The Constant Rabbit

There was a pause on the phone and then the muffled sounds of people conversing. After a moment, Norman came back on the line, his voice sounding more strident.

‘Listen here, Knox. We’ve had our differences in the past, but there is a moment in everyone’s lives where they have to step up to the plate, be counted, grit their teeth and do the right thing for the community.’

‘And what is that thing?’ I asked, impressed he could cram five clichés into one sentence.

‘You’ve got some seriously objectionable centrist views, Knox, so you’ll be perfect cover. We need you to go in and … talk to the Rabbits. Get their confidence. Make friends if such a thing is possible. And when you think the moment is right, tell them they can have five grand in cash to shove off.’

‘She’s already got a lot of money,’ I said. ‘Compensation from the Compliance Taskforce after they leaked her husband’s address to TwoLegsGood.’

‘Conspiracy theory, Knox – unproved and untrue.’

It was a well-known fact around RabCoT that not only was this absolutely true, but the Senior Group Leader was the one who did it – and even boasted about it at the Christmas party the same year.

‘I really don’t think,’ I said slowly, ‘a measly five grand would be nearly enough.’

‘Bloodsuckers,’ he muttered. ‘Hasn’t she milked enough cash out of the public purse already? OK, Knox, you drive a hard bargain. We can go all the way up to seven, but not a penny more – unless they turn you down, then get back to me ASAP. Will you do that for us?’

I didn’t need to give it much thought. If there was a peaceful solution to the problem where everyone could be happy, I should probably try and make it happen. It wasn’t the only reason I was content to go over there – I wanted to see Connie again. If I reminded her who I was, it was possible she might remember me.

‘OK, then,’ I said. ‘I’ll let them settle for half an hour and then go and say hello.’

‘Splendid,’ said Norman in a friendlier tone. ‘I’ll get a progress report from you later. Keep your eyes peeled and best leave your wallet and mobile phone at home. You know what they’re like.’

I went down to the kitchen, dumped a bag of carrots into a wicker basket and then covered them with a gingham tea towel. I gave the Rabbits thirty minutes and walked across to the house, heart thumping, and knocked on the door. After a few seconds Connie opened it, and looked mildly shocked. She stared at me with her large, odd-coloured eyes for a moment then sniffed the air and looked at the basket. I noted that one of her ears – the top third of the left, actually – was tilted forward, and she smelled very faintly of warm, freshly turned earth.

‘Oh,’ she said with a timid smile, ‘is this a moving-in Carrot-o-gram? If so, it’s the first time I’ve seen a human do it. Are you really going to try and sing the Nhfiiihhnirff²⁵ song?’

‘N–no,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I’m … your next-door neighbour. We met a few weeks back during the library Buchblitz.’

She stared at me for a moment, head sideways, one large eye faced towards me, the way rabbits usually did when scrutinising a person or object.

‘Actually,’ she said in a quiet voice, ‘we met before that. A long time ago. It’s Peter Knox, isn’t it?’

I suddenly felt an odd sense of warmth that she remembered me, mixed with a sense of what I’d felt towards her back then.

‘Hello, Connie,’ I said, feeling myself start to tremble ever so slightly, ‘yes, it’s me. How have you been?’

‘Oh, generally favourable,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Lost a couple of husbands, gained a few children. Jobs here, jobs there – that sort of thing. Never did finish my degree, though. What about you?’

‘I got my degree but never used it,’ I said, trying to make my voice sound nonchalant and chatty instead of stilted and knotted. ‘I got married, had a daughter, came back to the family home to look after Dad. Worked for a while with the post office. I’m now an accountant, Library Blitzing on the side. Y’know. Stuff.’

‘I can see you live only for pleasure,’ she said, smiling agreeably. ‘Are you here to ask for that book to be returned? To be honest, I haven’t even started it. I used to read a lot when younger, but, well, time just gets away from us, doesn’t it?’

‘I’m not here about the book. I came over to say … welcome to Much Hemlock.’

‘A welcome?’ she said, staring at me intently. ‘I thought everyone in this village would have pictures of Nigel Smethwick on their walls and stuff.’

‘Some may do,’ I said, ‘but not all.’ I paused for a moment then asked: ‘Is a Carrot-o-gram actually a thing?’

‘Oh yes,’ she replied with a chuckle, ‘totally a thing.’

‘Ah.’

‘How did you recognise me from the library visit?’ she asked suddenly, and I felt a flush rise in my cheeks. I was under express orders not to reveal my skill. Outed Spotters occasionally went missing. And not ‘missing’ as in ‘went on a bender and turned up three days later’, but as in ‘missing and no one knows what happened to them’.

‘Your eyes,’ I said, ‘and the West Country accent.’