't ask you for details but I can tell you feel disconnected.
JAMES: No, I’m not, I’m fine.
MARY: You’re not fine.
JAMES: I’m fine.
MARY: [Speaking in a tone reserved for kindergarten children.] You’re not fine. From layers that I’m seeing and understanding from outside of this shell of yours, you’re going through something profound. And that’s not a bad thing. You don’t have to do anything here and now, you don’t have to do it at all… but when you’re comfortable, maybe with all the devices off, in the dark, with a peace of mind, let yourself sink. Breathe. See what’s down there.
JAMES: That sounds a bit too girly for a British bloke. [...] Alright, alright. You know, sometimes your observation skills are insufferable.
MARY: Well, that’s my role in your life. Tell you what. I know a programme you could use to let off steam a bit. It’s perfectly reliable, I use it every time my publisher thinks he’s smarter than me.
____________________
Aug 25, 2020. 13:07; Zoom call initiated by EmClarkson
*
EMILY: What do you mean “come and kill me but in accordance with the restriction rules”?
JEREMY: [Corners of his lips pulled down, he tunes his eyes into the best version of puppy eyes he had ever managed.] My only company are books, drinks and sometimes Andy Wilman, Zoom-wise. [He cries out towards the ceiling.] How has my life come down to this?
EMILY: [Unphased.] Occupational hazard?
JEREMY: There is only one occupational hazard in this business, and his name is James May.
EMILY: [Rolls her eyes.]
JEREMY: What? It is!
EMILY: I’m just thinking, is it worth it to wait for just one single day where you don’t mention James May, but I think my grandkids will retire before that happens.
JEREMY: I can’t believe I’ll see him and Hammond in person before I get to see any of you.
EMILY: That’s alright, it’s not any different than it was before.
JEREMY: It should be!
EMILY: [Shows her palms revealingly.] Occupational hazard!
JEREMY: Stop saying that fucking word!
EMILY: This will end. And then we’ll go to lunch together, you, me, Kat and Fin, and then you get to whine about too-shallow plates and too-overdone steak like the good old days.
JEREMY: [Gives a weary, inconsolable sigh, scratching his head.] It feels like it’s all falling apart.
EMILY: [Looks sideways, then back at the screen.] Would you agree that I’m observant?
JEREMY: Not a question. And you got that from your mother. The rest is experience.
EMILY: Correct. Now that we got that out of the way, here’s a few points. When you and mum were parting ways, they were there for you to lean on. Maybe not in the most showing of ways, but they were, and you told me that yourself. I think you can call yourself extremely lucky. I’ve never had friends of twenty years. Seventeen, the same thing. And I think you’ve seen for yourself how difficult it was to get rid of them before Amazon because not for a minute did they think to leave you on your own.
JEREMY: Mmh. It’s different this time.
EMILY: Yeah, but your different isn’t the same as their different.
JEREMY: [...]
EMILY: Why don’t you just tell him what’s bothering you?
JEREMY: [Groans, rubbing the side of his face.] Nobody would be more satisfied than me, but I don’t want to complicate things before filming because it’ll interfere with the show, and it doesn’t matter how professional we are, it’ll feel.
EMILY: Okay, let’s try an experiment then, shall we?
JEREMY: What experiment?
EMILY: How about this… [She pokes the desk with her finger.] Let’s pretend I’m James May.
[Jeremy bursts out laughing. Emily waits poker-faced until he calms down. The remnants of his giggles quickly die out when her expression doesn’t change.]
JEREMY: You can’t be serious.
EMILY: [Twists her mouth down and lowers her voice to comical depths.] “Oh, I’m James May, I love yellow walls and brown furniture.”
JEREMY: Stop that, don’t degrade yourself like that.
EMILY: “I think Clarkson’s a pighead who’s going way too fast about literally everything he does, and that’s not how it works, you’re supposed to name all your tools before doing anything.”
JEREMY: [Brings his palms together; in a whiney voice.] Please, have some dignity, please, your children will thank you to death.
EMILY: “I don’t like the countryside much, I don’t want to go places where I can’t cycle and tell everybody how great a hobby woodworking is.”
JEREMY: Alright, alright! Stop. Please, just— for the love of… [He takes a sharp breath.] I’m not sleeping well because all I’m doing is trying to understand what I did wrong. I know I’m an arse and you’re well used to it — not that it excuses me being an arse — but you never say anything! You never told us your father died and you never told us why you were in hospital, and now I find out your girlfriend left you from my other friend’s wife. How am I supposed to fix all this if you won’t even talk to me? I can listen, I promise I can, just give me a chance and trust me for once in your life.
[He puffs hurried breaths, having spoken all in one breath and despite everything, looks surprised with everything that came out. Emily smiles with understanding and not a small amount of pride. Several moments go by until Jeremy rubs his eyes and gives one final, long, monumental exhale.]
EMILY: Can I ask you something? Honestly. Did you drop the tent format because of James or because of yourself?
JEREMY: [...]
EMILY: Anyway, since I’m getting married soon and since the whole world knows Richard and James are your second and third wives, a little advice on my part: never leave anything unsaid or eventually you won’t have anything left to say, and that is a real marriage breaker. Now tell him you’re sorry and buy some flowers. [Blows a kiss to the camera.] Love you, bye!
[EmClarkson left the call]
______________
Sep 4, 2020. 9:19; Zoom call initiated by Andy_Wilman
*
ANDY: I’ve had thorns in my side, but you are a huge Doncaster tree up my arse, Jeremy.
JEREMY: [Nods with neck-cracking exaggeration.] Thank you.
ANDY: Do you know what I’d like more than anything in the world right now?
JEREMY: Mm-hm.
ANDY: I’d like a beach, a palm tree, a reclining chair, and a nice, big charcuterie board without a soul around to disturb me.
JEREMY: Charcuterie board sounds nice.
ANDY: At least that way I could pretend you didn’t manage to have another row with James.
JEREMY: In my defence, I was going in with best intentions.
ANDY: You always do, don’t you?
JEREMY: I was making some effort! Why do you always assume I break things on purpose?
ANDY: Because you literally break things on purpose, that’s what you do.
JEREMY: Ugh! [He wipes his hands across his face.] I had to run a bit of script with him and he was being annoyingly passive. Then I asked what’s wrong and he said it’s nothing, of course, and then I may have mentioned his girlfriend—
ANDY: [Facepalms the desk with ardent desperation.] Jesus, Jeremy…
JEREMY: Do you think I have time for walking down the thin ice of his fragile sensitivities? In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t only have one show anymore.
ANDY: I’m doing two shows as well, but unlike you, I have to deal with all the boring formal authority and finalisation rubbish that you can’t be bothered with, as I’d been doing for the past forty years. If you were the negotiator for each time we needed a long hauler, Top Gear would’ve still struggled to keep up with Fifth Gear. Meanwhile, you can’t even keep a decent conversation with a guy you’ve been working along for nearly two decades.
JEREMY: Richard talked to him, he’s his better friend.
ANDY: What is he, your mum and has to talk in your stead? You can’t keep going off on James like that when we’re getting ready to film.
JEREMY: He called me a selfish patronising mollusk!
ANDY: You’ve been called worse.
JEREMY: No, I haven’t!
ANDY: You fucking should have been!
[Jeremy opens his mouth to retort, but Andy chokes on a coughing spasm so intense that Jeremy’s eyes shiver with panic for a moment. The reality of the situation dawns on him in a matter of seconds. When the attack subsides, Andy reaches for a glass of something and takes a determined swing. He supports his head with his fingertips and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.]
ANDY: I can’t do this anymore. The two of you are the fucking worst. You both hate yourselves and each other and any idea that it has anything to do with the show is laughable. I'd laugh but I'm so past the farthest fucks. And even I'm sitting here listening to your quarrels day after day like "what the fuck".
JEREMY: I'm fairly sure quarreling requires at least one atomic particle of emotion, which, as I'm sure you're aware, is something James May does not possess.
ANDY: I don't care. Solve this however you can, Jezza. I’ve run out of extinguishers to put out the fires you make.
JEREMY: But—
ANDY: Solve this, or find another director for your farm show. I’m not joking. I am getting very. Tired of this. It’s time for a nine-year-old to become a sixty-year-old.
[Jeremy is wordless. Andy takes another swing. The bags under his eyes are amplified by the dim light in the room.]
[Call ended]
____________________
WELCOME TO FRANK THE PERCEIVER
PLEASE MAKE SURE YOUR MICROPHONE IS CONNECTED TO THE SOFTWARE.
Right… Let’s see how this works… Why am I doing this? Too much spare time… Okay, and click that … There we go…
FRANK THE PERCEIVER IS THE PERFECT TOOL FOR UNLEASHING THE TRAPPED TUMULT WITHIN YOUR MIND. TO ACTIVATE IT, PLEASE SPEAK VEHEMENTLY INTO THE MICROPHONE. THE RECEIVER WILL RECOGNIZE AND LET YOU KNOW WHETHER YOUR OUTBURST IS GENUINE.
PLEASE MAKE SURE YOUR WINDOWS ARE CLOSED AND THAT YOU ARE PROPERLY ISOLATED FROM OTHER PEOPLE.
That doesn’t sound weird at all. What was Mary thinking? Right, ahem…
Audio on
- REC
I never said I was leaving the show. I haven’t abandoned the show when it fell apart back then, and I shan’t turn my back on it now just because I feel a little more achy. But you really can’t expect us to go on with it forever, I mean if we are honest, of the three of us, you’re falling apart the most. Just don't want some stupid article to get between us. Okay?
[three bongs]
[error sound effect]
CONFESSION INSUFFICIENT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
Wow, alright. Clearly it’s not a facts machine. Pfft. Facts machine… Alright, it’s not funny. Right, let’s try again.
Look… I’m sorry if I… scared isn’t the right word. Worried neither. I’m sorry if I disturbed your waters with that interview. It was never meant to go out like that. You were never meant to find it out that way. We should’ve talked it out and we will, when the time comes and when you're ready to listen. Sorry I’d… upset you.
[three bongs]
[error sound effect]
CONFESSION INSUFFICIENT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
Bollocks. What, being a big girls’ blouse not working for you either? This is just ridiculous. I’m a bloke, for fuck’s sake. Stupid programme.
You know what? I’m only doing this because Mary and Hammond said I should do it. It’s true when I said I don’t care about you enough to get angry with you. You’re calling me out for having a heart of stone? Well, you don’t deserve my anger. You can be happy we have common matey topics to make the show vibe seem normal. Do you think you're the only one who's got problems? You can be unbelievably selfish sometimes, you know?
[three bongs]
[error sound effect]
CONFESSION INSUFFICIENT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
I’m not… I’m…
[three bongs]
[error sound effect]
CONFESSION INSUFFICIENT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
I don’t want to leave the show, okay? I never took it for granted, especially not when things were going to shit and you couldn’t handle things on your own. I wasn’t making it up, I do feel like I’m falling apart, my limbs hurt, my back is entirely broken and I’m afraid I’ll die in the stupidest of ways like tripping on the sidewalk and splitting my head open because I don’t want to die on the show because I know it’d kill you just as it almost killed us when Hammond’s done his head in.
I get it, yes. I get it you’re frustrated, we all are, this is a completely inhumane situation and we're all trapped in bubbles of our own. But this persistent, tireless moaning that follows you around like a smell of piss… you're acting like you are the only person in the world who’s ever grown old, who’s ever had anything taken from them, and you’re probably unaware, but we can smell it too.
I mean, I keep putting myself out there, keep throwing myself ahead of the running traffic for you, but it’s never enough, is it? I guess time had to have come when someone put the fact out there that it’s a while that we’re not ten years old. We’re like– we’re like two halves of a pantomime horse and I realise you want to keep flogging it but I’m the one in the back with sore buttocks! And it’s fucking killing me!
[...]
[three bongs]
[children cheering sound effect]
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE FINALLY LET OFF STEAM! WE HOPE YOU FEEL A TON LIGHTER AND HECK OF A LOT BETTER!
[A sound of mouse clicking; uncoordinated due to a shaking hand.]
DO YOU REALLY WANT TO DELETE THIS FILE? THIS CANNOT BE UNDONE.
[...]
FILE HAS BEEN DELETED. WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED BEING FRANK WITH YOURSELF NEVERTHELESS!
___________________________
December 7, 19:42; Zoom call initiated by nicholas witchell
*
JEREMY What's next for your little travelogue?
JAMES: I'm not sure I should… [He stops himself and blinks slowly, then reformulates.] Well, it's nowhere we haven't been.
JEREMY: We have literally been everywhere but Antarctica, James.
JAMES: Yes, I know, but we’ve been there many times.
JEREMY: [Benevolently.] Fine, don’t tell me.
JAMES: [Observing the linear accuracy of his nails.] Hammond not coming?
JEREMY: I’d sent him a link. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.
[James nods and taps his fingers on the table. A minute passes where the call participants find everything but the screen interesting.]
JAMES: A delivery boy popped ‘round today.
JEREMY: Did he.
JAMES: He was keeling over under the weight of flowers. I measured it. Twenty five pounds, Jeremy.
JEREMY: [Fidgets in his chair and graces James with his best look reserved for continental policemen.] …Do you like them?
JAMES: Twenty five fucking pounds of flowers. Normal people send a bouquet averaging five to ten flowers and weighing three pounds. I knew from before your hyperbolic spite was unbeatable but where the fuck do you expect me to go with them.
JEREMY: Hm. If I recall, flowers usually belong in water or in the ground. Or fire, if you hate the sender, which I’d completely understand.
JAMES: I don’t have the unused ground or a vase to fit twenty five fucking pounds of flowers, you idiot! And it’s winter, it’ll die out in a jiffy! You’ve wasted perfectly good flowers!
JEREMY: Fire it is, then. It’d make for good and cheap kindling!
JAMES: I know what you mean, you utter, utter pillock. Yes, we’ll talk about it like blokes and yes, I am a fucking goldfish when it comes to filtering out our arguments, but not here and not now because I’m terrified of hackers and tracking programmes listening in… And you can wipe that grin off your face.
JEREMY: [Trying to tame his face into a genuinely serious expression.] I am sorry, though. I’m sorry I called you a traitorous shit and that I said you were poor.
JAMES: I’m sorry I said the show is hanging on a knife edge. It never did, not with you in charge. But I’m still wondering. [He narrows his eyes.] What brought this on?
JEREMY: Well… [He rubs his palms together under the table and looks up like a child made to tell the naughty thing they’d done.] Someone told me to stop being a nine-year-old and grow into a sixty-year-old. Or something like that. I tried, but it was very, very boring.
JAMES: [Snorts.] Yeah, whoever gave you a clip around the ear, they ought to have known how extraordinarily unlikely you are to keep up with your physical age.
JEREMY: [Chuckles, then his face mellows into something utterly unreadable.] James, I wanted to—
[Richard Hammond has joined the call]
RICHARD: Sorry I’m late. Our router wire has been chewed and we’ve spent all afternoon trying to find another one. Luckily, I have a daughter who is more capable than me. Clarkson, what’s this in aid of? Aren’t we allowed to see each other now? We filmed a fucking special three weeks ago. There’s also text messages, you know?
JEREMY: Yes, well maybe I wanted to commemorate the final time we use this infernal app as a means to maintain our humanity.
RICHARD: [With rising horror in his eyes.] Oh, stand back, he’s going down the girl’s blouse lane. [He hunches his shoulders.] I think I’m going to be sick.
JEREMY: [Shushes him, then raises an ever-significant finger of knowledge.] It’s not as personal! Tell you what this is like. It’s like preparing a neat, special dish, the likes of which Mariah Carrey doesn’t have to climb stairs for. But of course, you wouldn’t know about it, would you, Mr. Canned Beans?
RICHARD: [Grabs his forehead.] Alright, I’ll bite. What are you on about?
JEREMY: Right, I know our quarantine special is behind us, and I dare say, I think it will be more successful than the bare script insinuated, and I know we’re all seriously engaged in our solo projects, but I’d like to propose a suggestion.
JAMES: What suggestion?
JEREMY: I propose that we organise a holiday gathering at James’s because I know he’s got nowhere to go and nothing better to do. Just the three of us.
JAMES: What??
RICHARD: [Whilst breaking into a grin.] Where’s that coming from, your great heavyweight balloon?
JAMES: Have you hit your head again?
JEREMY: Well… the lackeys of Jeff Bezos say we have to do A Massive Hunt promo next week. And, um… Boris Johnson said that up to three households will be able to meet up from 23rd to 27th. And… well, if anyone notices we’re still there until January 2nd, we can play dumb or something. Unless you want to kick us out, James. Or not have us at all, which we’d totally understand. I’m sure you’ve had enough of us for this year because I had enough of you both, obviously, even if we barely saw each other in person.
JAMES: [Eyes narrowing.] If I remember correctly, I was quite vocal about you two being banned from my pub.
JEREMY: So are you from my farm and yet you were there a million times already.
JAMES: I’m technically not allowed to reopen yet.
JEREMY: You know what I mean, you insufferable, opaque idiot.
RICHARD: Well it’s nice to see you two are finally back to normal for the billionth time in your miserable lives.
JEREMY: Oh, you love it. Otherwise your little hamster life on speed would be too boring.
RICHARD: I wouldn’t have to conceal all these greys, that’s for sure.
JEREMY: Ha! So you admit it!
RICHARD: I said nothing! And anyway, back to your weird dish metaphor, my family doesn’t think I’m interesting anymore. They’d rather go to their boyfriends’ and relatives, so technically, I could be completely alone for Christmas.
JEREMY: Yes, exactly, me too! It’s exactly the same for me! Kids are all grown up and Lisa is off to her mother’s in Ireland. And I don’t really fancy getting drunk by myself because it’s no fun at all.
RICHARD: Yup, I know what you mean. I’m gonna have to drink gin in an enormous house all by myself with no means to entertain myself but watching Youtube videos.
JEREMY: Oh dear, oh dear. We really are in an undesirable position. What should we do, Richard Hammond? Is there anyone out there to save us from wallowing in misery on one time of the year when no one should—
JAMES: Yes.
JEREMY and RICHARD both: What?
JAMES: Yes, alright, I can find a hole in my schedule and a couple of guest bedrooms in my house to put up with you for a week or two. But we are watching “633 Squadron”.
JEREMY: Oh, no, no, no. “Where Eagles Dare” is what we’ll be watching.
RICHARD: You two are the most insufferable World War fanatics I’d ever had a displeasure of meeting. “The Onedin Line” or I’m not bringing you presents.
JEREMY and JAMES both: That’s fiction.
RICHARD: So are your quarrel reasons!
[Jeremy laughs and continues laughing every time it seems he will stop. The other two grin along. When he finally stops, they stay facing each other for a few more moments, unspeaking. Then Richard shuffles something on the desk and lifts an A4 paper saying “We’ll be okay”.]
[Call ended]
_________________
*
When James opens the door to the cold winter night, Jeremy and Richard are wearing broad and genuine grins wide enough to split the world. They both have one hand occupied with bags sagging with drinks while Richard’s other hand is holding a long box and Jeremy’s a laptop case.
“Chin up, Ebenezer, we’ve come to rescue you”, says Jeremy in that loud, boisterous tone that would wake the dead. “And you can’t chase us away because we’ve brought negative tests for proof.”
“Yup, and before you say anything about us getting fed up with each other after two days and resort to murder, girls have sent Monopoly, so we can do it right away.” Richard lifts the box in his hand a little. “But you’re wrong if you think I’m gonna let you rob the bank again.”
“Or”, Jeremy suggests in his show voice, “we can drink all this so we can lay off killing each other until the next special. I even brought us all sequels of "Ocean’s 11"! Did you know that there were no stunt doubles used at all in the laser scene, it was all Vincent Cassel!”
James blinks rapidly into the face of eye-stinging cold, processing what was said in rapid succession, standing opposite two expectant faces. When reality catches up, he smiles into the face of the fact that he won’t have to spend Christmas in a self-loathing drunken stupor. Then he steps aside and opens the door wide.