The Dead rose on a wet Wednesday morning in October.

By lunchtime most of Soho had been overrun, accept for a small religious bookstore run by a man who smelled vaguely of rich tea biscuits and had an unnerving habit of muttering to himself in Latin under his breath. The still breathing residents of Soho took cover in the bookstore and tried not to touch any of the books.

Although they should haven been sitting ducks, the Zombies shuffled past outside and seemed unaware of the buffet of human flesh only a few steps away.

At mid-afternoon there was some excitement. They'd been expecting to be rescued by the army or at least riot police who might kettle the Zombies and allow them to escape. Instead, a vintage Bentley screeched down the street, knocking over Zombies left and right and came to a stop in front of the shop. An elegant, well-dressed man jumped out, punched a Zombie which had meandered to close to him in the face and then made a dramatic entrance into the bookstore, kicking the door in.

"Angel, I've come to rescue you!" he declared.

Mr Fell, the bookstore owner, looked at him over the rims of his old-fashioned glasses and sighed.

"Honestly, dear boy, I had it quite in hand."

"Don't you think we should shut the door?" someone asked. The door swung shut untouched and everyone pretended to suddenly be very interested in some religious pamphlets that where near the till. The dark, attractive man strode the length of the shop and stopped just in front of Mr Fell. For a moment they looked as if they might embrace. The religious pamphlets were studied with increased desperation.

"I was worried about you," the man said flatly. "I thought you'd be in trouble."

"Don't worry," Mr Fell said kindly. "I think it will be over by tea time. I'm sure they've got the date wrong."

The dark man looked vaguely embarrassed but it was hard to tell exactly because his eyes were hidden by sunglasses.

"I don't suppose you've got any wine?" he asked, the hint of a hiss on his suppose. It wasn't something anyone would have drawn attention to. They were all considering the state of their immortal souls with a sudden and immediate vigour.

Around tea-time the Dead went back to their graves. Everyone else went home and tried to get on with their lives and the morning after it all seemed like a silly and highly improbable dream – especially the part about old Mr Fell having a fit young boyfriend with a slight lisp. Some things just didn't happen, not even in cosmopolitan London.