The Constant Rabbit

I had to admit that I hadn’t.

‘We shall deal with this woeful lapse in your life experience. Constance, my sweet? Are we busy tomorrow night?’

‘Bridge club in Ross,’ she said. ‘No, wait, that’s the night after.’

‘Good,’ said Major Rabbit, ‘how about tomorrow night?’

‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘I’d love to.’

‘Excellent – and please, Mr Knox, bring your daughter.’

‘How did you know I had a daughter?’

‘From the size of her clothes on the washing line,’ he said, seemingly without looking in that direction at all. ‘She’s probably nineteen or twenty, slim build. Working in management, I think.’

He leaned closer and sniffed at me delicately.

‘But there’s no scent of adult female on you,’ he continued, seemingly quite carried away with his own precise observations. ‘You are not partnered, but it’s not by choice. I can smell emptiness, loss and a deep melanch—’

‘That’s enough, sweetness,’ said Connie, walking up from the porch and taking her husband’s arm. ‘You can bring your elder brother, too, if you want, Peter. Have you had him tested? He looks a little simple.’

I frowned.

‘I don’t have a brother.’

‘No? Then you have a burglar. I saw him nipping furtively into your back door while we were standing here talking. Had a sort of lumpy face that looked like a pothole repair done in haste and on a limited budget.’

‘That’ll be my gardener,’ I said, realising she was describing Norman Mallett with alarming precision. He must be there lurking, wanting to quiz me. I looked at Connie and Clifford in turn.

‘You seem very … observant.’

‘Almost three hundred and ten degrees peripheral vision,’ said Clifford, pointing at his large eyes. ‘We can see front, back and top. In fact,’ he added with a sense of pride, ‘we can almost see better behind us than in front. If you were once prey, it pays to know what’s going on around you at all times.’

‘That must be very useful.’

‘It certainly doesn’t stink.’

‘Sensing almost everything around us gives us an edge,’ explained Connie, ‘in a hostile environment.’

‘Well,’ I said with a smile, preparing to leave, ‘I hope you don’t find Much Hemlock too much of a hostile environment.’

But they didn’t return my smile.

‘I certainly hope that is the case,’ said Major Rabbit evenly. ‘Shall we say eight o’clock tomorrow, then?’

I had just got back to my own front door when the genuine Carrot-o-gram turned up – four rabbits dressed in stripy blazers and straw boaters. The Rabbity language in song sounded like a series of continuous delicate sneezes, but in four-part harmony.

‘What a load of nonsense,’ said Norman, who had indeed made his way into my house, and was now watching the Carrot-o-gram from behind the safety of the net curtains in the front room. ‘What did you learn, Knoxie?’

‘Not much. I’m going over there for a meal tomorrow evening.’

‘Good man. But don’t get too cosy. Just make friends and then persuade them that twelve thousand would buy an awful lot of carrots.’

‘You said seven thousand earlier.’

‘The vicar came on board – I think he must be raiding the church roof appeal or something. Actually, we could probably run to fifteen but keep that under your hat, yes?’

I told him I would then saw him out the back door.

‘Act like you’re my gardener,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘They clocked you coming into my house, so it’s your cover story.’

‘Hell’s teeth,’ he said, ‘can’t a fella keep a close watch on stuff without nosy neighbours studying his every move?’

I closed the door behind him, not really thinking about the bribe and the task in hand, but about Connie. I knew what I had felt seeing her again, but wasn’t sure whether she had felt the same – either now, or back when we were nineteen. I could recognise rabbits, but I couldn’t read them. There’s a big difference.

Searching in vain & Shopping in town

The United Kingdom Anti-Rabbit Party began as a one-issue pressure group in 1967 and morphed into a political party as their anti-rabbit message spread. Although it was dismissed as a joke in the early years, Nigel Smethwick’s populist rhetoric, a polarised nation and a divided parliament led him to unexpected victory in the controversial 2012 snap election.

Lugless was in before Toby and me that morning, which was unusual. Rabbits, for the most part, were not early risers. When we walked in he was carefully tidying his desk, even though it wasn’t cluttered. There was his nameplate, several hammers of varying sizes, a paw-compliant keyboard, his own dip pen and ink-pot, a citation of merit awarded him by Nigel Smethwick himself, and a single gourmet carrot in a terracotta plant pot. Behind him on the wall was a somewhat racy rabbit calendar displaying a Daisy Duke-wearing Miss April, even though it was well into July.

As soon as I walked in Lugless stopped what he was doing, sat back in his chair and crunched on a stick of romaine he had standing by in a jug of iced water.