London, 2012, proud host of the Olympics. Music like The Little Mermaid on an ordinary suburban street, with well-kept houses. "Idiot's Lantern" on fast-forward. You just thought you knew what a child's rage looked like. A woman wheels her baby along, waving to her neighbors, her postman, past Tom's house, where he's playing soccer with his friend Dale. Tom's dad is washing his car. On the lamppost, there's a poster advertising the disappearance of Jane McKillen. Somebody's daughter. From a window far above -- up, up -- a girl named Chloe watches, hand pressed against the glass. Like she's begging to be touched; like she's cut off by forces she can't name. Down the lane presses an old woman pulling her trolley bag behind her. She gets suddenly confused, hears a buzzing that nobody else can hear. She looks around, suddenly worried. A woman -- Chloe's mother, Trish -- notices her discomfort and comes out onto the porch to ask if she's okay. "No, love, I'm not," says Maeve, in that British way. Trish asks if she needs a doctor. A Doctor, maybe, could help -- we're back in Albion -- but Maeve knows the score: "A doctor can't help." The old woman stares around, goggle-eyed. "Can't you feel it, Trish?" And Trish says, truthfully, that she can't feel anything. At all.
I love Trish, you should know: she's beautiful, and my best friend for appearing in Much Ado with...gosh, everybody -- Rose, and Sarah Parish whom we'll be meeting again soon, and sexy old Tom Ellis, and Derek Riddell who I kind of wanted to hug in it, and then wanted to mack on hardcore once I'd seen him in a few more things. The whole Shakespeare ReTold thing launched a thousand ships, and not the fandom kind. Far as I'm concerned, Riddell's still in possession of the best sex scene of all time: have you seen The Book Group? It's like a reality show about a shallow American trying to recap the relaunch of a huge piece of Commonwealth culture, while blindfolded. Not surprisingly, given the similarities, I kind of despise the American character. Nobody wants to know that shit. We forget because we must.
Anyway, Chloe watches the boys playing soccer, watches crazy old Maeve usher them inside like a crazy person, only to have Tom's dad wonder WTF. "It's happening again!" Trish looks up, up at her daughter, in the window, and goes back inside. She leans against the door, keeping the world out.