Blood at the Premiere: A Day One Undead Adventure

by RR Haywood

‘Bella.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’ Henrietta asks, stopping mid-sentence at the single word uttered by the young woman.

  ‘Bella Swan.’

  ‘No, that’s…’

  ‘I’ll totally be like Bella,’ Rose says with those blue eyes shining under the sunken brass-framed spotlights.

  ‘That’s Twilight,’ Henrietta says as Rose nods even harder. ‘They’re vampires not zombies.’

  ‘Not zombies,’ Dolan mutters.

  ‘That’s what I said. Not zombies,’ Henrietta says.

  ‘No, we don’t have zombies now. This isn’t zombies.’

  ‘So is!’ Bennie laughs.

  ‘So fucking isn’t,’ Dolan shouts. ‘This is a terrorist incident designed to bring the British people to their knees by the release of a chemical agent or nerve agent or…or…OR SOMETHING BUT NOT FUCKING ZOMBIES.’

  ‘Dolan, stop shouting.’

  ‘Tell him it’s not zombies then.’

  ‘Bennie, we don’t know that it is zombies,’ Henrietta says diplomatically.

  ‘What would Bella wear?’ Rose asks, scrunching her face up in deep thought.

  ‘Is there another way out?’ Henrietta asks.

  ‘She’d be in, like, jeans and a top, wouldn’t she,’ Rose says. ‘Be right back.’

  ‘Rose! Fuck it…’ She goes after the girl into the hallway, wincing at the clamour coming from the door and feeling that sense of urgency ramp up to make a plan and do something, do anything.

  ‘Blue or black?’ Rose asks, disappearing into another room.

  ‘What? Stop walking off.’

  ‘Blue jeans or black jeans?’

  ‘Anything, but please…Jesus, Rose!’ Henrietta comes to a stop as she walks into the girl’s room to find herself staring at herself. Posters and pictures artfully arranged on walls. Some signed with her own signature and all of them in varying poses with that trademark cheeky grin beaming out. Posters of Bennie and The Boys. Posters of glamour models, Jodie Marsh, Jordan, boy bands, rock stars and Henrietta Swallow in amongst them as adored as any.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Rose asks, going gooey again. ‘Like, I am totally an actual fan…’

  ‘I can see,’ Henrietta says, staring round at the walls and feeling a strange sense of seeing something she wouldn’t normally see. This is the consumer product. This is the end item the customer gets. Pictures that show a snapshot in time. Some are from paparazzi cameras, others from paid gigs and shoots, but all the same, this is what the mortals who cling to the barrier get for their effort and money.

  ‘I’m totally going to do what you do,’ Rose says seriously, tugging off the black dress without shame and letting it drop to the floor to lie with the other expensive designer but discarded clothes.

  ‘Eh?’ Henrietta asks, tearing her eyes from the walls to the girl.

  ‘Got it all planned and everything. Like…I was bullied, too, and I can say I need the attention to heal my inner demons,’ Rose says with sincerity dripping off her tongue. ‘Blue or black?’ she asks brightly. ‘Wow, I love your dress…how old were you when you got your implants?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘I…I mean…Rose, we have to hurry. Just get changed.’

  Rose stares at the two pairs of jeans for a long second, pulling that intense look of complete focus then casually drops the black and goes for the blue. ‘Like, the second I’m eighteen I’ll be in the clubs being seen…is that what you did? I’ll be a dancer and…I mean, like, I want to go now but Dad said I’m not allowed because he’s like a Victoria father who just doesn’t get it…’

  ‘Victorian.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘It’s Victorian not Victoria. Victoria was the queen at the time so that era is called Victorian.’

  ‘Oh. My. Actual. God,’ Rose simpers into that wide-eyed look. ‘You are, like, so intelligent and my dad said you were a thick fucking slag and I said, “Henrietta Swallow is not a thick fucking slag because she went to private school just like I do,” and everyone knows that private school is, like…way better than state school because they all have knives in council schools and eat from metal trays.’

  ‘Rose, get dressed.’

  ‘Yeah yeah, so, like, yeah, as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here. Like, I’ll be a dancer and get noticed and then get my breasts done and just turn up at events and everyone will be like “who is that girl? She’s just like Henrietta Swallow” and I’ll be like “Yeah, Henrietta Swallow is my friend and we actually hang out together and go shopping.” Can we go shopping?’

  ‘Yeah, whatever. Please just hurry up.’

  ‘Is that how you did it? Like, then I’ll do photoshoots and sleep with footballers and OH. MY. GOD. I could sleep with Bennie! Do you think he would sleep with me?’

  ‘I’ll cut his dick off if he even tries.’

  ‘Aw, Henrietta, you’re like a mother to me but…no, hang on…I know, you can be like my big sister!’

  ‘Where is your mother?’

  ‘Like, I don’t actually know.’

  ‘Just you and your dad living here?’

  ‘Yeah, totally. Like, Ivana comes to clean but…’

  ‘Ivana?’

  ‘She’s Russian. She cleans the apartment and fucks my dad but he doesn’t think I know but I found the video and…’

  ‘What!’

  ‘The video. My dad and Ivana fucking in the bedroom. Wanna see it?’

  ‘No I bloody do not.’

  ‘She’s totally fit and, like, always telling me to stop eating shit because she says I’ll get fat, but I throw up and everything so I know the weight won’t stay on.’

  ‘You throw up?’

  ‘Yeah, because of the bullying.’

  ‘What bullying?’

  ‘At school. The other girls are, like, total bitches that hate me and they bully me so I’ll become a dancer in a nightclub to heal my inner demons and get noticed by the paps so when I sleep with footballers they’ll know who I am then I can do photoshoots and be on the Internet. Was bodybuilding hard?’

  ‘Slow down. Just…just slow down…no, don’t slow down. Get changed quickly but…why do they bully you?’

  ‘Because I want to be a dancer in a nightclub and sleep with footballers. When should I get fit?’

  ‘Rose, I can’t keep up with what you’re saying.’

  ‘Getting fit. When did you get fit? Should I do the dancing and sleep with footballers and get noticed then do reality television shows then get fit and do fitness video downloads?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘You were, like, well hench when you were doing bodybuilding. Was it hard?’

  ‘Very hard.’

  ‘What top should I wear? Are you staying in your dress? I can put my dress back on and we can be like…’

  ‘No, put a plain top on. A plain black top.’

  ‘Plain black top,’ Rose murmurs, rooting through a huge wardrobe while Henrietta gains a sense of loneliness and isolation of a young girl growing into adulthood surrounded by perfection and beauty but sterile and cold. Wealth and luxury without nurture or love and the juxtaposition of the girl saying she wants to be a thing to gain a negative response so she can use that negativity to cement the desire. Attention, even bad attention, is better than a sterile existence owned by a father more interested in fucking the cleaner than raising a daughter. While all the time that longing to be loved and nurtured is the driving force behind the mask of wishing to be a dancer in a nightclub and sleep with footballers. Henrietta never planned it like that. She never planned anything. It just happened. She was wild and it was in her to be like that. She would have always been like that but this, to actually plan it out in steps to become what Henrietta was? It feels wrong. Very wrong and suddenly that consumer product takes a sinister turn.

  ‘Low cut, or I’ve got this one with like a lacy frill on the hem.’

  ‘Just…’ She bites the rebuke down and in the sense of
heightened awareness she catches a glimpse of desperation in Rose’s eyes. Henrietta crosses to the wardrobe and quickly flicks through the hanging garments. Finding a plain black thin cotton top, she pulls it out and smiles. ‘Wear this one.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rose says quietly. She takes the top standing in just her bra and jeans and looking very young. Was I ever like this? Memories swirl fast and furious with glimpses of a life lived and things done, but the pressing need to be gone from here pushes everything else away.

  ‘Do you want to borrow some clothes?’ Rose asks suddenly as Henrietta moves back towards the door. Henrietta turns and again bites the response off. Rose is taller than her, bigger boned, too, with a layer of soft tissue covering her frame, but to say that would only add hurt to a girl already struggling with who she is.

  ‘Nah, we’ve got to move,’ Henrietta says. ‘Come on. Stay close to me.’

  In the hallway the hammering at the door is joined by a new noise of wood starting to give. Tiny fracturing, splintering sounds almost lost in the maelstrom of the raging beasts attacking to gain entry.

  ‘Is there another way out?’ Henrietta loses the soft tone and the heartfelt compassion as she snaps back to the reality of where they are.

  ‘Um, we can go up…like, Dad had the roof converted into gardens so he could have parties and…’

  ‘Is there access to the other apartments?’

  ‘Like, yeah. Dad owns the building so he said all the penthouse apartments could have access.’

  ‘Your dad owns this building?’

  ‘Yeah, like…he owns everything.’

  ‘We’ll go up then…’ Henrietta’s voice snaps off at the shouting bursting from the kitchen followed by Brian and Dolan running out screaming for Henrietta.

  ‘What?’ she asks, running past them through the door to see Simon pinning Bennie down over the kitchen counter island with the breakfast bar overhang. A long-bladed knife glinting from the spotlights is held at Bennie’s right eye while Bennie and Simon scream at each other.

  ‘SIMON…’ Henrietta rushes in grabbing the stalker to force him back. ‘Let him go…LET HIM GO…’

  ‘NOBODY CAN TOUCH HENRIETTA SWALLOW’S BREASTS…’

  ‘I never said I did…’ Bennie wails. ‘I said I wanted to…’

  ‘I’ll kill you!’

  ‘Simon, get back…Bennie is drunk…leave him alone…NOW, SIMON.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘NO. Give me that knife. Now move away. Move away…go on…’ She pushes Simon further down the huge kitchen, plucking the knife from his hand as he goes. ‘Bennie, stop saying stupid things.’

  ‘I didn’t! We were all talking about your soapy tits and…’

  ‘Simon, NO!’ Henrietta shouts as the man starts to lunge back.

  ‘No,’ Dolan shouts from the hallway. ‘You were talking about Henrietta’s soapy ti…breasts…’

  ‘Well no one is talking about my soapy tits again. I’m keeping this knife. Brian, get yourself a knife.’

  ‘Get one for me, Bri.’

  ‘Bennie, you are not having a knife.’

  ‘I’m not having a knife,’ Dolan says emphatically.

  ‘I can have a knife,’ Simon says, still glaring over Henrietta to Bennie now taking a much-needed medicinal drink from the bottle of vodka.

  ‘Simon, you’re not having a knife…’

  ‘But Brian is having a knife.’

  ‘And Brian isn’t on a restraining order.’

  ‘Why am I getting a knife again?’ Brian asks.

  ‘To stab the fucking zombies with,’ Henrietta snaps.

  ‘NOT ZOMBIES, NOT ZOMBIES, NOT ZOMBI…’

  ‘Yes, alright, Dolan. Not zombies. Jesus wept…’

  ‘I’ll get a knife like yours, Henrietta… We can be like knife sisters.’

  ‘No. Me and Brian are having knives. Nobody else is having knives. Just me and Brian.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Bennie, shut up and stop drinking. Come on, we’re going. Rose, where is your dad’s bedroom?’

  ‘Through here.’

  ‘Everyone follow Rose into her father’s bedroom. No, Simon. Just follow and…Bennie, you get any closer to Rose and I’ll cut your cock off.’

  ‘I’ll cut his cock off for you, Henrietta Swallow.’

  ‘Figure of speech. Brian did you get a knife?’

  ‘I don’t mind cutting his penis off, though.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well the offer is there. I’ll leave it with you. Just so you know.’

  ‘What the fuck!’ Bennie asks, following Rose into the enormous bedroom filled with the biggest bed Henrietta has ever seen dominating the room. Black silk sheets draped perfectly to hang down brushing the white carpet.

  ‘He’s a pervert,’ Rose huffs. ‘Look up there.’

  ‘Up where?’ Bennie slurs then bursts out laughing at the ceiling mirrors fitted over the bed glinting softly in the glowing lights of lamps and sunken spots. ‘Your dad is a legend! Is that a camera?’

  ‘Yeah. Like, he films himself fucking Ivana the cleaner.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Yeah, wanna see?’

  ‘Fuck yes.’

  ‘Fuck no,’ Henrietta says from the back. ‘Hurry up…’ She pushes through the crowd gathered at the foot of the bed to the wrought-iron spiral staircase at the end of the room. ‘Come on, everyone up…’

  ‘This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare. I am surrounded by porn stars and village idiots…this is a nightmare.’

  ‘We’re going to be okay, Dolan. I promise. I’ll get you through this.’

  Taking the lead, Henrietta heads up the stairs with Simon elbowing Dolan to get behind Henrietta and the rest pushing and clambering for position with Bennie hanging back to watch Rose’s arse as she climbs up ahead of him.

  ‘Bennie!’

  ‘What?’ Bennie exclaims defensively while dropping his eyes from the girl’s posterior.

  What if they’re up here? What then? You’ll be trapped. You’ll die. Dolan will die and you’ll fail.

  At the top she slides the ornate brass bolts back, turns the ornate brass key and gives a silent prayer while gripping the new knife in her right hand. She pushes out into the night world filled with twinkling stars overhead and the moon hanging bright and beautiful. Silvery light bathes the rooftop in gorgeous shades that pick out the wrought-iron tables and chairs and the half-barrel planters so artfully arranged.

  Real grass grows in manicured and perfectly edged plots and to one side a set of tiled steps lead up to a swimming pool reflecting that eerie light on the still surface. Fence screens placed in carefully positioned angles block the view to the next section along.

  It’s beautiful. Completely breathtaking and the surrealness only serves to enhance the distinct sense of a distorted reality. They fall silent. Simon stares at Henrietta and the rest stare round as the moon glints off the blade held in Brian’s hand.

  ‘Rose,’ Henrietta whispers in the open air of the night. It feels right to whisper. ‘Which way? Rose…Rose!’

  ‘Sorry, Dad…I mean, Henrietta…What?’ Rose drags her eyes off Bennie to look over.

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘To the other doors.’

  ‘Oh good lord,’ Dolan mutters darkly. ‘Another fucking imbecile.’

  ‘That way.’ Rose waves ahead of Henrietta.

  She creeps on with the knife held ready and wishing she had at least tried to get changed when she had the chance. Even a pair of joggers and a baggy top would be better than this dress. Not that anyone ever notices the dress. A dark shadow looms square and solid as the next squat, jutting vestibule comes into view behind a latticework fence. The door to the next apartment beneath them, which means there will be more further down the roof.

  ‘How many are there?’ Henrietta whispers back along the line and waits for the reply that doesn’t come. ‘Rose? How many are there?’ She leans out to look past Simon,
Dolan and Brian to Rose holding the vodka bottle to her mouth and Bennie grinning. ‘Put that bloody thing down,’ Henrietta hisses, marching down to snatch the bottle from Rose. ‘What the hell, Bennie?’

  ‘What? She said she was thirsty.’

  ‘She’s seventeen and we do not need a drunk seventeen-year-old right now, you bloody idiot.’

  ‘She only had a bit.’

  ‘I’ve been drunk, like, loads of times,’ Rose says confidently. ‘Like, totally loads and I can totally handle my drink.’

  ‘How many apartments are on the top floor?’

  ‘Er…four,’ Rose answers.

  ‘Bennie, up front with me where I can see you…no, actually, you can both come up the front with me. Brian, you take the back.’

  ‘Will do.’ Brian nods amiably at Henrietta marching Bennie and Rose to the front.

  ‘Simon, shuffle back a bit.’

  ‘But I go behind you, Henrietta Swallow.’

  ‘Stop saying my full name. Move back and let Rose and Bennie in.’

  ‘I’m not going right at the back,’ Dolan whispers angrily.

  ‘You’re not at the back. Brian is at the back.’

  ‘That’s one from the back, which is pretty much at the fucking back.’

  ‘Simon, drop back and let Dolan go in front of you.’

  ‘But I’ll be far from you, Henrietta Swallow.’

  ‘Oh my fucking god! Know what? Sod it. We’re only going down to the last door anyway.’

  ‘The last door?’ Dolan asks with a new surge of fresh worry. ‘Why the last door? Why not the first door?’

  ‘Because the first door here will be the next apartment along from the one we just left, which is the one they are attacking…’

  ‘Oh right,’ Dolan says, stiffening a little. ‘I say we go for the last door and not the first door.’

  ‘That is what I just said.’

  ‘I think the record will reflect the decisions are made by the only professional here and not some ropey old topless model.’

  ‘HENRIETTA SWALLOW IS NOT A ROPEY OLD…’

  ‘Simon! Shush. Please, everyone just be quiet and…’ She Swallow and pauses. ‘…and we’ll do what Dolan suggested and go for the last door.’

  ‘Whoa!’ Bennie says, swaying on the spot. ‘Didn’t beardy just say that?’

  ‘Yes. Exactly,’ Henrietta says.