Postman Pat: Final Delivery

Postman Pat: Final Delivery

First Draft Screenplay

EXT. GREENDALE VILLAGE. EARLY IN THE MORNING, JUST AS DAY IS DAWNING. The sun rises on a sleepy, winding Greendale road, which begins to brighten as the sun’s rays caress the small stone cottages lining either side. TED GLEN, the handyman, strolls down the street, whistling to himself through his thick moustache. Birds have already begin to sing, settled on the chimney stacks overlooking the road. As he passes her cottage, TED waves cheerfully to GRANNY DRYDEN, who is just opening her curtains to let in the new day. GRANNY DRYDEN peers through her thick spectacles and then smiles and waves back to TED. An EXPLOSION rips through GRANNY DRYDEN’s cottage, tearing the front of her home apart. TED’s Bedford Truck, parked outside the cottage, is flipped violently into the air only to come crashing down on a car on the other side of the road. The blast flings TED into the air and through the window of the Greendale Tea Room. The resulting shockwave blows out every window in the street. The singing of the birds becomes a hysterical cacophony of death as they desert the rooftops, swarming into the air in a frenzied, black cloud. EXT. GREENDALE VILLAGE ROOFTOPS. MOMENTS LATER. A black column of smoke rises from GRANNY DRYDEN’s obliterated cottage into the Greendale skyline. The tranquillity of the morning is shattered by the sounds of crumbling masonry, and wailing car alarms. Without warning a SECOND, and then a THIRD BLAST rock the sleepy village, sending chunks of masonry and debris sailing into the air only to clatter noisily on the shingle and slate rooftops. Flames and smoke stain the once-tranquil blue sky and not long after the lone howl of PC SELBY’s police car joins the chaos. EXT. GRANNY DRYDEN DETONATION SITE. MORNING. BOMB DISPOSAL OFFICERS and FIREMEN search through the wreckage of GRANNY DRYDEN’s cottage, looking under every scrap of debris for clues. PC ARTHUR SELBY strolls through the destroyed remains of GRANNY DRYDEN’s cottage towards an AMBULANCE where DR SYLVIA GILBERTSON tends to TED who has several vicious shards of glass lodged in his

head; his face is covered in dry blood, he holds his flat-cap in his lap.

PC SELBY Morning, Ted!

TED

Morning, Arthur!

PC SELBY Morning, Sylvia!

DR GILBERTSON

Morning Arthur!

PC SELBY takes off his hat.

PC SELBY Well, dear me, what a to-do! Don’t think we’ve had this

much excitement since Peter Fogg’s barn was hit by lightning three summers ago.

TED winces as DR GILBERTSON slides a jagged piece of bloody glass from his scalp.

TED Aye, and I’m sorry to say I was blown through the window

of Mr Clarke’s tearoom, it’s all smashed up!

DR GILBERTSON And poor Granny Dryden vapourised.

PC SELBY

Vapourised? A body can do that... vapourise?

DR GILBERTSON Oh yes, doesn’t happen often in Greendale though.

PC SELBY

You can say that again; the Pottage’s tuck shop and the Co-op were hit too. Three devastating bombs in one

morning, well I never! It’s all go in Greendale today! A BOMB DISPOSAL OFFICER walks over to PC SELBY, he holds a charred package in his hand.

BOMB DISPOSAL OFFICER Morning, Arthur!

PC SELBY Morning, Jeff!

JEFF

Well, this is what caused the explosion. Class 4 Improvised Explosive Device. Nasty stuff, professional

even, not something I’d have expected here. He hands the package to PC SELBY.

PC SELBY What is it? A box?

JEFF

Aye, or looks like a parcel, might be that it was... delivered in the mail.

PC SELBY’s eyes narrow. EXT. ‘POSTMAN’ PAT CLIFTON’S HOUSE. LATE MORNING. A familiar red van trundles up a gravel path to a small stone house. The van stops and the driver plants a shiny shoe on the gravel. Seconds later a small black and white cat jumps lightly to the ground next to it, rubbing against the blue trouser leg. POSTMAN PAT steps from the van, adjusts his blue postman’s hat, and walks up the small path to his house accompanied by his cat, JESS - he carries a parcel under his arm. INT. PAT CLIFTON’S HOUSE. MOMENTS LATER. POSTMAN PAT and his black and white cat, JESS, enter the house. He hangs his hat on a hook near the door.

FEMALE VOICE Pat? Is that you?!

POSTMAN PAT

Yes dear, I’m home!

JESS Miaow!

SARAH CLIFTON, PAT’s WIFE emerges from the kitchen. She races towards PAT and embraces him.

SARAH (Tearfully)

Oh Pat, I was so scared!

PAT What’s the matter, Sarah?

SARAH

The attacks in Greendale! Didn’t you hear about them?

PAT No! I had deliveries to make out in Longleat – I’ve been

out of town!

JESS Miaow?

SARAH

When I couldn’t reach you I thought you might have been hurt! Why don’t you answer your phone?!

PAT

You know I don’t answer my phone when I’m at work, Sarah, it’s against Post Office regulations.

PAT strides over to the television; his brand new SONY BRAVIA HD LCD-FLATSCREEN, and turns it on.

PAT Where did they hit?

The screen flickers on. An image of Greendale, from the air, shows a massive crater on the main street, rescue workers swarm like ants.

SARAH

(Holding back tears) The Co-op, The Pottage’s Tuck Shop and... and...

PAT

What? What is it?

SARAH (Bursting into tears)

And Granny Dryden’s bungalow! She’s dead, Pat!

PAT Goddamn them... goddamn them to hell.

JESS

Miaow...

PAT sits in his armchair to watch the news. JESS jumps up on his lap.

NEWS REPORTER -blasts occurred at the home of a lady who has been

identified as ‘Granny Dryden’ a spinster living alone at the cottage for a number of years. Shortly after that, a blast at the Greendale Co-op, killing two night-shift security guards and then another blast which reduced a family owned tuck shop to rubble - owner of the tuck-

shop, Mr Pottage, was having a lie-in today, and was not hurt.

PAT frowns, working something out.

PAT Dryden... the Co-op, the tuck shop...

SARAH

What is it, Pat? POSTMAN PAT says nothing. He walks over to his computer in the corner. Pulling up GOOGLE, he brings up a MAP of Greendale.

POSTMAN PAT Just a minute, I need to check something online.

SARAH

Pat, I don’t understand! PAT TYPES furiously into GOOGLE.

POSTMAN PAT

I cross-referenced my postal run with the sequential route of the Greendale attacks.

SARAH

Pat, you know I don’t understand this internet gobbledygook! I wish you’d never-

PAT

Those places... they’re on my route, in that order.

SARAH What does that mean?

PAT

Nothing, nothing in itself... It’s just...

SARAH

Just what?! What are you not telling me, Patrick?!

PAT

I delivered to each of them this morning... Large parcels, if I remember correctly.

SARAH

Oh my god...

INT. GREENDALE POLICE STATION – FORENSIC DEPARTMENT. MIDDAY. GRANNY DRYDEN’s burnt corpse lies on an examination table. It is charred and twisted beyond all recognition. On another table are the collected fragments of the parcels found in the craters of the blasts. PC SELBY and DR GILBERTSON inspect the evidence, they wear green medical scrubs and masks. PC SELBY hands DR GILBERTSON a cup of tea, before taking a delicate sip of his own.

PC SELBY (Inspecting one of the destroyed parcels)

It’s a sophisticated aluminium casing, designed to house the bomb, while at the same time giving it the appearance

of an innocent care-package and- wait, what’s this? SELBY peers closer at the burnt package.

PC SELBY (Sipping tea)

Something embedded in the trigger mechanism of the bomb... hair, black and white hair.

DR GILBERTSON’s teacup hits the saucer with a ‘clink’.

DR GILBERTSON

Black and white?

Something catches her eye.

DR GILBERTSON (Examining the corpse of GRANNY DRYDEN)

Something in her hand... She pries open the blackened fingers with a crunch and extracts a long object from GRANNY DRYDEN’s fingers.

PC SELBY A knife?

DR GILBERTSON

A letter-opener.

PC SELBY Who would have access to the postal materials and know-

how to deliver packages of this magnitude?

DR GILBERTSON Let me have a look at those hairs.

PC SELBY hands her the hairs. She puts them under a microscope. After inspecting them she looks up.

DR GILBERTSON This is cat hair. The molecular pattern is unmistakeable.

Black and white cat hair. She looks up at PC SELBY fear and disbelief registering on her face.

PC SELBY God help us all.

INT. PAT’S HOUSE. SOMETIME LATER. Sarah is still watching TV, PAT sits at the dining table. Head in his hands, rocking back and forth.

POSTMAN PAT Got to think, got to think, got to get this sorted out.

SARAH

Pat! Get in here! POSTMAN PAT races to the living room. SARAH points to the window. PAT peeks through the lace curtains and is surprised to see an armed POLICE OFFICER sneaking up by the side of the house.

POSTMAN PAT Blow me down! I’m being set up!

SARAH yells in dismay. On the TV is an image of PAT’s HOUSE, shot from the air. Police vans surround the property. A column of armed police slink up the pathway towards the front door.

SARAH Pat?!

POSTMAN PAT

I’m being framed! From outside comes the voice of PC SELBY, through a megaphone.

PC SELBY Morning, Pat! We know you’re in there! Come quietly and

no-one will be hurt!

POSTMAN PAT (Yelling)

Morning, PC Selby! It’s a set up! Someone’s out to get me! I didn’t do any of this!

PC SELBY

Then let us bring you in and we can talk it over!

SARAH Pat, what are you going to do!?

PAT whirls away from the window and looks at the TV. A SWAT TEAM is in position at his front door, one of the SWAT OFFICERS holds a large battering ram.

POSTMAN PAT

I’ll think of something. EXT. POSTMAN PAT’S HOUSE. MIDDAY. A SWAT OFFICER stands poised to bash down the door to PAT’s HOUSE, he raises the large battering ram. The door to PAT’s house bursts outwards from its hinges, in a cloud of splintering wood, the SWAT OFFICER is thrown backwards. PAT stands in the settling dust.

POSTMAN PAT

Say hello to my little friend! POSTMAN PAT hurls JESS at the nearest SWAT OFFICER. The little cat flies through the air, a thrashing mass of black and white fur and razor sharp claws. She lands on the face of the nearest officer who screams in pain and topples backwards into the other men.

PAT charges forward, scooping up JESS as he passes the prone SWAT OFFICERS. He makes it to his red van, and slides across the bonnet with an experienced ease. He clambers into the cab and guns the engine, before slamming the van into reverse and crashing into two parked police cars, making it to the road. He executes a flawless 180 and punches the gas. The red van tears off down the lane.

PC SELBY

(Talking frantically into his radio) All units, all units, we are in pursuit of suspect wanted in connection with Greendale terrorist attacks – suspect is in a red Postal Van, registration Papa Alpha Tango

One. PC SELBY jumps into the nearest squad car and guns the engine.

PC SELBY

Suspect is Caucasian, medium build, curly brown hair, wearing a postman’s uniform. Be aware he has an affable friendly air, appealing to children and grown-ups alike - he may or may not be using a cat as a weapon, treat as

extremely dangerous. EXT. GREENDALE TOWN. MOMENTS LATER. POSTMAN PAT’S little red van screeches round a corner at an appalling speed. The back of the van swings out with the momentum, scraping the potted plants from the doorstep of a cottage. Two squad cars squeal behind the van, racing to catch it. In the van, POSTMAN PAT talks distractedly to JESS.

POSTMAN PAT We’re being set up Jess. They think we were behind the

attacks!

JESS Miaow? Miaow!

POSTMAN PAT

That’s exactly what we need to find out if we’re gonna make it out of this alive.

JESS

Miaow.

POSTMAN PAT

No! No, it’s too dangerous, I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.

The van thunders down a cobble street, sparks spitting from the bumper as it clips the ground.

JESS Miaow!

POSTMAN PAT

Right, but how?

JESS Miaow!

POSTMAN PAT

I see it, ok here goes! PAT hits the accelerator and smashes through a gate marked Greendale Trout Farm. The squad cars follow. POSTMAN PAT guides the van up a bumpy, dirt track, at the end of which looms a large pond, with a small jetty. POSTMAN Pat floors the accelerator.

JESS

Miaow!

POSTMAN PAT Yes we are!

The van roars up the JETTY, and launches into the air, sailing over the pond as astonished fishermen look up from their trout fishing. The squad cars slam on their brakes – too late. One car jack-knifes and is hit by the other, sending both flipping across the dirt track, destroying the jetty and crashing into the pond. The van lands with a loud crunch of the suspension, and skids onto the nearby road. Before coming to a halt. The engine dies.

POSTMAN PAT Now that’s what I call air mail!

POSTMAN PAT and JESS hi-five and get out of the van. With barely a look back at the pond, they vault a dry-stone wall and race into the nearby Greendale woods.

INT. GREENDALE POLICE STATION. EARLY AFTERNOON. PC SELBY stands in front of a crowd of assembled POLICE OFFICERS. Behind him is a large map of Greendale, punctuated with coloured pins. PC SELBY turns to the crowd.

PC SELBY

Alright, listen up people. Our fugitive has been on the run for ninety minutes. Average foot speed over uneven ground, barring injuries, is four miles-per-hour. That

gives us a radius of six miles. What I want from each and every one of you is a hard-target search of every tea-

room, cottage, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in that area. Checkpoints go up at fifteen miles. Your

fugitive's name is Pat Clifton. Go get him.

POLICE OFFICER Postman Pat?! This can’t be real?

PC SELBY

Oh it’s very real... This man has been trained by the best, the Royal Mail. He knows every inch of Greendale inside out. He knows every short-cut every back-lane, he’ll blend in, disappear. Make no mistake, Pat Clifton is the most dangerous man in the valley right now – this

is as real as it gets. EXT. GREENDALE POLICE STATION. MINUTES LATER. A fleet of squad cars, sirens blaring scramble from the parking lot and head off in all directions. INT. PETER FOGG’S FARMHOUSE. AFTERNOON. A loud bang on the door brings PETER FOGG the farmer running.

PETER FOGG Who is it?

POSTMAN PAT

It’s Pat! And my black and white cat, Jess! FOGG frowns, but only for a moment. He opens the door. POSTMAN PAT and JESS enter.

PETER FOGG Afternoon, Pat.

POSTMAN PAT

Afternoon, Peter.

PETER FOGG What’s going on, Pat? TV says you’re a terrorist!

POSTMAN PAT

I’m being set up, Peter. I didn’t do it. I swear. I need somewhere to hold up – remember when you hit that tramp in your car a couple of winter’s ago, and I helped you clean all the mess up? Get rid of all the evidence?

PETER FOGG

Of course, you were very ‘elpful.

POSTMAN PAT Well, I need you to return the favour.

PETER FOGG

That’s good enough for me, Pat, but why did you come ‘ere?

POSTMAN PAT

Need to get my thoughts straight.

PETER FOGG Well, you can stay here, but I don’t know for ‘ow long.

PAT walks over to the liquor cabinet and picks up a bottle of Scotch.

POSTMAN PAT Do you mind?

PETER FOGG

No, ‘course not. Hands shaking, POSTMAN PAT pours himself a shot, knocks it back, and pours another.

POSTMAN PAT That’s better.

He sits at PETER FOGG’s dining table.

PETER FOGG TV says you’ve gone and sent letter-bombs to all the

people you ‘ad a grudge against.

POSTMAN PAT It’s not true.

PETER FOGG

Then who did send ‘em?

POSTMAN PAT That’s the question isn’t it?

PETER FOGG

Probably them immigrants, Pat. POSTMAN PAT pretends not to hear. There is a drawn-out, awkward silence.

PETER FOGG

TV says you used your experience as a postman and knowledge of the postal system to hide the presence of

explosives. But they found forensic evidence all over the bombs... black and white cat hairs, would you believe it!

POSTMAN PAT Jess? But that’s impossible...

JESS

Miaow!

PETER FOGG That’s what TV says. Mind you, it’s mostly the Jews that

run TV now, isn’t it?

POSTMAN PAT sits back in his chair as another uncomfortable silence falls. PETER FOGG eyes POSTMAN PAT for some sign of approval. He gets none.

POSTMAN PAT Who else has access to the mail in Greendale?

PETER FOGG Immigran-

POSTMAN PAT

Peter, for Christ’s sake will you give it a rest for a while with the racism. I get it, you’re racist! I

appreciate you taking me in and believing me and all that, but I’m not gonna start implicitly supporting your

bizarre lunatic ideology. Another silence falls.

POSTMAN PAT Now can we please get back to the matter in hand, who has

access to the mail in Greendale?

PETER FOGG And Jess’s cat hair, don’t forget.

POSTMAN PAT

No-one, there’s no one else... unless...

PETER FOGG Unless what?

POSTMAN PAT

No... no, it couldn’t be.

PETER FOGG What?

POSTMAN PAT Goggins.

PETER FOGG

The postmistress?

POSTMAN PAT Mrs Goggins is the only person in Greendale with the same access to the post as me. Jess and I are always in and out of the post-office, she could have collected some of Jess’s hair whenever she wanted. The only question is

why?

PETER FOGG Sounds like you need to get back to Greendale.

POSTMAN PAT

Right, but I need a few more things from you... EXT. PETER FOGG’S BARN. AFTERNOON. POSTMAN PAT crams shotgun shells into the pockets of his Royal Mail-issue blazer. Over his back is slung PETER FOGG’s double-barrel shotgun.

POSTMAN PAT Thanks for all the help, Peter. If you weren’t such a

right-wing, survivalist, government and authority-hating nut, I don’t know what I’d do.

As PAT reaches over for another handful of shells, his sleeves snags the corner of a green curtain. The curtain falls away to reveal an alcove; kneeling on the floor of the alcove is a fat bald man, hands tied behind his back, with a ball-gag in his mouth. On the wall behind the man is a richly detailed oil painting of Adolf Hitler. The man screams into the gag. PAT looks at PETE. PETE looks back at PAT. PAT looks at the bound, terrified man, who returns the gaze with imploring eyes and another muffled scream. PAT looks back at PETE. PETE replaces the curtain.

PETER FOGG

Aaanyway... if you ever want to know more, you can always check my website: www.greendale_aryan.org... What a

shame, Granny Dryden was one of my best subscribers...

POSTMAN PAT What?!

PETER FOGG

Dryden was on my site all the time. She even had a link to it on her Myspace.

POSTMAN PAT is silent in thought for a moment.

PETER FOGG What does that mean, Pat?

POSTMAN PAT

Maybe nothing... maybe everything. PAT adjusts the shotgun.

POSTMAN PAT Remember if the cops arrive, tell them you didn’t see me.

PETER FOGG

Well, you know what I always say, Pat; fuck the government!

POSTMAN PAT (Chuckling)

Fuck the government indeed! Well, good afternoon, Peter!

PETER FOGG ‘Afternoon, Pat!

POSTMAN PAT and JESS trot off down the lane, back to the forest and beyond that, Greendale village. EXT. GREEDALE WATER TREATMENT PLANT. LATE AFTERNOON. POSTMAN PAT and JESS splash noisily through a large water pipe, looking backwards over their shoulders for signs of pursuit. A hundred yards down the tunnel behind them, PC SELBY gives chase, huffing and puffing in an effort to keep up. POSTMAN PAT and JESS charge round a corner and find themselves gazing out of the end of the tunnel; the water cascades past their feet in a thunderous waterfall which flows over a drop of, at least, seven feet.

PC SELBY Freeze, Pat! Don’t move!

POSTMAN PAT

I didn’t plant those bombs, PC Selby!

PC SELBY I know.

POSTMAN PAT scoops JESS up in his arms and turns away, facing the open end of the tunnel. The water thunders over the couple-of-meter drop. POSTMAN PAT shuts his eyes tightly – so does Jess.

PC SELBY Pat, no!

POSTMAN PAT steps forward and into thin air. He drops into the slightly choppy waters below him and disappears under the surface. PC SELBY is on his radio.

PC SELBY All teams! Converge on Greendale Stream! He jumped... the

crazy son of a bitch jumped!

EXT. GREENDALE POST OFFICE. EVENING. In the middle of the road in front of the post office, a sewer cover grates and then shifts out of position. JESS, soaked to the skin, jumps out of the sewer, followed by an equally soaked POSTMAN PAT. They make their way into the post office. INT. GREENDALE POST OFFICE. EVENING. POSTMAN PAT and JESS creep warily through the deserted and darkened foyer. A light is on in the sorting room at the back. POSTMAN PAT makes his way towards it stealthily. INT. SORTING ROOM. EVENING. MRS GOGGINS sits hunched over an open parcel. In one hand she holds a magnifying glass up to her eye, a soldering iron in the other. Sparks jump from a complicated mess of wires, part of a very suspiciously bomb-like package on the table before her. The post office sorting machine is roaring in the background. A massive mechanical machine, sorting parcels and letters by size, through a complicated network of machinery. PAT AND JESS enter behind her.

POSTMAN PAT Knock knock, Mrs Goggins.

MRS GOGGINS whirls round with a shriek.

MRS GOGGINS Pat! I didn’t hear you! You startled me!

She presses a button and turns off the sorting machine.

POSTMAN PAT

Did I? Or maybe you always knew it would come to this.

MRS GOGGINS The police came by... they said you were involved with

the murder of poor Granny Dryden.

POSTMAN PAT

Maybe I was, Goggins. But I didn’t kill her.

MRS GOGGINS

I’m not sure I like your tone, Pat, just remember who the Postmistress is here.

POSTMAN PAT Drop the act, Goggins... I know what you did.

MRS GOGGINS

Who do you think you are bursting in here-

POSTMAN PAT You killed all those people! And for what?! For what?! It

was because of the internet... wasn’t it, Goggins? MRS GOGGIN’s lips draw back in an ugly snarl.

POSTMAN PAT It’s called progress Goggins! We all have to deal with it! The dawn of the email has hit the postal industry

hard, we’re all suffering, but that doesn’t give you the right to commit murder!

MRS GOGGINS get up slowly from her chair.

MRS GOGGINS Suffering? What do you know of suffering, Pat? You pick up the letters and deliver them with your retarded cat-friend and that’s it... and yet the glory is yours! And

yours alone! I slave, day in day out, watching my beloved post office rot into a derelict husk, the life sucked out

of it by... the internet. She spits.

POSTMAN PAT

You’re insane.

MRS GOGGINS You were the final straw, Pat. I knew when you got your

broadband subscription. I know everything that goes on in this town. I saw the bills coming through the sorting

office.

POSTMAN PAT I was waiting for the right time to tell you.

MRS GOGGINS There is no right time, Pat. Either you’re digital, or

you’re analogue... there is no in-between.

POSTMAN PAT And so you thought you’d try to kill everyone with a

broadband connection in Greendale? And set me up, too?

MRS GOGGINS I didn’t try it, Pat, I did it.

MRS GOGGINS reaches into a nearby drawer and pulls a handgun. POSTMAN PAT reaches instinctively for the shotgun.

MRS GOGGINS Don’t even think about it!

PAT grits his teeth, but freezes.

MRS GOGGINS This will be my final delivery, Pat.

She gestures to the bomb on the desk.

MRS GOGGINS This package is destined for the Greendale telephone

exchange. It contains enough C-4 to level the exchange, Mrs Hensley’s tearoom next door and a large chunk of Mr

Thomas’s rock garden.

POSTMAN PAT You won’t get away with this.

MRS GOGGINS

No? Keeping the gun levelled on PAT, she places the bomb onto a sheet of brown paper and wraps it, expertly, using only one hand.

MRS GOGGINS Once I put this package into that letterbox over there, it becomes the property of her royal highness the queen.

Along with all the other parcels. She gestures to a red letterbox, labelled ‘outsized packages’, set into the wall of the sorting room.

MRS GOGGINS It’ll be as good as delivered. You can’t open other

people’s mail, Pat. Not even you would dare violate those laws.

She finishes by tying a bow round the brown package and picks it up.

POSTMAN PAT

You won’t get away with this, Goggins.

MRS GOGGINS I’m afraid I will, Pat. As I see it; I surprised you after you broke into the sorting room to deliver your

lethal package. I managed to shoot you and your cat dead. After all, how could I take any chances with the maniac

who already set off a string of letter bombs and murdered an 87 year old woman. And then, a few days later... your

final delivery goes off. No more internet.

POSTMAN PAT You can’t kill the internet, you dried-up hag.

MRS GOGGINS

I will literally brutally kill anything that gets between me and my post office. Now... to walk slowly over to the

letterbox. She walks over to the letterbox. She pauses before depositing the parcel.

MRS GOGGINS

You know, it’s going to be strange without you Pat. Not seeing you trundling round the corner in your van, with your black and white- wait a minute... where’s Jess-?

A terrifying hiss and JESS drops from the ceiling, claws bared. She lands on MRS GOGGIN’s face, raking and scratching at the flesh. MRS GOGGINS drops the parcel and screeches in pain. She thrashes at her face, but JESS’s claws are dug in deep. PAT reaches for the shotgun, he aims at the hissing, spitting mass of black and white fur attached to MRS GOGGIN’s head.

POSTMAN PAT Jess! Get away, I can’t get a clear shot!

MRS GOGGINS manages to tear JESS off her face and throws the cat across the room. Before PAT can get a shot off, MRS GOGGINS fires her gun and dives for cover, PAT turns over a table and ducks behind it. More shots from MRS GOGGINS, PAT returns fire. Letters burst into clouds of paper as bullets zip around the sorting room. PAT crawls on his hands and knees behind the post office’s massive sorting machine.

MRS GOGGINS You’re dead, Pat! You’re a dead man! You hear me!

POSTMAN PAT

Got to get that package. He risks a glance round the sorting machine. The parcel is lying just below the letter box. Suddenly MRS GOGGINS leaps from the shadows, she tries to bring her gun to bear, but PAT lunges forward, knocking her against the sorting machine. Her gun skids across the floor. The impact activates the machine, it begins to rumble, sorting mail through different size chutes and tunnels. MRS GOGGINS head-butts PAT, smashing both his and her glasses with a crunch. PAT dives for the parcel, but MRS GOGGINS claws him back. Postman and Postmistress are locked in mortal combat, struggling to reach the lethal package. MRS GOGGINS finally breaks free. She rolls across the floor and grabs her discarded gun. She fires a shot. JESS flies through the air, taking the bullet in her chest before it can hit PAT.

POSTMAN PAT Noooooooooo!

PAT grabs the package and hurls it at MRS GOGGINS’s head.

MRS GOGGINS catches the bomb but, losing her balance, topples backwards towards the intake of the sorting machine. PAT picks up his shotgun.

POSTMAN PAT You were right about one thing, Goggins.

PAT takes aim.

POSTMAN This was an important day for Greendale...

He fires. The blast carries MRS GOGGINS off her feet and into the intake of the sorting machine. She is caught in a massive network of gears and cogs. The gears begin to pull MRS GOGGINS into the machinery, along with the rest of the mail. The machinery bites down on MRS GOGGINS legs, she screams terribly.

POSTMAN PAT You might say; it was a real red letter day!

Blood sprays across the pristine white envelopes within the sorting machine. MRS GOGGINS screams in anguish as she is drawn into the machine. It’s not pretty; she’s going in feet first. PAT watches, his face unreadable. The image of MRS GOGGINS beings drawn, thrashing and screaming noisily into the machinery, is reflected in his shattered glasses. If PAT is affected by the appalling sight, he doesn’t show it. A whimper from the corner, and PAT rushes to the stricken JESS. He cradles the cat in his arms.

POSTMAN PAT You’re going to be fine, Jess. We’ve got through worse

than this.

JESS Miaow.

POSTMAN PAT Don’t talk like that! Don’t even think it!

JESS

Miaow.

POSTMAN PAT No! No! Jess, I don’t know what to do without you. I

don’t want to deliver letters if you’re not there to do it with me!

JESS

Miaow.

POSTMAN PAT I don’t know if I’m strong enough!

JESS

Miaow.

POSTMAN PAT Every day, Jess, I promise, every day. I’ll earn it every

single day. I’ll never forget you.

JESS ...

JESS is still. PAT throws his head back and lets out a primal scream of anguish. Tears roll down his cheeks. PC SELBY and a SWAT team burst into the sorting room. SELBY spots PAT and walks over to him. SELBY puts his hand on PAT’s shoulder.

PC SELBY Come on, Pat. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.

POSTMAN PAT

I didn’t kill those people.

PC SELBY I know. Turns out Mrs Goggins mentioned her plan, in

detail, to Mrs Merriweather the other day during a church fundraiser meeting.

PC SELBY helps PAT up.

PC SELBY

Mrs Merriweather’s joints were playing up earlier so she thought she’d leave it ‘til the afternoon to pop down to

the station to tell us. Sorry about the manhunt and chasing you across the valley and all that.

POSTMAN PAT (Sighing)

No need to apologize. All’s well that ends well. SELBY looks down at JESS.

PC SELBY Not quite, eh, Pat?

PAT looks down at JESS, forlorn. EXT. CEMETERY. WEEKS LATER. JUST AS DAY IS DAWNING. PAT kneels at the side of a grave. Fresh flowers are arranged at the foot of the headstone, which reads simply: ‘Jess’. SARAH stands a few feet away. She steps forward and puts a hand on PAT’s shoulder.

SARAH Despite the serious ethical problems I have about an animal being buried in a human cemetery, I think Jess

would have liked this.

POSTMAN PAT Yes. She would.

SARAH

She was a good friend, wasn’t she, Pat?

POSTMAN PAT The best. I think I was a very lucky man, to have known

her, I mean.

SARAH Well, you know what else she would have wanted?

POSTMAN PAT

What?

SARAH She would have wanted you to do what you do best.

PAT looks up. The sun is appearing over a nearby hill.

SARAH Looks like all the birds are singing...

POSTMAN PAT And the day is just beginning...

SARAH Everyone wants you back, Pat. You’re the best damn

postman in the county. PAT grits his teeth and stands.

POSTMAN PAT You’re right. It’s time to deliver the mail.

He sets off walking towards the gate, where his red van is parked.

SARAH (Calling after him)

Oh, and Pat... Let me know how your new partner works out.

POSTMAN PAT New partner?

SARAH laughs.

SARAH You’ll see! Just a little present from the people of

Greendale.

INT. VAN. MOMENTS LATER. PAT opens the door to his van. He peers into the passenger seat. On the seat, he spots a ball of black and white fur. Curious, he reaches out. The ball unfolds, and flies at PAT’s head. Screeching.

POSTMAN PAT Blow me down!

Perched atop PAT’s head, wearing his postman’s cap, is a screeching, black and white Colobus monkey.

PAT’s astonishment turns to amusement and he begins to laugh. He looks back at SARAH, who is laughing too. She shrugs, an apologetic ‘don’t blame me’ expression on her face.

POSTMAN PAT Well, hello there. I think I’m going to call you... Juju! JUJU screeches his approval and waves PAT’s hat in the air. Chuckling PAT gets into the van. As he turns the ignition, JUJU covers PAT’s eyes with his hands.

POSTMAN PAT (Laughing)

Oh Juju, I have a feeling we’re going to share some pretty crazy adventures... what do you think?

JUJU

Eeeeeek! Eeeeeeek! PAT hits the gas and the red van trundles down the winding lane, towards Greendale and whatever adventures fate has in store. THE END. CREDITS ROLL accompanied by ‘Postman Pat: The Remix’ by

Moby, ft. Gwen Stefani.