Nadine Heywood:I loved that film. I believed in it. That’s why I dropped out.
Oisín Connellan:I assumed the obsession would die with some space. I was wrong. And in the end, it ruined us.
January 1994
IF I’D KNOWN WHAT WOULD COME OFDREADBASE, I wasn’t sure I would make the same call to drop out of school and intently pursue it. Though I hate to admit it, two more years without the world knowing my name might have been a comfort I’d have clung to.
But I didn’t know, and at the time its success was a carefully strategized campaign.
Dreadbasewas edited as quickly as it had been filmed. In mid-October, once we’d wrapped filming, I went back to London, moving in with Oisín to a room in a King’s Cross houseshare. It was small and damp, with a view of the red-light district and housemates who mostly kept to themselves except for when they were eating our food, stealing our spare change, and locking themselves in the only bathroom for hours at a time.
I spent most of those months waitressing to pay the rent and auditioning for tiny stage roles in Zone 2 theaters thatwouldn’t pay me enough to cover the tube fare there. Every so often I’d find myself walking along Southwark Bridge—as near as I would allow myself to get to CADS but close enough to see its domed roof peeking up beyond the construction of a new Globe Theatre. I wondered if I could get closer—enough to see the lists of auditions and who had what role. I didn’t even know who’d made it to second year. Had Harper? I couldn’t imagine the school continuing without her—but it felt absurd that she might be within the very building I was staring at.
Did she think about me too? If she had returned on that first day, would she have noticed my absence? Would she have known that with the Wilfred Allen I was guaranteed a spot and wondered what had happened instead? If she knew what I’d been doing, would she have burned with envy?
It took all my resolve not to sneak back onto campus. The only thing tempering the urge was the excitement for this project I had chosen instead. Oisín felt it too, I think. He’d mostly been on the television circuit beforeDreadbase. While we were in London, he worked as an emcee at a cabaret show—not even trying for those TV bit parts like he was simply biding time for the break to come.
Our hours kept us apart often, so he hid notes around our room—on the back of my wardrobe door, slipped beneath my pillow, and one time rolled up in my hairbrush handle.
You’re a vision.
Remember me in your Oscar speech.
I love you. I love you. A thousand times, I love you.
He knew the way to my heart: assuaging my fears, promising me my dreams, and treating affection like a feast to be doled out. It was there, and I had finally begun to feel worthy of it.
He brought me to Dublin to meet his parents, who were delightful company, all home-cooked meals and long coastal walks.
When I told my parents about the trip, my mother said, “Well, I suppose we should probably meet him too then” without much enthusiasm, like it was a task added to her list. But for the first time, I didn’t particularly care. And I certainly made no plans to visit Yorkshire.
Ivan would ring every week or so and give us updates aboutDreadbase’s development, and it felt like our whole lives were on hold until the release—not merely hinging our own success on its reception but needing it for proof of our own judgment. If it flopped, how could we ever trust ourselves again? I’d dropped out of Central Art and Drama School for this; if it wasn’t worth it how would I ever take another risk?
And then in mid-November we had it confirmed: Sundance. Late January. Utah.
The whole cast flew out, and it was our first reunion since filming. There was so much hugging and squealing it was difficult to believe that we were not back in those Austrian woods—except for the sweltering, humid summer replaced with the biting cold and icy streets of Park City, snow-capped mountains rising beyond the boldly lit streets.
Sasha dragged me into the corner of the small dingy bar attached to the hotel.
“Can you believe we’re here?” she squealed, gesturing at the faded seats and chipped wooden tables. Her joy always felt a step short of rapture, her smile so freely drawn that I often found my own swelling in its presence. “The films that have debuted here, the stars that have graced this very spot!”
“Well,” I said, wiping the condensation off the counter with a sodden beer mat. “Hopefully notthisspot.”
She swung an arm around my neck. “We’re in their footsteps, Nadine! We’re doing this!”
She seemed so delighted I pondered for a moment if just being here was an achievement in and of itself.
Probably.
But not enough to satisfy me.
———
In the morning, Oisín buried his face in the crook of my shoulder, his thumb brushing small circles across my hip.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Hungover,” I lied.
