The Constant Rabbit

After prevaricating all afternoon on which Labstock names I should send down to Mr Ffoxe, I selected four who were already dead or long missing – but wouldn’t be readily apparent as such. Someone would have to do some research, and that might give me breathing space for a couple of days.

The evening was warm and clear with white mares’ tails flecking the sky as I drove back towards Much Hemlock. I said nothing to Toby on the way home, my mind full of spotting, LitterBombs, Mr Ffoxe, Connie – and, of course, the fox turd I found in my breast pocket when fumbling for my dark glasses. After I’d dropped Toby at his house, I drove home and had a shower, a shave, and went through the cupboard to find something to wear for my evening over at the Rabbits’. I eventually chose slacks, white shirt and casual sports jacket. I’d put on a few pounds since I’d bought them, and they felt a little tight, but were about the best threads I had. I didn’t go out much.

Pippa had decided not to come with me as she’d half-promised to meet Toby at the new Welsh-Thai fusion restaurant that had opened in the village. She’d got wind of the leaving fund, too – the move to have them ousted was already known around the village as ‘Rabxit’.

‘Are you really going to ask them to shove off for cash?’ she asked. ‘I’m not sure being a mouthpiece for the Malletts can lead to anything but trouble.’

‘I’ll be diplomatic,’ I said. ‘After all, it’s possible this might be the Rabbits’ plan, and fleecing everyone who’s put in some cash does have a sense of poetry about it.’

‘Aside from the vicar who raided the church roof appeal.’

‘Yes,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘maybe I could arrange some sort of ecclesiastical cashback arrangement.’

She told me to be careful, I said I would, and I walked across to their house.

Major Rabbit opened the door almost as soon as I knocked.

‘Hello, Peter,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Peter, do you?’

I said that he could, and he replied that I should call him ‘Doc’ because everyone else did.

He squeezed my hand in his two paws, then beckoned me in. Although it was still light, most of the curtains were drawn and what few lights were on had only low-wattage bulbs with an orange colour bias, so the interior appeared gloomy, yet warm. There was a rich, almost loamy scent of fresh earth in the air, and in a prominent place on the wall was a circle of delicately braided copper wire that represented the symbol of their faith, the five circles of lifefullness. We had a cross, they had a circle.

‘The Circle of Lifefullness,’ said Doc, following my gaze, ‘and the circle of trust. It also represents home, the burrow, the bounty of ovulation, the birth canal from which we all emerge, and the mother earth to which we all return. It is incumbent upon us all to complete the circle.’

‘What exactly does that mean?’ I asked, as the term ‘completion of the circle’ had always remained ambiguous.

Doc shrugged and stared at the braided copper circle for a moment, deep in thought.

‘The linguistic translation is easy, but the cultural translation much harder. It’s … the completion of an individual journey of one’s own making. For some, it’s simple, like seeing all the Die Hard movies in order, or collecting versions of Spider Man mini-figures. For others, it’s harder, like attaining a truth, or bringing about a change in others. For me and Connie, it’s about leaving this world in a better state than we found it.’

‘That sounds a noble cause,’ I said.

‘It’s a noble goal,’ he corrected me. ‘Ninety-two per cent of circles remain broken – which is why some rabbits go for mini-figures and Die Hard. If you really want to achieve your life goal, it’s probably best to keep it fairly simple.’

UKARP and Smethwick had long been worried about the whole Bunty ‘Completing the Circle’ issue, and always maintained – without evidence – that a noble goal in the rabbit’s eyes might not be one that was compatible with humans. Bunty, as far as Smethwick was concerned, was not a spiritual leader at all, but a leader-in-waiting, poised to a seditious overthrow of the UK.

Doc had gone silent and was standing on one leg, as was the custom when venerating Lago, the Grand Matriarch, and I did the same. Doc looked at me oddly, so I put my foot down again.

‘Connie has met the Venerable Bunty, you know,’ he said quite proudly. ‘Worked on her staff for a while – and was present when the Bunty performed one of her miracles.’

‘Which one?’

‘Number 16b: the reattachment of an ear following an unfortunate accident with a bacon slicer.’

Bunty’s apparent ability to perform miracles confirmed her divine status to rabbits. Although it made her a powerful spiritual leader, there was no evidence to suppose she wielded that power for anything but good. The Taskforce had different ideas.

‘Your bunch should do a few miracles,’ said Doc. ‘If your archbishop made someone’s missing foot regrow, it would give the credibility of your church a massive boost.’