The Constant Rabbit

‘I’ll … take my chances,’ I said.

She was now standing quite close, and I could sense her rich, loamy scent once more. It was the scent she’d worn all those years ago, something cooked up by the noted rabbit parfumier Gaston Rabbît. Whenever I’d smelled unwashed spuds it had put me in mind of her.

‘Jersey Royal Pour Femme,’ I said, suddenly recalling what it was called.

She looked at me and smiled.

‘You remembered.’

‘I remember a lot of things.’

We stared at one another for a moment, until she suddenly switched her attention to the randomly gathered items in my basket. ‘Well, well,’ she said, ‘incontinence pads, a tin of mushroom soup, Sun-Pat peanut butter and cocktail sticks?’

‘It’s for Mrs Ponsonby,’ I said quickly. ‘She’s my aunt. I do her shopping.’

‘The one who was ill the weekend I was expelled from uni?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘that was another one. I have three.’

‘I have sixty-eight aunts,’ she said cheerfully, ‘and forty-nine uncles, one of which was also my grandfather.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ she said reflectively, ‘it always made things a little awkward at family get-togethers. Will you accompany me to fruit and veg?’

I could feel us being watched as we moved down the aisle. Shoppers suddenly needed to be somewhere else when we approached, and once, when Connie paused at the fussy-eaters section, the three shoppers already there hurriedly moved away while making clucking noises of disapproval.

‘Someone said you had a small scene in Pulp Fiction,’ I said by way of conversation.

‘The high point of my lacklustre career,’ she replied with a smile, ‘was being edited out of a classic. The segment was originally called “The bunny incident”. Quentin was pretty cool over the whole rabbit issue, but there was pressure from the studios and my small part was reshot with a human. They changed the “good carrot juice” dialogue to “good coffee”. But if you run it again, it makes much more sense with Jimmy’s wife being a rabbit. We could travel to the States in those days,’ she added with a sigh. ‘You had to carry a non-pregnancy certificate and any stay was limited to half a gestation period, but even so – happier times.’

‘Missing out on the success of that movie must have been quite annoying.’

‘All part of the fun and joy of being an actor,’ said Connie philosophically. ‘My work was mostly commercials, a guest spot in Emmerdale, The Bill and one hundred and eighty-three episodes of How Deep Was My Warren as midwife Rachel Rabbit. Have you ever watched it?’

‘No,’ I said, truthfully enough, as the multiple and intertwining plot threads were of such labyrinthine complexity that a single twenty-minute episode contained the same amount of drama as an entire season of West Wing. A few humans claimed to be able to follow it, but they were very likely lying.

‘Not many humans have,’ replied Connie, ‘but here’s a part of mine you might remember: do you recall the animated rabbit in the Cadbury’s Caramel adverts?’

Oddly – or not so oddly at all, really – I had always thought of Connie when watching the adverts, even though the cartoon rabbit, while possessed of Connie’s curves as much as my imagination allowed, didn’t actually sound like her, despite sharing a similar West Country accent.

‘That was you?’

Connie waved a paw dismissively.

‘I was filmed so the animators could copy the movements, so yes, as a body and movement reference – long before the days of motion capture.’

‘But not your voice, was it?’ I said.

She smiled.

‘Very perceptive of you. I didn’t have an Equity card back then so Miriam Margolyes performed in my stead – but I was there in the recording studio to coach her. Lovely woman; her Nurse in Romeo + Juliet was the best ever.’

‘Ever done any Shakespeare?’ I asked.

‘A two-week run playing Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream but I think I only got the part on account of my ears. Actually, do you know what?’ she said as we reached the fruit and veg section. ‘I don’t really need to do any shopping.’

‘No?’

‘No. I’m having an affair and I wanted to make a call without Clifford overhearing. It’s with Rupert Rabbit. He’s a cousin on my father’s sister’s daughter’s husband’s mother’s side.’

‘I’m … I’m not sure you should be telling me this.’

‘If you’re a rabbit,’ she said with a sigh, ‘it’s sometimes difficult to find someone who isn’t your cousin.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I mean I’m not sure you should be telling me about your marital infidelities.’

She picked up a stick of celery and sniffed at it expertly.

‘You were always someone I could trust, Pete. I told you stuff, things you might have repeated but didn’t. Are you going to tell my husband?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘So that’s why I’m sharing. Mind you, I’m not so sure about Rupert. Not quite rubbish enough.’

‘Not rubbish enough?’ I asked, taking an interest after all.