The Reformed Vampire Support Group (39 page)

That’s why I’ve spent the last year writing this memoir: because I want to set the record straight. Not that
everything
in this book is
accurate. I have to protect the anonymity of my family and friends, so you won’t find an Estelle Harrison living in Surry Hills, or a Wolgaroo Corner near Cobar. Nor will I even hint at the current location of Horace Whittaker; there might be someone out there who could track him down, if I carelessly let slip a single clue. But I’ve done my best to be clear, and honest, and straightforward. I’ve told as much of my story as it’s safe to tell. I’ve given you an unvarnished account of what it’s
really
like to be a vampire, so that you’ll know enough to discount just about everything else you might hear on the subject.

At our last meeting, I finally mentioned this book to the others. I’d been keeping the whole project a secret, because I wasn’t sure that it would ever be finished; even Dave wasn’t told until yesterday. Having reached the final pages, however, I decided to come clean. So I told everyone that I’d been writing an autobiography.

The immediate response was a stunned silence – which Gladys was the first to break.

‘What do you mean?’ she whined. ‘How could you be writing an autobiography? You haven’t
done
anything.’

‘Yes, she has,’ said Dave. ‘She’s done lots of things. She rescued Reuben. She was nearly shot by Dermid—’

‘No she wasn’t,’ Dermid objected. ‘That wasn’t me. That wasn’t
really
me. I was in a semi-schizoid state, remember? Sanford said so.’

Dave rolled his eyes, as Father Ramon interjected soothingly, ‘We’re not blaming you Dermid. No one’s blaming anyone, here. This is a blame-free zone.’

‘At any rate, I daresay Nina’s referring to her mood journal,’ was Sanford’s contribution. ‘She’s taken my advice – haven’t you, Nina? You’ve been plotting your emotional landscape, and keeping a diary of your thoughts and feelings. To share with the group.’

‘N-n-no-o-o,’ I replied. ‘Not really. I’ve been writing about what happened last year. When Casimir was killed.’

Nefley winced. George said, ‘Am I in it?’

‘Yes.’

George looked pleased. But Barry didn’t.

‘
I’m
not in it, am I?’ he asked.

‘Of course you’re in it.’ Seeing him scowl, I launched into a spirited defence of my actions. ‘How could I have left you out of it, Barry? You’re going to have to accept responsibility for the part you played.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with responsibility!’ he spat. ‘This is all about
confidentiality
. I’m supposed to be incognito! I’m living under a false name!’

‘Oh, the names have all been changed,’ I assured him – whereupon Sanford stiffened.

‘What do you mean, the names have been changed?’ he demanded. ‘Why would you want to do that? You’re not intending to
publish
this book, are you?’

‘Well … yes.’ I was surprised at the way his brows snapped together. ‘Sanford, you’re the one who said that I should stop writing fantasies. You’re the one who said I was only making things worse. So I’m trying to make things better now. I’m telling the truth.’

‘About
me?
’ Nefley squealed in alarm. ‘About what
I
did?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ll go to jail, that’s why not!’

‘No you won’t. People won’t find out who you are. I’ve said that you work as a mail sorter.’

‘As a
mail sorter?
’ Nefley was horrified. Before he could protest, however, Bridget cut in.

‘You haven’t put Reuben in it, have you?’ she inquired, with
obvious concern. ‘He wouldn’t like that, Nina. You know how he feels about public exposure …’

‘I told you, I’ve used
false names
.’

‘And descriptions? What about false descriptions?’ Gladys seemed very anxious to clarify this point. ‘You didn’t make me too skinny, did you? You didn’t mention my scar?’

‘Gladys—’

‘I want to see what you wrote about me!’ she cried. ‘Sanford, tell Nina she has to show us her book before she does anything else with it!’

Sanford took a deep breath, just as Father Ramon lifted an admonitory hand.

‘Sanford can’t tell Nina to do anything, Gladys. You know that,’ the priest gently reminded us all. ‘But I do think that a book like this merits some very serious discussion. And we can’t discuss it unless we have some idea of what’s in it.’

‘I’d kinda like to read it myself,’ Dave mumbled. When I threw him a reproachful glance, he hastily added, ‘If I promise not to change anything.’

‘
I’ll
make no such promise,’ Sanford declared. ‘The safety of this group is of paramount importance. If the book compromises our security in any way, then changes will have to be made to the text.’

‘Not too many changes,’ I warned. ‘This is supposed to be the truth, Sanford. You’ve always told me to face up to the truth. To stop denying what I am.’

‘Which doesn’t mean you have to go round telling everybody
else
what you are!’ Dermid chimed in. And Bridget said, ‘He’s right, dear. You really do have to be very careful – for all our sakes.’

‘It’s not like we want to pretend that we’re Zadia Bloodstone,’ Dave agreed, albeit in a shamefaced manner. ‘We don’t want people
to think we have superpowers, or anything. But – well – if you stick in all that stuff about blooding, and vomiting, and dead guinea pigs, and bad breath, and haemorrhages, and dizzy spells …’ Dave sighed. ‘I mean, who’s going to want us around, for God’s sake? We’ll be treated like lepers, Nina.’

So there you have it. I’ve tried to tell the truth, and I might have succeeded. Or then again, I might not. You’ll never know, will you? At least, I
hope
you’ll never know.

One thing, however, you can be absolutely sure of – and that’s the fact that I’ve done my best.

What more can you expect from any normal human being?