by Neil Gaiman
There’s a high-pitched noise. Crowley sways, catches himself.
The bar now looks odd, like an old polaroid.
The very solid Crowley is joined by a translucent Aziraphale.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
Aziraphale? I’m trying to get drunk. Failing. But you know me. Indefatigable. Are you here?
AZIRAPHALE
Good question. Not certain. Never done this before. Can you hear me?
CROWLEY
Of course I can hear you.
As they talk, Aziraphale shimmers and fades a lot. He isn’t looking at Crowley – more looking around as if he’s wondering where Crowley is . . .
AZIRAPHALE
Afraid I rather made a mess of things . . . did you go to Alpha Centauri?
CROWLEY
No. I changed my mind. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend.
AZIRAPHALE
I’m so sorry to hear it. Listen. Back in my bookshop there’s a book I need you to get.
CROWLEY
Your bookshop isn’t there any more.
AZIRAPHALE
(profoundly hurt)
Oh.
CROWLEY
I’m really sorry. It burned down.
AZIRAPHALE
All of it?
CROWLEY
Yeah. What was the book?
AZIRAPHALE
The one the young woman with the bicycle left behind. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of . . .
CROWLEY
Agnes Nutter. Yes. I took it. Souvenir.
AZIRAPHALE
You have it? Oh. Look inside. I made notes. It’s all in there. The boy’s name, address. And everything else. I worked it all out.
Crowley opens the book. There are notes on scraps of paper in Aziraphale’s neat handwriting, with ADAM YOUNG, 4 HOGBACK LANE, TADFIELD, and a small map of the village of Tadfield. And then AIRBASE circled.
CROWLEY
Look, wherever you are, I can come to you. Where are you?
AZIRAPHALE
I’m not really anywhere yet. I’ve been discorporated. You need to get to Tadfield Airbase.
CROWLEY
Why?
AZIRAPHALE
World ending. That’s where it’s all going to happen. Quite soon now. I’ll head there too. I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you’d think.
CROWLEY
(sotto voce)
Not going to go there . . .
AZIRAPHALE
I do need a body. Pity I can’t inhabit yours. But angel, demon . . . We’d probably explode. So I’ll meet you in Tadfield. And we’re both going to have to get a bit of a wiggle-on.
CROWLEY
What?
AZIRAPHALE
Tadfield. Airbase.
CROWLEY
I heard that. It was the wiggle-on.
But Aziraphale has vanished. The pub is normal again. Crowley looks around as if trying to make sense of the world.
517EXT. SHADWELL’S FLAT – STORM, DAY
The storm is raging outside, and Madame Tracy uses all her strength in holding open the door.
MADAME TRACY
(in occulty tones)
Enter, seekers after wisdom, only if you are willing to part the veil and receive wisdom from those who have gone before and you better come in quickly because the door’s going to blow off.
MRS ORMEROD
You don’t have to ask us twice!
There are three of them. MRS ORMEROD, an elderly battleaxe in a green hat, MR SCROGGIE, a colourless gentleman in his sixties, and JULIA PETLEY, who ought to be a cheerful, blonde, Adele-like hairdresser, but who has come over a bit gothy, and so has dyed her hair black and is wearing dark velvet colours and lots of silver jewellery. Mrs Ormerod’s umbrella has blown inside out.
MRS ORMEROD (CONT’D)
We are here to receive your wisdom, Madame Tracy.
(to umbrella)
Cheap rubbish, just look at it.
518INT. MADAME TRACY’S FLAT – DAY
As they come in through the door . . .
MADAME TRACY
Julia, dear. I see your vibrations are particularly strong today.
JULIA
Oh. Thank you.
MADAME TRACY
Mister Scroggie, you sit over there, on my right.
He nods. Outside, a RUMBLE OF THUNDER.
MADAME TRACY (CONT’D)
Just the weather for a seance, isn’t it?
JULIA
Did you have them do it special? The weather? With your psychicness?
MADAME TRACY
No, dear.
MRS ORMEROD
They’re waiting for us. Our Ron, and the spirits. They’re waiting.
MADAME TRACY
And we’re all looking forward to hearing what they have to say. After we’ve all had our tea. And, um, made our donations.
Julia looks confused.
MADAME TRACY (CONT’D)
Twenty five pounds, love. It’s not for me. It’s for my spirit guide.
Mrs Ormerod hands over an envelope, as Julia opens her gothic handbag.
MRS ORMEROD
You’ll find it’s all in there.
519INT. AIRPORT – DAY
GOD (V.O.)
Aziraphale had to find a host to inhabit. The Four Horsemen needed to come together for their final ride.
Famine reaches the immigration official.
IMMIGRATION OFFICER
Purpose of your visit to the UK?
FAMINE
I ride to where the end of the world begins.
IMMIGRATION OFFICER
Sounds like fun.
520EXT. MOTORWAY CAFÉ PARKING LOT – STORM, DAY
The storm is starting: it’s blustery. A newspaper blows across. A red motorbike pulls up. War gets off, and walks in to the café, pulling off her helmet.
521INT. MOTORWAY CAFÉ – STORM, DAY
Video game noises. War walks into the café. There are a HANDFUL OF PEOPLE in there, and a LADY behind the counter.
In the back of the room, a TALL DARK FIGURE is playing a video game.
WAR
Four cups of tea, please. One of them black. And a cheese sandwich.
CAFÉ LADY
You take a seat. I’ll bring it over for you. Four of you, are there?
WAR
There will be. I’m waiting for friends.
CAFÉ LADY
You’re better off waiting in here. It’s hell out there.
WAR
No. Not yet.
And the café door opens. The wind blows into the café, and BLACK/FAMINE walks in, helmet off. He’s wearing black leathers.
522EXT. MOTORWAY CAFÉ – STORM, DAY
In the carpark, Famine’s black bike is parked next to War’s red bike.
523INT. MOTORWAY CAFÉ – STORM, DAY
Famine walks over to where War is sitting:
FAMINE
Hello, War. Been a long time.
WAR
Mmm. Famine. Feels funny, all of us finally getting together like this.
FAMINE
Funny?
WAR
We’ve spent all these thousands of years waiting for the big day, and now it finally comes. Like waiting for Christmas. Or birthdays.
FAMINE
We don’t have birthdays.
WAR
I didn’t say we do, Famine. I just said that was what it was like.
Café Lady comes over with a tray . . .
CAFÉ LADY
Here’s your teas. But we’re all out of cheese. And bread. And things to eat . . .
FAMINE
(to War)
Sorry. Not sorry.
524EXT. MOTORWAY CAFÉ – STORM, DAY
A dirty motorbike pulls up in a cloud of black smoke. The exhaust backfires as it comes to a halt, and a pool of black oil drips from the engine.
Pollution gets off the bike and crisp packets and sweet wrappers blow past on the storm. They park
by the other three.
525INT. MOTORWAY CAFÉ – STORM, DAY
WAR
Weather looks a bit tricky down south.
FAMINE
Looks fine to me. We’ll have a thunderstorm to ride in. You’ll see.
WAR
That’s a relief. It wouldn’t be the same if we didn’t have a good thunderstorm. Any idea how far we’ve got to ride?
Pollution enters. The crisp packets blow in and swirl around as the door opens, then the packets fall to the floor.
POLLUTION
A hundred miles.
WAR
I thought it’d be longer, somehow.
POLLUTION
It’s not the travelling. It’s the arriving that matters. Any sign of him yet?
And the tall dark figure stops playing the video game, and walks over to us . . .
526EXT. MOTORWAY CAFÉ – STORM, DAY
There is a fourth bike next to the other three. Death’s . . .
527INT. MOTORWAY CAFÉ – STORM, DAY
WAR
When did you get here?
DEATH
I NEVER WENT AWAY.
FAMINE
Your tea is getting cold, Lord.
WAR
It’s been a long time.
POLLUTION
But now we ride.
DEATH
YES. NOW WE RIDE.
528EXT. SHADWELL’S FLAT – STORM, DAY
Outside the wind howls. A rubbish bin blows over and paper bags blow down the street.
529INT. MADAME TRACY’S LIVING ROOM – STORM, DAY
Inside, Madame Tracy lights a candle. There are some big old mirrors around the room in old frames.
MADAME TRACY
Now we will link hands. And I must ask for complete silence. The spirit world is extremely sensitive to vibration.
MRS ORMEROD
Ask if my Ron is there.
MADAME TRACY
I cannot control the spirits.
Thunder. Lightning.
MRS ORMEROD
Right.
MADAME TRACY
I need absolute silence.
Madame Tracy glances at her watch.
Absolute silence. Madame Tracy’s head lolls.
MRS ORMEROD
She’s going under. Nothing to be alarmed about. She’s just making herself a Bridge to the Other Side. Her spirit guide will be along soon.
Madame Tracy looks irritated, but masks it. (In the book we have Geronimo as her fake spirit guide. I’d like a female voice, as it makes the Aziraphale stuff better.)
MADAME TRACY
Oooohhhh . . . Are you there, my spirit guide?
(then, as Irish little girl)
Ah, begorrah, tes me. Little Colleen O’Leary.
MRS ORMEROD
Colleen died in Dublin in 1746 when she was nine years old. But she was very psychic.
MADAME TRACY
Colleen died in . . . Yes. Hello Colleen. Thank you for coming. We have a new seeker after truth with us in today’s circle.
MRS ORMEROD
That’s you, dear.
MADAME TRACY
(as Colleen)
Faith and would you believe it? ’Tes the lovely Julia Petley?
JULIA
Hello.
MRS ORMEROD
Hello, Colleen, dear. Is my Ron there? I’ve got so much to tell him. For a start, the guttering over the shed’s come loose, but I spoke to our Cindi’s latest, who’s a jobbing builder, and he’ll be over to see to it on Sunday, and ohh, that reminds me . . .
MADAME TRACY
(Colleen)
So many poor blessed souls waiting here in the afterlife . . .
(as herself)
Now Colleen wants to know if there’s anyone named Mr Scroggie here?
MR SCROGGIE
Actually that’s my name.
MADAME TRACY
Colleen wants to know if you ever knew anyone named John.
MR SCROGGIE
. . . No.
MADAME TRACY
It could be Jim. Or Tom. Or Steve. Or Dave. The connection to the spirit world is a bit vague . . .
MRS ORMEROD
I need to tell Ron about our Krystal’s wedding.
MR SCROGGIE
I knew a Dave in Hemel Hempstead.
MADAME TRACY
That’s what he’s saying. Hemel Hempstead. He wants you to know he’s doing very well beyond the veil.
MR SCROGGIE
I saw him last week walking his dog and he looked perfectly healthy.
JULIA
People go very suddenly. It’s like my mum. One day she was fine. And then the next she just sat down, and then she was gone.
MRS ORMEROD
Your mum can bloody well wait her turn, Julia Petley. I’ve been coming here for seven years and I do have seniority. Tell my Ron . . .
MADAME TRACY
Something’s . . . coming through.
Another flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder. All the candles flicker weirdly. Madame Tracy seems disturbed. She’s twitching.
MRS ORMEROD
Is it our Ron?
MADAME TRACY
No. It’s something real, it’s . . .
And Aziraphale comes through! He’s speaking through Madam Tracy’s mouth. If possible, this is going to work with no voice treatment or special effects, because Madame Tracy is going to be an absolutely remarkable actor who can play Aziraphale-using-her-face-and-body-and-voice incredibly well . . .
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
Sprechen sie Deutsch? Parlez-vous français? Wo bu hui jiang zhongwen?
MRS ORMEROD
Is that you, Ron?
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
Ron? Not Ron. Definitely not.
MRS ORMEROD
I want to speak to Ron Ormerod. He’s rather short, balding on top. Can you put him on, please?
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
There does appear to be a spirit of that description trying to get our attention. Very well. I’ll hand you over, but you must make it quick. I am attempting to avert the Apocalypse.
Madame Tracy jerks. The candles flare up.
The people at the seance are looking thrilled. This is something new.
Now she’s sounding like Ron . . . stammering, northern, nervous . . .
MADAME TRACY/RON
H-hello Brenda.
MRS ORMEROD
Ron? That’s you. But you sound like . . . you . . .
MADAME TRACY/RON
I am me, Brenda. It’s c-cold here.
MRS ORMEROD
Right. So. I went to our Krystal’s wedding last weekend, that’s our Tracy’s eldest, and we’re all sat down, and they start serving Korean food. Well, I can take a joke as well as the next woman—
MADAME TRACY/RON
Brenda.
MRS ORMEROD
I’m just getting to the good bit. So, I hold up the kim chee and I say, what do you expect me to do with this then? Whereupon, without even the grace to look ashamed . . .
This is huge. Madame Tracy’s eyes have rolled up in her head. Full-on special effects – room darkens, candles flare, voice booming, terror and darkness – as the ghost speaking through her says
MADAME TRACY/RON
(effects on voice)
BRENDA!
Mrs Ormerod and the other seancers are terrified . . .
MRS ORMEROD
Yes, Ron.
MADAME TRACY/RON
(still some echo and effects on the voice)
You never let me guh-get a wuh-word in edgewise when we were married. Now I’m dead, there is only one thing I want to tell you.
MRS ORMEROD
(slightly less cowed)
You’ve never spoken to me like this before . . .
One final burst of candleflare and lightning in the darkness as Ron says . . .
MADAME TRACY/RON
I don’t cuh-care about the ku-kim chee. I never did.
/> MRS ORMEROD
Ron! Remember your heart condition!
MADAME TRACY/RON
I don’t have a heart any longer. Remember? Anyway, Brenda?