The Constant Rabbit

‘You know when I said I wasn’t a Spotter for RabCoT? Well … I lied. I am. For the past fifteen years.’

I looked down and saw that my fingers were knotted together in a telltale fidget. My heart was thumping and it felt as though there was a tight band of steel around my chest.

‘I knew you had the gift thirty years ago,’ she said in a soft voice, ‘when you could pick me out of a crowd of rabbits back at uni. I often wondered if you’d realise you had the skill, and what you’d do with it. I accept your apology for lying earlier. The Rabbit Way allows one to quash the stain of an untruth so long as one makes good within the hour and there was no advantage. I think you just squeaked through.’

And she smiled.

‘Nothing’s changed, Pete. Not between us.’

I took a deep breath.

‘That’s not really what I’m sorry about.’

‘Ah,’ she said, suddenly looking more serious, ‘then what?’

I stared at her for a moment, opened my mouth to tell her about how I was the secondary Spotter the night Dylan Rabbit was arrested and that I was pressured to confirm the ID. That I should have done more, that I could have done more. But what came out was:

‘Not being at the demo when you were asked to leave the university. My aunt wasn’t that ill – and eventually pulled through. I should have been there, with you.’

She shrugged.

‘I’d have been chucked out irrespective. Your aunt needed you. I have no problem with any of that; it was UKARP policy to change the university’s admissions policy, not yours. And Peter?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m sorry too.’

‘What about?’

‘You’ll see.’

I was going to tell her that I’d always regretted not getting in contact, even after Helena had left, probably out of fear. Fear of seeing a rabbit, fear of me being wrong about what I thought we’d felt. But I didn’t get to say any of that, because Connie’s long and very elegant ears, which up until then had been draped in a relaxed fashion down her back, suddenly popped vertically upwards and she listened intently for a few seconds.

‘Bother,’ she said, ‘I just heard a car door slam.’

‘It won’t be Pippa back yet – probably a neighbour.’

‘It was the Dodge. A highly distinctive sound. Doc probably came back for the night. Rabbits become uneasy when not in their own bed at night.’

‘But … but the Middle East is a ten-hour flight away.’

‘No, no,’ she said, ‘not that Middle East – Nottingham.’ She pulled the sheet from my bed and wrapped it around herself while I went to the bedroom window and looked out. Sure enough, Doc had parked the Dodge and was hopping towards the front entrance of the house. Even though evening, being summer it was still quite light.

‘Well?’ asked Connie.

‘He’s gone into the house. No, hang on, he’s come out again.’

Doc stood there, sniffed the air and then began to stride in our direction.

‘He’s walking over here,’ I said, a tremor of fear in my voice.

‘Does he have a purposeful stride in his walk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘It’s just possible he’ll get the wrong idea about this.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘he will definitely get the wrong idea about this. What are we going to do?’

‘Well,’ she said, looking thoughtful, ‘he’s already suspicious, so he’ll interpret this as an appropriation and challenge you to a duel.’

‘That’s fine; I can just refuse.’

‘Not really,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘If he challenges you then it’s a goer – only a spineless reptile of the very worst sort would try and back out.’

‘A spineless reptile?’

‘Of the worst sort.’

‘I’ve a better idea,’ I said. Her Dumas novel and torch were lying on the bed, so I handed them to her and opened the wardrobe door. She half climbed in, then stopped and turned back to me.

‘Doc is very big on honour and duelling and you may have no choice in the matter, so this is something you need to know: his set of duelling pistols is decorated with animals, and you’ll be given the choice of which to use. The one that has a picture of a lark tends to shoot off to the left, while the one with the engraving of the crocodile on the handle is pretty much straight on the money.’

‘I’ll never remember all that.’

‘It’s easy: the shot hits the spot if you’ve a croc on the stock, while the mark of the lark shoots wide of the mark.’

‘The shot hits the spot,’ I repeated slowly, ‘if you’ve a lark on … no, wait, a croc on the stock, while the lark with the mark … er, mark with the lark shoots wide of the mark.’

‘Don’t forget that,’ she said, ‘it could save your life.’ She smiled, gave me a kiss and closed the door.

The doorbell rang. Doc, it seemed, had a better idea of front-door etiquette than Connie or Bobby. I ran downstairs mumbling the rhyme, then composed myself for a few seconds, and opened the front door.

Connie & Caution