MEMORY BOX

Written by

Max Hallam
 There is one who remembers the way to your door:
Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
You shall not deny the Stranger.

T. S. Eliot

The anglerfish uses a natural lure to draw its next meal

nearer.

National Geographic

EXT. WAR-TORN FIELD - NIGHT

Mud.
Pock-marked by artillery. Drowned in rain. The aftermath
of a brutal battle.

A figure kneels silhouetted against the moon.

Though their features are cast in shadow, we might

recognise army fatigues, jackboots. A distinctive steel
helmet painted with a swastika.

He quietly sobs.

Boots squelch through the mud.

Another soldier. Face just as hidden.

The second soldier raises a pistol.

INT. HOUSE - NIGHT

A front room. Dim. Lights out.

A crumpled figure - a young woman? - sits in the dark in

front of a RADIO set.

Cased in wood. Shiny speakers and dials. A narrow screen

displaying frequencies. To us it looks antique; for the
era, it's brand new.

She carefully tunes it through wartime songs and static,

until she reaches--

RADIO (V.O.)
(German accent)
Hundreds are feared to have been
lost on the Rostov battlefield--
 2.

Click. She shuts the radio off.

And weeps.

EXT. HOSPICE - DAY

A modern building marked with the NHS logo.

The whine of a kettle--

INT. HOSPICE - STAFF ROOM - DAY

Glug glug glug. Boiling water pours into a mug.

RENATA sets the kettle down. Thirties. Her eyes are
ringed and her face is pinched by stress and sleepless
nights, but her nursing scrubs are pristine.

A clock on the wall reads five to eight in the morning.

This is her zen moment.

Renata crosses to a fridge. Takes out a carton of milk.

Carries it over to the counter but doesn't pour. Waits...

VISHAK bursts in. Thirties, full of boyish charm, and

inappropriately chipper for eight o'clock.

VISHAK
Left a little in the tank?

Renata gestures to the kettle.

RENATA
All yours.
VISHAK
Oh, you're a lifesaver.

He grabs another mug from a stack.

Shoots a furtive look at the door.

VISHAK (cont'd)
Mark in yet?

RENATA
In his office, I think.
 3.

VISHAK
Chances of him showing up in the
next five minutes?

Renata considers.

RENATA
Prepping for the all-hands meeting
at nine. You're in the clear.

VISHAK
Great.

He pulls a packet of instant coffee from his scrubs.

VISHAK (cont'd)
I swear, the way that man curls
his nose whenever someone says
coffee, you'd think we were
smoking crack in here.

Renata watches him bounce around the little kitchen, tear

a coffee sachet with his teeth, and snatch the kettle
from its stand.

She conceals a laugh.

RENATA
No idea where he gets it.

Vishak glances at her mug, teabag steeping.

VISHAK
Swear I don't know how you can
wait. If I don't get caffeine
coursing through my veins by start
of shift--

He mimes slumping over.

RENATA
It's just a couple of minutes.

VISHAK
Different breed, you are. Who's on
your list?

RENATA
Today? Anne and Gavin.

Vishak makes a face.

 4.

RENATA (cont'd)
Vishak. Be nice.

VISHAK
Cancer or not, I've seen the way
he looks at me. If he wasn't
actually too weak to lift a
finger, I'd be next on the list
for a good old fashioned bashing.

Renata scoops out her teabag with a spoon.

RENATA
Knowing you're on the way out,
that must do something to you.
She pours a splash of milk into her cup.

RENATA (cont'd)
Cheers.

Vishak clinks his mug against hers.

VISHAK
Here's to twelve hours.

INT. HOSPICE - ANNE'S ROOM - DAY

More bedroom than hospital.

Warm. Cosy. Pastoral paintings on the wall. A nightlight

on a stand. And standing on a bedside table...

The radio. The same radio. A little battered by the

passage of time, but essentially intact.
ANNE, eighty, lies in bed. Papery skin, veins pulsing
through. Grey hair shot through with white. Eyes closed,
we might assume she's asleep. We might be wrong.

A soft knock at the door.

RENATA
Anne? Are you awake?

Anne doesn't move.

The door opens. Renata peers in.

RENATA (cont'd)
It's Renata.
 5.

She gives a little wave.

Anne lies still.

Concern crosses Renata's face.

RENATA (cont'd)
Anne?

She steps into the room.

Anne stirs.

Now we see there are headphones hidden under her hair, a

cable snaking to the radio. She shrugs them off.
Upbeat pop music leaks out.

ANNE
Sorry, dear.

A trace of a German accent.

She reaches for the radio. Clicks it off.

ANNE (cont'd)
I get lost in it.

Renata tries to hide her look of relief, and doesn't

completely succeed.

RENATA
You had me worried for a moment.

Anne props herself up in bed.

ANNE
You must be the new nurse. Sorry
I'm in such a state.

She half-heartedly brushes her hair with her fingers,

offers a sheepish smile.

Renata looks quietly crushed.

She weighs it up - makes a decision.

RENATA
That's me. New.

That smile vanishes.

 6.

ANNE
Is something the matter?

RENATA
No. Not at all.

She composes herself.

RENATA (cont'd)
Sorry. Good morning. I'm Renata,
and I'll be on the first shift
with you today.

ANNE
Lovely to meet you.
Anne studies her face.

Troubled...

RENATA
That looks antique.

She nods at the radio.

ANNE
Oh, it is. It was my mother's.
Family legend goes that she used
it to listen to Feindsender during
World War Two. BBC broadcasts all
the way from London.

Renata nods along. She's heard it before.

ANNE (cont'd)
These days it helps me... feel
close to her.

She turns a sharp eye on Renata.

ANNE (cont'd)
And closer to me.

A moment of raw self-awareness.

Renata looks away.

RENATA
(fake cheer)
So, Anne. How're you feeling this
morning? Any aches and pains?
 7.

INT. HOSPICE - STAFF ROOM - DAY

The clock reads nine-oh-five.

Renata and Vishak sit together.

They're the only ones.

VISHAK
(mimicking)
Nine o'clock. Sharp.

On the wall, a TV SCREEN keyed to a nature channel, with

a calm-voiced NARRATOR.
On-screen, an anglerfish coasts through dark water.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
The anglerfish has a distinctive
tool in its arsenal.

MARK strides in.

Forties, brown suit, tightly-wound. Empathy ground down

by his work. He scans the room with a scathing glare.

NARRATOR (V.O.) (cont'd)

It lures curious prey with its
glowing lure, like the fishermen
it was named for, and--

He grabs the remote and flicks the screen off.

MARK
It's called an all-hands meeting
for a reason.
VISHAK
We got here at five to.

RENATA
A couple of patients had a bad
night, so they're taking the time
to get them settled.

MARK
You two managed to make it.

He sniffs. A suspicious scowl.

MARK (cont'd)
Coffee?
 8.

Vishak holds up his hands.

VISHAK
Wasn't me.

Mark lets it go. Rifles through a stack of papers.

MARK
The inpatient unit's at capacity,
so there'll be no more admissions
for a while.

A thin smile.

MARK (cont'd)
Less paperwork, at least. This
week's medication schedule.

He hands a sheet to each of them.

Renata scans hers.

RENATA
We're tapering down the morphine?

MARK
Anti-addiction protocols.

RENATA
Most of these patients have six
months, at best. Is addiction
really top of the priority list?

MARK
Blame NHS high command's latest
crusade.
Vishak doesn't look happy either. He's no longer his
usual chipper self.

VISHAK
Mark, I've got patients who
haven't slept in days, the pain's
so bad. They--

MARK
Yes, Vishak, thank you.

His tone brooks no interruptions.

 9.

MARK (cont'd)
Try as I might, I haven't been
able to talk the board into better
funding. So...

He stalks to the cupboard. Grabs a box of teabags.

MARK (cont'd)
Do the best you can with what
you've got.

INT. HOSPICE - ANNE'S ROOM - DAY

Renata sets out a handful of pills on the bedside table,

next to the radio.

RENATA
Morphine. Donepezil.

Headphones half on, Anne absently taps away to a beat.

RENATA (cont'd)
And Risperidone. Small dose. Just
to be on the safe side. What're
you listening to?

ANNE
Hmm?

RENATA
It sounded like the Top 40 before.

Anne takes off the headphones and offers them.

Renata slips them on.

The radio blasts sugary pop music, fast-paced, frenetic.

She slides off the headphones.

RENATA (cont'd)
Didn't think that'd be your style.

ANNE
I suppose I should grumble about
music these days.

She leans in, grins like she's sharing a secret.

ANNE (cont'd)
Can I show you something?
 10.

RENATA
Sure.

Anne lays the headphones down. Fiddles with the radio

dials. As she flips through frequencies, snippets of
music leak out.

Pop. Rock. Metal. Choir songs.

ANNE
(absent)
It's here somewhere. Sometimes it
takes a moment to find it.

Hip-hop. Country. Punk. Anne twists the dials with

skeletal fingers.

Renata watches from a respectful distance. A sad little

smile for a sad, sick woman.

Electronica. Swing. Soul.

Another twist, and--

Static hisses from the headphones.

Anne sits back, a huge smile on her face.

ANNE (cont'd)
There.

Renata humours her for a moment.

But it's not a joke.

RENATA
What am I listening for?

Anne holds up a hand to hush her. Half-closes her eyes...

ANNE
--love you. I've always loved you,
little Mausebär.

Echoing a voice only she can hear.

She looks up, bright-eyed.

ANNE (cont'd)
Can't you hear her?
 11.

RENATA
Hear who?

ANNE
Meine Mama.

The soft roar of static...

She looks fragile.

Renata nods.

RENATA
Of course I can.