The Red Slayer

Chapter Twenty-Two – When Everyone Knows Your Name

One week later, I’m back in London and sitting in a hotel conference room, waiting to be called in to read for the part of Tina. Ms. Elliott emailed the script while I was still in Cheshire and I read it on the way down, along with the character profile.

The more I know about Tina, the more I love her. She’s artsy and a musician and wears a lot of black. But she isn’t a manic-pixie-dream-girl and has no time for the privileged white boys who think she is. She’s not interested in their problems when she can’t decide which uni to go to.

Tempted as I was to wear a suit, I went for the most casual thing I could think of, skinny jeans, boots and a V-neck jumper with a ruffly blouse. The trick of avoid anxiety during these long waits is to detach your mind from the present, think about the character you’re meant to be, not whether or not you’ll get it. Even so, I brought the stress-Pokéball Dr. Clarke gave me, squeezing it over and over.

Waiting around with several other girls is a mix of friendliness and competitive tension. A few are gathered together in conversation, inviting me into it when they realise, they all saw me in Hamlet. Those who don’t join in have their heads in their scripts or sitting proudly as they wait for their name to be called.

One by one, we’re called in. The girl who leaves the room never comes back. Sometimes, we hear fast footsteps and sobbing run past the door. The woman who comes for me, studies the clipboard and struggles to pronounce my name until she says, ‘Éowyn Davis?’

I follow her down the corridor towards a ballroom where three producers, one man and two women, are sat behind a long table with notepads, laptops and filming equipment. Beside them in a couple of armchairs, possibly from the hotel lobby, are two young men who I recognise instantly.

‘Iorwen!’ Kaarlo Rochester jumps to his feet, beaming while his mocha hair bounces.

‘Eh up, long time no see,’ says Hugh Wilkinson, also standing. He’s shaved since I last saw him so he looks like a Ken doll. Kaarlo on the other hand has grown his hair out and adopted a five o’clock shadow, putting me in mind of a sexy pirate.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ I say. ‘What’re you doing here?’

’We’re gonna be in Beautiful Sins,’ says Hugh. ‘We got cast last week.’

‘You know each other?’ asks one of the female producers.

‘Yeah, she did work experience with us in April,’ Kaarlo explains.

‘How’s Viserion?’ I ask.

‘She’s doing great. Drogon and Rhaegal are basically her parents now.’

‘Well, this saves time on introductions,’ says another producer.

‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ says the third, setting up the camera. Kaarlo and Hugh smile at me from their seats and give me a thumbs up which I return.

The stress is suddenly off. With the script memorised and people I recognised, it’s less of a line read than a pre-prepared conversation. Although, I still can’t bring myself to look Kaarlo in the eye in case I lose all cognitive ability to speak.

Five minutes later, the producers cut us off. They murmur amongst themselves but it’s not so private when being in the same room as Kaarlo has shot my adrenaline to unprecedented heights and I can hear every word.

‘They seem to get along.’

‘The three of them have great chemistry.’

‘She reads the lines so naturally. We’d be mad not to give it to her.’

‘Plus, her record will help market the show.’

‘What about the other girls auditioning for Tina?’

‘Let’s have them read anyway. Maybe they’ll be good for another character.’

They face me again, with the man in the middle standing up and offering me a handshake. ‘Congratulations, Miss Davis. The role is yours. We’ll send you everything you need by next week. Filming starts in November.’

I shake his hand, though he winces from my grip. I pull Kaarlo and Hugh into a hug as I would Luke or Dante.

‘Let’s go to lunch and celebrate,’ says Kaarlo. His arm around my shoulders. I can’t feel my heartbeat anymore, it’s beating so fast.

‘Sure,’ I say, keeping a smile that, I hope, doesn’t reveal how crazy I am for him.

‘The restaurant here does great salmon,’ says Hugh, bringing me back to neutral.

I’d go for salmon if my metabolism wasn’t higher than the Shard. Instead, I have a burger with a side of fries. Every meal in London is served with fries. No ifs. No buts.

'We were wondering what you were up to while we were touring Posh in the Midlands,’ says Kaarlo, who does have the salmon. ‘You never got back in touch.’

‘Yeah,’ I say slowly. ’I’m sorry about that. It completely slipped my mind, what with exams and the end-of-year plays I was in. Pride & Prejudice for Year 10 Drama, and Grease for the school summer production.’

Good save, I tell myself. I can’t exactly say my kidnapping, arson and joining MI5 was the reason. Not if I want him to think I’m sane.

Hugh takes a sip from his wine glass and raises it at me. ’Never mind. Fate brought us back together. The producers offered us to audition for Beautiful Sins when they saw us in Posh, and I did wonder if they’d offer you an audition too.’

‘It’ll get our names out while we’re still studying,’ says Kaarlo. ‘Hugh’s playing a sheltered student away from home for the first time. And I’m the liberated guy who shows him how to live.’

‘Have you guys done TV before?’ I ask.

Kaarlo shakes his head. ‘First time.’

‘I have,’ says Hugh gravely. ‘I was on a soap for seven years. I told myself I’d never do TV again, but it’s different working on a series than a year-round show playing five episodes a week.’

'I’ve only done one episode of a soap. Holby. I was asleep most of the time.’

Kaarlo laughs. ‘Why?’

‘It was a b-plot. I played a girl who’d been beaten unconscious and the doctors and nurses were trying to figure out who did it. Turned out to be the wholesome-looking mother.’

‘A b-plot? Then what was the main storyline.’

‘The usual,’ I say dismissively. ’Someone on the Darwin Ward winning a Darwin Award. It was only my second professional role after Annie.’

Kaarlo sighs. ‘Still. I’ve seen your Hamlet and your Marnie – and Anna – you deserve better than a b-plot like that.’

***

‘He actually said that?’

I punch Luke in the arm. ‘It sounded less cheesy coming out of him.’

He can’t stop sniggering. ‘If he fancies you, he should come out and say it.’

If we weren’t confined to Dad’s lab elevator, I’d give him such a shove.

‘He doesn’t fancy me,’ I say wistfully. ‘He just likes my acting. Plus, he got a cat out of me. He’d get arrested for fancying me anyway.’

‘But you fancy him,’ says Luke a little more seriously. ‘Even though you have a girlfriend.’

‘You can still fancy someone and be in a relationship. If you had a girlfriend, would you stop crushing on Natalie Portman?’

'Natalie Dormer,’ he corrects. ‘Have you talked to Tara at all since you got back?’

‘Of course. We go to the same school.’

‘Wouldn’t she be jealous if she knew you had lunch with him?’

‘I was invited and Hugh was there. It wasn’t a date.’

‘Do you have a crush on him too?’

I shake my head. ‘Even if I did, he’s gay, so…’

‘How do you know?’

‘Let’s just say, since I discovered my sexuality, I can detect those who are like me.’

Luke drops the subject as the lift stops and the doors slide open. Dad and Olga are already in the lab, gathered around the bench with the ancient television and games console. She operates the primitive controller, aghast by what’s happening on the screen.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ she asks him.

‘It’s been forty years and I still don’t know,’ Dad replies.

‘What are you doing?’ asks Luke as we come over.

The pixeled screen shows a strange foetus-like creature moving about in a green field populated by darker green blobs. The sounds are unnatural as Olga moves the foetus around the screen aimlessly and your stereotypical flasher in a fedora and trench coat phases in and out of existence.

‘And I thought Play Station One graphics aged badly,’ says Luke.

Dad grimaces at the screen. 'It’s called E.T., based on the Spielberg movie, the worst videogame of the eighties. Thankfully, Nintendo saved the reputation of video games.’

‘Why are you playing it then?’ I ask. ‘It looks like it was made in MS Paint. We have an Xbox One upstairs.’

'I’m designing a computer virus for MI5. Our target opens a file and, all of a sudden, their computer starts playing E.T. and they can’t get rid of it. Ever.’

‘Ever?’ the three of us say in unison.

He grins. ‘Well, I know how to get rid of it, but I’m not writing it down. But enough about my evil scientist ways. How was your audition, Iorwen?’

‘I got the part, but that’s not all.’ And I tell them about my lunch with Kaarlo and Hugh.

Dad reclines in his desk chair and remarks, ‘You’re quite popular these days.’

‘I know,’ I say. ’I was thinking about that on the way home actually. I got recognised just sitting and waiting for the audition. Kaarlo knew who I was because of When Marnie Was There. Even the vampires we ran into recognised me because of Hamlet, but they never squealed because they all went up with the building when I set it on fire. How am I meant to go out into the field and fight vampires if one of them gets away and reveals who I am?’

‘Same goes for us,’ says Luke. ‘If I become a professional artist, Olga gets a PHD at twenty, and Dante gets to be a professional athlete.’

‘Where is Dante by the way?’

‘Exploring the tunnels,’ Dad replies.

‘What tunnels?’ Luke and I say.

As if on cue, the blank panel of wall which Sophia McIntyre emerged from a few months ago moves aside. Dante steps into the lab wearing a pair of black goggles which he lifts to his forehead.

‘Hey guys,’ he says cheerfully.

‘What?’ I say, pointing to the wall closing behind him.

‘Oh yeah. You know how Sophia got here? There’s a network of tunnels under the city. One of them runs right under Kensal Green.’

‘And no one knows about this?’

‘MI5 does,’ says Dad. ‘They’ve been growing through the centuries. A lot of them caved in during the Blitz. I’ve been mapping them out for years.’

‘It’ll be great for when we’re hunting vampires,’ says Dante. ‘No one will see us moving around.’

‘Still,’ I say. ‘If we’re in a fight and just one of them gets away…’

‘That won’t be for a while,’ says Dad. ‘Your training’s been delayed.’

We all stare at him and shout, ‘What?’

‘Sophia’s having trouble convincing her superiors to let teenagers become agents.’

'But we trained all summer,’ says Luke, gathering his baggy t-shirt into a handful. ‘My clothes are wearing me these days.’

Dad gets up. ‘Well, don’t waste all that effort. In the meantime, why not find a solution for your identity problem?’

I shrug. ‘What should I do? Wear a mask? I may as well wear the full superhero getup.’

‘You could.’

Olga slowly shakes her head. ‘Have you seen half the costumes that female superheroes wear? You’re better off fighting naked.’

‘Hm,’ I say. ‘I could design something. But if it’s lightweight, it won’t be bulletproof. If it’s bulletproof, it’ll weigh us down when we parkour.’

‘I can help you with that,’ says Dad, going to a cupboard where he takes out bolts of fabric in black, white, red and purple, laying them across the nearest workbenches. ‘I was developing this around the time you lot discovered the lab.’

‘What is it?’ I ask, running my hand over the purple bolt. ‘Feels like spandex.’

‘I call it flexi-Kevlar,’ says Dad. ‘Bullets bounce right off it.’

I take my housekey and try to tear through the fabric, but it doesn’t leave a mark. ‘This’ll be perfect,’ I say. ‘But how am I supposed to cut and sew it if it’s that tough.’

‘A leather needle will do. To cut the fabric, you just need some really sharp fabric scissors. Or a laser.’

‘Right then,’ I say certainly. ‘I know what I’m doing for the rest of the day. Luke, get your sketchbook. We’re designing some costumes.’

© Alice of Sherwood, April 2020