The Reformed Vampire Support Group (23 page)

We didn’t sit down to confer until about nine o’clock, by which time I was feeling rather peaky. Nevertheless, I was determined to participate in our group discussion – which took place in the living room. We were all there except for Bridget; she had been asked to watch over our mystery guest, just in case he woke up. (As Sanford had so rightly pointed out, even the most confused and hysterical person was bound to be calmed by the sight of Bridget placidly knitting away in a bedside rocking chair.)

It was Sanford who opened the meeting, with a call to order. But I was the one who kicked things off.

‘We have to do something about Reuben,’ I said.

George frowned. ‘You mean the fat man upstairs?’ he asked.

‘She means the werewolf,’ Gladys mumbled. And Horace said, ‘Who
might
be the fat man upstairs.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Dave had been cradling his head in his hands. Now he glanced up, uncovering his bloodshot eyes, ‘I don’t think
the McKinnons would try to kill Reuben. He’s worth too much money. He told us that.’

‘And what makes you think he told you the truth?’ Horace drawled. ‘In fact, what makes you think
he
didn’t leave the gas on?’

‘No.’ Dave was adamant. ‘If he’d tried to kill Father Ramon, he would have tried to kill us too. But he didn’t. Even though he knew where we were.’

‘Are you sure he would have known
how
to kill you?’ Horace countered. Dave sighed.

‘Everyone knows how to kill us, don’t they? Isn’t that part of our problem?’ He turned to address Sanford. ‘I’m sure that Reuben was kidnapped tonight. The McKinnons somehow got hold of Father Ramon’s address. But they couldn’t afford to leave any witnesses, which is why they tried to burn the place down.’

‘And now they’ll stop bothering us,’ said Horace. When everyone stared at him, he languidly waved his hand. ‘They got their werewolf back, didn’t they? They killed all the witnesses – or so they think. If you ask me, they’ll go home now. Unless we start bothering
them
.’ He pulled one of his wily faces. ‘I mean, I’m sure your werewolf is a
really lovely
fellow, Nina, but we’ve got our own problems. There’s still a vampire slayer out there, in case it’s slipped your mind.’

‘Yes, and we can’t even go home!’ Gladys chipped in. ‘I can’t even do my job any more! Who cares about some werewolf? It’s
us
we should be worrying about!’

During the brief pause that followed, I scanned the room. Mum and Sanford were looking thoughtful. George was biting his bottom lip. Gladys sat with her Indian shawl wrapped tightly around her hunched shoulders, brooding, while Horace watched me from beneath lowered eyelids.

I realised that Reuben meant nothing to them, either as a person or as a cause. Even Mum was thinking like a vampire, after
so much time spent in vampire company. I could understand it, too; when you’re ill and scared and tired, and when every little thing is a big effort, you don’t want to worry about other people, with other problems.

But I’d met Reuben. I’d talked to him. I’d even tried to put myself in his shoes – because that’s what a writer does. On the long drive back to Sydney, I’d been turning things over in my head. And it seemed to me that Reuben might very well free us from the trap in which we were caught.

‘As a matter of fact, I
am
worrying about us,’ I told Gladys. ‘What happened to Reuben could easily happen to me or to you. He’s been treated like an animal because some people don’t think he’s a human being. Does that sound familiar?’ I turned to Dave for help, but it wasn’t forthcoming; he sat with his eyes closed, massaging his scalp, the very picture of misery. So I ploughed on unassisted. ‘Reuben’s in the same boat as we are,’ I said. ‘
Exactly
the same boat.’

‘Except that he can live a normal life for most of the year,’ snarled Horace.

‘Yes! He can! Which is
great!
’ I cried. ‘Imagine how useful it would be to have him around! He could go out in the sunlight! He could shop and drive and deal with plumbers!’ Seeing Dave’s head jerk up in surprise, I backed off a little. ‘Which isn’t to say he’ll do that, necessarily,’ I had to admit. ‘But it’s something to consider. Maybe if we help him, then he’ll help us. And he
can
help us. In all kinds of ways.’

‘By being ornamental, for instance,’ Horace slyly remarked. ‘I hear he’s a bit of a looker.’

‘Is he?’ For the first time, Gladys perked up. ‘Who told you that?’

‘I did,’ said Mum. Her tone was defiant. ‘I asked Father Ramon if this bloke had … well, you know. Hair coming out of his ears,
and so forth. But Father Ramon said he’s a very nice-looking lad. Very handsome.’

‘Except when he’s got fangs and fur,’ Dave muttered. At which point Sanford calmly observed that, however handsome and helpful Reuben might be, the fact remained that he wasn’t the sort of person you’d want to have in your house during a full moon.

‘From what you told me earlier, Nina, I get the impression that your friend basically turns into a wild animal. Isn’t that true?’ he said.

‘Well – yes, but—’

‘And these McKinnon people are even worse,’ he went on. ‘They’re dangerous. After what happened last time, do you really think that any of us should be returning to Wolgaroo Corner? Because I don’t.’

‘Sanford—’

‘It’s a noble thought, Nina. I commend you for it. But Horace is right – we have more immediate concerns. Someone wants to kill us, and he has to be stopped.’

‘That’s right! He does! And
Reuben could help us to stop him!
’ I leaned forward, fists clenched. ‘Don’t you see? Reuben would be
more
than a match for someone like that – someone who sneaks around killing people when they can’t defend themselves! Reuben could wipe the floor with him. Isn’t that right, Dave?’

Everyone looked at Dave, who grunted. Then Mum said, ‘
I
could wipe the floor with him too, y’know. I once held off six drunken bikers with a cricket bat and a bottle of—’

‘Guinness. Yes. You’ve told us.’ I tried to keep the groan out of my voice. ‘But we can’t ask you to do everything. Poor Father Ramon never gets a break, and neither do you, Mum. If we help Reuben, maybe he’ll shoulder some of your load.’ Without waiting for a reply, I swung around to confront Sanford. ‘You keep saying
that vampirism is just another form of humanity,’ I exclaimed, ‘yet you’re happy to sit here and let other people suffer! Is
that
what a real human being would do? How can we ask normal people to care about us, and respect us, and treat us properly, when we don’t even try to stop a pair of criminals from hurting people who aren’t vampires?’

During the subsequent pause, Mum cleared her throat. Dave scratched his jaw in a sheepish sort of way, while Sanford stroked his moustache.

Horace snorted.

‘Zadia Bloodstone rides again,’ he sneered, exposing one discoloured canine tooth.

I’d had just about enough of Horace.

‘I wasn’t talking to
you!
’ was my caustic rejoinder. ‘I wouldn’t expect
you
to agree, because you’re a coward and a blowhard and a typical bloody vampire with no guts and no backbone! I wouldn’t ask you to
flush a toilet
, Horace, because you couldn’t even manage that! You’re useless! You’re a
waste of space!
And the only reason you go around wearing those stupid clothes is because without them you’d be invisible!’ As he opened his mouth to protest, I let him have one final barrage. ‘But if you want to get staked, go ahead! Wear your stupid clothes! Do us all a favour! At least we won’t have to put up with you any more!’

There followed a deathly hush. George gaped at me. Sanford slowly shook his head. Gladys blinked, then cast a surreptitious glance at Horace to check his reaction. Dave retreated behind his hair, dropping his chin and covering his eyes.

Only Mum seemed unmoved. Pensively she stubbed out her cigarette; I could tell that she agreed with every single word I’d uttered.

The problem was,
I
didn’t. Not really. I’d simply told Horace
whatever I knew would hurt – because for one thing, there’s nothing invisible about Horace. He could be wearing a white sheet and you’d be able to tell who it was, just from the arrogant tilt of his head.

At last Sanford spoke.

‘I’m not surprised that you’re feeling angry, Nina,’ he said carefully. ‘You’ve been through a lot over the past few days, and it must have been traumatic. But you’re dumping a very toxic load of unprocessed fear on the nearest available target, and it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair on Horace. He’s not responsible for the way you feel right now.’

‘Sick to the stomach, you mean?’ I snapped – and would have said more if Bridget hadn’t suddenly called down the stairs to us.

‘Sanford!’ she cried feebly. ‘Estelle! Can you come up here, please?’

Sanford gave a start. As he hurried towards the doorway, Mum slipped off her piano stool with a grimace. (Her knee was bothering her; I could tell.)

‘What is it?’ Sanford boomed. ‘Bridget? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. Nothing’s
wrong
,’ she assured him. By this time I had joined Sanford in the vestibule, and could just make out Bridget’s spectral face, hanging over the banisters above us.

‘I think Father Ramon’s friend is waking up,’ she announced, straining to project her cracked little voice. ‘He’s very restless.’

‘Has he opened his eyes?’ Sanford wanted to know.

‘Not yet. But he’s mumbling and thrashing about.’ Drawing on more than a century of sickbed experience, Bridget gave Sanford her sobering but tranquil assessment of the situation. ‘I think you’d better come now, because he’s already a bit unsettled,’ she said. ‘We might need to calm him down when he finds out what’s happened.’

‘Sedatives,’ Sanford confirmed, in a distracted sort of way, as he moved upstairs. Before I could follow him, however, he tossed
a string of instructions at me, and I stopped in my tracks.

‘Go and make some tea,’ were his orders. ‘Bring it on a tray. Just you – no one else. We don’t want to scare him.’ Seeing my mother hobble into view, he added, ‘You can check on Father Ramon, Estelle. He might be stirring too, and we’ll need him if his friend starts to panic.’

‘What about the rest of us?’ asked Horace, who had appeared in the living-room doorway, alongside my mother. ‘What are
we
supposed to do?’

‘Keep watch. Help Dave. Stay quiet.’ Sanford was about to recommence his climb when something made him hesitate. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then stiffened his resolve and spoke his mind. ‘But if you really want to be useful, Horace, you can do something about those clothes,’ he urged. ‘Cover them up with a raincoat or something. Nina’s right; you’re simply making trouble for us in that outfit, because … well, to be perfectly frank, it’s irresponsible. And while I can understand your need for attention, I don’t approve of the way you’re putting our lives in danger.’

I don’t know who was more astonished by this outburst: Horace or yours truly. But I do know that we were both rendered speechless until long after Sanford had disappeared into my room – where our nameless guest, who was emerging from his drug-induced stupor, had begun to make muffled, incoherent, undeniably panic-stricken noises.

‘Irresponsible?’ Horace finally spluttered. ‘
Irresponsible?
’ He put his hands on his hips. ‘I tell you what’s irresponsible,’ he yelled after Sanford, ‘and that’s bringing a complete stranger into this house!’

Then he stamped off into the kitchen before I could think of anything to say.

I’ve been trying
to put myself in Nefley Irving’s shoes. I’ve been trying to picture what he saw when he woke up in my bed. First he would have seen those stupid rainbow stickers on the ceiling. Then he would have spotted my David Bowie poster or my lava lamp. Then he would have found himself staring up into Bridget’s face, which is blanched and puckered but not particularly terrifying – not unless you have a phobia about old people. In fact I can’t understand why Nefley should have been so scared. Even Sanford isn’t
that
repellent. I mean, his moustache might be a little off-putting, and his three-piece suits can make him look like an undertaker, but he certainly doesn’t give the impression of being someone who would happily break your arm.

So why was Nefley sweating bullets when I walked in with my tea tray? I can only assume that he’d been traumatised by his experience with the McKinnons – or perhaps that his shy and awkward disposition made him sweat whenever he encountered anyone new. Because it wasn’t as if we’d given him our names at that point. In fact Sanford hadn’t done much more than check Nefley’s pulse and murmur reassurances. ‘It’s all right,’ I heard Sanford say, as I entered the room. ‘Calm down. You’ve been drugged. But there’s nothing to worry about – no one’s going to hurt you.’

‘They tried … I’ve gotta … why is …’ Nefley couldn’t seem to
string three consecutive words together.

‘Shh. You’re safe now,’ said Bridget, patting his hand. ‘How are you feeling? How’s your head?’

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Sanford inquired, having registered my appearance. ‘Thanks, Nina,’ he continued. ‘You can put those over there.’

I set down the tea-tray without comment, then glanced up to see that our visitor had turned green. He really had. It wasn’t just a figure of speech after all. I could definitely make out a green tint around his mouth, and under his eyes.

‘Are you feeling sick?’ asked Sanford, who must have noticed Nefley’s colour change as well. ‘Do you want to go to the bathroom?’

Nefley nodded frantically, his lips welded together. He threw off the bedclothes, swung his feet to the floor and made a lunge for the nearest exit – reeling against the doorjamb as he did so.

Being no stranger to nausea myself, I didn’t think this behaviour especially odd. But I couldn’t work out why he recoiled from my touch as I tried to lead him towards the bathroom. And I certainly didn’t expect him to bolt the bathroom door after he’d ducked inside.

‘That’s weird,’ I said, just as Sanford emerged from my room.