The Making Of

Skeletons

London 2012

Since my win, I'd done so many photo shoots that I'd almost lost count. Elle, Glamour, Harper's Bazaar, GQ. It had become easy; second nature to stand in front of the camera and pose, like my modelling experience was finally coming in handy. But the last one was different. Partly because the shoot was more elaborate than anything I'd done before, but mostly because it was for Vogue. Me. In Vogue. I'd done nothing but snort-laugh since finding out, as if I'd somehow managed to pull off the biggest hustle of all time.

We wrapped the shoot and I changed back into my normal clothes, turning around and eyeing myself in the mirror before I left. The ripped jeans and old jumper paired with heavy, glamorous makeup and perfectly styled hair. I couldn't help but let out a laugh.

The accompanying interview had gone well. I'd gotten used to being asked the same questions by every journalist I spoke to; when did you first get into acting? How did you feel when you won the Oscar? What is your dream role? I'd sometimes be thrown off guard by a question about my addiction, or about my sisters and their choice of careers. But one thing that never came up was Ben.

After the photo of us from the after party made its way into every tabloid and gossip column, we chose to stay quiet. To let it blow over and be forgotten about as soon as the next big celebrity scandal hit. Donna got to work anyway, briefing every interviewer and sending them a list of off-limits questions before they even got to meet me. On the top of that list she had simply written: Benedict Cumberbatch.

Two months had passed since that night, and yet I could still see the desire to ask about it etched on my interviewer's face. She had been skirting around it, asking me about my work on Sherlock, if I would like to work with my costars again, each question getting closer and closer to a territory that would have Donna end the interview and snatch me away.

But this was Vogue. I wanted to seem interesting, aloof, so when she asked me if I was seeing anyone, I shrugged with a smile.

'Oh you know how it is,' I said. 'When you're in the public eye, everything you do, you do with millions of eyes on you. Something as personal as a romantic relationship... I don't think I'd want eyes on that.'

'So you're saying even if you were seeing someone, we wouldn't know?'

'Well it's good to have some secrets,' I replied with a smile.

*

London was busy, the roads chocker with traffic, the pavements swarming with people. The good thing about London is how no one cares who you are. The business people wrapped up in phone calls, the tourists engrossed by the landmarks and attractions. The current of people so thick and fast that even if someone recognises you, they're usually swept away before they can take a second glance.

I walked into an apartment complex and rang the buzzer for my sisters' flat, waiting with my hand on the door.

'Fuck off, we're not letting you in,' a voice sounded through the call box.

I laughed and put my middle finger up to the small camera, waiting a moment before I heard the beep and the click of the door.

When I got into their flat, I walked straight through to the small balcony at the back, stepping out and lighting a cigarette as they joined me at the door.