The Constant Rabbit Read online

  ‘Two per cent?’ he echoed. ‘That’s it? We’ve arrested a prominent rabbit rights activist on a lousy two per cent? What other evidence do you have?’

  The silence in the room was palpable, and I shivered as a cold sweat seemed to run down my back.

  ‘None,’ I said, hoping Lugless would say that he had put the name up, but knowing he wouldn’t.

  Smethwick stared at me for a moment then turned to Pandora Pandora.

  ‘Can you think of a suitable term that I could use to describe Knox?’ he asked.

  ‘How about “a low-grade moron”?’

  Smethwick snapped his fingers and smiled.

  ‘Spot on. You’re a complete moron, Knox. I don’t give a tuppenny shit about rabbits who think they can manipulate the liberal media into making us look like a bunch of reactionaries, especially with the Rehoming in the air, but we need public support, Knox, and after all the careful PR work we’ve done over the past two years, arresting Fenton is just beyond stupid. How many prominent rabbits did we not arrest that we wanted to arrest, Pandora? Ones we let go so as not to rock the boat ahead of MegaWarren?’

  ‘Probably hundreds,’ said Pandora Pandora while gazing at me with a special level of deep loathing.

  ‘Exactly. Hundreds. What in hell’s name did you think you were doing?’

  ‘I … don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? You put the Rehoming in jeopardy and that’s the best you can do? Well, you’re finished. Fired for gross incompetence, which we can bump up to criminal negligence and contravention of Taskforce guidelines – which means we can save a bit of cash on pensions, too. Hell’s teeth, am I surrounded by idiots? Now—’

  ‘One moment, sir.’

  It was Mr Ffoxe. He had moved to my side with lightning speed and laid a paw on my shoulder. It couldn’t possibly be friendly consideration for a subordinate, so he clearly had a play to make.

  ‘Yes?’ said Smethwick, suddenly interested.

  ‘I think this could work to our advantage, Prime Minister. I say we leave the bunnies for twenty-four hours, then tell everyone there has been a terrible mistake for which we are hugely sorry, then act contrite and pretend we have fired half a dozen people for incompetence. The rabbits, hoping to gain a PR victory out of this, will have the rug pulled from under their hind paws. The riot will be seen as a knee-jerk reaction as befits a creature that wastes no time in milking outrage by resorting to the aggressive spectre of civil disobedience. I’ll even lead the apologies, which should be worth a few column inches, especially if I can squeeze out a tear.’

  Smethwick stared at him for a moment, wondering whether this was a good idea.

  ‘I’m with the fox,’ said Pandora Pandora. ‘A climbdown now makes us look small, sitting it out makes us look weak, attempting to break it up makes us seem like bullies – but an apology in twenty-four hours will appear magnanimous and even-handed.’

  ‘Sounds like a good plan,’ said Smethwick at last. ‘Without knowing it, Knox might have done us a favour. That’s what we’ll do. Twenty-four hours.’

  ‘So … I’m not fired?’ I asked.

  ‘Far from it, old chap,’ said Smethwick, ‘you could be in for a citation. Just be a little more certain in future, hmm?’

  And he clapped his hand on my back. The meeting might have adjourned there and then but for a voice.

  ‘I need a word.’

  It was the representative of RabToil, and he was holding a mobile phone to his ear.

  ‘No, I think we’re done here,’ said Smethwick, eager not to prolong the decision-making process any more than he had to, and eager to get back to schmoozing his constituents.

  ‘The CEO of RabToil wants you to halt the demonstration right now.’

  I saw Smethwick blanch, and he swapped looks with Mr Ffoxe and Pandora Pandora.

  ‘He does?’

  ‘Yes. The potential loss of rabbit work-hours would not be conducive to productivity as there is a large order for electric foot spas that we need to fulfil. We currently have thirty thousand rabbits on our workforce at Colony One, and a riot will likely reduce that by seventy-five per cent.’

  He paused to let this sink in.

  ‘Do what you need to do by all means, but causing unnecessary distress to our manufacturing clients solely because RabCoT don’t know what to do with a few recalcitrant bunnies might cause … nervousness amongst foreign investors eager to bring their manufacturing projects to the UK.’

  Mr Ffoxe stared at the ground, and Smethwick looked at Pandora Pandora for support.

  ‘We’ll need to hear that from the CEO himself,’ she said.

  ‘Sure,’ said the rep, ‘he’s on the phone right now.’

  He held up the receiver, but no one took the call. Despite Smethwick’s power and agenda, when it came to the bottom line, RabToil – and in effect, big business – called the shots. Commerce was everything.

  ‘Do it,’ said Smethwick, ‘let them all out immediately and issue a press release explaining that the rabbits in question were arrested owing to a … regrettable and wholly avoidable administrative error.’

  ‘Shall I add the empty platitude “lessons have been learned”?’ asked Pandora Pandora. ‘And: “we can do better and will do better”? Those lies always play well when the tech companies use them.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said Smethwick. ‘You could also put in something about how we are “reviewing procedures” – that’s another massive porker that always goes down well.’

  Everyone laughed. Mr Ffoxe asked Pandora Pandora to jot down her press release as quickly as possible, and picked up the phone to order the rabbits to be released. I had been slowly backing towards the door as this happened, hoping my fortunes would not once again be reversed, and once outside the door I slipped unseen back upstairs. Within half an hour every single rabbit had vanished from outside; the only evidence they had been there at all were seventy-six bandanas tied around a lamp-post and the cube root of nineteen chalked on the road – to twenty-eight decimal places.

  Shopping & Sally Lomax

  The more outlandish conspiracy theorists suggested the rabbit had ambitions for galactic domination. Exponentially increasing reproduction would, mathematically at least, cover the globe with rabbits, then eventually expand outwards from the earth, first beyond escape velocity and eventually towards the speed of light – presumably carrying a capsule in front of the mountain of ever-reproducing rabbits. It was dubbed ‘HyperRabbitDrive’.

  Despite my misgivings, there was no fall-out over the incident with Fenton DG-6721, and neither was I asked to present more random names to be detained. After two more days of fruitless searching for Flopsy 7770 I was returned to other duties, something that rankled with Lugless, who complained bitterly to anyone who would listen that his investigation had been ‘cut off at the knees’. He tried several times to restart the enquiry, but by Friday his investigation was on hold, his superiors citing ‘unwelcome scrutiny from the biased press on the MegaWarren project’ as the reason.

  The weekend break was therefore something of a blessing, and Pippa and Bobby’s shopping trip on Saturday seemed to go pretty well. They were quiet on the way in, but animated on the way out. Pippa seemed delighted with Bobby, and despite the enormous differences between their species, they had a lot in common: career, food, political activism, taxonomy (both belonging to the class mammalia), and feminism – the latter a subject upon which Bobby had some interesting thoughts.

  ‘Before the Event we were a matriarchy, and as far as we were concerned everything worked really well. Males were basically bodyguards, with payment in mating rights. The problem,’ continued Bobby, ‘was that the Event gave us not just some of the physical attributes of your species, but many of the social ones, too – including a switch to the patriarchal system. Almost immediately the bucks realised that under this new system they could do what they did before and hoover up some fringe benefits at the same time. Simply put, they wanted us all to
embrace some of the more egregious male-centric bullshit you guys seem go in for.’

  ‘How did you deal with it?’ asked Pippa.

  ‘Well,’ said Bobby with a smile, ‘for a rabbit, the power lies in the workers who control the means of reproduction, so we told them that unless they agreed to a nine-point gender equality constitution, it was strictly no sex of any sort.’

  ‘How long did that last?’

  ‘A seventeen-day shutdown was all it took, as it turned out.’

  She laughed.

  ‘Before my time, of course, but by all accounts they were climbing the walls. Mind you, so were the females, but when you feel that strongly about something, I guess sacrifices are always worth it.’

  ‘What were the nine points of the constitution?’ asked Pippa.

  ‘Oh, the usual suspects,’ she said, ‘all the stuff you Fudds bang on about but are slow to implement. Strict gender split in governing bodies both on the institutional and corporate level was the biggest, as I recall. Simultaneously, we also formulated a long-term plan to water down the seemingly innate sense of male hierarchy entitlement, and head towards a goal of hard-wired pluralism.’

  ‘By education?’ asked Pippa.

  ‘No,’ replied Bobby. ‘We decided to tinker with toxic masculinity at the evolutionary level, where we can make a lasting difference. Simply put, we’re sexually sidelining the Byronic male rabbits with looks, aggression and drive in favour of breeding with the also-rans. The nice-enough, good-enough bucks who are – shall we say – less impulsive, less exciting, less willing to take ridiculous risks. Boring even. Evolutionary biology is a fascinating subject, but if you want to use it to bring about meaningful societal change, then you have to play the long game – I reckon we might see some results in a couple of thousand generations.’

  ‘So some time next year?’ I said somewhat daringly, but she took it in good humour, and laughed out loud.

  ‘Or sooner. Exploiting unity and focus in the quest to effect change should never be underestimated.’

  Pippa and I fell silent, pondering Bobby’s words. The human version of unity and focus was probably more akin to vague agreement and self-serving muddling.

  ‘So what do the males think about having their mysogyny being bred out of them?’ I asked.

  ‘We thought it best not to tell them. Not a word now, especially to Doc. He’s a terrific stepfather – ambitious, fun, a born leader and with a never-ending supply of bawdy limericks – but Mum will have to head for someone less dynamic to father her next litter if she’s fully committed to the machismo dilution plan.’

  I thought about Connie and her talk of Rupert being ‘not rubbish enough’. That must have been what she was up to.

  ‘What if it doesn’t work?’ I said. ‘What if it turns out you actually need your bucks like that for broad societal advantage, even with the pitfalls?’

  ‘Then we’ll reverse the policy,’ she said simply. ‘But look, if you don’t try these things, you’ll never know if they’ll work or not.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Pippa, ‘you really take your social issues seriously.’

  Bobby smiled.

  ‘It’s a rabbit thing.’

  ‘You are such a sweet darling!’ said Connie when I saw Bobby to their front door at Hemlock Towers. Mrs Rabbit smiled and blinked her large eyes, and I could detect that warm earthy scent again.

  Bobby asked Pippa whether she wanted to see her collection of Rick Astley memorabilia, and Pippa said, ‘That would be totally awesome’ and they disappeared into the back of the house somewhere. Where possible, rabbits avoided heights, and that included going upstairs. The rabbit version of the Extreme Sports Club centred around daring each other to climb to the top of a stepladder.41

  ‘I think they got on quite well,’ I said.

  ‘Seems so,’ she said, and then, voice lower, added: ‘Look, thanks for not mentioning to Doc we bumped into one another in Waitrose. Did I really pop a Little Gem in the fruit and veg section?’

  I nodded, and she grimaced.

  ‘A woeful reversion to stereotype – most regrettable. Sorry I legged it; there was a family emergency.’

  ‘About Rupert?’

  She looked at me quizzically.

  ‘Who’s Rupert?’

  ‘The cousin you were having the affair with?’

  She thought hard.

  ‘I know thirty-four Ruperts, all are cousins and I’ve had affairs with nine of them. Could you narrow it down a bit?’

  ‘On your father’s sister’s daughter’s husband’s mother’s side?’

  ‘Oh, that Rupert. No, it wasn’t working out. I was sleeping with him but thinking about someone else. That never really works, does it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘In any event,’ she said, moving swiftly on, ‘the family emergency was Diane Rabbit, who is my twelfth cousin on my father’s aunt’s sister’s daughter’s boyfriend’s father’s aunt’s side. She was caught off-colony without a pass and I had to stand her bail. Have you ever been into the colonies?’

  The colonies were mostly an underground warren: dark, warm, labyrinthine and a place where humans were traditionally not welcome unless expressly invited. I would visit, eventually, on the day of the Battle of May Hill, my first and last time. But that wouldn’t happen for another two months, and I would see little except the basement of the meeting house and the spinney of trees on the summit.

  I’d be there when it all ended.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’ve never been.’

  ‘You should. They do tours now, y’know. Peek behind the species curtain, try some carrot gin, smoke some dandelion root, watch a live multiple birth, that sort of thing.’

  Her voice trailed off and we stood in silence for a moment, staring at one another. I was thinking of the conversations we’d had back at uni, and I think she was too. We’d found there was little we couldn’t talk about, and our conversations ranged far and wide. Sometimes political, sometimes about movies, sometimes about nothing at all. But for me at least, there was always something more to it than just chat and social intimacy. I had grown fond of her, no matter how ridiculous and impossible that sounded, and I always wondered whether she had felt the same.

  ‘Well,’ she said, breaking the awkward pause, ‘you and I must have a catch-up some time.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’d like that.’

  And there was another long pause. I think she wanted me to suggest something, but again, I couldn’t be sure, and felt sort of tongue-tied and stupid.

  ‘What happened to Rosalind?’ I asked, referring to the only other rabbit on campus. She’d been big into X-ray crystallography.

  ‘Her co-researchers took a Nobel prize for physics,’ said Connie, ‘as animals weren’t eligible for the prize at the time. She then worked at B&Q for a bit, and brought up eight children while deciphering Linear A42 for fun. Last I heard she was fitting microwave doors for RabToil. What about your friend Kevin? Did he ever graduate?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘dropped out in the second year, bummed around for a decade, then got lucky, fell in with some whizz kids and made a killing just before the ’08 crash. He lives in Guernsey these days.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, and we fell silent again.

  ‘Has it risen?’ she asked.

  ‘Has what risen?’

  ‘The leaving fund.’

  ‘I think you could almost name your price.’

  She laughed, then told me she needed to marinade the carrots for supper, and I smiled politely and turned to go. I was about twenty paces away when I heard the front door close. She must have been watching me walk away.

  Pippa returned three hours later, and vanished into her bedroom.

  ‘Bobby must have a lot of Rick Astley memorabilia,’ I said as she scooted past, thinking myself a lot funnier than I actually was.

  She said ‘Ho ho’ and returned thirty minutes later in trousers, a plain blue blouse and a pair of Timberlands.

/>   ‘Going out?’

  ‘A party, with Bobby.’

  ‘A rabbit party?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied with a grin, ‘a wild rabbit party. We’re picking up Sally on the way. She’s been very curious about rabbit parties but never had an invite.’

  ‘Well, text me if you’re going to be later than midnight,’ I said, then added: ‘Kind of plainly dressed, aren’t you? For a party, I mean.’

  ‘Bobby said you always dress down,’ she said. ‘Ostentation is frowned upon, and besides, it can get a little dusty in the warrens.’

  ‘Wait, wait,’ I said, suddenly worried. ‘Warren? You’re going on-colony?’

  She didn’t seem put out in the least.

  ‘Bobby will be there to look after us. Tons of people I know have done it. You’re kind of a loser if you haven’t.’

  I said nothing for a moment.

  ‘Loser means “uncool” rather than “idiot”,’ she said, trying to be helpful.

  ‘I know what loser means. But the warrens, are they, y’know – suitable?’

  ‘Hard-packed earth,’ Pippa said, ‘no stairs, smooth as asphalt. I can look after myself.’

  ‘I know you can – it’s just, well, I forbid it.’

  She looked kind of puzzled. I’d always had a policy of allowing her to do whatever she wanted, try anything and be anything, so she was surprised at my attitude, rather than shocked by the order – which we both knew she could and would ignore. She was an adult, after all.

  ‘Why ever not? Paws and hands across the divide – you know the score.’

  Actually, she was right: going on-colony to a bunny bop was quite a common occurrence amongst youth, and you would be perfectly safe – Lago’s fifth circle related to hospitality, which itself begets hospitality, completing the cycle of respect, understanding and tolerance. But my concern was different. If my name had been leaked to the Underground, they might try to get to me through Pippa. Paranoid delusion perhaps, but when it comes to being a father, paranoid delusions really hold sway.

  ‘I can’t tell you why you can’t go, you just can’t.’