Rake

Cleaver Greene. How do you do?

You're so dirty.

And filthy, you know?

I'm happy when I'm with you.

Guess that's why I got the big bucks.

No, just explaining to your wife here that she's secretly in love with me.

Is that a ring? Congratulations.

When did this happen? Who's the poor bastard?

- Bevan. - This is Melissa.

Hi.

So, have you met Cleaver Green before?

David is a warm-hearted man who loves me,

but I don't know why...when things turned to shit, I came to you.

# Baba-daba-da... #

He's a beautiful student.

She is your teacher! It is age-inappropriate sex!

It's bloody great sex.

Who did you screw?

Let's have nothing more to do with each other. OK?

I used to be a prostitute, Scarlet.

This is Missy?

- Small world, huh? - Because...gosh, it paid well.

Oh, my God, Cleaver Greene!

- That's how you know him, isn't it? - David and I have split.

Come here, you bloody fool.

I love you all, most of all you.

This whole relationship has just been one long series of sorrys!

At least we had a few good years.

How's Barney?

Things are not great at the moment.

That's the one.

It was a one-off. It won't come to anything.

It's been pretty full-on. We're in love. It's Sally from across the road.

Yeah, I like him.

My best mate's happiness is hanging by a thread!

Nicole!

I bloody told you not to interfere!

David Potter and I did not have sex.

Oh, I'm sure you didn't. That's just politics, Engles.

Come on, darling.

You know me - my feelings never get displaced, they just get added to.

Oh! Oh...

- Listen... - I've left Bevan.

What?!

She's pregnant and the baby's mine.

Barney has cancer.

It is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.

So he's lost a ball and he's fathered a baby.

David, it's over.

We're getting married, mate.

Ah!

She was my wife first!

So let's do this.

I had sex last night. She was riding me...

You're in a confessional box.

Hi, Dad. This is Patience.

- Patience, how do you do? - We're in love.

Wendy and Roger...

Roger's a drug dealer.

- What?! - Right!

Oh!

I'm Wendy. I'm his ex.

Felicity. Right. Wendy. Of course.

- It's back. - What's back?

The cancer.

I really appreciate this, mate.

I'm trying to undo the bloody thing.

Ah! Oh, for the love of God!

See, my parents grew up in an age of certainty.

Christmas holidays in the same place every year, same friends, same jobs.

There was a kind of confidence

in the...in the everyday, in the quotidian.

- 1 did... - Karly, you haven't touched your kale.

Look, you know, they knew who they were, where they belonged,

what the future held.

- You can't escape kale these days. - I know.

One minute it doesn't exist,

the next minute it's taken over every meal on the planet.

Stock market surges and plunges.

Islamic terrorists blowing themselves up.

Something bad is in the air out that window, I tell you.

Well, that's just bullshit. The world is exactly the same as it always has been.

The last century was the bloodiest in history.

Disagree, Paul.

More than 200 million people died in wars alone.

You ask ordinary people out there - friends, people at my office -

no-one feels safe anymore.

Well, of course they don't.

It's not in the media's interest to make anyone feel safe.

Here he goes again.

Advertising is sold on the back of our paranoia.

I mean, the odds of something exceptionally bad happening to you

are about 20,000 to 1.

You know what Carl Jung said -

by the year 2000, we would all be in such a state of psychic turmoil

that we would no longer be able to predict outcomes.

Jung was Swiss - his idea of turmoil was a train running five seconds late.

We're just a little bit indulgent to be suffering all this angst

while we're sitting in this beautiful house with a glorious view

eating perfectly cooked scampi and quaffing Provencal rosé.

The world is a scarier place now, Paul.

Well, then stop watching 24-hour news, stop listening to moron shock jocks,

reading celebrity tweets,

and you'll find that this whole globe just keeps on turning.

And our little lives remain as predictable as...

- Ah! Oh! Oh, my God! - Shit! Cleaver!

Oh, my GOD! Oh, my God!

Grab the rope! Grab the fucking...

Cut the rope!

Oh, my God!

Cut the rope! Oh!

Don't leave me up here! Cleaver!

Ed?

Ed Thompson?

SHIT!

OK. Morphine's kicking in. How's the neck? Check his tongue.

Pressure's stable. Stats are good.

My dreams of your image

That blossoms arose

In the deeps of my heart.

Tell me, have you evacuated your bowels yet?

In a million-to-one accident,

a runaway balloon minus its pilot

soared high above Sydney Harbour,

one man dangling precariously from a rope beneath

and another man trapped in the basket above.

Crashed through the window, and he grabbed at the table, and...

If it hadn't been for Paul here grabbing the knife and cutting the rope...

Where's Paul?

Paul was the hero.

Paul was... He cut the rope.

Otherwise, that poor man would still be up there.

OK. What is so significant, I need to be dragged from a performance review?

This is Caitlin Farquhar. She's a journalist with...

Yes. I don't care. Why is she here?

This.

..minus its pilot soared high about Sydney Harbour,

one man dangling precariously from a...

Yeah, I know all about it. I mean, why is this of interest to me?

The man in the background, at the right of frame.

It's a fuckin' balloon accident.

I'm Assistant Commissioner of Police. I don't deal with fuckin' balloons.

This is the man who cut the rope of the guy hanging from the balloon.

- Tick-tock. - No, no. Look. Keep looking.

See, he keeps his head down, puts up a hand to his face.

I wanted to interview him, but he disappeared on me.

See how he's shuffling away at the edge of frame?

So he hates publicity. I mean, really? You called me down for this?

No. I called you down...

.for this.

Taken from the surveillance camera in the next street.

He makes the fatal mistake of looking up.

It's Edgar Thompson.

Country's most wanted '97 through '99.

He's aged a bit, but it's him.

Thompson escaped 19 years ago.

I mean, he's either dead

or living somewhere in the south of France or the jungles of Nicaragua.

Yeah, that's the conventional wisdom, but I checked, and his mother...

Apparently he was very close to his mother.

..Is dying, and we reckon he's come out of hiding to see her.

I checked with Customs.

Seems that this man... Payolo, Pallo...sio...

Paolo Palacios Quintanilla entered the country on a Guatemalan passport.

Got him.

- Maybe. - It's him, Ruth!

Come on.

No-one's wanted to track this bastard down more than you.

Yeah, it's been 19 very long years, I'll admit that.

OK.

But tread carefully, Waz.

You know, the last thing we need is another mistaken identity fuck-up.

That'd be the third this month.

So no tasers.

- Do you understand? - Yeah.

Uh... Good job.

The identity of the man still in the balloon is at this point unknown,

but police and safety officers hold grave fears for his life.

Both the Australian and New Zealand navies, meanwhile,

are trying to track the balloon's trajectory.

What a strange way to end a life -

in a balloon ascending to a heaven I never really believed in.

Strange, like most of my life.

I thought my cancer would kill me.

Instead it was Cleaver and this bloody balloon.

I don't want to be filled with regrets.

But I am.

Mostly I'm sorry that I didn't love more and better.

I held back giving love from fear it would swallow me up.

Embrace it with passion and joy.

This is all there is.

To Scarlet, the first great love of my life...

..1 only hope...

..that David will treat you well and you find the happiness you deserve.

Of course now up here in the heavens, all this seems so trivial.

Up here I can love you all.

I wish we could've made it work.

But especially to my beautiful Nicole...

..my great and wonderful saviour,

I adore you,