Gilbert is panicking. The pig is standing on the top of the bank, eating scraps from Gilbert’s hand but refusing to come down for the pile of scraps Gilbert has on the back seat of his car. A torch flashes in the woods. Preston is going to the ‘sty’. Gilbert gets into the car, he’s off. The pig sniffs the air. She turns her head looking back, watching Preston. Snuffling, the pig comes down the bank and climbs into the back of the car. Gilbert reaches out and shuts the door as he lets his handbrake off and rolls away.

INT. SUTCLIFFS’ KITCHEN. NIGHT.

The door is open. The cold is coming in.

SUTCLIFF   (out of vision) Preston! Preston!
Sutcliff is seen as he crossly opens the sitting-room door. Mrs Sutcliff is seen sitting beyond him.

MRS SUTCLIFF   I don’t wonder he failed the Sea Scouts.
Sutcliff goes to close the kitchen door, when Preston bursts in. He flings the pig-sticker down on the table, where it sticks quivering. Sutcliff looks at him in wild surmise.
That’s my table.

INT./EXT. GILBERT’S CAR/OPEN COUNTRY. NIGHT.

Gilbert still has the hill with him and is rolling down without the engine. The pig is sitting on the back seat, very much enjoying the ride. The mood is triumphant.

INT. GILBERT’S SURGERY. NIGHT.

Joyce sits staring. Gilbert also staring. They are almost mesmerised.

JOYCE   It’s off its paper, Gilbert. It’s off its paper.

GILBERT   It won’t know to stay on it.

JOYCE   Fetch some more papers then.
Gilbert goes, still watching the pig. It looks cheerfully back at him. (calling, panic-stricken) Gilbert! Quick. It’s doing its business. Gilbert returns and watches the pig, which we do not see, with distaste.

GILBERT   It’ll be nervous. (Catches a whiff of the smell.) Jesus!
He opens the door. She shuts it.

JOYCE   I don’t want her next door smelling it.
They stare at it again. Joyce puts a cloth to her face.
I can’t stand this. You’d better do it now.

GILBERT   Do What?

JOYCE   Kill it. Look at the floor.

GILBERT   My nice clean surgery. I’d imagined it in the kitchen.

JOYCE   I hadn’t.

GILBERT   I keep wanting to call it something. A name.

JOYCE   Why? You’re going to kill it, Gilbert. You’re going to slit its throat.

GILBERT   Couldn’t you get fond of it?

JOYCE   I couldn’t, wetting all up and down.

GILBERT   Your mother does.

JOYCE   I didn’t hear that, Gilbert. I can’t stand this. Look at the floor. I was quite right not to want kiddies if this is what it’s like. Kill it, Gilbert.

GILBERT   I’ve never killed anything in my life.

JOYCE   You should’ve thought of that.

GILBERT   Whose idea was it?

JOYCE   Yours. Who did you think was going to kill it?

GILBERT   I thought I could ask somebody.