‘I’m not troublesome, am I, Pip?’ I asked.
She looked up and smiled, and I recognised her mother. She’d been gone ten years but I’d still not really got used to it.
‘You’re not troublesome, Dad. The Malletts are troublesome. I think Victor thought you’d been unduly accommodating to the rabbit, and that kindness might be misinterpreted as welcoming, and you know what they think about preserving the cultural heart of the village.’
‘Preserving the cultural heart of the village’ was the Malletts’ byline, mission statement, excuse and justification for their strident views all in one. Victor and Norman’s ‘cultural heart’ speech was really more to do with justifying their desire to block undesirables, a definition that was so broad it had to be broken down into numerous sub-categories, each of which attracted their ire in a distinctly unique way. It wasn’t just foreigners or rabbits, either: they had an intense dislike for those whom they described as ‘spongers’ – again, a net that could be cast quite broadly but conveniently excluded those on a government pension, taken early – and other groups that they felt were deeply suspect, such as VW Passat drivers: ‘the car of smug lefties’. Added to that was anyone who was vegetarian, or wore sandals, or men with ‘overly vanitised’ facial hair – or women who wore dungarees, spoke loudly and had the outrageous temerity to suggest that their views might be relevant, or worse, correct.
‘I think I let Connie borrow the book to piss them off,’ I said.
‘And I applaud you for it.’ She paused for a moment, then said: ‘How did you know her name?’
‘It was – um – on her library card.’
I managed to lie quite convincingly, although I wasn’t sure why I was so quick to deny our friendship.
‘Short for Constance, I imagine. They often have Victorian names. Part of the whole Beatrix Potter3 Chic thing.’
Pippa nodded, and there was a double beep from a car horn outside. Sally Lomax had been Pippa’s partner-in-crime since they first met in toddler group, and they were closer than sisters. Sally was at Nursing College too and could give her a lift – but was training in paediatrics, not management. Pippa finished her coffee and gathered up her stuff.
‘I put in a good word for you with the Malletts,’ she said, giving me a peck on the cheek. ‘I told them your offensive level of toleration would have been solely due to Library Rules Applying, and you weren’t a friend to rabbits any more than they were.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘See you this evening.’
And she was gone out of the door.
I tidied up, set the dishwasher, and at precisely nine o’clock gathered together my case, jacket and car keys and walked outside. Toby Mallett was waiting for me by the garage – we worked in the same office in Hereford and I often gave him a lift. Annoyingly – yet unsurprisingly – his father, Victor Mallett, was with him. We all wished each other cordial good mornings.
‘Good morning,’ said Victor.
‘Good morning,’ I said.
‘Good morning,’ said Toby.
Once this complex ritual was over, Victor said:
‘Can I cadge a ride into the big smoke? The Zephyr’s in the garage at the moment. Carbon on the valves.’
I agreed as I couldn’t not agree, while knowing full well this was less about getting a lift into Hereford, and more about me copping a bollocking for the Connie incident. We hadn’t got to the edge of the village before he began.
‘Sorry about getting out of my pram at the library,’ said Victor, ‘what with the memsahib giving you the ugly prawn over that stray member of the public. You were right – the rabbit was allowed to be there.’
‘That’s OK,’ I said, knowing this was usually how it worked. The charm, the flattery, the faux bonhomie – then the attempt to get what he actually wanted. Victor was as transparent as air, but nowhere near as useful. He’d probably ask me whether I knew who ‘that rabbit’ was next.
‘So,’ he said, ‘do you know who that rabbit was?’
‘Which one?’
‘The one in the library.’
I’d been thinking about Connie most of the weekend. Back at uni we’d only met up for coffees and a few movies. Ten occasions, tops – and romance had never been mooted, much less acted upon – but she had made an impression on me, and I think, perhaps, I had a little on her. A demonstration had been planned when a review of university admission rules retrospectively forbade her attendance. The whole thing was precipitated by UKARP, when they were still agitators rather than serious political players. The anti-rabbit group had attempted to enrol eight goats, four earthworms and a pony named Diddy into various university courses, arguing that if rabbits could attend then so, logically, could any animal – even dumb, non-anthropomorphised ones. A High Court ruling agreed with them and Connie, along with all rabbits in higher education, was out. We’d never said goodbye, and had not kept in contact. I’d thought of looking her up on the work database, but never had.
‘I didn’t catch her name.’
‘Seen her before?’
‘I … don’t think so.’
‘It helps,’ said Victor, ‘to better manage broad policy in the village if we know whether events are a one-off or part of a pattern, especially with the judges of the Spick & Span awards due any week now. I don’t want what happened in Ross4 to happen here. You can’t move for bunnies, the whole town smells of lettuce and you barely hear English spoken at all.’
‘I went into the Poundland there the other day,’ added Toby, ‘and it was stuffed with rabbits all chattering in Rabbity. I swear they were not understanding me on purpose, just to make me feel unwelcome.’
I made no answer, as there was no answer to make. What happened in Ross wasn’t to everyone’s liking, but it was all legal. I should know: it was a hot topic at work.
‘Could you run a few enquiries for us when you get into RabCoT?’ continued Victor. ‘I heard the rabbit said the book was for her husband Clifford, and there can’t be that many off-colony rabbits around here named Clifford who hold library cards.’
‘I’m not sure that’s an appropriate use of resources,’ I said, not wanting to be a lackey of the Malletts, ‘and we only work in the accounts office. If the rabbit or her husband are legally off-colony, then it’s not a RabCoT matter anyway.’
I glanced across at Victor. He was staring at me in an empty, unblinking fashion – something that was usually the early portent of a lost temper.
‘OK then,’ he said, ‘we can always ask TwoLegsGood to make some enquiries.’
Of the three Hominid Supremacist groups currently active in the UK, TwoLegsGood were the largest, best organised – and most violent. I understood Victor Mallett’s gambit.
‘TwoLegsGood are thugs, pure and simple,’ I said. ‘Escalating the situation helps no one.’
‘They’re not thugs, they’re patriots of their species,’ replied Victor in a sniffy tone, ‘and while we applaud their enthusiasm and politics, I do admit they need to show a little restraint on occasion. A jugging makes them look like right-wing reactionaries and leporiphobics,5 which they’re not – merely realists with a legitimate concern over multispecism.’