‘I’m sorry to keep you hanging around, Mr Acula. It’s been one of those days,’ Geraldine Gelatine proffered a smile which she just knew would be pointless. This brooding pale man had the sort of face – more a countenance, she decided as ‘face’ really didn’t do justice to the way he held her gaze – well it was, if she was being honest, mesmeric. He was probably old enough to be her grandfather yet she was drawn to those juicy red…

‘I’m used to it, Ms Gelatine.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Hanging around. Sort of occupational hazard.’

‘Really? Are you an estate agent?’

‘I suppose you’d describe my role as providing a personalised drainage solution. And it’s doctor. Doctor Acula.’

‘Great.’ Geraldine was sure staying positive with this man was important, not that she could say why. Just something rather cold – perhaps chilling better suited the sense she had just then – had entered the normally over-stuffy social care office. ‘I’ll make a note. My boss is a stickler for titles. I’ll get it in the neck if he thought I’d got it wrong.’

‘A man after my own heart, clearly.’

Geraldine recoiled. What she had just seen was probably intended to be a smile but somehow it made her want to find a quiet dark room. She pulled herself together and concentrated on the standard questionnaire. ‘I believe you wanted to talk about your mother. About finding her appropriate accommodation?’

‘I indicated it would need to be adapted to her needs…’

‘Naturally. We find with the elderly that mobility issues can be a trial…’

‘She’s highly mobile, Ms Gelatine. It’s more…’ Dr Acula wobbled his right hand as he strove for the right way to describe the problem. ‘More…’ he waved his hands, looking rather forlorn.

‘She has anxiety attacks?

‘Why do you say that?’

‘You were flapping your hands.’

‘Yes precisely. She’s prone to flap unexpectedly.’

‘I imagine night time can be the worst. The older clientele tend to find nights challenging.’

Dr Acula nodded. ‘Well, it’s true nights are when she flaps most though… well, I’m sure you’ll find out.’

‘Yes, right. Let’s get some details. Her name. Mrs Acula?’

‘She’s a Doctor too. I suppose you could put Mrs Dr Acula?’

‘She doesn’t have a Christian name?’

Geraldine’s eyes widened in horror as the man opposite loomed above her, his widow’s peak seemingly like an arrow pointing at her heart. Her roared. ‘WE DO NOT HAVE THOSE SORTS OF NAMES. SURELY YOU CAN UNDERSTAND THAT!’

Geraldine tried a smile but it dribbled from the corner of her mouth leaving her gawping. ‘I’m so sorry. We have had cultural sensitivity training too. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be of any particular religion. My boss…’

‘Don’t tell me. You’ll get it the neck. Much more of this, Ms Gelatine and I might just save him the trouble.’

Geraldine watched as this strangely tense man took some deep breaths and pulled his cloak around his shoulders. When he appeared to be calm she said. ‘So your mum. She needs a new place to live? You can’t cope any more? At… is that Castle Doom?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Goodness. Quite a title. Where is it?’

‘It suits my needs. It’s high up, you see. You can’t miss it? Between the new Sainsbury’s and the cemetery extension.’

‘Oh I know. They keep talking about a bypass.’

‘Do they? I’d have thought a transfusion might be more useful.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Just my little joke. I don’t get out much and when I do… well…’

Geraldine really wished he wouldn’t show so much of his teeth when he tried to smile. It put her in mind of a barbecue, when viewed from the perspective of the steak. ‘Anyway, mum can’t cope at the castle?’

‘Indeed. She finds the turrets a bit of a struggle. And then there are the unfortunate drips.’

‘Oh I do understand . The elderly can become increasingly incontinent. It’s usually a simple matter of loss of muscle control. We can help with pads.’

‘Do they work? In the past you used to offer a clotting agent. Still I suppose one must move with the time.’

‘Clotting? Isn’t that blood?’

‘Of course, Ms Gelatine.’

‘Well, we cater for all types, Dr Acula.’

‘O?’

‘Is it that surprising?’

‘That wasn’t an exclamation. It… never mind. Perhaps we should get to the point. My mother is a vampire. Will you be able to accommodate her?’

‘We… oh goodness,’ Geraldine held her neck and wished she really wasn’t drawn to those fulsome lips. Her mother had warned not to be taken in by immortals. ‘I imagine we can find somewhere. I imagine a night facing aspect would be preferable?’

‘That would be good.’

‘And does she want it furnished or will she provide her own, erm, bespoke bedroom requisites?

‘We can provide her with the family coffin.’

‘Splendid, then I think…’

‘There is one thing.’

‘No crosses?’

‘Goes without saying. No…’

‘Garlic free?’

‘Naturally…. No we need some assistance with the moving arrangements.’

Geraldine frowned. ‘I thought you said she was still highly mobile?’

‘Well yes but she doesn’t actually want to go. And as a bat, we need a licence to move her.’

‘Surely that doesn’t apply to your, erm, people?’

‘Ms Gelatine, I know better than to mess around with bureaucracy. You know the expression: once bitten…?’

‘Yes, though not as applied to people with your heritage.’

‘Believe me, I’m not taking any risk that the old bloodsucker might find her way back. Can you help?’

Written in response to this month’s #blogbattle challenge, Castle