they made a statue of us
They Made A Statue of Us
It's nothing but time and a face that you lose. (She smiles prettily and he stares at her, half smirking, his eyes ablaze with the intensity she’s yet to have gotten used to. They're both holding back.)
rpf. Elaine Cassidy and Cillian Murphy. (Appearances by Anna Friel, CJ Thomason and others.)
2764. pg.
[I'm insane. Completely insane. But there was a picture and before that picture there was that movie and they're both so cute and Irish and I couldn't help myself. The time line might be a bit off in places, but I honestly tried. ]
London’s different to Dublin in more ways than she envisioned, to the point where she’s questioning everything she’s every really known.
Auditions are a dime a dozen; West End calls and she answers, but it’s a wrong number. Disappointments become commonplace; BBC only has so many period dramas and literary heroines are portrayed by foreigners with perfect accents.
“Reading for Madame Bovary, I assume?”
She looks up from her crumpled pages, brow furrowing in concentration.
“Truthfully, I’d settle for the maid girl role,” she confesses to the woman beside her, “you?”
“My thoughts exactly. I’m Anna.”
“Elaine.”
An awkward handshake and silence follows. A couple of names are called, one which piques a degree of interest.
“Crap. Frances O’Connor’s auditioning.”
“Who?”
“Australian actress,” Anna explains, “she just did a remake of Mansfield Park - bloody brilliant. I’m going to head home.”
“You not going to audition?” Elaine asks hesitantly.
“Nah. She’s got it in the bag. Good luck though dear. I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.” She scribbles something on a scrap of paper. “Give me a call and we’ll grab a coffee some time.”
She flies out of there, leaving Elaine slightly spellbound. A week later she finds out she didn’t get the part - shocker there - but eyes the scrap of paper on her table.
She dials slowly. Anna picks up on the first ring.
“Took you long enough!”
Elaine laughs something that sounds like in her mind relief.
---
Disco Pigs seems a lifetime ago, when in actuality it was only a year. Cillian’s charming and lovely and she convinces herself that it’s not romantic love, but friendship love and Anna laughs at her naivety and denial.
“I’m watching you right now,” he whispers down the line, no need for a hello.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I’m in a hotel room with some of the cast watching The Others. Did you know that you play a wonderful mute?”
She laughs loudly on her end and can hear the grin on his. There’s a rustling and a door faintly shuts.
“I can talk now.”
She twirls the phone cord around her fingers, blushing something fierce.
“So, how’s the zombie film going?”
Cillian chuckles lightly.
“Oh El,” he sighs, “it’s fucking brilliant, you should come by set if you’re not busy. I could get you some extra work?”
“Tempting,” she jokes, “but I’m in Canada right now.”
“Canada? Bloody hell, what for?”
“A movie,” she laughs, “imagine that, hey?”
“I don’t need to imagine that,” he laughs, “I see spectacular things in your future, El. Spectacular things.”
They sit in comfortable silence on their separate ends, she bites her lip and his breathing quickens.
(There’s an unspoken bond; much like their characters in Disco Pigs and she rolls her eyes at the thought of life imitating art and the like. Her mind drifts back to him holding her hand between scenes; singing to her over the phone. His fingers as he teaches her guitar - hold it like this - and her breath quickening due to close proximity.)
“There’s the premier next month.” She injects quickly, the moment broken, her left mentally scolding herself.
“Oh yes, that.”
“I guess I’ll see you there?”
He laughs loudly and quickly, and she can almost picture him running his hands through his hair.
“Of course, El,” he almost sings through the phone, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She smiles and blushes as he teases her mercilessly and despite being so far from Ireland, she feels almost as if she’s home.
---
His arms engulf when she sees him; jetlag causing her to fall into familiar patterns as she accepts his embrace without hesitance. Everything’s easy with him; from conversation to proximity - it all makes sense.
(Anna’s advice: have some fun. She fiddles awkwardly with her skirt; the stylist gave it to her and it’s itchy and she can’t sit still. Cillian calms her with a hand on the knee and a rare, lopsided grin.)
She smiles prettily and he stares at her, half smirking, his eyes ablaze with an intensity she’s yet to have gotten used to. The photographer snaps picture after picture and she gazes up at him as he fidgets uncharacteristically. They’re both holding back.
(Later there’s a peck on the cheek that goes too far; stolen kisses in 5-star hotel rooms and hands and limbs that reach out for one another in the dark. Her breathing is ragged and he’s perfectly silent, save the occasional sigh of ‘El’.)
The next day signals more interviews and parties and his hand finds hers amidst the chaos and praise. She smiles, he smiles and everything’s bright.
---
He calls less as the months go by and before she knows it a year has passed and she can count the number of times on one hand that she’s heard his voice. Anna’s a comforting presence; both are delighted to be working together on the same project. She takes her out for coffee and dinner with Anna and David and for a couple of months there’s a routine and she’s content.
Doesn’t think about Cillian, no she doesn’t. Doesn’t think about him or his projects or how he’s obviously too big for his boots and can’t be bothered talking to her anymore.
Anna placates with a sigh. A gentle tug to the side during filming and a grave expression on her friends face does not set Elaine at ease.
“I was talking to David,” she chews nervously on her nail, “apparently Cillian’s got this serious long term girlfriend. They broke up for a bit last year, but…”
“They’re back together now,” Elaine finishes, “yeah, that makes sense.”
“I’m sorry Elaine,” Anna says quietly, “if I had known-”
“It’s alright.”
And it is. Elaine doesn’t cry, get angry, nothing. She throws herself into the role and tries her hardest to forget him.
---
It’s easier said then done. Especially when he’s got movies coming out left right and centre and every second question she receives is about him.
Things are even more delightfully awkward at the Irish Film and Television Awards. Joy.
For all his pluck, he shows up with her. A small waif-like thing, Elaine regrets turning up without a date.
(She regrets a lot these days.)
“Hey,” he says softly, giving her a quick, friendly hug. Elaine returns the sentiment, smiling politely for all she’s worth.
“This is Yvonne.”
The woman is nice and grudgingly, Elaine can’t hate her. The trio laugh and joke and when Elaine receives her award the other woman gives her a congratulatory hug.
“You’re spectacular, El,” Cillian whispers, hugging her tight before she makes her way to the stage, “truly spectacular.”
She skips the after party in favour for her hotel room. The quiet brings her solitude and the award glimmers dully as she reflects back on Cork, guitars and Cillian’s name on her lips.
She sees her heartbreak in the reflection of her award and she can’t stop the tears from flowing.
(It wasn’t supposed to be like this.)
---
London’s not like Hollywood, she finds out, several failed LA expeditions later, along with Anna’s regal tales. Men have it easier, Anna proclaims; with David on another California film set and a sad smile crossing her features. Casting agents find it difficult to see through the accents, viewing voice coaches as unneeded expenses when they can get just as talented/pretty/charming girls on their own front door. Elaine laughs; British film and television is far from dead; she enjoys all the splendour BBC and other film companies alike have to offer. There’s a level of quality that Hollywood sometimes seems to lack and she picks her scripts and directors wisely and she’s handsomely rewarded. Positive reviews left, right and centre, a growing and stellar reputation.
And then there’s Stephen.
She meets him on set (of course) and Elaine finds herself blushing as he compliments her, soft spoken with gentle eyes.
(They don’t pierce, but soften; the corners crinkling as he smiles a genuine smile.)
---
2005 means more awards and Stephen convinces her that the IFTA could do with her presence and she laughs because why not? Anna agrees, she’s doing a football film while David’s doing Harry Potter and knows first hand that Cillian’s going to be there and therefore she has to go. Elaine doesn’t play those games, for the record, but she goes anyway.
(For what it’s worth, she’s proud of her work. She doesn’t hate the recognition, but accepts it as an uncontrollable part of her career.)
Cillian’s doing the red carpet thing, minus his now-wife. (The wedding was a quiet affair, she sent a card.) She’s pregnant, Anna tells her, forever the gossip, and Elaine feels as if she can file him away in the drawer marked ‘past’.
He spots her immediately, making his way over and embracing her like old friends. She hugs him awkwardly, making the shaky introductions. It’s short and it’s brief and throughout the ceremony, she’s content.
(Until the end, that is - a mess of limousines and private cars to fancy after parties. Stephen’s nearing drunk and she’s uncomfortable with the attention. She spots Cillian in the corner, a beer in hand and gaze fixed upon her. A half smirk on his part, a blush on hers, and suddenly she’s 21 again, kissing him on the beach. Shaking her head, she makes a hasty exit. She needs a change.)
The next day she cuts her hair and her agent is furious. Stephen says she looks like a doll, Anna, a sprite and Elaine decides that the new her doesn’t care about opinions and the sort and doesn’t do regrets.
---
Stephen proposes and she accepts. It’s a whirlwind wedding; her sister’s acting as bridesmaids, plus Anna, and what was supposed to be a small affair gets blown way out of proportion. Stephen insists she invite Cillian and she hesitantly writes out his invite, adding Yvonne to the letterhead and feeling like a bigger person because of it.
Turns out he’s on location in Sweden, can’t get out of it, he apologizes via email. She breathes a sigh of relief because she doesn’t think she can handle her ex-whatever being there.
Her cell phone rings five minutes before she’s set to head down the aisle.
“Hello?” she answers breathlessly, not bothering to check the caller ID.
“So you’re getting married, El,” he chuckles and she shoos her sisters away briefly, locking herself in the bathroom.
“How’s that treating you so far?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she snaps, “I’m yet to make it down the aisle.”
“You’re panicking,” he crows and she rolls her eyes.
“I’m not.”
(She is.)
“Don’t.”
Her breath hitches and instead of confusion she’s hit with realisation. Standing in a bathroom, talking to Cillian is not something she had planned for her wedding day and her eyes widen and her hands start to shake.
“I have to go get married, Cillian.”
And with that she snaps her phone shut, not waiting to hear his reply. She doesn’t care, she tells herself and she almost believes it.
---
2007 and she begins it with theatre and several prospects on her hands. Stephen’s got a gig on Eastenders and they form a routine that works.
Take a break, he laughs over dinner, slow down and see what happens…
She’s not a fan of being idle, Elaine. Did a 1000 piece puzzle during her down time on The Others to prevent it. So when she tells him she’s off to Italy for a couple of months, she thinks he shouldn’t be surprised.
(He isn’t. The disappointment is etched out on his face and she feels guilty. She knows she’s not the perfect wife, perfect anything. She came with baggage and issues, just like anyone else.)
Anna calls her from California on the set of her show, which to Elaine sounds terribly morbid, yet quirky and adorable. She raves about her co-stars, the creator, the directors and Elaine’s enthusiastic in turn; for once everything’s sunshine and roses.
There’s award nomination on both their parts; rave reviews and positive critics. This is it, Anna says dreamily, this is what we’ve been waiting for…
(Elaine’s not quite so optimistic. She’s still carving a name for herself in London, not ready to tackle the full extent of fame head on. She doesn’t dream of fancy houses and LA premiers like Anna. Instead she dreams of now.)
---
Her Agent drops the script in her mailbox; an American slasher-meets Agatha Christie TV pilot and she’s intrigued. Anna informs her she’s heard promising news; Elaine throws together an audition tape and sends it to LA.
Before she knows it she’s on a plane to shoot a ten minute pilot for the network. A couple of months later she’s on an island just off Vancouver, Canada, running around the dark woodlands, a wide eyed fearful expression becoming common place. The cast is friendly; she’s somewhat of a novelty, her Irish lilt commanding attention at table reads. CJ takes to her immediately, harmless flirting becomes commonplace. He sits next to her, chair too close, knees bumping hers, over pronouncing his southern drawl. She laughs, like chimes, he whispers, and a little bit of magic.
(Anna’s voice is in the back of her head; have some fun, playing over like a broken record. She keeps the boy at a distance - because he is a boy; all extreme sports and a soap opera background. I’m married, she scolds her friend lightly, who merely laughs and replies that many have done much worse.)
Chris Gorham chuckles at the younger man’s antics; his eyes showing his true age while his face is forever youthful. With three kids and a wife, his phone is glued to his ear, his mouth curled in a smile and his words honest.
“Do you miss them?” she asks one day, dumbly, side by side under an alcove, waiting for the rain to stop.
“So much,” he chuckles wistfully, “don’t you.”
She nods carefully, but sometimes she’s just not sure.
---
She sees him next in LA; a small, out of the way pub - away from the prying paparazzi and star maps. There’s something about Brits in LA; they all seem to gravitate towards the same place. Anna’s taking her out to celebrate and commiserate; shows pushed to Saturday night timeslots, Anna’s cancelled, hers doing less than stellar. Anna drinks white wine, her lemonade. Seeing as she’s pregnant and all.
(Her pregnancy was a shock, to be honest. They’d talked about it, put it in the ‘next couple of years’ box. What she thought to be food poisoning turned out to be something much more and came with prenatal vitamins and minimal stunt work.)
CJ’s chugging beers like he never left the frat house; Adam’s joking with his wife. He walks in with two other actors she recognises from some event or another; introductions occurring in passing.
“El!” He shouts, lifting her up in a bear hug. She laughs in spite of herself; old habits die hard, or so the saying goes. He chuckles into her hair, and pulls away; hands entwining in hers.
(This isn’t right.)
CJ plays the southern gentleman, introducing himself cheerfully, a hand to the small of her back. Eyebrow raised, Cillian takes a step back, eyes glinting as he grins.
“Got yourself an admirer, El,” he whispers in private, hand finding hers once again (she blames the alcohol, of course). She blushes something fierce.
“He’s just a kid,”
“He’s smitten,” he smirks, tracing abstract patterns on the back of her palm, “you have an effect on people, El. You cast spells.”
“Cillian…”
(Eyes that hypnotize, he has. Kisses in backstreet alleys, rough hands causing soft shivers. Her breath hitches while his is ragged; uneven, unsure. She’s twenty-one again; bright eyes and honest voices. The world full of forked roads and possibilities.)
Jumping up abruptly, she pushes past him, flagging down Anna, who promptly bids their company farewell, excuse not necessary.
“What happened?” she asks softly in the taxi.
“Nothing,” Elaine answers honestly, swallowing a sob. “Nothing at all.”
(Nine years standing at a junction; she chooses the path without him.
The weight is gone.)
---
She sees him next at an awards event. Partners in tow, she’s sporting a more than noticeable baby bump and resolute smile. It’s polite and friendly; his hug doesn’t linger, her breath doesn’t hitch and their world doesn’t stand still.
They part on friendly terms, we’ll catch up soon, clear and honest.
As she walks away from him, she feels content. She feels free.
For once, she doesn’t look back.
It's nothing but time and a face that you lose. (She smiles prettily and he stares at her, half smirking, his eyes ablaze with the intensity she’s yet to have gotten used to. They're both holding back.)
rpf. Elaine Cassidy and Cillian Murphy. (Appearances by Anna Friel, CJ Thomason and others.)
2764. pg.
[I'm insane. Completely insane. But there was a picture and before that picture there was that movie and they're both so cute and Irish and I couldn't help myself. The time line might be a bit off in places, but I honestly tried. ]
London’s different to Dublin in more ways than she envisioned, to the point where she’s questioning everything she’s every really known.
Auditions are a dime a dozen; West End calls and she answers, but it’s a wrong number. Disappointments become commonplace; BBC only has so many period dramas and literary heroines are portrayed by foreigners with perfect accents.
“Reading for Madame Bovary, I assume?”
She looks up from her crumpled pages, brow furrowing in concentration.
“Truthfully, I’d settle for the maid girl role,” she confesses to the woman beside her, “you?”
“My thoughts exactly. I’m Anna.”
“Elaine.”
An awkward handshake and silence follows. A couple of names are called, one which piques a degree of interest.
“Crap. Frances O’Connor’s auditioning.”
“Who?”
“Australian actress,” Anna explains, “she just did a remake of Mansfield Park - bloody brilliant. I’m going to head home.”
“You not going to audition?” Elaine asks hesitantly.
“Nah. She’s got it in the bag. Good luck though dear. I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.” She scribbles something on a scrap of paper. “Give me a call and we’ll grab a coffee some time.”
She flies out of there, leaving Elaine slightly spellbound. A week later she finds out she didn’t get the part - shocker there - but eyes the scrap of paper on her table.
She dials slowly. Anna picks up on the first ring.
“Took you long enough!”
Elaine laughs something that sounds like in her mind relief.
---
Disco Pigs seems a lifetime ago, when in actuality it was only a year. Cillian’s charming and lovely and she convinces herself that it’s not romantic love, but friendship love and Anna laughs at her naivety and denial.
“I’m watching you right now,” he whispers down the line, no need for a hello.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I’m in a hotel room with some of the cast watching The Others. Did you know that you play a wonderful mute?”
She laughs loudly on her end and can hear the grin on his. There’s a rustling and a door faintly shuts.
“I can talk now.”
She twirls the phone cord around her fingers, blushing something fierce.
“So, how’s the zombie film going?”
Cillian chuckles lightly.
“Oh El,” he sighs, “it’s fucking brilliant, you should come by set if you’re not busy. I could get you some extra work?”
“Tempting,” she jokes, “but I’m in Canada right now.”
“Canada? Bloody hell, what for?”
“A movie,” she laughs, “imagine that, hey?”
“I don’t need to imagine that,” he laughs, “I see spectacular things in your future, El. Spectacular things.”
They sit in comfortable silence on their separate ends, she bites her lip and his breathing quickens.
(There’s an unspoken bond; much like their characters in Disco Pigs and she rolls her eyes at the thought of life imitating art and the like. Her mind drifts back to him holding her hand between scenes; singing to her over the phone. His fingers as he teaches her guitar - hold it like this - and her breath quickening due to close proximity.)
“There’s the premier next month.” She injects quickly, the moment broken, her left mentally scolding herself.
“Oh yes, that.”
“I guess I’ll see you there?”
He laughs loudly and quickly, and she can almost picture him running his hands through his hair.
“Of course, El,” he almost sings through the phone, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She smiles and blushes as he teases her mercilessly and despite being so far from Ireland, she feels almost as if she’s home.
---
His arms engulf when she sees him; jetlag causing her to fall into familiar patterns as she accepts his embrace without hesitance. Everything’s easy with him; from conversation to proximity - it all makes sense.
(Anna’s advice: have some fun. She fiddles awkwardly with her skirt; the stylist gave it to her and it’s itchy and she can’t sit still. Cillian calms her with a hand on the knee and a rare, lopsided grin.)
She smiles prettily and he stares at her, half smirking, his eyes ablaze with an intensity she’s yet to have gotten used to. The photographer snaps picture after picture and she gazes up at him as he fidgets uncharacteristically. They’re both holding back.
(Later there’s a peck on the cheek that goes too far; stolen kisses in 5-star hotel rooms and hands and limbs that reach out for one another in the dark. Her breathing is ragged and he’s perfectly silent, save the occasional sigh of ‘El’.)
The next day signals more interviews and parties and his hand finds hers amidst the chaos and praise. She smiles, he smiles and everything’s bright.
---
He calls less as the months go by and before she knows it a year has passed and she can count the number of times on one hand that she’s heard his voice. Anna’s a comforting presence; both are delighted to be working together on the same project. She takes her out for coffee and dinner with Anna and David and for a couple of months there’s a routine and she’s content.
Doesn’t think about Cillian, no she doesn’t. Doesn’t think about him or his projects or how he’s obviously too big for his boots and can’t be bothered talking to her anymore.
Anna placates with a sigh. A gentle tug to the side during filming and a grave expression on her friends face does not set Elaine at ease.
“I was talking to David,” she chews nervously on her nail, “apparently Cillian’s got this serious long term girlfriend. They broke up for a bit last year, but…”
“They’re back together now,” Elaine finishes, “yeah, that makes sense.”
“I’m sorry Elaine,” Anna says quietly, “if I had known-”
“It’s alright.”
And it is. Elaine doesn’t cry, get angry, nothing. She throws herself into the role and tries her hardest to forget him.
---
It’s easier said then done. Especially when he’s got movies coming out left right and centre and every second question she receives is about him.
Things are even more delightfully awkward at the Irish Film and Television Awards. Joy.
For all his pluck, he shows up with her. A small waif-like thing, Elaine regrets turning up without a date.
(She regrets a lot these days.)
“Hey,” he says softly, giving her a quick, friendly hug. Elaine returns the sentiment, smiling politely for all she’s worth.
“This is Yvonne.”
The woman is nice and grudgingly, Elaine can’t hate her. The trio laugh and joke and when Elaine receives her award the other woman gives her a congratulatory hug.
“You’re spectacular, El,” Cillian whispers, hugging her tight before she makes her way to the stage, “truly spectacular.”
She skips the after party in favour for her hotel room. The quiet brings her solitude and the award glimmers dully as she reflects back on Cork, guitars and Cillian’s name on her lips.
She sees her heartbreak in the reflection of her award and she can’t stop the tears from flowing.
(It wasn’t supposed to be like this.)
---
London’s not like Hollywood, she finds out, several failed LA expeditions later, along with Anna’s regal tales. Men have it easier, Anna proclaims; with David on another California film set and a sad smile crossing her features. Casting agents find it difficult to see through the accents, viewing voice coaches as unneeded expenses when they can get just as talented/pretty/charming girls on their own front door. Elaine laughs; British film and television is far from dead; she enjoys all the splendour BBC and other film companies alike have to offer. There’s a level of quality that Hollywood sometimes seems to lack and she picks her scripts and directors wisely and she’s handsomely rewarded. Positive reviews left, right and centre, a growing and stellar reputation.
And then there’s Stephen.
She meets him on set (of course) and Elaine finds herself blushing as he compliments her, soft spoken with gentle eyes.
(They don’t pierce, but soften; the corners crinkling as he smiles a genuine smile.)
---
2005 means more awards and Stephen convinces her that the IFTA could do with her presence and she laughs because why not? Anna agrees, she’s doing a football film while David’s doing Harry Potter and knows first hand that Cillian’s going to be there and therefore she has to go. Elaine doesn’t play those games, for the record, but she goes anyway.
(For what it’s worth, she’s proud of her work. She doesn’t hate the recognition, but accepts it as an uncontrollable part of her career.)
Cillian’s doing the red carpet thing, minus his now-wife. (The wedding was a quiet affair, she sent a card.) She’s pregnant, Anna tells her, forever the gossip, and Elaine feels as if she can file him away in the drawer marked ‘past’.
He spots her immediately, making his way over and embracing her like old friends. She hugs him awkwardly, making the shaky introductions. It’s short and it’s brief and throughout the ceremony, she’s content.
(Until the end, that is - a mess of limousines and private cars to fancy after parties. Stephen’s nearing drunk and she’s uncomfortable with the attention. She spots Cillian in the corner, a beer in hand and gaze fixed upon her. A half smirk on his part, a blush on hers, and suddenly she’s 21 again, kissing him on the beach. Shaking her head, she makes a hasty exit. She needs a change.)
The next day she cuts her hair and her agent is furious. Stephen says she looks like a doll, Anna, a sprite and Elaine decides that the new her doesn’t care about opinions and the sort and doesn’t do regrets.
---
Stephen proposes and she accepts. It’s a whirlwind wedding; her sister’s acting as bridesmaids, plus Anna, and what was supposed to be a small affair gets blown way out of proportion. Stephen insists she invite Cillian and she hesitantly writes out his invite, adding Yvonne to the letterhead and feeling like a bigger person because of it.
Turns out he’s on location in Sweden, can’t get out of it, he apologizes via email. She breathes a sigh of relief because she doesn’t think she can handle her ex-whatever being there.
Her cell phone rings five minutes before she’s set to head down the aisle.
“Hello?” she answers breathlessly, not bothering to check the caller ID.
“So you’re getting married, El,” he chuckles and she shoos her sisters away briefly, locking herself in the bathroom.
“How’s that treating you so far?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she snaps, “I’m yet to make it down the aisle.”
“You’re panicking,” he crows and she rolls her eyes.
“I’m not.”
(She is.)
“Don’t.”
Her breath hitches and instead of confusion she’s hit with realisation. Standing in a bathroom, talking to Cillian is not something she had planned for her wedding day and her eyes widen and her hands start to shake.
“I have to go get married, Cillian.”
And with that she snaps her phone shut, not waiting to hear his reply. She doesn’t care, she tells herself and she almost believes it.
---
2007 and she begins it with theatre and several prospects on her hands. Stephen’s got a gig on Eastenders and they form a routine that works.
Take a break, he laughs over dinner, slow down and see what happens…
She’s not a fan of being idle, Elaine. Did a 1000 piece puzzle during her down time on The Others to prevent it. So when she tells him she’s off to Italy for a couple of months, she thinks he shouldn’t be surprised.
(He isn’t. The disappointment is etched out on his face and she feels guilty. She knows she’s not the perfect wife, perfect anything. She came with baggage and issues, just like anyone else.)
Anna calls her from California on the set of her show, which to Elaine sounds terribly morbid, yet quirky and adorable. She raves about her co-stars, the creator, the directors and Elaine’s enthusiastic in turn; for once everything’s sunshine and roses.
There’s award nomination on both their parts; rave reviews and positive critics. This is it, Anna says dreamily, this is what we’ve been waiting for…
(Elaine’s not quite so optimistic. She’s still carving a name for herself in London, not ready to tackle the full extent of fame head on. She doesn’t dream of fancy houses and LA premiers like Anna. Instead she dreams of now.)
---
Her Agent drops the script in her mailbox; an American slasher-meets Agatha Christie TV pilot and she’s intrigued. Anna informs her she’s heard promising news; Elaine throws together an audition tape and sends it to LA.
Before she knows it she’s on a plane to shoot a ten minute pilot for the network. A couple of months later she’s on an island just off Vancouver, Canada, running around the dark woodlands, a wide eyed fearful expression becoming common place. The cast is friendly; she’s somewhat of a novelty, her Irish lilt commanding attention at table reads. CJ takes to her immediately, harmless flirting becomes commonplace. He sits next to her, chair too close, knees bumping hers, over pronouncing his southern drawl. She laughs, like chimes, he whispers, and a little bit of magic.
(Anna’s voice is in the back of her head; have some fun, playing over like a broken record. She keeps the boy at a distance - because he is a boy; all extreme sports and a soap opera background. I’m married, she scolds her friend lightly, who merely laughs and replies that many have done much worse.)
Chris Gorham chuckles at the younger man’s antics; his eyes showing his true age while his face is forever youthful. With three kids and a wife, his phone is glued to his ear, his mouth curled in a smile and his words honest.
“Do you miss them?” she asks one day, dumbly, side by side under an alcove, waiting for the rain to stop.
“So much,” he chuckles wistfully, “don’t you.”
She nods carefully, but sometimes she’s just not sure.
---
She sees him next in LA; a small, out of the way pub - away from the prying paparazzi and star maps. There’s something about Brits in LA; they all seem to gravitate towards the same place. Anna’s taking her out to celebrate and commiserate; shows pushed to Saturday night timeslots, Anna’s cancelled, hers doing less than stellar. Anna drinks white wine, her lemonade. Seeing as she’s pregnant and all.
(Her pregnancy was a shock, to be honest. They’d talked about it, put it in the ‘next couple of years’ box. What she thought to be food poisoning turned out to be something much more and came with prenatal vitamins and minimal stunt work.)
CJ’s chugging beers like he never left the frat house; Adam’s joking with his wife. He walks in with two other actors she recognises from some event or another; introductions occurring in passing.
“El!” He shouts, lifting her up in a bear hug. She laughs in spite of herself; old habits die hard, or so the saying goes. He chuckles into her hair, and pulls away; hands entwining in hers.
(This isn’t right.)
CJ plays the southern gentleman, introducing himself cheerfully, a hand to the small of her back. Eyebrow raised, Cillian takes a step back, eyes glinting as he grins.
“Got yourself an admirer, El,” he whispers in private, hand finding hers once again (she blames the alcohol, of course). She blushes something fierce.
“He’s just a kid,”
“He’s smitten,” he smirks, tracing abstract patterns on the back of her palm, “you have an effect on people, El. You cast spells.”
“Cillian…”
(Eyes that hypnotize, he has. Kisses in backstreet alleys, rough hands causing soft shivers. Her breath hitches while his is ragged; uneven, unsure. She’s twenty-one again; bright eyes and honest voices. The world full of forked roads and possibilities.)
Jumping up abruptly, she pushes past him, flagging down Anna, who promptly bids their company farewell, excuse not necessary.
“What happened?” she asks softly in the taxi.
“Nothing,” Elaine answers honestly, swallowing a sob. “Nothing at all.”
(Nine years standing at a junction; she chooses the path without him.
The weight is gone.)
---
She sees him next at an awards event. Partners in tow, she’s sporting a more than noticeable baby bump and resolute smile. It’s polite and friendly; his hug doesn’t linger, her breath doesn’t hitch and their world doesn’t stand still.
They part on friendly terms, we’ll catch up soon, clear and honest.
As she walks away from him, she feels content. She feels free.
For once, she doesn’t look back.