When you take a Polaroid and it pops out the camera, at first it's just a grey square in a white frame, a window on nothingness.
Then lines begin to show, then objects, growing sharper till you can see everything, held right there in the palm of your hand. Though sometimes, of course, it doesn't work.And nothing happens.
And however much you stare, the photograph never comes clear.All you end up with is shadows.Darkness.Haunted by the picture that might have been.
by Peter Wolfe, with Robert Glenister as Graham, Jenny Stoller as Geraldine, and John Turner as Joe.
Stay warm in the south.Turning now to the Pennines, high pressure will drift northeastward, and it could start to feel unseasonably chilly on higher ground, with temperatures ranging from a high of... Another day, another night over.
As I never sleep much anyhow, working a graveyard shift is easy. Here at the station, everything's computerized, remote control.Safe behind a bulletproof window, I watch each driver emerge from the dark, put a nozzle in his petrol tank.
I press a button, and we're in business.From everywhere in Wharfdale, people come here empty and leave here filled.Without me to refuel them, night after night, they go nowhere.Just like I do.
Freezed in it last night.
Yeah, perfect conditions then.For what?You know, counting stars.
Yeah, it was actually.By 5 a.m.or so, I reached 207.Then a biker came to fill up and we got talking.Cash or credit, sir?
Just the tenner's worth today.Whoa, 207 stars, eh?Through one plexiglass roof.Is that a record?Near enough.Thank you, sir.Drive safely now.
Hey, Graham, Graham. What if I tried to count more stars than you?Yeah, well, over a few weeks you'd probably do it.But wouldn't it be hard to prove one way or the other?
We're family!Make a... gentlemen's... what's it?You know, you win, I work a shift for you.I win, you go down the job club.Why?You know why.Five years working at Oakley Services, that's why.
If you don't get your head together and quick, you'll get stuck in this kiosk like me. Counting stars for bloody ever.
So, do we have a bet?There's a customer waiting at the window.I know, I know, I know.Cash?Talk into the mic, Joe.You sure are right.
Poor Joe.Brain pickled in brown ale.Though maybe, despite his usual hangover, he's making sense for once.Uncle Joe could be me in 30 years.My possible future. Unless I start changing things.Then again, why bother?
I'm better off alone here in the dark.On the edge of town where no one can reach me, touch me.And where in return, I can hurt no one.Ski.Scenic.Skiing. Scenic Wharfdale.
Excuse me.Yeah?I can't find the stepladder.Could you possibly get Exploring Bronte Country down for me, please?Um... Exploring... Bronte Country.Big book.Top shelf.You can't miss it.I, uh... I don't have my glasses on.Could you... That's it.
Blue Spine.Blue?Uh... Blue. Thank you.
No problem.No problem?That librarian nearly found me out.Blue I can handle, but exploring Bronte country?Colours are easy, but titles are made up of words laid sideways on.
Here we are, Mr. Aykroyd.
Ta, love.She's coming back.OK, don't panic.Just dump Scenic Wharfdale and be gone.
What, was that your foot?Ach, yeah. I'd better file away scenic Wharfdale before it does any more damage.
Came up from London.Oh, three months ago now.
I've never been to London.Too much stress for me.
That's why this area, local history, is my favourite part of the library.When things get on top of me, I retreat here to browse.
Yes.I've seen you quite often.
I come here to look at the photographs.
After London, Yorkshire's so... So picturesque.I only wish I could get out more to enjoy the real thing.
Linton, Ramsgill, anywhere wild.I prefer high ground, open spaces.We promote local photographers.
Well, yeah.Soon.I'm turning professional soon.
Bring in some work. If I ask the right people, you could mount a display.
Well, actually, my work is, er... Polaroids.A bit small for a display.They're all I can manage right now.I'm what you might call an instant person.No time wasted developing, right?Just point the lens, pull the trigger, bang.There.
In the palm of your hand, everything.Ninety seconds from shot to print.
Geraldine, a queue's forming.
Well, good to meet you.Graham Broadhurst.
I'll be at the front desk if you need anything.
Look, why don't you take my card and ring me if you need help or... or anything.Miss Cole!
Girl, I... Gill... Gerald... Ger... Geraldine Cole.That's easy.Heard her name already.But these two words below... Well, the second one's line.I deal with fuel lines at work.But the first... One, two, three, four... Seven letters ending in Y. Leet.
Leeter.No.Literas.Lit... Literacy. Oh.She's on to me.Saw through me act.Played at being friendly then.God, am I so obvious?Didn't I blag it well enough by pretending to wear glasses?Seems not.
Miss Geraldine Cole with the kind eyes runs a literacy helpline.Thinks I need her help because I'm... well, illiterate.It's just like school all over again.
That wrench, Graham, there, could you pass it?Instead of just sizing me up all the time through your camera.Yeah.
Living next to a school.I haven't been near one since I was 12.
Oh, I'm used to it.And your dad's an headmaster.His job has one advantage, though.When that afternoon bell rings, he's out of my hair, guaranteed, till quarter to four.
You can let go, Graham.All right.Oh, great!That's the throttle fixed.Ready to go up on the moor.
Maybe we can go indoors first and, you know, check out my new CD and stuff.
Oh, I was wondering when you'd ask.That long lost summer with Katrina.
Over three years on, I still can't get it out of my head.And that's how it should be.
And he says to his wife, he says, if you come near me with those nutcrackers again... Hey old lad, get this down your neck.
Cheers Joe.Time for one more before I start work.83 this morning before it got in over.83 stars.Well done.Poor child's day, I'm catching up with your record.Counting stars isn't a competition, Joe.
Just something nice and pointless to keep me brain empty, OK? Things are still getting worse, then.What?It's like I've got two lives.One in the here and now, and another back then, when it happened.That's you punishing yourself.
Now, Graham, now don't bite me head off.Isn't it time you went and, like, talked to someone? I'm talking to you.No, this isn't talking, lad.This is drinking with a bit of chaff thrown in between swings.
No, I'm talking about really talking to someone proper.No chance.I'd call what I did to Katrina a crime.You'd call it a mistake, right?A tragic mistake.Yeah, now about other people.Like a priest or someone.
If I talked to a priest about what happened, he'd call it a deadly sin, wouldn't he?And he'd be right.
Yes, there's love if you want it.Don't sound like it's done it.My love.
Oh, give it here, you cloth.Surely Britain's brightest musical prospect for 1997, the Verve Hail... Hail?From... The Verve Hail from Wigan.
You know, Bradford, I could handle Halifax at a pinch for Wigan.
Talk about blowing their cred. End of Cinderella time.Come on, get dressed.
What, your dad's that bad, then?
Oh, he's one strict bastard, Graham.
You know, I could meet him.
Oh, geez, all right, thanks.You know, show him I'm a decent... Oh, move it, Broadhurst.And bring that bottle of wine or he'll kill me.
Tonight will stay overcast with patches of rain before dawn.The belt of cloud cover means temperatures higher than average for late autumn, but those in the north hoping for a glimpse of the lunar eclipse may be disappointed.
Moving up to the borders, another night shift begins.To customers on the outside looking in, my kiosk must seem like a white metal cage framed by the black hills beyond.
What they won't know is that in the time it takes to develop one Polaroid, I could break out of here.But it can't happen, can it? Nor would I want it.When you've done what I did, there's freedom in confinement.Face it, Graham.
The reason you're in jail is because you deserve it.Locked up with your pictures.Ah, the pictures.All the proof I have of Katrina ever existed.Cash or credit, madam?
The pump over there kept cutting out.I could only squeeze a quid's worth of petrol from it.Oh, hello.Graham, isn't it?
Yeah.I still have your card.
That's from weeks ago.I haven't seen you since... Well, maybe I've been busy.Oh, dear.Am I so off-putting?
Your card had a number on it.
But you reckon I'm thick or something, do you?I beg your pardon?Admit it, Miss Cole.You gave me your card because you think I'm illiterate.
Nobody's illiterate.It's not a term I'd use. In my experience, I happen to think we're all just at different stages of learning.
Look, Geraldine, I... I'm sorry.
Once a week, I hold a literacy group.Mira's Ugandan-Asian.She owns a dry-cleaning shop in Howarth.She can read in three languages, though none of them English... yet.And there's Paul, charming man.
Calls himself a dot-com millionaire without the millions or the dot-com.He jokes that once he's got the hang of writing, he'll go on to become Ilkley's first turbo-capitalist.Wow!
Listen, if you can't handle the literacy group, at least let me assess you.One-on-one.Take a few tests.Reading, writing, spelling.I'll think about it.Meantime, could I give you this?What, a book?
Probably too advanced for you at the moment, but... A real book?Do you know it?It's my personal favorite.All that passion on the rain-swept hills.
Yeah, all right.I'll be with you, Dave. White van man.
Oh yes, the emergency glazier.He was on my tail for miles, blaring away.Well, I'll be in touch.
A novel?About the weather, cliffs, high places.Move it Broadhurst!No pictures though.
And the words, all crushing together.It's making me dizzy.
Even if I never read her book, I owe Geraldine.It's so long since anyone gave me anything.Apart from Katrina.God, Katrina gave it all, didn't she?On the brow of that hill.Near where the moon's eclipse is shining now.
Hardly two miles from me in my prison.Yet three and a half years gone. It's all in the pictures, right?Every last moment, caught for always.Flash photo.Maximum exposure.You hear that?
You're always taking photos of hills and stuff.
Yeah.I'll go professional soon.
With a Polaroid camera?You're meant to take people with that.
I don't do people yet.It's a different skill.
Come on, Graham.Take me for once.You know you want to, really.You're just too shy to ask.I know.Pretend I'm a model or something in a fashion shoot.
What, in that leather jacket?No way!
Katrina, we're in public.
We're miles from anyone.They're all down the valley behind you, watching telly, behaving themselves.Cut the load of this, you boys!Shut up!Here.To spare your blushes, I'll give you a private view.How's that?Down on the earth and warm rocks.
Yeah.So where's the army shooting me?
None. You're part of the landscape now.
Maximum exposure.Go off it, Graham, I dare you.
Polaroid by G Broadhurst.Photos are mad, no, made of light.Some peel.Oh, people think photos take way there, away there, yeah. Some people think photos take away their soul.And I agree.
You've been hard at it for two hours now.
Well, I failed then.That last question. They wanted an essay, Geraldine.I could only manage a few words.
Graham, them is me.This test is for our benefit alone.No pass, no fail, just an assessment.
Right.Sorry.Never took an exam before.That I didn't walk out of, anyhow.
Yours must have been a liberal school.
Oh no, far from it.They kicked me out, when was it, 18 years ago.
Really?You appear younger.
I was 12 at the time. Typical.Yeah, your unruly behavior.
It never ceases to amaze me how schools can write kids off before they've had a chance to shine.
Oh, no, I deserved it, believe me.
Actually, I enjoyed it.There I was out in the wild instead of locked in a classroom doing exams like everyone else.
Now you're just winding me up.
Whatever the result, Geraldine, doing this test has blown away cobwebs, laid a few memories to rest.
I'll check things over tonight, then get your results confirmed.Okay?
Now you've tested my level of literacy, can I test you back?
How?Are you busy tomorrow?
I work at the garage till 9am.Could we meet there?Hmm, mysterious.Well, maybe I shouldn't have asked.
No, it's fine. I'll be there.Nine a.m.
Is this what's meant by learning?Can't go on living two half-lives, can I?I have to learn to forgive myself, close the door on me past life once and forever.
And I can only do that in the company of someone innocent, who knows nothing about how and why I destroyed Katrina.
Thank you, madam.Goodbye.
Now, sir, how may I help you?A book, please.
Oh, it's a perfect day for exploring brunty country. I'm so glad you brought your camera.
Well, you showed me the library, Geraldine.I'm showing you the moor.
And such fresh air.Oh, it's funny, six months since I came north, yet this is my first chance to really breathe.
Yeah, I've not been up here for over three years. Geraldine, could I beg a favour?
Of course.You need your test results.
Could I take a photograph?
You want some kind of relief.
A figure in the foreground.A foil to the glorious landscape.Relief, yeah, that's it.Graham, your test results were very... Smile.Turn around.
This is becoming a glamour photo shoot.
No, it's more than that, Geraldine.
Just a shame I'm so dull and plain.
No, don't put yourself down.
Posing in front of such beauty.
You're a new image to put in your camera.
How strange.This reminds me of your essay.
You wrote about how some people think... Zoom lens.
That's it.They believe if someone takes their photo... Maximum exposure.It takes away their... Oh, Graham, go for it.I dare you.
Shoot.Shoot.Just leave me, OK?
Look, Geraldine, there's someone, something in me head.Locking me in, ordering me back. I thought in time it might fade and I'd be normal, but it won't go away.And it's growing worse.Dogging me everywhere.Stopping me getting close to anyone else.
I know.You what?What's wrong?Well, you can't know.
It's about perception.How you view things, hmm?Your perspective's twisted up, inverted.
How the hell can you know my secret when I haven't... I tested you for it.
Look, last night I emailed your test results to a colleague, and there's no doubt he confirms dyslexia.Your grading, grade one, is the mildest form.Diagnosis is half the battle.I know it's a shock, but be glad, Graham, you're not illiterate at all.
Just confused in your perception.My perception?Your weakness is letters, words, syllables, reverse, strange spelling. Give a dyslexic a book to read and he often can't grasp the overall pattern.The bigger picture eludes him.
Does this problem sound familiar?My problem is from the past.Absolutely.
Should have been dealt with long ago.
It makes me so angry that no one bothered.
The Polaroids are developed.Oh, God, my thigh.Geraldine, you look fine.Lovely, in fact.
It's cooling off.Come back to the car.
We're miles from anywhere.
I need time to think, OK?
Of course.Today's been quite a... revelation.
These photos are yours now.Never give them away.
Okay.While I dare.While I'm strong enough, I must break with the past.Here in the wild, out of anyone's sight, in the place you gave me everything, Katrina, I give you back my camera!There!
Sticking on the tab, eh, Greg?99 this morning, lad.Just missed a ton there.Oh, you'll get there, Joe.I bought a book on them, stars.Hey, guess how many are visible to the naked eye on a cloudless night in Central Australia?Surprise me.
Still moping, eh?Cubs are lonely places.So is the petrol station. I'll keep counting stars till I win our bet and drag you down that job club if it kills me.
She's gone now.Eh?Katrina.Inside me.She's not there.And the poachers?Have you got rid of them yet?He hid them away.Closed the book.Oh, at last.Yeah.She's gone.And I'm alone. I'm turning into you, Joe.Rubbish.
You've got that literacy thing.Yeah, I know.The Apostle Woman keeps leaving messages on the station phone.
So far, you've dodged every meeting.The group are having a social tonight, just down the road.I promised to be there, but I chickened out, as usual.Well, that's it, Graham.My charity's done.
Finish your pint. Then bugger off out of here and get a bloody life.
Oh, this is fun.I'm so glad we did this.There's just time for one more quick-fire round before we go.Try the menu below the restaurant title.Paul, would you read first?
The Taj Mahal, built in 1362 by... Oh dear, scrambled numbers again.Pardon my dyslexia.I mean, dyslexia.Built in 1632 by Shah... um... Jihan, to house the tomb of his diseased... Deceased.Deceased wife, Mum... Mum... Anyone?
The Taj Mahal is thought by many to be the most... romantic building in the world.
Better.Mirror.The building consists of a marble dome.Good.
Oh, yeah, I was, I was miles away.
Right, thanks.The Taj Mahal.Excuse me, I did that bit.Sorry. A gate and a mosque.Good.Are further elements... Elements?Are further elements in... Careful now.In the... Have a go.Competition.
Anyone?Composition.Paul, that's worth an extra jeopardy. The word is composition.
Through the power of writing and the miracle of reading, we learn that Taj Mahal is not only Warkdale's finest bolty house, but back in India, it's something even more unique.A work of art, a monument, a composition of love.Wrong.
Oh, please, Graham, share with us your thinking.
Okay.Well, I could be wrong. But if the Shah built the Taj Mahal to honor his deceased wife, surely it's a composition not to love, but to love lost.
Ah, yes.His whole life became this task, to build a huge erection of his unbearable grief.
Because what he created, it never brought her back, did it?Once he buried her, she was gone for always.Yes.Photos should fade, monuments fall.And the people they honor should live on forever.But they don't. I'm sorry to tell you, they don't.
Want to share the last poppadom?
I had enough for one night, thanks.
A restaurant car park's hardly the ideal place to sit back and enjoy the view.Oh.How's the book?The novel I lent you.Remember?
Actually, I'm stuck on page one.
Persist.Emily's work is very moving. You know, it's set locally.Oh!Before I forget... Just a bit of fun to help you along.Oh.Uh, spell... custer.Spell checker.Watch.
Think of a word, type out the spelling, wait for it to appear on the screen, press the enter button, and, if you spell it right,
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Progress.Progress.Progress.Progress.Progress.Progress.Progress.Progress.Progress. You're so bright, Graham.The point you made in the restaurant about the Taj Mahal being a monument to love lost.
Yeah, covering for my useless reading.
Someone hurt you, didn't they?
Not as much as I hurt them.
200 and 8!200 and 8! What's up with you?208, I counted right here.I beat the record by one star.
Graham, lad, there's two of you.
Yeah, Uncle, meet Geraldine.She's my... There's two Grahams, two moons. Two stars?He must be smashed, he's seen double.
Calm down, you record stand.
104, not 208 at all.Joe, you beat me.You're a bollock.
No, no, you win.I lose.Again.Who was that?Welcome to my family.
Graham, I don't quite know how to put this, but do you realize that ever since, uh... Jo?Ever since Jo startled me, we've been, well... Holding hands.So, do you mind?
No, no, your hand, um... feels warm.
Yours feels safe. Your arm feels even safer.Oh, I can't believe I did that.
But I'm your teacher.I'm far too old to be doing it.Oh, Graham.
It's just for comfort, this.Lonely people trying to learn how to start again.No betrayal. No harm to anyone.Surely we deserve a bit of warmth in the night.
Good try, but F-A-T-E is four letters.No, no, no, I was just thinking.
While you're doing so, could you scrub my back?
I'm thinking how things change.Last month, me flat was cold and empty.This month, there's a fire in the lounge and a woman in me bath, doing a crossword as if we'd been together for years.
If destiny isn't fate, it must be karma.Oh, bad clue, but it fits.Five letters.K-A-R-M-A.First prize, that boy. Oh, by hell, it's nippy.
Oh, you southerners need to keep warm.Go dry off by the fire while I shave.
Here we are then.Happiness.At this rate, who knows?Me and Geraldine could move in together.And even, she's still about going off for kids, if we rush.I keep singing, I like it.
Just inspecting your book collection. Could hardly call it a library.You know, this, not a single one without pictures.
Well, there's that novel you lent me.
Oh, yes.Are you reading it yet?
No, sorry, I gave up.I mean, if Emily Bronte can't even be bothered to spell the title right... Pardon?Yeah, I checked it on that spell-checker you bought me.She got it wrong.Weather is W-E-A-C-H... Brem, weather!
Top shelf, behind the clock.
Hardback, blue cover, untitled.No, wait.It's so high up, I can hardly read this.No, Gerald, don't leave it!Pornography.Pages and pages of filth.I'm so young.She's barely the leader.
On the moor.Where we were.Jesus, yes, the view, the same.Give me that.Get off!Put it back!No! You took it back on the fire!Idiot!Haven't you learned anything?I've just taught you, OK?This is your past, you can't just burn it away!
If we're to salvage anything from these ashes, you must tell me about the person on display here.
You wouldn't know from the Polaroids.Flashbulbs turn them red, but, um... Katrina's left eye was blue and her right eye green. She was a waitress at Betty's in town.She rode a BSA Bantam to work and back.You know, it's a wild, noisy thing.
Always had trouble with her throttle.That's how we met.
Your photos make her look very beautiful.
Yeah, about a week after I took these, Katrina phoned.Asked to meet on this same bit of moor.Wouldn't come into town.So... I left Joe in charge of the station.Walked a couple of miles uphill.It was wet. It's almost dark when I reached her.
We need to talk, OK?Sure.But why come all the way out here?I thought you liked it out here.Katrina, take off your outfit.It's raining.Come on, you sound weird.OK, but you won't lie what you see.
Ugly, right?Don't worry, I'll live.Stop bleeding ages ago.Who was it?Eh?Your dad.That bastard.He did this, I know it.Take me, old Graham.It was you. So is it true?Eh?Did you show?Show?The photos?Showed no one.
While he was thumping me, Dad kept whispering imaginary headlines like, Ed Masters' daughter reveals all.Katrina, I swear... If you showed no one, is Dad psychic, eh?Or do I make a habit of being photographed naked in a Yorkshire landscape?
Maybe I showed someone who I respect, OK?And his colleague.Professional photographers.And maybe one or two of the friends.Impress them, Katrina.
They said wonderful things about... My body?My work.Your work? Suddenly I'm what?The work of art, the photos, right?I was trying to get work so you'd be proud.Oh!Katrina!
I ran after her.I did.But the wet soil and rain, and the dark, and guilt, shame.
You mean this poor girl could have been lost out there?
Nothing was ever reported.Me and Joe searched for weeks.Her father moved south. I sold her bike.Kept the money safe.In case she returned.
So all along the time I've been helping you, all the time we've been... Your problems were so much more than just dyslexia.
I did something cruel.Yeah.
You didn't mean any harm.
It's not what we mean that matters.It's what we do.So I built myself a prison.Since Katrina disappeared nearly four years ago, nothing changed.Till now. Till you, Geraldine.
Yes, I understand that.But I can't compete with a ghost.
There's no need.She's not a ghost anymore.Just a few sad photographs taken by an idiot.So please, may I burn them now?
You get off early, Joe.Here, take this for the cab.You can't walk home in a blizzard.Hey, Graham, Graham, listen. You know that book of mine about stars?Yeah.
Well, it says many which look single to the naked eye are revealed by telescope, and that to be not one, but two stars.
So, by my reckoning, the 104 I counted in the car park of the Taj Mahal and thought were 208 actually were 208, but for a different reason, which means I win.
Yeah, but you only saw 208 because you were seeing double.I saw the bigger picture, lad, that's all.
I mean, who needs a telescope when you've had six pints?It's a bugger taking a cab.Your money goes on my ale.
Joe, you're getting worse.
Oh, hang about.Tanker driver on the forecourt said a lady were after you.Not special.I only saw her from here, but he said she's coming back later.
That's a low cat, yeah.A bit like your teacher friend.See you down the job, clump!
What, you're at the library?
Well, it's weird.Jo said... What?No, nothing.Look, go right home, okay?I was going to come up... No, no, that old VW of yours will never make it through the snow.
Geraldine, we're so right together.So why am I holding back?Why can't I say what I feel? One word, four letters.So easy to spell.Even a grade one dyslexic can type it out.
Must be too soon.I can write it, no problem.But maybe I'm not quite ready yet to say it out loud.
Love.Love.Yeah, be with you, sir, I'm just... Love.Love.
Hello?Who's there, please?Excuse me, who's...
I scared her away.She's gone.
Is it her?Has she come back?
I've lost her.Again.Oh, where is she?All I see is hills and stars.
Graham!What?Where are you?
I've made it to the kiosk. You chilled through paper jacket.
So, it was you then.Asking for a ride.
Aye, it's from Manchester.
Yeah, I didn't recognise you.
One green, one blue, right?
Graham, it's me, Katrina, and you know it.
But Katrina had long red hair, and she was... Thin?Young.
Three years is a long time.It's tough.Surviving alone, people change.
Oh, God, this is horrible.I shouldn't have come wrecking your fantasy like this.Why?Why am I here? Maybe I hoped you'd be glad to see me.Maybe I came for my motorbike.
I sold it.Don't worry, though the money's safe.
You sell everything, don't you?Everything of mine.
I did a terrible thing.I showed a few people, a few, that's all, those Polaroids because I knew they were good.You mean they were filthy.I was desperate to go professional.Everyone said I never took a better picture.
Which is why I want them back.There's an office, Manchester, where I work.Full of phones. private lines, adult lines.For men.Lonely men.We're taught for hours.I get them so worked up.They get obsessed, Graham, just like you did.
Then they ask for things.Shoes, stockings, photographs.
They'll pay anything, you wouldn't believe.But these can't be any ordinary photographs of office girls with a weight problem.No.These must be raw, amateur, raunchy, thin, beautiful.Stop. You'd sell our puss.You did?I'll fetch him, now.
I drove through the snow with some coffee.Seems you're quite warm enough.Geraldine, this is Katrina.So I guess.She looks older.Eh?Than the Polaroids.You sure do!He wanted to burn them, you know.Graham, how come she knows so much?
Is she a friend of yours, or...?Of course, that's how she'd view me.After all, I'm twice her age, aren't I?Just what the hell are you on about?Nothing!I'm just his teacher, okay? I never should have come.You were right to warn me not to.
Better leave before I get snowed under.Let you catch up on things with... with her.Geraldine!Two into one won't go, will it?You know where I am.Do what you must.
Wow.She really loves you.
Yeah.Even more than I loved you.
Fair shit, Graham.You or me ever loved the way I looked.
Another day, another night shift over.As quickly as the snow fell, it thaws.The weathermen were right after all.Now I must clear up some storm damage of me own.
You, uh... You got back okay?
She took the photos and the cash and left.
But for how long?What do you mean?I'm sorry, Graham.Haven't you noticed?Your friend Katrina does have rather a nasty habit of reappearing when she's least expected.
How can you be so certain?
Look, I really want us to make a go of things, but I need to know Katrina's not going to keep coming back to... to haunt us.What?
What's funny?The book, Geraldine.The Bronte novel you gave me, you remember?
Well, I've been reading it.Very, very slowly.And from what I can make out, it says ghosts don't exist, right? except in the dreams of sick people and in the minds of those who are lost.I guess this is what you've taught me, Geraldine.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm nowhere near perfect yet.But believe me, I'm starting to learn.
Ghost on the Moor was written by Peter Wolfe Graham was played by Robert Glenister Geraldine by Jenny Stoller and Joe by John Turner Katrina was played by Jasmine Hyde and Paul by Thomas Arnold Ghost on the Moor was directed by Cherry Cookson
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