The Constant Rabbit

Labstock Bunshot

Only Wildstock carried the surname Rabbit. The laboratory rabbit designated MNU-683 was being used to test the effect of cosmetics on skin when the Event occurred, and the following morning politely asked the life sciences technicians: ‘I say, would you mind toning that down a bit?’ She was released the following week, but her descendants retained her alphanumerical surname as a sign of respect.

When I came down the following morning, my head felt as though it had nine hyperactive hedgehogs inside, all doing a poorly coordinated line dance. Despite this, I could see a beautiful relationship developing between myself and the mind-altering charms of dandelion brandy. Pippa was already up and dressed, making breakfast.

‘How was the Welsh-Thai fusion restaurant?’ I asked.

‘The Welsh rarebit lemongrass was intriguing but not much else,’ she answered, passing me a cup of coffee, ‘although the cockles and lava bread Mumbles-style noodles more than made up for it. More importantly, how was your evening with the Rabbits?’

‘A bit strange. I wasn’t quite sure if I was a friend, or a messenger, or perhaps a bit of both. Either way, they seemed pleasant enough – all in all, hugely enjoyable.’

‘How did they take to you offering them money to leave?’

‘That would have been … impolite after their good company. As it turned out, they were the ones who broached the subject.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t think they’re leaving.’

‘That’ll make the fur fly in the village.’

‘Not literally, I hope,’ I said, getting the Shreddies out of the cupboard. ‘Oh, and Connie asked if you’d like to go on a shopping trip with Bobby Rabbit.’

She stared at me, open-mouthed.

‘You set me up on a date with their son? Why would you do such a thing?’

‘No, no, Bobby is their daughter – Roberta, you know, like in The Railway Children?’

‘The one played by Sally Thomsett?’

‘No, the other one. Look, they’re new in the neighbourhood. They need friends.’

‘What if someone sees me?’

‘What if they do? Have you got an issue with rabbits?’

‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘not at all. I’m not leporiphobic. It’s just that, well, I find their holier-than-thou attitude a little tiresome on occasion. You can’t get one on the telly for more than ten minutes before they start banging on about our long history of culling, skinning, eating and rabbit-proof fences. I mean, that was our relationship with field rabbits, not the anthropomorphised bunch – it’s really very different.’

‘I think they see all rabbits as one.’

‘Well, OK – but I wasn’t personally responsible, was I? And to go on about it all the time just makes me think they’re milking the issue for political gain.’

‘All I know is that Doc and Connie didn’t mention any of that once, and seem pretty friendly. I think they might be loaded, too – when I visited the downstairs loo there was a Kyffin Williams painting in there that I swear was an original.’

‘Hang on a sec,’ said Pippa, suddenly getting annoyed. ‘It’s a bit rich asking me if I have an issue with rabbits when you’re the one working at RabCoT.’

I paused. She was right. It was a little hypocritical.

‘I do payroll. I’d be replaced in a heartbeat and nothing would change.’

‘You’d be not working at the Taskforce. That would change.’

We stared at one another for a few seconds, and right at that moment I really wanted to tell her what I actually did, and my justification for doing it – for her, for the house, to pay the bills, for the future. But I didn’t. I said instead:

‘So will you go with Bobby on the shopping trip? It might be fun.’

She took a deep breath.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘entwined paws and fingers across the divide and so forth.’

A horn sounded outside and Pippa grabbed her bag and her lunch, dumped them on her lap and scooted out the door.

I tidied up, then went outside at the usual time and found Toby waiting for me. This time, he was with his uncle. I think I might have smiled.

‘Share the joke, Peter,’ he said, ‘we could all do with a cheery morning.’

I was thinking about Connie’s comment that Norman’s face looked like ‘a pothole repair done in haste and on a limited budget’, but thought perhaps he didn’t need to know that right now.

‘Just … something I heard on the radio,’ I replied. ‘Want a lift into Hereford?’

‘Would you?’ said Norman. ‘The car’s in the garage. Carbon on the valves.’

The Mallett brothers were never very imaginative when it came to making up excuses.

So he hopped into my car and we were soon driving out of the village. I thought he wouldn’t broach the rabbit subject until at least Fillprington – and even then with preamble, to make me think he was dropping it into the conversation. But he didn’t. He only made it as far as Squirmley, and didn’t trouble with any preamble at all.

‘So, did you offer them the cash?’ he asked.

‘It’s sort of a work in progress,’ I replied after a pause for thought. ‘I need to get to know them better before they trust me. Once they do, I think I might be able to be a little more persuasive.’

‘You seem to know them pretty well already,’ said Norman. ‘You were in their house for three hours and twenty-two minutes, and you seemed very chummy when you said goodnight. Mrs Rabbit had her paws all over you.’

‘Rabbits are very tactile,’ I said, ‘it’s a waking-up-warm-bundled-snug-up-in-the-warren kind of deal.’

‘You could have pushed her away.’

‘And upset them? And have no influence?’

Norman stared at me for a long time without speaking.

‘Very well,’ he said eventually, ‘you’ve got one more chance – and after that I call the local chapter of TwoLegsGood and ask them for input.’

‘Is that really a good idea?’ I said. ‘2LG can be a little spring-loaded at times.’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ replied Norman, ‘I’m the least leporiphobic person you know. I’ve got absolutely nothing against rabbits. Fine upstanding creatures, many of them, I’m sure – just not around here. They burrow, you know. And if their lefty next-door neighbour – that’s you, Knox – and forty grand can’t make them see sense, then we have to take more strident measures.’

‘I thought the leave fund was only at twenty?’

‘The Rabxit campaign has gained a lot of support, and from as far afield as Lower Ballcock, Shatner’s Polyp, Titson-under-Spatchcock and Little Kapok. The word is getting about, and this family could be the thin end of the wedge. Once they get a pawhold, there’s no telling where it might end. And yes, TwoLegsGood can be a little extreme, but when a way of life needs defending, sometimes desperate measures need to be employed.’

The rabbit issue used to be friendly chat over tea and hobnobs in the old days, but the argument had, like many others in recent years, become polarised: if you weren’t rabidly against rabbits, you were clearly only in favour of timidly bowing down to acquiesce to the Rabbit Way, then accepting Lago as your god and eating nothing but carrots and lettuce for the rest of your life.

‘What about the Spick & Span awards?’ I said, suddenly having a brainwave. ‘The judges are due any day now, and a thuggy TwoLegsGood presence in the village wouldn’t look very good.’

It was a good argument, but Norman, always apt to weigh arguments carefully, eventually remarked after a long pause:

‘We can win the Spick & Span award next year or even the year after,’ he said, ‘depending on how damaged the wisteria and planters are in the town square. But if the village is overrun with rabbits, it’ll never be ours.’

Toby and I said nothing, so he continued, this time his voice more threatening.

‘You get one more chance to buy them out, Knox, then we go to TwoLegsGood. Rabxit is happening – no ifs or buts – and in whatever fashion we deem necessary. Be smart and do a good job with the bunnies. Forty grand is our final offer, but come in under that figure and we’ll give you ten per cent. You can drop me here and I’ll walk home.’

I stopped the car, let him out and we drove to Hereford in silence, arriving at RabCoT half an hour later. We picked up a coffee each from the canteen, then wandered up to the office and started work: Toby on his usual work-a-day spotting, and me trying to find our rogue Labstock 7770. Flemming said little to either of us when she got into the office, being busy, apparently, with an open day planned at the MegaWarren building site next week, and Lugless and Whizelle turned up at ten. Whizelle sat down at his desk and occupied himself with the endless form fillery that was part and parcel of Rabbit Compliance, but Lugless walked over to me.

‘How are you getting on?’ he asked. He seemed almost amiable, which immediately made me suspicious.

‘Nothing yet.’

‘Keep at it,’ he said, then: ‘Oh, I reviewed those Labstock names you submitted to Mr Ffoxe last night and made a few changes.’

I suddenly came over all cold.

‘Changes? What sort of changes?’

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, knowing I would, ‘but none of the ones you suggested were remotely suitable to be used as an example of what happens when you piss around with the Taskforce. Half of those rabbits haven’t been seen at all for over three years, and are probably unregistered dead – and the other half haven’t been off-colony for six months. No, I went for four who were happily living here in the city and would be easier to pick up for questioning. They’re in the cells downstairs at the moment. They won’t have anything to tell us, but we’ll have a go nonetheless. The message to the Underground and to the rabbit at large will be abundantly clear.’

I stared at him coldly.

‘But don’t worry,’ added Lugless with a grin, ‘I won’t steal your thunder – I made sure your name was still on the memo. Here.’

And he placed the new list in front of me, patted me on the shoulder and went back to his desk. I stared at the small group of Labstock that Lugless had chosen. The only name I recognised was Fenton DG-6721, who was the prominent charity organiser. The DG-6721s were the largest group in the Labstock community. Their ancestor had been used to study the effect of unsaturated fat on the liver prior to the 1965 anthropomorphising. A troubled pre-Event life had left all Labstocks with an indelibly etched propensity to devote themselves to the service of others. While I sat there, feeling hollow and sick, Whizelle looked up from his computer.

‘Do you want to prepare a report on your dinner at Major and Mrs Rabbit’s last night,’ he asked, ‘or go for a verbal debrief?’

‘You know about that?’ I asked with dismay. I had achieved relevance at RabCoT, but not the way I’d hoped.

‘There’s not much we don’t know,’ said Whizelle in a smug manner, ‘so what about that report?’

‘I’m still getting to know them,’ I said, not wanting to talk to anyone about anything, ‘there’s nothing to report.’

‘You should know that Constance Rabbit is flagged,’ put in Lugless. I turned to face him. He had his rear paws up on the desk and was idly using the eraser end of a pencil to extract an ear-bogey. He stared at the jammy brown object for a moment, then ate it. Toby and I looked at one another. Rabbits have very few objectionable habits, but eating their ear-bogeys was definitely one of them.

‘Flagged?’ I echoed.

‘Yup,’ said Whizelle, ‘as someone ripe for radicalisation by the Rabbit Underground. The Dylan Rabbit connection kind of makes her someone with a potential axe to grind, and those sorts of rabbits should always be watched very closely.’

It would have been cheaper and easier and better for human/rabbit relations for Mr Ffoxe not to have outed Dylan Rabbit to TwoLegsGood in the first place, but I didn’t say so.

‘This is important,’ said Whizelle, walking over to sit on the edge of my desk, ‘so we’re keeping you in the loop: the Rabbit Hostility Evaluation Action Team have declared the LitterBomb threat to have amplified from Amber, “Attack Probably Planned, We Think”, to Red, “Attack Imminent, We’re Guessing”, and whilst we’re not saying Constance Rabbit is involved, she’s ripe to play a part. She’s just rented a house with seven bedrooms and even the most cursory of glances at her Co-op loyalty card buying patterns reveals a strong propensity for two-for-one offers – an act that is long associated with stockpiling.’

‘Really?’ I asked.

‘We have also observed Major Rabbit at B&Q,’ added Lugless, mistaking my comment as interest rather than scepticism, ‘looking at spades and forks and seeds and suchlike.’

‘Right,’ said Whizelle, as though their guilt had already been established, ‘potentially growing extra food for those hungry, outnumbering mouths – the red flags are fluttering right under our noses and we’d be idiots to ignore them. Like the Senior Group Leader said, you’re to keep your ear to the ground as regards your next-door neighbours and report back if you see or hear anything suspicious. Get it?’

‘Got it.’

‘Good.’

He returned to his desk to pick up a paper bag of sugared woodlice, something weasels found particularly tasty, then left the office. Lugless carried on staring at me for a while. It was one of those hard stares, the sort a hungry spaniel might use to bore holes in a fridge once known to have contained a single sausage.39

He only stopped staring when the phone rang. He picked it up and, after listening for a few seconds, told the caller he would be there presently, then chose the heaviest hammer from his desk drawer and trotted out of the office. I gave him two minutes, then left the office myself to see whether Fenton DG-6721 actually was in custody, and if so, whether there was anything I could do. I headed towards the canteen first, the most likely place to find someone ‘in the know’ regarding who was in custody, but I didn’t need to go that far as the rabbit riot had already begun.