Kacey Ainsworth Reflects on Little Mo’s Abuse Storyline | A Night In with Sally Lindsay

The music fades. The conversation turns. And suddenly, we’re going deep into Little Mo.

Oh, Little Mo. One of the most beloved, most unforgettable characters to ever walk the streets of Albert Square. But how did the woman behind that iconic role ever land the part? The answer is stranger than fiction.

It began with a movie — a mighty movie, as she describes it. Nine months of pure madness, absolute brilliance. The film was called Topsy-Turvy, and looking back, it was a who’s who of rising talent. A whole generation of now-famous actresses were all together on that set, young and hungry, not yet knowing what the future held. She had already checked off the biggest dreams: the National Theatre, the RSA, the Royal Court. The kind of stages most actors would kill for. She had done what she wanted to do.

And then her agent called.

The news hit like a cold wave. Reality television was crossing the Atlantic from America. Jobs were about to dry up. And there was a workshop happening for EastEnders. “I know you’ve always said no,” her agent told her. And she had. Because back then, landing a role in a soap could trap you — pigeonhole you for life. Everyone knew it happened. It was a fear every serious actor carried like a weight.

But here’s the thing about actors: they’re also pragmatists. As one of them wryly puts it, “We stopped it actually. We got out and went, ‘Right, shut up. Shut up. Do give us a job.'” Laughter follows, but the truth lingers. The industry had changed. The ground was shifting beneath their feet.

So she went in — reluctantly, uncertain. The workshop was massive. Two hundred people, maybe one hundred and fifty. A ridiculous number. A cattle call. And they began to whittle. One by one, the hopefuls were cut. And the funny thing was, the closer she came to being eliminated, the more she wanted it. The hunger crept in. The walls closed in, and something inside her ignited.

Down to twenty-five. And sitting in that room with her were the faces that would become legends: Jessie Wallace. Elaine Lordan. Leila — not Michelle, but Mo. Ricky Groves. And there she was, watching them, watching these improvisational exercises unfold like live wire theatre, watching Jessie and Elaine and the others absolutely shine, and she thought to herself: Good god. They’re amazing. Brilliant. I want to work here.

When the first year of EastEnders finally began, the Slater family came to life not just on the page but in the room. The storylines weren’t just written — they were improvised. The Slaters weren’t just characters talking to each other. They were sisters, a mad, fantastic, chaotic hurricane of a family, finding their voices in real time.

And the bond didn’t end when the cameras stopped rolling. Sometimes, they’d go out together. Before they ever hit the screen, they were already a pack. But there was one member of the family who held on to reality with both hands: Leila, who played Mo. While the rest of them were suddenly on national television, Mo was still working at the bookies. “You can’t work at the bookies anymore,” they kept telling her. “You’re on EastEnders!”

She wouldn’t listen. You see, Mo had a brother — Gary Oldman. And with that kind of pedigree in her blood, she knew better than anyone how fickle this business could be. “Nah,” she’d say. “Never know in this business. I’m keeping it on. Just in case.”

For eight whole weeks, Mo was on television screens across Britain and punching numbers at the bookies. Eight weeks of double life. And eventually, even she had to admit it. “I don’t think I’ll work at the bookies anymore.”

“Nah,” they told her. “You don’t need to. You’re going to be okay now.”

And she was. They all were. But the fame side of it? That was a whole other story — one that was only just beginning.