The Constant Rabbit

I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it again. Since Flopsy 7770 had been flagged by Lugless as ‘seditious’, ‘highly wanted’ and a ‘serious bounce risk’ there would quite likely be weapons involved in the hard stop – and Pippa was in the car.

‘Oh,’ I said, trying to think quickly, ‘wrong number. I actually need to speak to Human Resources. I’m not going to be in work tomorrow.’

‘It’s Sunday tomorrow.’

‘Monday, then,’ I said. ‘I’ll call them in the morning. Monday morning.’

The duty officer asked me again whether I was OK, then, satisfied I was either an idiot or drunk or quite possibly both, rang off.

I put the phone down and leaned on the edge of the kitchen table, trying to calm down. Pippa was just going to a rabbit party with Bobby and Sally. She’d been to dodgier parties with worse people. Pippa was sensible. She’d text me if she needed anything. And as for Flopsy 7770, he was a RabCab driver. All journeys were logged. I’d have his name first thing Monday.

I wandered into the living room and watched Mastercook on the telly, which featured, unusually, a bright-eyed Wetstock named Sue Patton Rabbit. She apparently ran a fashionable bakery in Brick Lane called Empire of the Bun, although I hadn’t heard of it until now.

‘Well, Sue,’ said Greg, ‘what will you be cooking for us tonight?’

‘I thought I’d start with carrot three-way,’ she said a little nervously, her ears covered by a tall chef’s hat, ‘with a carrot jus, carrot crumble and quintuple fried baby carrot.’

‘OK,’ said Greg, ‘and for the dessert?’

‘Carrot soufflé,’ said Sue, ‘with a caramelised carrot sauce and crumbed carrot sprinkles.’

‘Hmm,’ said Greg, ‘you don’t think that the taste of carrot might dominate the meal?’

‘I’m counting on it.’

‘OK – you’ve got sixty minutes to make your dream a reality.’

Sue carefully chose her ingredients from nineteen separate carrot varieties, and then started chopping.

‘You don’t wash off the earth?’ asked Greg, peering over her shoulder as she prepared the carrots.

‘It adds a little frisson to the three-way,’ said Sue. ‘My sister likes to throw in an earthworm or two for good measure but she was always a little bit crazy like that.’

Just then, the doorbell rang. Not on the telly, obviously, but for real.

It was Toby.

‘She’s out with Sally and Bobby,’ I told him when he asked whether Pippa was in.

‘Sally and who?’

‘Bobby Rabbit,’ I said, ‘who lives next door. They’ve gone to a party.’

‘She’s gone to a bunny bop with Sally and a buck rabbit?’

‘Bobby’s a girl,’ I said, ‘short for Roberta. Like in The Railway Children.’

‘Ah – Jenny Agutter.’

‘That’s the one. And look, even if away from work, we should actually say rabbits these days. “Bunnies” isn’t—’

‘Yeah, I know. Political correctness gone completely bonkers. They are bunnies in the same way that we are humans. Besides, they call us “Fudds”, which is equally offensive and basically just reverse specism.’

‘I’m not sure that it is.’

‘What isn’t? The offensiveness or the reverse specism?’

‘Both. I think it’s a false equivalency.’

He shrugged.

‘Whatever. I never knew Pippa was friendly with rabbits.’

There was a perjorative lilt to the ‘friendly with rabbits’ comment. It was one of those British phrases, along with ‘May I help you?’, that can be either exceedingly polite or hugely aggressive.

‘Pippa is friendly with anyone who wants to be friendly with her,’ I said.

‘She might have told me she was going out,’ he said. ‘I’d turned down several parties to be with her.’

There was a sense of Pippa ownership about him that I suddenly didn’t much like. His politics had always been suspect, and he wasn’t much fun as a co-worker. Actually, he was a pain in the arse. Rarely got the teas, endlessly cozied up to Whizelle and Flemming and never did a Danish-and-decent-coffee takeout run to Ascari’s. In an instant, I decided that I no longer wished to give him the benefit of the doubt in the likeability stakes.

‘I’ll pass on your comments,’ I said, now wondering when Pippa was going to dump him, and whether I could devise any strategies to assist in that direction. He paused for a moment, jangling his keys in his pocket with indecision.

‘Is there anything else?’ I asked.

‘May Hill, right?’

He didn’t really need to ask. The next-closest colony would be Bodmin. So after bidding me good evening, he departed.

When I’d made some coffee and got back to Mastercook, Greg was trying out Sue Rabbit’s meal.

‘I’ll be truthful,’ he said, ‘I’m not a big fan of carrots, but there are a host of warm subtleties that play off one another in an unexpectedly exciting way.’

All the guest chefs had similar comments, which were delivered in a state of shocked bewilderment. I got the impression that Sue Rabbit had been brought in to tick some boxes somewhere, and wasn’t expected to go anywhere in the contest.

‘That is quite, quite brilliant,’ said Greg, tasting the carrot soufflé, which collapsed beneath his spoon with a contented sigh, ‘although perhaps a little more sugar.’