♪ What'll I do
♪ When you
♪ Are far away?
♪ And I am blue
♪ What'll I do?
♪ When I'm alone
♪ With only dreams of you
♪ That won't come true
♪ What'll I do? ♪
(LAUGHTER)
Dear Foxy Cohen, I must be your biggest fan.
Oh, they all say that.
I want to thank you for changing my life.
Ah, bless.
For without you, I would never have known Simon and Dominic.
Ooh! A threesome.
Filthy animals.
READS: My beautiful twin boys.
Oh, bless.
Born nine months to the night
after your wonderful memoir rekindled my marital flame.
In a very real way, you are their godmother.
Eurgh. I don't know why anyone would assume that I'd be the least bit interested
in their mewling, puking offspring.
Because everyone loves babies.
Well, not I.
Babies are dull and boring.
They've got no conversation.
They can't walk.
They're doubly incontinent.
So will you be, if you don't get off that thing.
It's not a thing. It's a state-of-the-art mini tramp.
Well, it takes one to know one.
Dear Mrs Green,
I know this is a letter you may have been hoping or dreading to receive.
What's all that about?
Nothing.
Just some sad, deluded eccentric.
Writing to yourself now, Dor?
~ That is personal! ~ Yes, I know.
Er...
Writing this has been painful and difficult.
Probably got arthritis.
Nevertheless, deep in my heart, I believe you would want to meet me -
the daughter you gave up for adoption.. 0.50 years ago.
You're right, Dor. A nutter.
It's not true, is it, Dor?
None of your business. Either of you.
Well, there's a turn-up for the books.
You can't stay up there forever, Dor.
Tell her we won't judge her, Trace.
We won't judge you, Dor.
(SIGHS) All these years she's kept this secret from us.
And us her only friends.
You don't get it, do you?
Not as often as I'd like, no.
I mean, all these years, she's had to deny the most important event in her life. Poor cow.
Well, she's made her bed. She's got to lie in it.
Maybe it weren't a bed.
Maybe it was the back seat of a Ford Sierra.
Or a B&Q car park.
No, that was you.
(LAUGHTER)
Just as long as you're not judging me.
What were you doing up there?
Colour coding my underwear.
Really?
Of course not, Tracey. That would take days.
You are going to write back to her?
Certainly not. That is a chapter of my life that is, and will remain, closed.
Now, there's a stack of fan mail.
You can't just ignore this, Dor.
Don't see why not.
You know what they say. Better out than in.
If she'd thought of that, she wouldn't have got pregnant.
But you might have grandchildren, Dor.
Great grandchildren.
Yes, thank you, Sharon. I get the point.
Great great grandchildren.
Oh, for God's sake. You're not going to let this drop, are you?
BOTH: No.
Come on, Dor. Spill the beans.
Who's the daddy?
I met Lionel when I was 17.
What, Lionel Blair?
Lionel Bart?
Lionel Richie.
Fine. Forget it.
Sorry, Dor. We'll listen. Promise.
He was a year older than me.
Handsome, obviously.
Intelligent, funny.
He had a place at Cambridge.
His own flat?
Cambridge University.
Oh.
All that summer, we were inseparable.
But it wasn't to be.
Why wasn't it meant to be?
He came from a very religious family.
Oh, you mean with the furry hat and the curly, wurly sideburn.
No, I mean his father was the Bishop of Willesden.
He wasn't Jewish, then?
So we had to break it off.
Then I discovered that I was...
well, you know...
so I had a term off school with... glandular fever.
Stress-related?
And then I gave her up.
Oh, right.
Oh, Dor.
No, it was fine.
Easy. Really straightforward.
And you never regretted it?
Look, Tracey, I've always been very fond of you.
Oh, and you, Sharon.
But it was a long time ago. It was very painful for me.
And I would like, just this once, for you to respect my privacy.
So you don't really hate kids, then?
Look, I'll do a deal.
You drop the subject and I'll take you out for a night of overpriced alcopops.
You know me so well.
(DOOR CLOSES)
~ Did you win, love? ~ No.
~ Did you draw? ~ No.
~ Lost, then? ~ Well done.
If you're interested, the Chigwell Players are looking for a Prince Charming for their panto.
(DOOR SLAMS)
Little sod.
Kids, eh? Who'd 'ave 'em?
I don't ask for much when you come home, Travis -
~ I don't ask for much either. ~ Sorry?
But I do expect people to knock, not just barge in.
~ It's only manners. ~ Manners? Huh! What's manners about dumping your smelly football kit in my kitchen?
~ And I'm not 'people'. I'm your mother. ~ Don't I know it?
Look, you're on my case 24/7.
Can I maybe have some privacy now?
Please?
Can't understand what's got into Travis.
He's a teenager. It's a phase.
Garth didn't have no phases.
How do you know? You sent him to boarding school.
And you had yours adopted.
We're not going into that.
Sorry to bother you, but could you keep an eye on Holly for a sec?
If I don't get to the toilet, I'll explode.
Of course. Give her here. Oh, look. Oh, hello.
We don't want mums exploding in Molotov's, do we, eh?
You're a godsend.
Aw, ain't she a cutie, Dor, look at her.
I suppose so, if you like that kind of thing.
Oh, hold on.
(BUZZING) Either I'm getting a text or this sofa is vibrating.
Have her a minute.
Get her head. Cheers. Ta.
Ha-ha! Good one.
(LAUGHTER)
Who's a pretty girl, then?
No, Dor. That's budgies.
Would someone please take this?
If you like.
There you are.
She looks like the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
Oh, is that scary old witchy-poo frightening you?
Come here. How can you be so heartless?
She dribbled... on my Alice by Temperley.
I mean your long-lost daughter. She's desperate to meet you.
Because she needs closure.
And how would you know?
Because me and Tracey were adopted.
Were you?
You haven't forgotten?
I'm a busy woman.
We searched high and low for our mum and dad. Never found 'em.
And it's left a huge, gaping hole, that no amount of two-for-one cocktails can ever fill.
And that's exactly what your daughter's going through.
Rubbish. I'll tell you why she's suddenly got in touch with me after all these years.
Because she found out that I am Foxy Cohen.
She waited until I became a best-selling author.
Until she could be sure that I was worth the bother. She's a gold-digger.
Impure and simple.
Right.
I need another drink.
I thought she was onto us then, for a sec.
Me too.
Any luck?
No. Not even your Holly could melt that icy excuse for a heart.
Still, it was worth a try, eh?
Yeah.
~ Thanks, Teresa. ~ Oh, well, any time you wanna borrow her, just ask.
Because motherhood's doing my head in.
Cheers.
So, I suppose that's that, then.
Suppose.
~ Unless.... ~ No.
How do you know what I was going to say?
I can read you like a book. A kids' book with a very obvious plot.
Read my lips.
You are not writing to Naomi, pretending to be Dorien.
~ Right? ~ Trace, it's...
None of our business.
~ Trace, if - ~ And that's final.
I can't understand how Travis gets through so many pairs of sports socks.
Nobody irons socks, Trace.
I have to. He's got very sensitive feet.
~ You can take over, if you like. ~ I'd love to, but I'm reading my book.
I'm trying to improve myself.
God knows, there's room for it.
What are you reading?
Oliver Twist.
Please, sir, I want some more.
I love that film. When did they turn it into a book?
No, the book came first, Trace.
Are you sure?
It was written hundreds of years ago.
A searing insight into the issues of abandonment and adoption.
~ (LETTER FLAP) ~ Ooh.
And it's as relevant today as it was the day it was published.
What's going on? You having it off with the postman?
Not even Dorien could do it that quick.
What, then?
I've got my own life, Sharon. I don't have to tell you everything.
Fancy a cuppa?
You're a rubbish liar.
~ I'm not lying. ~ No, you're changing the subject.
And you're rubbish at that an' all.
Oh, my God.
I know what you've done. How could you, Trace?
I couldn't help it.
~ But why? ~ Because I'm a mother too.
I know that deep down, Dorien will be really glad that I wrote to her daughter pretending to be her.
(LAUGHTER)
You wrote to her daughter?
~ You just said you knew what I'd done. ~ I was bluffing!
After you telling me not to...
You hypocrite.
I know, I know, but...
What if Dorien really doesn't want to meet her daughter?
Suppose she isn't just pretending to be a cold, heartless bitch.
Suppose she really is a cold, heartless bitch.
What the hell is she up to now?
Help!
~ Sharon! ~ What? ~ Get me out of here.
No, I think you have to change at Piccadilly onto the Bakerloo line.
Don't just stand there. Get me out.
Help. Ow!
I should never have thrown it away.
She's still called Naomi.
I called her Naomi.
Normally they change the name.
I haven't slept for three nights.
I tried not to think about it, but I've got to confront this and write back to her.
No need.
I wrote to her.
What?
It's all right. She pretended she was you.
How dare you?
Now she'll think I'm a semi-literate comprehensive school dropout!
Why don't you see for yourself?
Wait.
What?
~ 'Ere are. ~ What is it?
Football kit, that I've spent all morning ironing. I know you've got a game coming up.
Yes. A home game. This is my away kit.
Right. That's it.
Any sign of Naomi?
Not yet.
What are you doing?
Mending Travis's football kit.
You do too much for that boy.
Not for much longer.
Blimey, who's died?
How do I look?
Nice. Dignified.
Just like a mummy should look.
I thought I could smell embalming fluid.
If I have to meet my daughter, at least I want her to see the real me.
And I think this is what the real me looks like.
Where's my football kit?
'Ere are. I've done you a sandwich and a Satsuma for half time.
You should have called me. I'm late.
Not if you hurry. Have a nice time with your little pals.
When did he become so uncouth?
It's just something us mummies have to put up with. He'll get over it.
So will Sharon, one day. Arh...
Right, listen up.
Now, last year, we gave Desmond Tutu Academy a right good hiding, didn't we?
~ ALL: Yeah! ~ Right. Right.
Now, this season, there's been an influx of Romanian immigrants into Loughton.
And Desmond Tutu's got themselves a new striker.
Fella called... Constantinescu.
He's had 15 goals in nine matches.
(LAUGHTER)
You show him who's boss.
Let's get out there, then!
~ Come on! ~ Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi.
Have we got a problem here?
It's just that it's cold outside, sir.
You know, the ground's rock hard, so...
Don't give me that. Man up.
(LAUGHTER)
(CHEERING)
Thanks for helping.
Did I? I'm sure I'd remember.
Ow!
What are you making?
I made egg mayo, tuna mayo and cheese and pickle mayo.
I didn't do any ham, just in case this Naomi turns out to be Jewish.
Of course Naomi's Jewish.
If Dorien's Jewish, then she's Jewish.
Not that it'll bother Dor.
She eats ham, bacon, pork.
She'll put anything in her mouth.
You all right, Dor?
Ridiculous, isn't it?
All my life, I wanted nothing to do with her.
Most of the time, she never even crossed my mind.
And look at me.
Now I'm worried she won't turn up.
You have been happy without Naomi in your life, haven't you, Dor?
Of course I have. Perfectly happy.
I'm a world-famous writer...
with a string of lovers,
fabulous wardrobe...
More handbags than Harrods.
If I never meet her, how will I know if she's happy?
What if she takes after me?
They broke the mould when they made you, Dor.
Come into the kitchen, eh?
If she's coming, she'll get here, and if she doesn't...
well, life goes on, eh?
(LAUGHTER)
Maybe her car broke down.
Maybe her train was delayed. Maybe -
Maybe she doesn't want to meet me after all.
You can just write to her again.
I didn't write to her the first time, did I?
Besides, I'm not a stalker.
If Naomi doesn't want to meet me, it's her loss.
Ha-ha-ha!
Ah-ha-ha-ha!
Look! Travis is on YouTube.
Oh, my God.
Did you know Travis was cross-dressing?
(LAUGHS)
This'll be viral by now.
What have I done to him? He'll be scarred for life.
(DOOR SLAMS) Ooh.
How was your football?
Tough game?
One of those hard, no-frills affairs?
Sorry, Mum.
You have to speak up. Auntie Sharon's a bit mutton.
Sorry, Mum. I'm gonna go and do my homework.
~ Oi. ~ What have I done now?
Empty the dishwasher.
what?
Of course.
Sorry.
This was on the doorstep. It's for you, Dor.
Oh...
I wonder what it is.
It must be those incontinence pads you ordered.
My letters...
to Naomi's father.
Lionel?
Where did these come from?
There's a note.
Dear Dorien...
please forgive me if I don't feel ready to meet you yet.
Until I do...
I'd like you to have these letters, because Lionel never forgot you.
You see, at the age of three, I was adopted by a lovely couple -
Ursula and her husband Lionel, my biological father.
He went back for her?
Ursula passed away a few years ago...
I can't read this, Shal.
Ursula passed away a few years ago...
Daddy died last month...
.. and he only told me about you on his deathbed.
Travis.
Daddy's last wish was that I should be reconciled with you,
my birth mother. So until I feel ready to take the next step,
please think of me as your affectionate daughter.
Naomi.
Oh, don't cry, you silly mare.
She called herself "your affectionate daughter".
What more could you want?
No, you don't understand.
I'm happy.
Look.
She does take after me.