INT. 8 MASEFIELD AVENUE - DINING ROOM - EARLY MORNING
Rain hammers against the windows. The grey morning light barely penetrates the thick curtains. BART MATTHEWS sits at the head of a worn oak table, his fingers drumming nervously against the wood. Around him sit REGGIE, his brother with perpetually furrowed brows; CINDY, Reggie's wife with her hands folded neatly; CONSTANTINE, their father, weathered and silent; ANNE, their mother, watching Bart with concern; and the two boys, ARCHIE and BRAD, picking at their breakfast.
ANNE: You've barely touched your eggs, Bartholomew.
BART: (distracted) I'm not hungry, Mum.
REGGIE: (snorting) Wedding day nerves. Or perhaps common sense finally kicking in.
CINDY: (touching Reggie's arm) Reggie, please. Not this morning.
REGGIE: (pulling his arm away) I'll speak my mind in my own brother's house, Cindy. Someone has to.
CONSTANTINE: (gruff, not looking up from his tea) Let the boy eat in peace.
BART: (meeting Reggie's eyes) I'm not a boy anymore, Dad. And Reggie, I know exactly what I'm doing.
REGGIE: Do you? Do you really, Bart? Because from where I'm sitting, you're about to chain yourself to a woman you barely know.
BART: (voice rising) I know her well enough.
ANNE: How did you meet her again, love? You never did tell us the full story.
Bart's expression softens, a small smile playing at his lips despite the tension.
BART: It was at the hospital. Three months ago. I'd broken my wrist fixing the shed—remember, Dad? You told me that beam was rotten.
CONSTANTINE: (grunting) And you didn't listen.
BART: (continuing, lost in memory) They took me to the Accident and Emergency department. I was sitting there, swearing under my breath, cradling my wrist, and then… she walked through those doors. White uniform, hair pulled back, and she had this clipboard pressed against her chest. She looked right at me and said, "Well, you look like you've had a morning of it."
ARCHIE: (piping up) Did it hurt lots, Uncle Bart?
BART: Like the devil himself was twisting my bones, Archie. But then Isobel—that's your new aunt—she sat me down, and her hands were so gentle. She kept talking to me while she examined the wrist, asking me about my work, about the house, anything to keep my mind off the pain.
CINDY: (smiling) That sounds lovely.
BART: She had to fit the cast. I remember watching her face while she worked—so concentrated, biting her lower lip just slightly. And then she looked up, right into my eyes, and I swear to you all, I saw my entire future in that moment. I saw our wedding. I saw children. I saw growing old together.
REGGIE: (scoffing) You saw what you wanted to see. Desperation dressed up as destiny.
BART: (sharply) That's enough, Reggie!
ANNE: (quickly) What happened next, dear?
BART: (calming slightly) I asked her if she'd have tea with me once the cast came off. She laughed—God, she has the most wonderful laugh—and said, "That's six weeks away. You might forget all about me by then." But I didn't forget. Not for a single day.
BRAD: Did you write her letters?
BART: Better than that. I went back every week, pretending I was concerned about the cast, needed it checked, worried about infections. The nurses started recognizing me. Isobel saw right through it, but she never sent me away.
CONSTANTINE: (a rare smile) Persistent. Like your grandfather.
REGGIE: (standing abruptly) This is ridiculous. You're all sitting here acting like this is some grand romance when the woman doesn't even share our values. She voted Conservative, Bart! Conservative! She believes in everything we've fought against—the class system, keeping the working man down, protecting the wealthy while the rest of us scramble for scraps.
CINDY: Reggie, sit down.
REGGIE: (ignoring her) How can you marry someone who stands against everything this family believes in? Father worked in the factories for thirty years, breaking his back while Tory bosses got fat on his labour!
BART: (standing now too) Isobel is a nurse, Reggie! She spends her days helping people regardless of who they voted for, what class they come from. She's not some aristocrat in a manor house!
REGGIE: But she supports them! Don't you see? Politics isn't just about marking a ballot, Bart. It's about who you are, what you believe in your bones. If she can vote to keep people like us in our place, what does that say about her character?
BART: It says she thinks differently than you do! Not everyone has to march in lockstep with your ideology.
ANNE: (firmly) Both of you, sit down this instant. Constantine, say something.
CONSTANTINE: (wearily) I've said my piece over the years. Boy's going to marry who he wants to marry. That's his right, Labour government or not.
The telephone rings shrilly from the hallway, cutting through the tension like a knife. Everyone freezes.
ANNE: I'll get it—
BART: (quickly) No, I'll get it. It might be… it's probably for me.
Bart rushes from the room. The family sits in uncomfortable silence, listening to the sound of Bart picking up the receiver in the hall. His voice drifts back, muffled but audible.
BART: (from hallway, voice soft) Hello? Isobel? Yes, it's me. Are you all right? You sound… no, no, I'm glad you called.
REGGIE: (muttering) Probably calling to back out.
CINDY: (hissing) Reggie Matthews, I swear to God—
REGGIE: What? A man can hope.
BART: (from hallway, laughing quietly) You're being silly. Of course I want to marry you. I've wanted nothing else since the day I met you. You make me… no, you make me happy, Isobel. Truly happy, in a way I've never been before.
Anne dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. Constantine stares into his tea. Reggie crosses his arms.
BART: (continuing) I love you too. More than I thought I could love anyone. The way you smile at me, like I'm the only person in the world who matters. The way you listen when I talk about the shop, even though I know spark plugs and carburettors bore you to tears. The way you… yes, I'm smiling right now. I can't help it. You always make me smile.
ARCHIE: (whispering) Is Uncle Bart crying?
ANNE: (whispering back) Hush, love.
BART: (voice cracking slightly) I'm the lucky one, Isobel. You could have had any man in Carlisle. That doctor, what's his name—Henderson? He was mad for you. But you chose me. A mechanic with oil under his fingernails and a terraced house. I still can't quite believe it. I keep thinking I'll wake up and find out it was all a dream. That you were never real.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupts the moment. TOMMY MATTHEWS, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, descends while humming a tune. He's clearly just arrived, rainwater still beading on his shoulders.
TOMMY: (humming loudly) "Poetry in motion, I see her walking by—"
REGGIE: (snapping) Keep it down, Tommy. Some of us are trying to have a serious morning.
TOMMY: (continuing into the dining room, grinning) "Her lovely locomotion keeps her floating by—" Good morning, family! What a perfectly miserable day for a wedding! The rain's coming down like Noah's preparing for round two out there.
ANNE: Tommy! When did you arrive?
TOMMY: Just now. Drove up from Cambridge last night, stayed at the County Hotel. Couldn't miss my baby brother's wedding, could I? Even if he is making a terrible decision.
REGGIE: (lighting up) Finally, someone with sense!
TOMMY: (holding up a hand) I didn't say that. I said he's making a terrible decision marrying in this weather. Should've waited for spring, Bart! June weddings, that's the thing. Sunshine, flowers, birds singing—
BART: (returning from the hallway, face flushed with emotion) Tommy! I didn't know you were coming!
TOMMY: (embracing Bart) Wouldn't miss it for the world, little brother. Though I'll admit, Reggie's been bending my ear at every family gathering for months now. "Tommy, talk sense into him. Tommy, tell him he's being a fool. Tommy, she's a Tory!"
REGGIE: Because it's true!
TOMMY: (turning to Reggie, voice suddenly serious) Reggie, I'm going to say this once, and I want you to listen very carefully. Shut. Up.
REGGIE: (sputtering) Excuse me?
TOMMY: You heard me. I'm tired of your sanctimonious pontificating. We get it—you're a true believer, a stalwart of the working class, defender of the unions, et cetera, et cetera. But you know what? You're also a judgmental prig who can't see past his own nose.
CINDY: (quietly) Thank you, Tommy.
TOMMY: (continuing) I've built a business empire, Reggie. I've gone from selling scrap metal to owning three factories. You know how I did it? By understanding that the world isn't divided into neat little boxes of "us" and "them." Some of my best managers are Conservatives. Some of my workers are Labour. And you know what? They all put in a day's work and go home to people they love. That's what matters.
REGGIE: (standing) You've forgotten where you came from, Tommy. Got yourself a big house in Cambridge and suddenly you're one of them—
TOMMY: (laughing) One of them? Oh, that's rich. I grew up in this house, Reggie. Same as you. Shared a bed with you until I was twelve because we couldn't afford separate rooms. I remember Father coming home with blood on his hands from the factory floor. I remember Mother crying over the bills. I haven't forgotten anything.
CONSTANTINE: (quietly) That's enough, boys.
TOMMY: (softening) You're right, Dad. Sorry. This is Bart's day, not mine. Speaking of which—
Tommy pulls a small, elegantly wrapped box from his jacket pocket.
TOMMY: For you, Bart. A wedding gift.
BART: (taking it, surprised) Tommy, you didn't have to—
TOMMY: Open it.
Bart unwraps the box carefully. Inside is an exquisite gold pocket watch, gleaming even in the dim morning light.
BART: (breathless) Tommy, this must have cost—
TOMMY: Don't worry about the cost. Look at the inscription.
Bart opens the watch. His eyes water as he reads.
BART: "To Bart, who knows what matters. Love, Tommy."
ANNE: (crying openly now) Oh, that's beautiful.
TOMMY: And there's more. I want you and Isobel to come to Cambridge. Soon. Next month, perhaps. Stay at the house for a weekend. I want to get to know her, properly. Not as some political caricature that Reggie's painted, but as the woman my brother loves enough to marry.
REGGIE: (muttering) You'll be disappointed.
TOMMY: (ignoring him) The house has plenty of room. We'll have dinner parties, take walks through the college grounds, show her the river. You can tell me all about how you met, and she can tell me about being a nurse. I want to understand what you see in her, Bart. I want to know my new sister-in-law.
BART: (shaking Tommy's hand firmly) Thank you, Tommy. That means… that means everything to me.
TOMMY: (grinning) Besides, I'm curious. Any woman who can make my cynical, grease-monkey brother go all soft and romantic must be something special.
BRAD: Will there be food at the mansion?
TOMMY: (laughing) Mountains of it, Brad. Cook makes the best roast beef in Cambridgeshire.
ANNE: What time is the ceremony, Bart?
BART: (checking the watch) Eleven o'clock. We should start getting ready soon.
CONSTANTINE: (standing slowly) I'll get the car started. Need to let it warm up in this weather.
REGGIE: (quietly, to no one in particular) This is a mistake. Mark my words, this is all going to end in tears.
CINDY: (sharply) Reginald Matthews, if you say one more word—
REGGIE: I'm just saying what everyone's thinking but is too polite to mention.
BART: (turning to face Reggie) Then let me be impolite, Reggie. I don't care what you think. I don't care if Isobel voted for Churchill himself to come back from the dead. I love her. She loves me. And in two hours, she's going to be my wife. You can either accept that and be happy for me, or you can stay home. Your choice.
Silence falls over the room. The rain continues its steady percussion against the windows. The clock on the mantle ticks loudly.
REGGIE: (after a long moment) I'll be there. Because you're my brother. But don't expect me to pretend I approve.
BART: (coldly) I wouldn't dream of it.
ANNE: (standing, clapping her hands) Right then. Boys upstairs, get yourselves dressed. Archie, Brad, go with your grandfather. Cindy, help me with my hat, would you? Tommy, you look presentable already, thank goodness someone in this family knows how to dress properly.
The family begins to move, the tension breaking slightly as people disperse to prepare. Tommy catches Bart's arm.
TOMMY: (quietly) You're sure about this? Really sure?
BART: (smiling) I've never been more sure of anything in my life.
TOMMY: (nodding) Good. That's all that matters then.
They shake hands again. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The lights flicker briefly.
ANNE: (calling from the hallway) I hope this storm passes before the ceremony!
CONSTANTINE: (from the front door) Car's making a funny noise. Bart, you better have a look before we leave!
BART: (calling back) I'll be right there, Dad!
Tommy heads upstairs. Bart stands alone in the dining room for a moment, looking at the pocket watch, then at the rain-streaked windows. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself.
BART: (to himself) Mrs. Isobel Matthews. That sounds right. That sounds perfect.