The Making Of

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LA 2009

For many, Los Angeles is the place where dreams are chased; where struggling actors wait tables with headshots in their bags, where singers play their music on the walk of fame and hand out free CD's. It's the home of celebrities, of world-famous studios and notoriously beautiful people. But for me, it was an escape.

I first travelled there in 2005 after landing a one-off part in a crime drama. I filmed my episode and returned home to London - back to auditions and casting calls, modelling jobs and small speaking roles on TV shows. Months went by before my agent called, telling me they wanted me back.

'Who wants me back?' I'd said.

'Criminal Minds,' she replied.

'Why? Was there a problem with my-'

'No, no. They want to make your character permanent. They want to write you back into the next season as part of the main cast.'

By 2006, I'd moved there. I hugged my two younger sisters at the airport, told them if they ever needed me, I'd be on the first plane home. Then I boarded my flight, with everything I owned inside a single carry-on bag. In my three years on the show, I'd made friends, gained fans, (perfected my American accent), and fallen in love with my co-star. I was comfortable. But the comfort became stagnant, restless and suffocating. I missed the rain, I missed my sisters, and I missed feeling passionate about what I did. Then it happened. The thing I never thought would happen.

'This relationship isn't working, is it...'

'No, I replied. 'I don't think it is.'

And just like that, everything familiar to me had vanished, ending abruptly and without warning. Suddenly I was alone, in a city that wasn't mine, acting with an accent that wasn't mine, doing a job that no longer felt like mine.

But it was as if the universe knew; sending an opportunity my way when I needed it most. A film. An intense, challenging role that Carys, the writer, said she wrote specifically with me in mind. I'd never done a film before, asking her over and over again if she was sure she wanted to cast a 'nobody' as her leading lady. She told me to shut up and asked again if I wanted the part.

The thing about soulmates is that they're not always romantic. A soulmate can be a lover, a kindred spirit, or a best friend. Matt was, without a doubt, my soulmate. There was an invisible tether around my waist, the other end connected firmly to him. It had always been that way, and I was sure it always would be. Realising that our bond wasn't supposed to be romantic was the hardest thing we'd ever had to admit. We loved each other deeply and unconditionally, but it became apparent that we weren't moving forward; we couldn't see ourselves getting married, couldn't see ourselves with children, after three years we didn't even live together. We were a train standing still on a track, happy and content, but with no destination.

My last memory of those three years in LA was him, waving me off and pulling goofy faces to try and make me laugh as I walked into the airport. I was going to miss him, but I was so glad to be going home.

London 2009

Stepping off the plane into the mild, English spring was a welcomed feeling. But the double-takes as I walked through the airport was something I didn't think I'd ever get used to. People were looking at me, then looking away, then looking back at me again, as if they knew me but couldn't quite put their finger on how.