The Constant Rabbit Page 12

  I hope they didn’t see me take a deep breath, and a soft flush rise to my cheeks. If they could by some miracle overlook my work at the Taskforce, they’d never overlook the hand I had in Dylan’s death.

  ‘I’d fancied Connie for a while,’ said Doc, ‘so it seemed quite natural to ask her. I’m just sorry that our happiness came on the back of such loss.’

  She put out a paw and Doc held it tightly. He lifted his glass.

  ‘To Dylan,’ said Doc.

  ‘Dylan,’ said Connie.

  ‘Daddy,’ said Kent and Bobby.

  ‘As you can see,’ said Doc, ‘rabbits talk truthfully about most things. Life is too short for hidden agendas, vapid posturing and mendacity. Lago’s third circle is about the truth which follows truth. Lies, conversely, make for more lies, one after another. It darkens the circle, and a circle that is dark leads to imbalance, and collapse.’

  ‘Collapse,’ echoed the others in unison.

  ‘Truthful about everything?’ I asked, thinking perhaps the question over Helena gave me a free pass.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why is Kent wearing an ankle monitor?’

  ‘Burrowing without due care and attention,’ said Kent, quite matter-of-factly.

  ‘Really?’ I said, but Kent hadn’t finished.

  ‘Burrowing without a licence; going equipped to burrow; reckless burrowing leading to property damage; causing death by dangerous burrowing; burrowing while under the influence; incitement to burrow; burrowing while under a two-year burrowing ban; belonging to a banned burrowing organisation; and failure to stop burrowing when ordered to do so.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said, ‘they really threw the book at you.’

  ‘Every single one a bullshit charge,’ said Bobby. ‘That utter twat Smethwick has engineered the judicial landscape to be skewed against the rabbit.’

  ‘The reason Kent’s not banged up,’ said Connie, ‘is that there were many rabbits involved and Kent was a small cog, a bagman, removing spoil. Kent got two years supervised probation; all the rest got between three and nine years in jail.’

  ‘Only six of the 5,672 rabbits currently incarcerated are in prison for violence,’ said Bobby. ‘Most are in for burrowing offences or theft of root vegetables, neither of which we consider a crime at all.’

  ‘Anything that grows beneath the soil is a gift from Lago,’ said Kent. ‘Root veg can’t be owned.’

  ‘Kent might have got longer,’ said Doc. ‘It was a good job RabSAg lent us one of their lawyers.’

  The Rabbit Support Agency had been formed only three weeks after the Event, and had worked tirelessly – and mostly in vain – to improve rabbit/human relations. ‘Our work is finished,’ their spokesperson Patrick Finkle said, ‘when we see a female rabbit as prime minister.’

  ‘So, Peter,’ said Connie, ‘more dandelion brandy?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Connie poured me another tot and I downed it eagerly. It was powerful stuff, and I felt warm and tingly all over.

  The conversation turned to education cuts and the NHS after that, and the differing ethical benchmarks between medical and veterinary science.

  ‘We’d like to enjoy the ridiculous amount of attention you pay to minor ailments,’ said Doc, ‘and in return, you might think more carefully about the huge benefits of euthanasia.’

  And then Connie served up a blackberry parfait for pudding that melted on your tongue. Once the meal was over and the children had been packed off to do homework, Connie shooed Doc and I into the living room and said she’d bring in some coffee.

  ‘May I ask you a question?’ I asked as Doc poked the fire.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Yesterday, when I gave Connie the basket of carrots, you seemed angry. I was wondering—?’

  ‘You must excuse me my temper,’ he said with a trace of embarrassment, ‘scrubbed carrots given to a married doe can really only mean one thing: spouse appropriation.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘hence your comments about a duel.’

  ‘Pretty much. It’s a good job for you it was only the Autumn King variant. If it had been a Cosmic Purple there would have been no room for ambiguity and I’d ask you to name your seconds35 and we’d be standing back to back at dawn on a foggy heath somewhere.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, realising how this might have been a hideous faux pas, ‘sorry.’

  ‘Don’t give it a second thought,’ said Doc amiably, ‘but if you do want to make a play for Connie and she’s up for it, it’ll be pistols at dawn.’

  ‘I’m not looking to appropriate your wife, Doc.’

  ‘Good thing too, old boy. Cigar?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  I thought for a moment.

  ‘So what’s your explanation for how you came to be anthropomorphised?’

  ‘Do you know,’ said Doc with a frown, ‘I’m not sure it’s ever been fully explained – or even if it’s relevant. Some say it was a spontaneous miracle performed by Lago the instant she died at the hand of man, or alternatively, a retrospective miracle performed by the Venerable Bunty, but I’m not sure that’s possible. Bunty herself thinks that it might have had a satirical component—’

  ‘Coffee!’ said Connie as she bounded into the room with an energetic flourish, and placed the tray on the table.

  The coffee was, again, excellent, and after challenging me to a game of Scrabble that I lost in a spectacular manner to Connie’s placement of Poxviridae36 across two triple word scores for a total of 25737 points, the evening was soon over and they saw me to the door. I had enjoyed Doc and Connie’s company more than I had anyone else’s in Much Hemlock – Pippa excluded – for at least ten years. I remembered more clearly what I’d liked about Connie, too. Her charm, her range of conversation, and her mixture of good humour and perceptiveness. I suddenly found myself feeling a little stupid that I’d never looked her up.

  Connie and I paused in the porch as she saw me out, Doc having excused himself to set the VCR to record The Great Escape.38

  ‘It’s been a very pleasant evening,’ I said, ‘thank you very much.’

  ‘Likewise and really good to see you again,’ said Connie, staring at me intently.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, suddenly feeling all hot and flustered, ‘too long.’

  She moved forward and gave me a hug. Her fur was as soft as the finest cashmere, and when her whiskers stroked against my cheek I twitched involuntarily. We released each other and then, catching me by surprise, she pulled me back in and gave me a second hug, much tighter yet briefer. I was going to ask her why, but at that moment Doc reappeared.

  ‘Goodbye, Peter,’ said Connie, ‘pop by any time.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Doc, ‘always up for a game of Scrabble, or a gambol in the fields. Do you like gambolling? In moderation there’s nothing better.’

  Gambolling in the meadows was a pastime peculiar to rabbits which involved sporadic jumping around on turf, usually just after sunrise, and best enjoyed when little was on your mind. Sort of like mixing jazz dancing and yoga.

  ‘I’ve not tried it,’ I said. ‘I think our version might be quite close to golf.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Doc. ‘Do you play?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither. Rubbish game. What about rugby or soccer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. We abhor gladiatorial team sports. Why are you still bringing up your young men to be warriors?’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Looks like it. You may want to address that, along with the mummying and princeling stuff. You should reappraise the “death as entertainment” bullshit, too – I’m sure it’s not healthy.’

  ‘We don’t use death as entertainment.’

  ‘Not real death any more, agreed,’ said Doc, ‘but enacted unrelentingly in the movies and on the TV, it’s got to be sending mixed messages, eh? Death brings only bereavement and loss, and killing is only ever an option if it is the last possible resort.’

 
‘Often it is,’ I said, inexplicably defending my own.

  ‘If you really believe that is the case,’ said Connie, ‘then I think your species’ somewhat strained relationship with the beneficial powers of compromise and reconciliation could also do with a reappraisal.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said after a pause, ‘I think that’s quite a valid point.’

  ‘Humans talk a great deal,’ said Doc, ‘and seemingly understand how they should behave – but rarely do. All that chat without positive action is nothing but hot air. It’s a mystery to me how you managed to get this far without imploding. Well, pip pip!’

  I moved to go. Given Mr Ffoxe’s directive I’d not broached the subject of the ‘shoving off’ fund, and didn’t quite know how to tell the Malletts that I hadn’t. But as it turned out, we did talk about the fund – I just wasn’t the one to raise it.

  ‘How much are they offering us to leave?’ asked Connie once I’d taken a few paces from their front door. I stopped and turned back.

  ‘It was suggested I should start the negotiations at seven grand,’ I said after a pause, feeling emboldened by my own honesty, ‘but I think they’d easily go to twenty and perhaps more. How did you know there was a fund?’

  ‘There’s always a fund,’ said Doc.

  ‘Can I be honest with you?’ I asked.

  ‘We ask for nothing else.’

  ‘Most of the villagers are not desperately leporiphobic, just ignorant and easily led. It’s the Malletts you have to watch out for. They’ve already talked about getting 2LG involved.’

  Connie and Doc looked at one another. I got the feeling that anyone who tried to put Doc head first into a forty-gallon drum of gravy would have a serious fight on their hands.

  ‘Once you start running you never stop,’ said Connie in a low voice. ‘Spread the word: we’ll be friends with whoever wants to be friends, and trouble to whoever wants to be trouble. And believe me, we can be trouble.’

  I looked at Doc, who raised himself up to his full height. Even if I was eight inches taller, a lot fitter, twenty years younger and, most importantly, brave, I’d still think twice about tackling him.

  ‘OK,’ I said, the threatening tone seemingly at odds with the rabbit’s generally peaceful demeanour. ‘I’ll make sure the message gets across.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Doc, suddenly amiable once more. ‘Drop around any time – always an open door.’

  Connie gave me a wave, and the door closed behind them. I walked back to my house, thinking deeply about the evening’s events. Of duels, meadowfield stew, the massive differences between our cultures and being totally thrashed at Scrabble when I thought I was a good player. But most of all, I was thinking about that second hug from Connie.

  Labstock Bunshot

  Only Wildstock carried the surname Rabbit. The laboratory rabbit designated MNU-683 was being used to test the effect of cosmetics on skin when the Event occurred, and the following morning politely asked the life sciences technicians: ‘I say, would you mind toning that down a bit?’ She was released the following week, but her descendants retained her alphanumerical surname as a sign of respect.

  When I came down the following morning, my head felt as though it had nine hyperactive hedgehogs inside, all doing a poorly coordinated line dance. Despite this, I could see a beautiful relationship developing between myself and the mind-altering charms of dandelion brandy. Pippa was already up and dressed, making breakfast.

  ‘How was the Welsh-Thai fusion restaurant?’ I asked.

  ‘The Welsh rarebit lemongrass was intriguing but not much else,’ she answered, passing me a cup of coffee, ‘although the cockles and lava bread Mumbles-style noodles more than made up for it. More importantly, how was your evening with the Rabbits?’

  ‘A bit strange. I wasn’t quite sure if I was a friend, or a messenger, or perhaps a bit of both. Either way, they seemed pleasant enough – all in all, hugely enjoyable.’

  ‘How did they take to you offering them money to leave?’

  ‘That would have been … impolite after their good company. As it turned out, they were the ones who broached the subject.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I don’t think they’re leaving.’

  ‘That’ll make the fur fly in the village.’

  ‘Not literally, I hope,’ I said, getting the Shreddies out of the cupboard. ‘Oh, and Connie asked if you’d like to go on a shopping trip with Bobby Rabbit.’

  She stared at me, open-mouthed.

  ‘You set me up on a date with their son? Why would you do such a thing?’

  ‘No, no, Bobby is their daughter – Roberta, you know, like in The Railway Children?’

  ‘The one played by Sally Thomsett?’

  ‘No, the other one. Look, they’re new in the neighbourhood. They need friends.’

  ‘What if someone sees me?’

  ‘What if they do? Have you got an issue with rabbits?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘not at all. I’m not leporiphobic. It’s just that, well, I find their holier-than-thou attitude a little tiresome on occasion. You can’t get one on the telly for more than ten minutes before they start banging on about our long history of culling, skinning, eating and rabbit-proof fences. I mean, that was our relationship with field rabbits, not the anthropomorphised bunch – it’s really very different.’

  ‘I think they see all rabbits as one.’

  ‘Well, OK – but I wasn’t personally responsible, was I? And to go on about it all the time just makes me think they’re milking the issue for political gain.’

  ‘All I know is that Doc and Connie didn’t mention any of that once, and seem pretty friendly. I think they might be loaded, too – when I visited the downstairs loo there was a Kyffin Williams painting in there that I swear was an original.’

  ‘Hang on a sec,’ said Pippa, suddenly getting annoyed. ‘It’s a bit rich asking me if I have an issue with rabbits when you’re the one working at RabCoT.’

  I paused. She was right. It was a little hypocritical.

  ‘I do payroll. I’d be replaced in a heartbeat and nothing would change.’

  ‘You’d be not working at the Taskforce. That would change.’

  We stared at one another for a few seconds, and right at that moment I really wanted to tell her what I actually did, and my justification for doing it – for her, for the house, to pay the bills, for the future. But I didn’t. I said instead:

  ‘So will you go with Bobby on the shopping trip? It might be fun.’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘OK,’ she said, ‘entwined paws and fingers across the divide and so forth.’

  A horn sounded outside and Pippa grabbed her bag and her lunch, dumped them on her lap and scooted out the door.

  I tidied up, then went outside at the usual time and found Toby waiting for me. This time, he was with his uncle. I think I might have smiled.

  ‘Share the joke, Peter,’ he said, ‘we could all do with a cheery morning.’

  I was thinking about Connie’s comment that Norman’s face looked like ‘a pothole repair done in haste and on a limited budget’, but thought perhaps he didn’t need to know that right now.

  ‘Just … something I heard on the radio,’ I replied. ‘Want a lift into Hereford?’

  ‘Would you?’ said Norman. ‘The car’s in the garage. Carbon on the valves.’

  The Mallett brothers were never very imaginative when it came to making up excuses.

  So he hopped into my car and we were soon driving out of the village. I thought he wouldn’t broach the rabbit subject until at least Fillprington – and even then with preamble, to make me think he was dropping it into the conversation. But he didn’t. He only made it as far as Squirmley, and didn’t trouble with any preamble at all.

  ‘So, did you offer them the cash?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s sort of a work in progress,’ I replied after a pause for thought. ‘I need to get to know them better before they trust me. Once they do
, I think I might be able to be a little more persuasive.’

  ‘You seem to know them pretty well already,’ said Norman. ‘You were in their house for three hours and twenty-two minutes, and you seemed very chummy when you said goodnight. Mrs Rabbit had her paws all over you.’

  ‘Rabbits are very tactile,’ I said, ‘it’s a waking-up-warm-bundled-snug-up-in-the-warren kind of deal.’

  ‘You could have pushed her away.’

  ‘And upset them? And have no influence?’

  Norman stared at me for a long time without speaking.

  ‘Very well,’ he said eventually, ‘you’ve got one more chance – and after that I call the local chapter of TwoLegsGood and ask them for input.’

  ‘Is that really a good idea?’ I said. ‘2LG can be a little spring-loaded at times.’

  ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ replied Norman, ‘I’m the least leporiphobic person you know. I’ve got absolutely nothing against rabbits. Fine upstanding creatures, many of them, I’m sure – just not around here. They burrow, you know. And if their lefty next-door neighbour – that’s you, Knox – and forty grand can’t make them see sense, then we have to take more strident measures.’

  ‘I thought the leave fund was only at twenty?’

  ‘The Rabxit campaign has gained a lot of support, and from as far afield as Lower Ballcock, Shatner’s Polyp, Titson-under-Spatchcock and Little Kapok. The word is getting about, and this family could be the thin end of the wedge. Once they get a pawhold, there’s no telling where it might end. And yes, TwoLegsGood can be a little extreme, but when a way of life needs defending, sometimes desperate measures need to be employed.’

  The rabbit issue used to be friendly chat over tea and hobnobs in the old days, but the argument had, like many others in recent years, become polarised: if you weren’t rabidly against rabbits, you were clearly only in favour of timidly bowing down to acquiesce to the Rabbit Way, then accepting Lago as your god and eating nothing but carrots and lettuce for the rest of your life.