Victor glided towards the trees in order to get away from what he called ‘a cross wind’. He glided rather too quickly and the blustery wind took hold of him, taking him every which way, so much so that as he came into his final approach he had no control at all. He landed, slap, bang, with a heavy wallop into the middle of a large patch of stinging nettles, face down, arms by his side and his legs so crossed that his left leg looked like his right one and vice versa. Everything was wrong and against all the rules he had been taught in the V.A.F. (Vampirian Air Force). His top hat was jammed almost over his eyes, squashing the end of his long nose against his top lip, while his Savile Row flying cloak was wrapped around his neck, almost choking him. He did look a sight.

      The scream Victor made when he realised he was in a patch of stinging nettles was so loud that it almost made Areta, inside the presidential house, jump out of her skin. Valentine soothed her by telling her that it would be his parents. Within minutes they were all in the oblong office greeting each other.

      Areta watched as Valentine held his mother by the throat as gently and as softly as a breeze, a sure sign of Vampirian affection. Victor also looked on, smiling his approval.

      ‘What was that noise I heard out there?’ the President asked politely.

      ‘Who else but your father? He made a terrible landing in a rather large patch of nettles. Lucky for him that your guards were there to help him out. Anyway, it serves him right.’ She looked at her husband as if to say, ‘I love you, but you are a fool.’

      Victor thought it was time to defend himself. ‘Ya. It vos the cross vind, it vent across me.’ They all looked at him as he started to scratch and blow on an angry-looking nettle rash.

      ‘Cross wind, my eye teeth,’ Valeeta said. ‘You are an old fibber,’ she added, with a tiny amount of affection. ‘It was because you are carrying too much weight. Since you retired from being King, you have put on at least a stone and a half in weight. Just look at that belly.’ They all looked where she was pointing and saw a shirt that was stretching over a larger area than it was made for and, here and there, quite a lot of exposed pink tummy, which was beginning to look like expertly blown bubble gum.

      ‘Vot you are sayink is a lie. Never am I puttink on a stone ant a half in veight, never. An ounce or two, maybe.’

      ‘An ounce or two, an ounce or two. What rhubarb you talk. Who was it who couldn’t tie his shoelaces when he got up this evening, because he couldn’t bend over? Who had to tie them for him? Me!’ The ex-Queen had a smug look on her face. Victor looked down at his shoes, but he couldn’t see them for his tummy. He looked back at his family and with his eyes asked them all if he was too plump and over-weight. They all nodded with a smile. It was the first time Valentine had smiled that day.

      Valentine was the first to broach the subject of Vernon by saying, ‘I’m glad you could both be here. I take it that you have read the papers?’

      ‘Ve only get the von, The Nightly Express.’

      ‘Well, that paper carried the story about … you know who.’ He looked away from the old King and Queen. He knew how upset they both must be. After all, Vernon was their son. Valeeta was sitting in a straightbacked chair with her husband standing behind her. They looked very regal.

      The Queen was the first to speak, ‘Yes, my dear, we saw the paper and that’s why we are here. We’ve talked it over, your Father and I, and we feel that we would like to help you to … er … get … have … er … Vernon put away for a, well a long time … maybe for ever.’ She was finding it difficult to speak. ‘Or better still, out of the country altogether, deported, I think they call it.’

      When the Queen had finished speaking there was a silence. The only movement in the room was Victor, scratching his nettle rash. Valentine walked round the large room before speaking. He stopped and looked directly at the only two parents he had ever known, two Vampires. They had found him and they had reared him. What he was about to say could be hurtful and difficult.

      ‘I have to be honest with you both. I don’t think that deporting Vernon, or even putting him away for a long time is the right thing to do.’ He held his hand up to stop what was going to be an interruption from the Queen. She stiffened a little, not being used to having to be silent. But, after all, she was an ex-Queen and Valentine was the President. ‘Please let me finish,’ Valentine asked.

      ‘Ya, let him finish,’ Victor nodded his consent for Valentine to carry on.

      ‘Thank you, Father. I don’t think putting him away or sending him to another country, well, is really enough. What I’m trying to say,’ he started to speak slowly, ‘what I’m trying to say, or what I think should be done … er, what I’d like to see happen … what I’m trying to say without hurting your feelings, is that I think, well, that maybe we … I think maybe …’

      Areta spoke for the first time. She was blunt and went straight to the point that Valentine was finding difficult.

      ‘He will have to be killed,’ she said in a firm voice. ‘That is what the President was trying to say. Vernon should be killed. We both know that Vernon is your son and you will naturally want to try and help him. I would do the same for my little boy, your grandson. That is understandable. But we all know that Vernon is a maniac and, if something isn’t done, will kill. He would have no compunction in killing you too, or me, or Valentine, or even your grandson … He can’t forgive and he will never forget. A stake must be put through his heart.’ She stopped talking and felt they must all be able to hear her heart beating. She was shaking with fear and anger. Valentine walked over to her.

      ‘Thank you, darling,’ he said. He then looked at the only parents he had ever had and said, ‘My wife is right. That’s what I was trying to say.’

      There was a long silence. No-one moved, even Victor had stopped scratching. It was Victor who broke the silence with a rather loud ‘Ahem’ which he followed with, ‘Ya, maybe you are right.’

      The ex-Queen looked more than sternly towards him. He saw the look and said, ‘Maybe not, I don’t know. Vot do you think, mine little crocus?’ He smiled at his wife and scratched the back of his hand. The ex-Queen was much more definite than her husband.

      ‘He is my son. Mine and Victor’s. For the past three years Victor and I have been very happy living in the country, but our son Vernon, he has suffered; not you, Valentine, nor you, Areta, nor Victor or I, but our own son, Vernon. He was inside that statue for three years. Can you imagine what that must have been like, not being able to move? Only to be able to look at what was going on around him? Never being able to blink, let alone speak?

      ‘Certainly he won’t forgive and definitely he won’t forget but I will not believe that he would harm, let alone kill, one member of his family. We are his family. We should be out there looking for the poor boy to help him, not just saying “let’s kill him.” That is the easy way. He is part of a dynasty. He comes from a thousand years of Vampires,