The Secret Of Sales White Gold

This programme contains very strong language and some scenes of a sexual nature.

I've always loved great magicians.

They're the double glazing salesmen of the entertainment business.

Last year, with nothing but a massive curtain,

and an even bigger pair of balls,

David Copperfield made The Statue of Liberty vanish.

Now, you and I both know he couldn't have vanished

The Statue of fucking Liberty...

but look into his eyes.

Tell me he doesn't 100% believe that

he just made her disappear for real.

What you're looking at there, folks, is the secret of sales.

Believe in what you're selling.

I'd forgotten that, and it's almost cost me everything I love -

my wife, my kids, my money.

But now it's time to start taking it all back the only way I know how -

by selling the greatest product that exists on this beautiful planet...

me.

Aren't you going to be late for school?

-But we're not finished here.

-Oh, I think we are, sweetheart.

You want me to piss away my money

starting a double glazing company with you?

I mean, that's a less nuanced version of it but, yeah.

Why don't you just take over at Cachet?

Walshy won't sell, it's his nest egg.

Well, I always find a man more amenable to an offer

when I've got his nuts clamped in a vice.

Are we talking metaphorical testicles here?

Yeah, for the minute. Now, Vincent, ever heard of a phoenix scam?

No, but feel free to enlighten me.

It's when you take a business...

say, a flourishing double glazing firm,

you siphon off all the cash

and at the same time, you run up crippling debts

until it gets wound up.

You see, that's a bit short-term for me.

I want to run my own company, build it up into a national chain.

And you will, young Vincent, because at this point

a handsome and respected local businessman steps in,

buys up the company for a nominal fee, say £1,

and a new "debt free" firm rises from the ashes of the old one.

The phoenix from the flames.

How legal is it?

Well, let's just say it's not completely illegal.

It's certainly immoral, though.

I mean, how would you feel about stealing Walshy's livelihood,

his money, his business?

I feel surprisingly OK about it.

To be honest, I'd have felt OK about letting Ronnie take

a shit in my mouth if it had meant I could clear my 50 grand tax bill.

Stage one of the plan was getting me installed as a partner at Cachet.

Being a greedy cocksucker, Walshy jumped on my offer to invest.

Do I want to know where this came from?

Don't shit your pants, it's all above board.

I re-mortgaged the house.

Which is partly true, Ronnie loaned me the money.

What I didn't mention was that

I'd borrowed it against Walshy's business,

not my house, with interest rates that were fucking eye-watering,

even for a shark like Ronnie.

-Congratulations, partner.

-Best move you've ever made.

Fortunately, Walshy had about as much business acumen as

a bucket of pig shit. As long as orders were coming in,

he'd think business was hunky-dory.

But before I could start spending his money like a cunt,

firstly I needed to re-hire one.

Hello, Maureen, love. Is Brian about?

-SHE GROANS

-Fuckface! Door.

HE SOBS

Fitzpatrick took less convincing than I'd imagined.

Christ, I need this job. Thank you.

Walshy! Get a load of that.

It didn't matter that we were selling our windows

for practically cost,

to Walshy's barely-educated eye, business was flying.

What he didn't know was that I was about to pilot it into

the side of a fucking mountain.

Here you are, boys.

One of my first acts as a codirector was to approve

company cars for the entire sales team...

including a nice little upgrade for moi.

In fact, everything got upgraded - our suits,

the office furniture...

..we even had prototype car phones fitted.

As communication devices, they were next to fucking useless -

they never worked.

But as toys to wind up the Millman Young pricks, they were priceless.

To soften the blow of Fitzpatrick's return,

I promoted Lavender to head of marketing

and gave him an unlimited budget to blow on

an obscenely expensive radio ad.

We are rolling.

FRETLESS BASS PLAYS

Right. Cut there. Sorry to interrupt.

What's up?

Erm, have you cleared this with Paul Young's label?

I wrote this fucking lick, mate.

I own this sound, all right?

All right. Take two.

Ronnie was even throwing me a kickback from

the extortionate interest on his loans to Cachet

to settle my outstanding tax affairs.

It was beautiful.

HE CHUCKLES

You're welcome.

Now, I appreciate this all might seem a little harsh on Walshy,

but at least this way he gets to keep £1

and, more importantly, his nuts.

-MAN ON RADIO:

-And that was Kool & the Gang there, with Celebration.

Now, we'll be right back with travel after this short break.

Essex Radio!

FRETLESS BASS PLAYS

Hang on, Sam, this is it. This is it!

What's happening?

On the radio. My ad. Sh...

# If your windows and doors

# Don't look loved and adored

# Time to make a change... #

What do you think?

I think I want you to stop talking and start unbuttoning my blouse.

Seriously though, what do you think?

How does it make you feel?

Unbelievably irritated.

Irritated? Why?

Oh, I don't know, maybe because I'm playing second fiddle

to a Paul Young sound-a-like jingle

for my shithead, soon-to-be ex-husband's business.

Paul Young sound-a-like? I created the bass hook on that bloody intro.

-ON RADIO:

-'Don't forget the name, Cachet Windows and Doors.'

Even when we're fucking escaping Vincent there's no escaping Vincent.

I thought you liked our little secret rendezvous.

All right, saying it in French doesn't make it more romantic.

I'm sick of sneaking around for quickies in lay-bys.

-It's not a good time to go public.

-What?!

We're not Charles and Diana, the public don't give a shit.

The only people that care will be the kids,

and Nat and Robbie like you.

Christ knows they want me to be happy.

It's not just them though, is it, it's Vincent.

I can't do this.

I love being with you.

I think you're kind, you're thoughtful,

and I really fancy you.

But I need to be with someone who respects me, puts me first.

Christ, not even first, just not always fucking last.

We both agreed it's just not the right moment.

I've just been promoted and... Come on, what are you doing?

I'm going home, Martin.

Vincent was right,

-you're a pair of bollocks short of being a decent bloke.

-Sam!

Guess what's in here?

A million pounds?

Of course not.

How could I fit a million in here?

I don't know.

A cheque?

-So, what is it?

-Doesn't matter now.

Oh, come on, don't leave me on meathooks.

50,000, cash.

Ooh, way less than a million.

-So, where did you get it?

-Never you mind.

I'll tell you where it's going, though,

Her Majesty's Inland fucking Revenue.

Wow! Are you going get to meet the Queen?

Not unless she works at a tax office in Southend-on-Sea.

She doesn't. I'm pretty sure she works in London.

Vincent, can I have a word?

This sounds serious. Is Paul Young suing us about the ad?

Let's go upstairs.

Have you been upsetting him again?

I know things haven't been easy between you and Sam,

and the last thing I want is to add to your problems...

It's all right, mate, I know.

-You what?

-Sam told me.

I'm so sorry, mate,

I should have been straight with you so much earlier.

I hoped the promotion would have helped.

-That radio campaign's top-notch, by the way.

-Thanks.

What has Sam said exactly?

That you've been disillusioned for a while.

The music business pulling at your heart strings.

-Was that all she said?

-No.

Apparently I'm a narcissist, a scumbag,

-a terrible father and I'm going to die lonely.

-No, I meant...

Look, mate, I know I haven't been a great boss these past few months,

but can you give me a few more weeks?

There are some big changes about to happen around here, and I need you.

Yeah...sure.

Good boy.

Actually, there is one thing you can help me with.

I want to get Sam back.

Really? I thought you and Robbie's teacher...

Nah, that's over, mate. I finished with her last month,

-it was just a bit of fun.

-Oh.

And how can I help exactly?

You go and see her, you tell her I still love her, I need her...

That might be a bit weird.

Maybe you should talk to her yourself?

It's hard to have a conversation

while you're dodging the glasses getting launched at your head.

Well, maybe don't go to the house,

arrange to meet her on neutral territory.

That's a good idea.

And be honest about how you feel, about how much she means to you.

Deep down she needs to feel that she comes first.

Christ, not even first, just not always last.

Probably.

That is good.

I knew there was a reason why I employed

-an overeducated ponce like you.

-Yeah.

PHONE RINGS

Cachet Windows... Carol.

What's up? Why are you whispering?

Because your son's teacher is in the showroom

and she wants to talk to you. She seems upset.

'Shit. Does she know I'm upstairs?'

No, but she's not leaving until she sees you.

-'Is my briefcase down there?'

-Yeah.

Right, put it in my car and I'll sneak out the back.

Oh, just going to the loo.

Reading material.

It's a poo.

So, no school today?

No, because guess who's been suspended for having an

inappropriate relationship with a student's parent?

Do you know how long I had to train to become a teacher?

Three years.

Three years of my life down the toilet

along with my fucking reputation.

Think I'll just nip to the little boy's room too.

-Right, Carol, you got it.

-I popped it on your car.

-You mean in my car.

-No, on it, it was locked.

It's a fucking convertible, Carol, the roof's down.

Well, there's no need to be rude. I'm the one doing a favour.

Or as I like to call it, your job.

And your BMW's not convertible.

No, but I traded the BMW in for a Mercedes

-four fucking weeks ago, remember?

-Oh, yeah.

-So, where's my fucking money, Carol?

-On your BMW.

ENGINE STARTS

-Fitzpatrick's BMW.

-Fucking hell! Brian!

Brian! Brian! Fuck.

Get that shitheap out of my way!

TRUCK ENGINE REVS

-They're stuck together.

-Yeah, no shit, Professor Fuckwit.

Fucking useless piece of shit!

Get Fitzpatrick on that fucking car phone right now!

-Vincent.

-Not now!

-No, I need to speak to you.

That bitch of a wife of yours has spoken to the head

-and I've been suspended.

-Any luck?

-I can't connect the call.

You keep fucking trying. I'm holding you responsible.

Did you hear what I said?

I'll get out on the road, try and track him down.

-I said that bitch...

-Watch your fucking mouth!

She's reported me. I've been suspended.

Save the crocodile tears, sweetheart.

You loved playing with fire, so did I.

Don't start acting like one of your first year fucking infants

because you got your fingers burned.

Fuck you, Vincent.

It won't connect. Useless fucking phones!

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Anything?

I think I'm going to be sick.

PHONE RINGS

Hello, Cachet... Oh, thank God!

It's him. He's with Lavender.

Where the fuck is my money, Brian?

What do you mean you don't know?

Well, don't bother setting foot inside this place

until you find my briefcase.

Yes, that does fucking mean you'll be sacked again!

-Good news?

-No, not good news.

And if my money doesn't turn up for

my tax hearing this afternoon, you will be sacked too.

Should I call the police?

OK, but just ask them if it's been handed in, all right?

Do not mention the money.

The last thing I need is the Old Bill sniffing about.

Yeah, got it. Incognito.

PHONE RINGS

Hello, Thurrock Police. How may I help?

-IRISH ACCENT:

-I'd like to report a missing briefcase,

-so I would, so I would.

-I'm sorry?

A briefcase, yer big eejit.

It fell out of a car somewhere in the West Essex area.

Can you hold the line? I just need to grab one of my superiors.

Get me someone from Bomb Squad.

I've got a suspected coded message from the IRA here.

'Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name?'

Get a move on, arseholes!

CAR HORN BLARES

I can't go back to selling diet pills.

Those pyramid scheme wankers are already after me for three grand.

We'll find it, all right? Where else have you been?

Nowhere. We've been fucking everywhere.

What's the hold up?

Oh, fuck.

Not very clever, was it, sir? Now, could you turn around, please?

We've a got suspect package on the roundabout.

Nothing's getting through until the Bomb Squad have investigated.

Oh, you're joking.

Yeah, excuse me, officer. What kind of package?

-Vincent, I've found it!

-'You beauty.'

'Where are you, I'll meet you on the way to the tax office.'

I'm on the roundabout outside the refinery.

'OK. I'm on my way.'

Oh, and one more thing.

Could you hurry up because the police kind of think it's

an IRA bomb and they want to conduct a controlled explosion?

'You useless mother...'

Sorry for the trouble, officer.

Aren't you going to open it? Make sure nothing's missing.

Yeah, of course.

Yep, that seems to be all good.

Sir, can I ask what you're doing with such a large amount of cash?

Well, you can, but unless the Iron Curtain has shifted

3,000 miles west, I don't have to fucking answer.

Well, perhaps you'd prefer to accompany me to

the station for further questioning about today's incident.

Look, mate, I'm having a day from hell here, all right?

Please, give me a break. The money's to pay a tax bill.

-I have a hearing in 30 minutes.

-Well, why not just say that then?

I should have, I just have this natural aversion to authority

that makes me behave like an arsehole.

I'm hoping I can just apologise and be on my way...

Control, this is PC 486.

I need you to contact someone at Inland Revenue in Southend-on-Sea

-and check that...

-Quick as we fucking can.

Sorry, take your time.

Check if they have an appointment with a Mr Vincent Swan.

Once my story did check out, all that was left was to close

this heart attack inducing chapter of my life.

This is actually highly irregular, Mr Swan.

Most of our clients pay by cheque or banker's draft.

And you appear...

-..to be £50 short.

-Yeah.

I had to bung that to Lavender after you made him finger you

behind the bins. Let's call it compensation for his trauma.

OK.

Well, that all seems to be in order.

Thank you, Mr Swan.

I wish I could say the pleasure was all mine,

but as you and I both know, it was mainly yours.

Ciao.

As it goes, paying tax felt better than I'd imagined.

Probably helps that it was all Walshy's cash.

Now time to make The Statue of Liberty reappear in my life,

or as I like to call her, Sam.

-PHONE RINGS

-Millman Young. How may I help you?

SPEAKERPHONE: 'Can you take a piss in Little Prick's coffee for me?'

Right, I'm hanging up now, Vincent.

'Sam, Sam, don't, it's important. Sorry, bad joke.

'It's about Robbie.'

What's happened? You didn't forget to pick him up did you?

'No, he's with me. I've just had a problem, my car's packed in.

'Can you come and get him?

'I'm at a client's house - 23, The Old Yews,

'on the new estate just off Southend Road.'

I'm at work, Vincent. I can't be there for half an hour.

'That's great. Thanks, babe.'

Don't call me fucking babe!

Here she comes, the love of my life, your beautiful mother.

All right, wish me luck.

What the fuck is this, Vincent? Sorry, Robbie.

This is our new family abode. Chez Swan.

Are you deranged? We're getting a divorce.

I don't want to live with you ever again,

you terrible wanker. Sorry, Robbie.

Sam, I know I fucked up. Sorry, Robbie.

You have every right to hate me, but I want you back.

I need you back. Plus, I've just put down a non-refundable deposit

for ten grand on this place so, please, just have a look?

-Please, Mum, have a look. It's fucking amazing in there.

-Robbie!

Right, Vincent, five minutes.

Come on. After you.

Is there any way you can stop the deposit from being taken?

You see, my soon to be ex-husband isn't a well man, Philip.

He's lost his marbles.

I only show people around. I don't really have a say in that.

Don't listen to her, Philip.

Once she understands that I'm a changed man

and I would never cheat on her again, we'll take it.

That's his problem, you see, Philip.

He doesn't understand how embarrassing this is for you or me.

He thinks he can buy his way out of any problem.

On a scale of one to ten, Philip,

how insanely wrong would you say it is

to cheat on your wife with your son's primary school teacher?

Do you want to see the garden?

It's a fucking 11. It's off the chart.

And I'm the idiot who did it. I am.

But I'm also the idiot dying here,

trying to find a way to make it right.

I should've respected her, Philip.

I adore her.

I should have made her feel like she was my first and only thought

instead of making her feel like she was my last.

Is it OK if I pop downstairs and let you both have a think about it?

No, you stay, Philip.

You need to see me beg.

If it's too late, Sam,

tell me, and I'll leave you to get on with the rest of your life.

I'm so sorry, baby.

I lost my way.

It's always been you that made my world turn and I fucked it.

But I need you.

I can't do any of it without you.

So I'm begging for one last chance.

In front of Philip.

Begging.

Look at me begging, Philip!

So come on, Sam. If not for me,

do it for Philip.

Get off the floor, you wally.

What do you say?

No more lying. No more cheating.

I was a fool, Sam.

I'll never do anything again to risk losing you.

Can we even afford this place?

Yes, baby. I've cleared my tax bill, I'm a partner in the business.

You say the word and it is yours.

Yeah, yes.

I fucking love it!

Oh, my God.

Right, Philip, before we close the deal on the asking price right now,

we're going to need to test-run that Jacuzzi bath.

And it is a deal breaker for us, I'm afraid, isn't it, Sam?

Absolutely, Philip.

How do you feel about that, Philip?

Er, OK.

That's great stuff.

Now can you pop downstairs and keep an eye on Robbie?

We'll be with you shortly.

You're such a plum. A great big sexy plum.

Tony, there's a suit out there wants a word with you.

What fucking now?

Excuse me, Mr Walsh?

Depends. Who's looking for me?

I mean him. Shit.

Mr Walsh, I'm a legal representative for Farrell's Debt Collection.

I'm serving Cachet Windows and Doors with a statutory demand

for unpaid debts of £798,000

Very good, you're very good.

What? Did Vincent put you up to this? Is this a wind-up?

If you do not respond to this demand within seven days,

we'll file a winding-up petition at the High Court, after which

your bank accounts will be frozen.

HE KNOCKS

Hello, mate. What's up?

Look, I wasn't straight with you earlier today.

Don't worry about it. Look, mate, I'm kind of busy.

It won't take long. I'm going to say what I've got to say,

-then I'm going to go.

-OK.

Don't be such a drama queen.

It's Sam.

What? What about Sam can't wait until tomorrow?

No, it's Sam. Behind you.

Yeah. We've been introduced.

QUIETLY: Hey, look, mate,

that gubbins you told me about putting her first did the trick.

You are a bona fide marriage saver.

Well, go on! Quick, have your say.

Nat's baby-sitting Robbie

so I've still got several hours of making up to enjoy.

Doesn't seem important now. I'll catch you tomorrow.

OK. I might be late.

'In the end, Ronnie administered Walshy's final coup de grace

'with a pound coin rather than a testicular vice.'

This is complete fucking bollocks.

'Walshy signed the business over to Ronnie for a coin.

'It was that or be declared bankrupt and lose everything.

'Walshy came to collect his things the next day.

'I almost felt sorry for the poor sap.'

No hard feelings, eh, Tony?

That's right, now fuck off

in that Range Rover my hard graft allowed you to buy.

SMASHING

Ouch. Some hard feelings, clearly.

Now, I appreciate the last few days have probably been a bit...

unsettling, but as far as you boys are concerned

it's business as usual.

And I know it seems a bit rough on Walshy, but don't forget

he made this rod for his own back.

Yeah, by hiring you.

And by rod you definitely mean knife for his back?

All right, fine, let's get it all out now.

I've got a desk delivery for a Mr Farrell.

-First floor, mate.

-No-one said anything about any stairs.

Do your own furniture arranging, pal.

Cheeky bastard. That's everything that's wrong with Britain today.

Don't worry, guys. I've got this.

New headed paper.

Take a look at that, boys.

Wow, that is headed paper all right.

Yeah, with one very small but hugely important change.

Look where it lists the new company directors.

Director. Singular.

Your name's not on there, mate.

What the fuck? Carol, get the printers on the phone right now.

I'm not paying for this until it's been corrected.

That is what we ordered.

Ronnie popped in on Tuesday and told me to take your name off.

What? Are you sure?

Yeah, it was definitely Ronnie. He had his face.

This is obviously Ronnie's idea of a wind-up.

Yeah, or his idea of a stitch up.

Look, I have to pop out for a bit.

You two lazy pricks can haul this fucking monstrosity

up into Walshy's... Ronnie's office.

You're joking. It looks like it weighs more than an actual Roller.

I'm fucking not. Get it done.

OK, boss. I really enjoyed today's pep talk(!)

GUNSHOT

Pull!

GUNSHOT

Vincent, my old mucker!

What a wonderful day to be alive.

How's the office shaping up?

Nothing's really changed, other than your desk has arrived.

Which is what I need to talk to you about.

What, the desk? Want me to get you one? Gorgeous, innit?

Not the fucking desk, Ronnie.

Why did you take my name off the paperwork as a director?

Because you're not a director, Vincent.

Pull!

GUNSHOTS

Fuck me, Ronnie, do you have to?

The deal was I helped you fuck over Walshy

and then we run the business as partners.

Yeah, there's been a complication.

It turns out that as a former director of Cachet

you've been barred by the Companies House

from becoming a director of the new business for five years.

I'm sorry, mate, but it was unforeseen.

Bollocks was it.

Pull!

GUNSHOTS

What about my partnership?

We can still be partners in the business, Vinny,

just not in a legal sense.

More like hombres.

HE CHUCKLES

I'll tell you what, Ronnie -

you can stick your hombres up your hombrarsehole.

I wanted to run my own business.

If I can't do it at Cachet

then I'll fuck off and find a proper investor elsewhere.

Have a go.

Fuck.

Nah, I'm all right.

No, I want you to have a go.

Fucking...

You ever fired a gun before?

No.

Oh, it's easy.

You just look the target straight in the eye and gently pull the trigger.

Then you try not to smile as they disintegrate in front of your eyes.

Apparently it makes you look psychotic.

-Pull!

-GUNSHOT

Ah, fuck!

HE GROANS

You'd be advised to remember that now I own the business outright,

that money you borrowed off Cachet belongs to me.

So while you owe me £50,000, young Vincent,

it'll be very much in your interest to remain my hombre.

Now go on, get back to work,

and make sure they don't put a scratch in my desk.

Cost me a fucking fortune, that, son.

Pull!

GUNSHOT

YELLING

-Don't!

-Put it down, put it down, put it down.

Fuck!

-Oh, for fuck's sake.

-Oh, look what you done now.

I didn't do that. It's not my fault.

Every so often karma can pop up and kick you in the bollocks,

but the way I see it,

you've got to break a few eggs to make an omelette.

Only now I was cooking with psychotic eggs

with a penchant for violence.

And maybe you reap what you sow, but believe me,

I'd rather reap a harvest of ill-gotten gains than fight

over a handful of slim pickings with the rest of you fucking plebs.

CHILDREN LAUGH AND PLAY

Come here, my little Swans.

Go and fight over who gets the biggest room.

-Oldest gets it!

-Right, I'll have to kill you, then!

Not bad, eh?

Thank you, Vincent.

You deserve it.

From now on we're in this together.

I've heard that one before.

I know, but I promise.

No more lies.

Shhh.

MUSIC: The Night by Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons

# Beware of his promise

# Believe what I say

# Before I go forever

# Be sure of what you say

# So he paints a pretty picture

# And he tells you that he needs you... #