RENTON
Sure.
SWANNEYThe strategy is this: get clean, get mobile, get into dealing, and this time next year I'll be watching the rising sun with a posse of oriental buttocks parked on my coupon.
RENTONSounds great, Swanney.
SWANNEYYeah.
RENTONYou'll have to send us a postcard.
SWANNEYSure will, pal, sure will.
EXT. PARK. DAYRenton and Sick Boy are seated in their firing patch, sitting on plastic bags with beer, vodka, hash and the cassette player. The airgun is present as before, but they are not making any use of it. SICK BOYEughh. Sounds horrible.
RENTONIt wasn't that bad.
SICK BOYDid he -- you know?
RENTONWhat?
SICK BOYYou know.
RENTONNo, he didn't make me touch it.
SICK BOYOh no, don't even mention it.
RENTONHe made me lick it.
SICK BOYGod, you're sick.
RENTONAnd I got a stitch stuck between my teeth, jerked my head back and the whole fucking stump fell off.
SICK BOYCut it out.
RENTONWhen are you going to visit him?
SICK BOYDon't know. Maybe Thursday.
RENTONYou're a real mate. And what about Tommy? Have you been to see him yet?
Sick Boy is silent. He stiffens as he avoids Renton's gaze. They shift fractionally apart. RENTON tuts. SICK BOYFuck you. OK, so Tommy's got the virus. Bad news, big deal. The gig goes on, or hadn't you noticed? Swanney fucks his leg up. Well, tough shit, but it could have been worse.
RENTONYou're all hear.
SICK BOYI know a couple of addicts. Stupid wee lassies. I feed them what they need. A little bit of skag to keep them happy while the punters line up at a fiver a skull. It's easy money for me. Not exactly a fortune, but I'm thinking, 'I should be coining it here.' Less whores, more skag. Swanney's right. Get clean, get into dealing, that's where the future lies. Set up some contacts, get a good load of skag, punt it, profit. What do you think?
RENTONFuck you.
SICK BOYAnd I'll tell you why. Because I'm fed up to my back teeth with losers, no-hopers, draftpacks, schemies, junkies and the like. I'm getting on with life. What are you doing?
---------
INT. RENTON'S BEDSIT. NIGHTRenton sits alone on the bed, making a joint and reading a book. There is a knock at the door. Renton answers the door. RENTONWhat do you want?
DIANEAre you clean?
RENTONYes.
DIANEIs that a promise, then?
RENTONYes, as a matter of fact, it is.
DIANECalm down, I'm just asking. Is that hash I can smell?
RENTONNo.
DIANEI wouldn't mind a bit, if it is.
RENTONWell, it isn't.
DIANESmells like it.
RENTONYou're too young.
DIANEToo young for what?
Renton looks in each direction along the empty passageway. INT. RENTON'S BEDSIT. NIGHTRenton and Diane are lying in the bed. Diane, wearing one of Renton's T-shirts, is rolling a mega-joint, quite unaware of the scrutiny of Renton. DIANEYou're not getting any younger, Mark. The world is changing, music is changing, even drugs are changing. You can't stay in here all day dreaming about heroin and Ziggy Pop.
RENTONIt's Iggy Pop.
DIANEWhatever. I mean, the guy's dead anyway.
RENTONIggy Pop is not dead. He toured last year. Tommy went to see him.
DIANEThe point is, you've got to find something new.
Diane completes the joint. RENTON(v.o)
She was right. I had to find something new. There was only one thing for it.
EXT. LONDON. DAYAs contemporary retake of all those 'Swinging London' montages: Red Routemaster/Trafalgar Square/Big Ben/Royalty/City gents in suits/Chelsea ladies/fashion victims/Piccadilly Circus at night. Incut with close-ups of classic street names on a street map (all the ones made famous by Monopoly. INT. ESTATE AGENT'S OFFICE. DAYThe montage ends on one street, then draws back to reveal the whole map of London pinned to a wall. A Man holding a telephone walks in front of the mape and belches loudly. Revealing more, he is in a scruffy, cramped office with half a dozen occupied desks and twice as many telephones. Seated at the one nearest to the belching Man is Renton. He is wearing a shirt and tie now. He turns in response to the belch. MANCan you take this call?
Renton takes the telephone and reaches for a piece of paper from which he reads. RENTONHello, yes, certainly. It's a beautifully converted Victorian town house. Ideally located in a quiet road near to local shops and transport.
Renton checks his watch. EXT. THE AI IN NORTH LONDON. DAYRenton stands waiting beside this busy London road, outside some very unfortunate housing, as the traffic streams past. RENTON(v.o)
Two bedrooms and a kitchen/diner. Fully fitted in excellent decorative order. Lots of storage space. All mod cons. Three hundred and twenty pounds per week.
A couple approach. Renton unlocks the door of a flat and holds the door open while he ushers them in. INT. LONDON FLAT. DAYRenton shows the Couple round a typical London flat nightmare. A poor conversion, poor decor, everything small and ill-fitting. The windows rattle as the traffic roars by. RENTON(v.o)
I settled in not too badly and I kept myself to myself. Sometimes, of course, I thought about the guys, but mainly I didn't miss them at all. After all, this was boom town where any fool could make cash from chaos and plenty did. I quite enjoyed the sound of it all. Profit, loss, margins, takeovers, lending, letting, subletting, subdividing, cheating, scamming, fragmenting, breaking away. There was no such thing as society and even if there was, I most certainly had nothing to do with it. For the first time in my adult life I was almost content.
INT. LONDON BEDSIT. NIGHTRenton finishes eating a pot noodle. He puts it down and picks up a letter. He lies back and reads. Intercut with: INT. SCHOOLROOM. DAYA class is in progress. A teacher lectures to a mixed class, but Diane is not listening as she is writing. EXT. SCHOOL. DAYDiane is leaving the school when Sick Boy catches up with her. They stop and then she walks away. EXT. PARK. DAYDiane walks along a concrete path. As she does so she has to step over Spud, who lies asleep/unconscious beside the remains of a carry out. DIANE(v.o)
Dear Mark, I'm glad you've found a job and somewhere to live. School is fine at the moment. I'm not pregnant but thanks for asking. Your friend Sick Boy asked me last week if I would like to work for him but I told him where to go. I met Spud, who sends his regards, or at least I think that's what he said. No one has seen Tommy for ages. And finally, Fracis Begbie has been on television a lot this week. --
INT. LONDON BEDSIT. NIGHTRenton turns the page.DIANE(v.o)
as he is wanted by the police in connection with an armed robbery in a jeweller's in Corstorphine. Take care. Yours with love, Diane.
There is a buzz at the door. Renton re-examines the letter. There is another buzz.
RENTONOh no.
INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. NIGHTRenton opens the door to an unseen figure. It is Begbie. INT. BEDSIT. NIGHTRenton sits on the bed. Begbie stands over him, pointing a gun at his head. He pulls the trigger. It clicks harmlessly. BEGBIEArmed robbery? With a replica? How can it be armed robbery? It's a fucking scandal.
He 'fires' the gun a few more times at his own head, then chucks it to the floor. And the haul. Look.
He digs a few rings out of his pocket and throws them to Renton. Solid silver, my arse. I took it to a fence -- it's trash, pure trash. There's young couples investing all their hopes in that stuff, and what are they getting?
RENTONIt's a scandal, Franco.
BEGBIEToo right it is. Now look, have you got anything to eat, 'cos I'm fucking Lee Marvin, by the way.
INT. BEDSIT. DAYBegbie is sitting on the bed in his underwear, eating cereal while watching television. A small carry-out is nearby. Renton finishes dressing for work. He pauses at the open door, looking back towards his guest. RENTON(v.o)
Begbie settled in in no time at all.
Begbie opens a can of beer. Renton closes the door. INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. DAYRenton closes his door. He is about to walk away when he heard Begbie shouting.BEGBIE(from the bedsit)
Rents, Rents, come fucking back here.
Renton opens the door. Begbie is holding out an empty packet of cigarettes. Look.
RENTONWhat?
BEGBIEI've no fucking cigarettes.
Begbie throws the packet down to the floor. It lands near the door. He has turned back to the television and takes a swig of beer. RENTONRight.
Renton closes the door again. INT. BEDSIT. NIGHTRenton and Begbie lie in the single bed with their heads at opposite ends. Begbie snores. Renton is wide awake, with a pair of smelly- socked feet only inches from his nose. RENTON(v.o)
Yeah, the guy's a psycho, but it's true, he's a mate as well, so what can you do?
INT. LONDON BEDSIT. DAYWhere the first empty packet of cigarettes fell to the floor there is now a large heap of empty packets: the product of weeks at sixty a day. Another one lands on the pile. Begbie, still in his underwear, still can in hand, sits watchig the racing as before. Behind his, cigarettes and alcohol are stacked up like a miniature duty-free warehouse. Renton sits behind him, reading a book. BEGBIEHey, I'm wanting a bet put on.
RENTONCan you not go yourself.
BEGBIEI'm a fugitive from the law. I can't be seen on the fucking streets. Now watch my lips. Kempton Park. Two-thirty. Five pounds to win. Bad Boy.
INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. DAYThe door opens, Renton walks out, the door closes and Renton walks away. A wild, frightening scream erupts from beyond the door. INT. LONDON BEDSIT. DAYBegbie, alone in the bedsit, is screaming a cry of primal joy.RENTON(v.o)
Bad Bot came in at 16 to 1. And with the winnings, we went out to celebrate.
INT. LONDON PARTY. NIGHTTo loud music and strobing, fractured lights, surrounded by dry ice, Begbie dances near a tall woman. Other people dance nearby. Begbie gives the thumbs up to Renton, who sits on a stool at one side drinking from a bottle of beer. Begbie and the Woman walk away. Renton looks around the club at the various men and women. RENTON(v.o)
Diane was right. The world is changing, music is changin, drugs are changing, even men and women are changing. One thousand years from now there'll be no guys and no girls, just wankers. Sounds great to me. It's just a pity that no one told Begbie.
EXT. STREET. NIGHTA car sits in a street near the club, windows steamed up. INT. CAR. NIGHTBegbie and the Woman embrace passionately. The Woman undoes Begbie's trousers. INT. PARTY. NIGHTRenton's gaze continues to wander around. RENTON(v.o)
You see, if you ask me, we're heterosexual by default, not be decision. It's just a question of who you fancy.
INT. CAR. NIGHT