Chapter Text
“The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.” — Henry Miller
Chapter One ~ Spotlight
A: Everything’s crossed for you… X Abi stared at the ‘X’. Fuck! Why did she put a kiss..? Shit, shit, shit!
A: ^ That’s me crossing everything by the way… Are you nervous? She bit her fingernail, hoping she'd covered up her faux pas.
M: Ha ha. Everything? ;) I’ll be glad when it’s over tbh. We’re stuck in bloody traffic and I’m sweating like a cornered nun in this limo!
A: *snorts* You have such a way with words Fassbender! Ooh limo… fancy schmancy! Say hi to your mum from me. I bet she’s excited?
M: Mum says hi back. She says she feels sick with nerves… Are you staying up to watch?
A: Aw, bless her. I guess it’s not every day you get to walk your son up the red carpet at the Oscars! She must be so proud… :)
A: As for watching, I’m gonna try my best to stay up but I’m in work at 8am and it doesn’t kick off here until 1.30am :( Hey! If you get the chance, can you maybe ask them to announce your category first? ;) Pretty please? With a cherry on top.
M: I don’t think it works that way, soz… :( You did set it to record though didn’t you? Fuck, I sound so vain! It's Just that, if by some weird fluke I DO manage to win I’m probably gonna need to watch it when I finally fly back (‘cos I intend on getting well and truly bladdered either way!) ;)
A: I would expect nothing less!
M: What’s that supposed to mean?
M: Abi..?
M: Oh wait. We’re here. Got to go… See you on the other side! ;)
A: Sorry, was just getting the popcorn ready… And nothing. I just meant that the Killarney boy I grew up with certainly knew how to party! Anyway, you deserve this Michael. I hope you win. Break a leg!
A: Well not actually break a leg… You know what I mean!
A: You do, don’t you?
A: Michael?
A: Shit. If you trip on the red carpet I’ll never forgive myself… DO. NOT. TRIP. (But have a great time!)
Abi deliberated adding a kiss this time for real but chickened out at the last minute and pressed send. Sighing to herself she threw her mobile down in frustration on the couch and flicked on the TV, searching for the live feed. E! was most definitely not her usual cup of tea, far too sycophantic for her liking. But she had to admit that when it came to the Red Carpet they did at least seem to know what they were doing. The alternative coverage was Sky Movies and that was just plain painful.
She watched with baited breathe, searching for a glimpse of her childhood friend. The camera shot to Benedict Cumberbatch, who she knew Michael was friendly with and whom he’d worked with on 12 Years a Slave. He seemed to be having an absolute blast. She laughed as he photobombed U2, just imagining how the Irish press would no doubt grumble about that tomorrow, and then she was back to searching for Michael. Image after image of Hollywood’s A list filled her screen, interspersed with 360 glam-cam shots of gorgeous actors and actresses in their designer suits and dresses along with mani-cams of glamorous nails and jewellery that no doubt cost more than she could hope to make in a lifetime. It seemed there was a special camera set-up for pretty much every conceivable close up angle.
Whatever would be next? The super-duper-close-up-ass-shot-cam? The side-boob-cam? Abi groaned. She wasn’t sure how much more of this shit she could honestly take. She pulled the throw that hung across the back of the couch over herself and snuggled under it, inadvertently inhaling a whiff of Michael’s aftershave which still lingered. She let out a dreamy sigh as she cuddled it close to her face, her breathing starting to slow.
But just as she felt her eyelids beginning to droop there he was! She’d recognise that red bearded jawline anywhere.
Finally!
She sat up and watched as he climbed out of the limo, straightening his suit and grabbing his mum’s hand who gave his a quick squeeze of reassurance.
Wow! He’d cut the beard back a little since the last time she’d seen him.
Not that she’d actually seen him in person. Despite him being in London, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she’d had to settle for watching out for a glance of him on the Red Carpet show for the BAFTA’s a few weeks earlier. Then, when she hadn’t seen him she’d sagged back on the couch wondering where the hell he was, only letting her relief show when he finally showed up inside the auditorium.
But that was just like the Michael she knew. He really wasn't interested in all the fame. And he’d told her several times he wasn’t bothered about winning any of these awards, although she secretly thought he must care, even just a little bit. How could he not? He was finally being recognised by his peers. Surely that was huge for him?
As for having to settle for seeing him on screen? Well… she might just have wished for him to come back to the flat after the BAFTA's. She might even have hoped he’d have come ‘home’ before the ceremony and stayed all weekend. But no, apparently he’d booked into a suite at the Grosvenor House Hotel along with his family and then was back filming in Scotland the following day. He’d sent her a grumbling text the day after, complaining about having to work with a hangover and desperately craving a full Irish breakfast, in reply to the one she’d sent him stating he’d been robbed at the BAFTA’s. She’d teased him and he’d finally cheered up a bit after she promised that the next time he was in town she’d cook him one.
Abi sighed as she realised she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been in the same room as him.
Actually that wasn’t altogether true… She knew exactly the date, time and place she last saw him.
It was three days before Christmas. He’d flown back from New Zealand and stayed over at the flat for the night before travelling on to Ireland the following day to see his folks. He’d tried to persuade Abi to come back to Ireland with him but she had insisted she couldn’t. It was true that she was working all over Christmas - she’d gladly taken the extra shifts so that her co-workers could spend time with their families. She simply couldn’t face returning to Ireland just yet.
It was too soon.
Here in London she was confident, holding down a part time job in the kitsch little coffee shop around the corner while she studied towards a diploma in hospitality. Back in Ireland she was still timid Abi.
Victim.
In such a small community everybody knew everybody's business.
Here, in this sprawling metropolis she was a nobody. Nobody knew her past. Michael had been right. She had finally found herself.
But she couldn’t help the nagging doubts when Michael had stayed away after the BAFTA’s. She knew she was being stupid. They were just friends after all. Why should he feel obligated to come see her when he was in London?
Well… there was the small fact of this – she looked around at the compact lounge – being his flat.
Had she maybe outstayed her welcome?
Was he avoiding her?
He did, after all, end up sleeping on the couch whenever he did stay, despite her protestations that it should be her that did so whenever he was home. But he’d insisted that it was only fair. He’d been the one who persuaded her to move over here, so he had no right to make her up sticks every time he dropped in. He’d laughed as he’d counted the number of days he’d actually slept in the flat over the past twelve months then, as if to explain why he didn’t feel any possessiveness towards what was essentially still his bed.
But Abi’s deeply buried insecurities and self-doubt still nagged at her. Why the hell did he even want to keep in contact with her? The worlds they moved in couldn’t be any more different. While Michael was meeting celebrities and travelling from glamorous location to location, Abi plodded on at the café and college, the furthest she’d ever travelled being across the Irish Sea when she’d fled her old life.
But tonight she was not going to think about that. She was here to support her friend. Ah, there he was again. And boy did he scrub up well! She bit her lip as she watched him walking down the carpet, escorting Adele who looked incredible. It was always surreal watching him at these events - not that she would ever admit to him that she watched him under normal circumstances… This. Well... This and the BAFTA's were one-offs.
Honest.
She’d feigned indignation when Michael had originally asked if she’d watch. He knew she hated all this fame stuff. It bothered her when they were papped together. Not that it happened very often of course. But on the rare occasion that Michael was actually in London he would drag her out to some of his favourite pubs and a couple of restaurants. Yet despite them being off the beaten celebrity track, somehow the paps always seemed to find out. It left Abi feeling exposed, vulnerable even, especially when the gossip columns got wind of it and started speculating about their relationship. Abi was nothing special. And the comments she’d stupidly read had knocked her sideways. She knew she was no supermodel. She wasn’t even catalogue model for Christ sake. But honestly – and she knew she shouldn’t let it get to her, because these people didn’t know her or that there was nothing going on between her and Michael – well, it bloody hurt. She’d never understood why so-called fans felt the need to be so disrespectful to women they saw with their crushes.
Still, tonight was not the night to dwell on that either. She couldn’t be prouder of Michael as she watched on. It was both exciting and sobering to see him in such a glitzy environment.
This wasn’t the Mike she knew. This was suave, sophisticated, movie star Michael. The man who could eye fuck women (and men) into submission from a mile away. This was not - she told herself - the boy she grew up with, who she’d had a crush on ever since they’d moved from Devon to Killarney when she was eight. Her father had started working alongside Michael’s dad Josef in the Fassbender’s restaurant. He was sous chef and Michael and Abi had often found themselves thrown together as the two youngest children amongst the staff at parties. They'd both stood out with their slightly unusual accents and Michael had always looked out for her at school as well, practically a big brother to her. He was three years older than her and she’d been smitten ever since he’d helped her carry her history project one particularly snowy morning.
As Michael stopped and did the obligatory camera poses, grinning widely, his eyes twinkling, she couldn’t help the butterflies in her chest as she stared at him.
But no! She told herself. This was not dorky Mike who used to drag his electric guitar from pub to pub in the pouring rain hoping to play a gig with his best mate, nor was it the Mike who she fondly remembered spotting running across the field to unlock the church at the last minute because he always overslept. And it was certainly not the same Mike who last summer had insisted she stay at his flat while she got back on her feet.
No. this was ambitious Michael. The man she’d looked up to as he went off into the big, wide world while she stayed at home in Ireland and stupidly fell for the first man to actually show her any real attention. The man who would come to beat her to within an inch of her life and leave her an emotional and physical wreck, so much so, that despite him finally being convicted, she was physically unable to even walk down the street in the quiet village in which Connor and she had resided, much less set foot in the house they’d once shared. The memories and flashbacks of the abuse she’d endured were ingrained in the fibre of the entire village and it was simply too painful to bear.
*
It had been pure freakish coincidence that Michael had had a rare week off after wrapping his latest X-Men movie and had paid a surprise visit to his parents, arriving on the same afternoon that Adele had invited Abi and her mum around for tea. It had only been a few weeks since the court case had finally come to a close and Abi was still coming to terms with her new life. Living with her parents again at the age of thirty three was not easy. She felt like she was constantly under scrutiny. They didn’t mean to be so overbearing – she knew that they were just worried about her – but it was driving her bat-shit crazy already.
Abi had been taken aback to see Michael come through the door. It had honestly felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her. For a few minutes she’d actually been lost for words, just staring. After all, he was a bona fide movie star now. And Jesus! He was even more handsome than she remembered. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t find him attractive. But she’d tried to push away all her adolescent feelings for him as they’d sat chatting.
She’d been surprised at just how down to earth he still was and they’d all had a grand time, catching up, laughing and joking as they’d recalled silly stories from when they were young. But eventually, after the others had all skirted around the elephant in the room for long enough, her mum had accidentally let slip about the court case and the assault. Michael’s face had fallen and he’d listened wordlessly as Abi had recited the abridged version of events, almost robotically. Sometimes, as she spoke of what she’d been through it almost seemed like an out of body experience, like she was discussing the plot of a novel, not her own sad life. She’d tried to lighten the mood soon after and they’d continued to chat but Michael had been almost silent, just watching and listening, occasionally nodding along, seemingly in deep thought. Abi had put it down to jetlag finally catching up on him, after all he had just flown over from Montreal. She had never flown herself but had heard it was exhausting. And Michael looked tired. Tired but still hot…
She’d sighed to herself. Would she ever be over this childish infatuation? It was pathetic. Especially now.
When it had been time to go Michael had pulled her to one side, asking if she was really okay. She’d lied and said she was getting there. But she knew he didn’t believe her. He’d always been able to read her like a book. That is, except for the story she’d kept most deeply buried inside her heart. Abi had been in love with Michael almost since the day they had first met twenty four years ago and of course Michael didn’t have a clue. She’d long ago accepted that she would always be like his little sister. After all, they’d really only been thrown together through their father’s friendship.
So it came as quite a shock when he'd offered up his home as respite.
She’d refused of course. She was a total mess. Having lived under Connor’s oppressive influence for nearly fourteen years she no longer knew who she even was. In fact, the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d realised she wasn’t sure she’d ever known.
And she hadn’t seen Michael in… What was it? Fifteen, possibly sixteen years?
She was immediately suspicious. Why would this man, this successful man, want to turn his home over to her? Abi conveniently forgot their shared childhood as she contemplated Michael’s possible motives. It was true that she was incredibly suspicious of men in general still, her recent past still casting a dark shadow over her trust. Yet as soon as she even allowed her mind to wander to that dark place with Michael she felt guilt seep into her.
This was Michael… Mike.
Still, Michael had left a week later and she’d thought no more of it, until a package had arrived via Adele. Inside was a set of keys with a telephone number written on the key fob, a calendar with Michael’s schedule for the next six months, a prospectus and enrolment forms for the college nearest to his flat along with a list of local employers who were willing to offer her an interview. Abi had gasped as she’d read the handwritten letter which had accompanied the items:
Hey Abi!
I hope you are doing okay… it was so great to see you again.
Look, I know we spoke about this briefly when I was over in Ireland and you said no. I respect that but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I left. I can’t even begin to imagine how you get over this, how you even get out of bed each day, but just look at you! You’re already doing it. You are one hell of a strong woman, just like you were a strong kid – If you ever tell the newspapers about our legendary arm wrestling matches I will sue! ;) Anyway, I admire that strength in you greatly and I still think it might actually be the best thing for you to get away for a while, even if just for a couple of weeks? Maybe even just a holiday? Come over to London. Do some sightseeing. If you’re worried about me being in your way you really don’t need to be. As you can see from my schedule I’ll be lucky to see London for more than a few days until the end of the year *sighs* so you’d have my lovely (well sparse and a bit cold in winter if I’m being totally honest) little (actually REALLY little – tiny in fact – London prices y’know…) flat practically all to yourself for at least the next few months should you choose to stay longer. I own it now so you wouldn’t have to pay any rent. And the bills are already paid up for the next twelve months, so if you’re worried about the money side of it, don’t. Please. If I’m honest, you’d actually be doing me a favour. Consider it house sitting?
If I’m speaking out of turn just tell me to shut up, give my mum the keys back (because stupidly I just realised they are the only spare set I own and you know me, I’m always losing things – like keys! Father McGuire knows this only too well…) and we’ll pretend this never happened.
However, if, as I do, you think it might actually be a good idea (I do have them sometimes you know!), who knows… maybe even an adventure, let me know and I’ll make sure I leave everything clean and tidy for you before I fly out to Colorado.
I took the liberty of picking up some college stuff (you mum might have mentioned to mine that you were thinking about going back to study something – again, ignore these if she misunderstood). Oh, and those job interviews are solid, trust me. One of the perks of my job I guess!
Anyway, got to go. I have a ton of washing still to do from Canada and if I don’t make a start today I’m gonna have to go commando tomorrow! Ah the joys of being a jobbing actor!
Ring me or text me if you do decide to come over and I’ll give you the full address and directions. I might even be able to arrange for someone to pick you up from the airport/train station if that helps?
Right. I’m going. Take care
Michael
P.s. Ignore my washing comment. I found a pair of boxers!
PPS. Why am I telling you this? I’m sorry… I promise I am sane really.
PPPS. Shit. Abi I’m sorry. I hope I’m not freaking you out… If I am, I’m sorry (again) but like I said, don’t worry. You’ll barely have to see me ;)
*
Abi couldn’t help but smile at the memory. She’d left Ireland six days later and never looked back. As she once again contemplated this bizarre turn of events the titles for the Red Carpet show scrolled on her TV and she quickly flicked over to the live telecast.
She was set up with a bottle of wine and enough popcorn to feed a small army. Her nerves jangled and she could only imagine how Michael must be feeling right about now. As the proceedings unfolded she found herself willing them to pick the pace up a little so she might just get to see the Best Supporting Actor category.
Three and a half hours later, no Oscar for Michael but one for the screenplay, one for Lupita and one for Best Movie and Abi was pissed.
And pissed off.
No offence to Jared Leto. He seemed like a nice enough guy. And he was good in that movie. But her Mike… nope Abi, she’d reminded her drunken self… not her Mike, but the Mike she knew… well, he was so far away from the Epps character that he bloody well deserved an Oscar for that alone!
“Surely?” she’d muttered to the empty room.
Add to that the fact that she loved him… No! Loved his performance.
Right.
Yes. It was only his acting she loved and she was pissed off he hadn’t been recognised for that.
Keep telling yourself that love!
“It’s not fair. Actually, it’s a fucking joke!” she’d hissed at the TV, before kicking the couch in frustration and realising too late that she was only wearing bed socks.
“Ow… fuck, fuck, fuck!” the jolt of pain through her toe sobered her up just enough that she slumped back down on the couch and stared at the clock on the sideboard.
Shit! Was that the time?
She had to up for work in two hours.
Abi dragged her sorry ass down the hallway to the bedroom and slumped on the bed. As she stared at the ceiling she realised her being here was literally becoming mental torture.
Everything here reminded Abi of him.
That in itself shouldn’t have been so surprising. It was his damn flat for goodness sake! All the furniture, however sparse, had been picked out by him. The shower rack still held his half used bottles of shower wash and shampoo. On the side of the sink lay his shaving foam and a forlorn looking toothbrush sat impatiently waiting for its master’s return.
Damn it, even the towels smelled of Michael. Or did Michael smell of the towels. Which in turn smelled of the laundry detergent that he insisted on using?
Fuck! When had she started to become so totally consumed by this man?
Sighing to herself, Abi closed her eyes and tried to get some rest, knowing that his total consumption of her had happened a long, long time ago.