As for Lawrence's private life, she has never married, but once dated Neil Mullarkey. She now lives with her two cats, Aynoch and Ayli, in Bethnal Green in East London in a house she calls "Yoghurt Villa" because it was bought with the proceeds of a voiceover on a yoghurt commercial. As well as continuing her acting and singing career, she paints watercolour pictures. from: http://everything2.com/index.pl?node_id=1286624 Title- Alone Pairing- Josie/Ryan; Ryan/Pat (implied) Summary- see above; NOT slash, but no het either Rating- PG Disclaimer- Don't own. She hit rewind again, balled back into the couch cushions, knees pulled to her chest like so many nights before this one. Aynoch leapt up into her lap, kneading her until he found the perfect spot, atune, as always, to her change in mood. Ayli, always the aloof one, preferred to remain balled at the other end of the couch, but he opened one eye to regard her with interest as a soft sniffle escaped her lips. Hitting play again for the fifth time that night, she watched as Drew Carey announced the players. She looked so bright, so happy, so hopeful. He looked handsome as always, but seemed to be smiling just a little bit more that night. She could say the lines by heart at this point, but she forced herself to watch again, sure that this time, she'd find an answer. When he'd left England, it'd been with the ultimatum that she should come with him, that he'd leave Pat, that he loved her. But she'd said no. She didn't want to be an American. She didn't want to leave her life, her career. Instead she'd kissed him one last time, whispering her love into his ear, before he'd turned and walked through the boarding gate to his plane. How had he not known, when she showed up in the green room that day, what her reasoning was? How easily they'd slipped back into it all, in those brief moments before the taping. She had run into his arms the moment that the room had emptied, tears flowing freely over her freshly applied makeup, words of remorse and new beginnings on her lips. He'd held her, but, as she'd realized later, had never uttered a single word in return. They'd played so well together, their old comfort immediately evident when hiding behind the excuse of the stage, and when it was all over he'd taken her back to his office. She could still remember the butterflies dancing in her stomach with anticipation as he closed the door behind them. "I can't leave her," he'd said, but what he'd really meant was that he wouldn't leave her. She looked around her tiny house, the two cats watching her closely. She was alone, had been, and would be, alone. Where had the fairytale gone?