The Constant Rabbit

‘It was Toby,’ she said, looking at the graffito once we were outside. ‘I recognise his handwriting. I can’t imagine what I saw in him.’

We also noted that the Rabbits had not been entirely unmolested overnight: sitting on their lawn was a forty-gallon oil drum, the usual receptacle for a jugging. Although the unspeakably cruel act was mercifully rare, the very threat was usually enough to have a rabbit family packing their bags and gone within the hour. I was confident it would have little effect on Connie and Doc.

‘Good morning!’ came a voice, and Doc bounded in from the direction of the lane, presumably back from his usual five-kilometre early-morning bounce, as he was wearing a tracksuit top and a Nike sweatband around the base of his ears.

‘Good morning,’ we said.

‘Looks like 2LG have been busy,’ he said, staring at the forty-gallon drum. ‘With a lick of paint it will make a nice planter for my aspidistra.’

‘You don’t seem very worried,’ I said.

‘I’ve had death threats before,’ he said. ‘At our last place someone daubed kill dat pesky wabbit on our drive and sub-standard photocopies of rabbit pie recipes were pushed through the letterbox. The work of sad little cowards, trying in vain to staunch a losing battle with irrelevance. But you know what?’

‘What?’

‘If I was going to kill someone, I wouldn’t warn them first.’

‘Ah,’ I said, as Doc had said it in a particularly menacing fashion, and I wondered whether that was what he had planned for me.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘about last night—’

‘Water under the proverbial bridge, old chap,’ he said with a grin. ‘When one is married to a doe as dazzling as Constance, one must expect to have to fight suitors off every now and again.’

‘I’m not a suitor,’ I said hurriedly, ‘and nothing happened.’

‘And I will do all I can to ensure it stays that way,’ he replied evenly. ‘Mind you, if Connie gives you the nod and you want to challenge me to a duel I’m totally up for it. Pistols, mind – my swordsmanship is a little rusty.’

‘No challenge from me,’ I said hurriedly, ‘truly.’

‘As you wish.’

And without another word he bounced clean over my car, the garden fence, his car – and went back indoors.

Pippa and I were on the road five minutes later. It was a delightful morning, sunny and bright, but neither of us was feeling that comfortable. Worry has a way of sitting on your chest like a baby elephant. Of the forty-eight hours we’d been given, we now had thirty-seven left. It felt good that Pippa and I were going to make a stand, but I couldn’t helping thinking that however the Malletts expressed their displeasure, it would be neither pleasant nor proportional, and that our stand, with all the human privileges defaulted to us at birth, would probably not be a stand at all. We were human. Ultimately, we’d be just fine.

‘You’re visiting MegaWarren?’ said Pippa when I’d told her what I was doing that day.

‘It’s part of management’s efforts to make the move as easy as possible.’

‘For the rabbit?’

‘No – for the staff at the Taskforce.’

There seemed little point in secrecy now. Today’s tour, I told her, was for staff at RabCoT to see first-hand just what the new facility was all about. How RabToil would manage the workforce and manufacturing areas, the living facilities, security, that sort of thing. She asked about the timescale, and I said it would certainly be this year, ‘perhaps just months’.

‘Did anyone ever ask the rabbits what they thought?’ she asked.

They were asked, but only in a roundabout way. The Grand Council of Coneys was part of the consultation process and was assured that ‘every opportunity would be used to ensure that the best interests of all the UK residents would be foremost in the Rehoming Committee’s thoughts’. It didn’t help that there were no rabbits on the committee, and that Nigel Smethwick had chaired the proceedings.

I dropped Pippa at college then went on to the Taskforce offices.

Since we were going on the MegaWarren tour that day I didn’t go to my office, just had my name ticked against a box and was given a lanyard with a visitor’s pass and allocated seating on the coach. We waited in the canteen for half an hour, then were addressed by Taskforce PR guru Pandora Pandora.

‘Good morning,’ she said, her dress and demeanour seeming somehow darker than usual this morning, ‘and welcome to the MegaWarren tour. You’re going on this trip because you have been selected to be part of the Advance Rehoming Implementation Team. Look upon this as early orientation.’

There were murmurings at this, mostly because this was the first indication that the long-expected redundancies were actually going to go ahead – and who might be staying on. Needless to say, my colleagues were looking quite happy. Rehoming work, because of the greater responsibilities and potential for stress, would be carrying generous bonuses.