The Odd Bunnies

by Sam Cullan

  Chapter Three

  Will woke to the dulcet tones of Ellie telling him he should go outside and make the most of the fine weather that was forecast, but to take a coat because the clear skies and weak sunshine would invariably mean a chilly end to the day.

  He felt groggy, and surprised that he'd nodded off so early in the day; after lunch, maybe, but not after breakfast. Then he realised it was not Ellie who had woken him. Ding-dong, ding-dong;  ding-dong, ding-dong. That was approximately the sound his doorbell made. He staggered uneasily to his feet and swung left towards the hall. Through two slits of frosted glass in the top half of the front door, he could make out a dark figure. Too short and slight of frame to be a policeman, bailiff or axe-wielding gorilla, Will figured it was safe to proceed.

  He noted the keys were not in the lock as usual, and wondered if the mysterious Alice had taken them. If so, this might not be her. Clack, clack, clackety clack went the knocker. Steeling himself ready for another nasty surprise, he opened the door. His jaw, such as it was, dropped. His mouth opening and closing like an exasperated goldfish, he stared at the short figure in a black cape.

  “Wh..., wha.., wh...”

  “Hi.”

  “Wha..., wha..., wh...” Will's brain was attempting to kick-start his mouth, but there were evidently crossed circuits. “Ummm …. errrr …. Hi?”

  “Hi. How are you feeling?”

  “Confused. Very. Totally. More than that, actually. A lot more. Plus a bit.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Will had no words left; his brain was overloaded but his mouth was empty. He stepped aside and gestured with an outstretched arm. The short black figure gracefully stepped forward and eased past him along the short, narrow corridor. He peered outside and looked around the close – there were no signs of activity, apart from old Joe who was washing his Cadillac again. He made some more goldfish faces and quietly closed the door. He turned and faced the figure, now hovering between the kitchen and lounge. It would take a while for him to make sense of the situation, longer than he thought he could stand and gape. Slowly a smile crept across his confusingly twisted, stubbly face. Alice smiled back.

  “I guess you're wondering why I'm here.”

  Will thought this might be the most glaringly obvious statement he'd ever heard. He had to summon every inch of consciousness and coolness before considering a reply.

  “I have questions, yes. Lots of questions. Lots more than I had before you showed up - and that was a lot.” Will was babbling. He babbled when nervous, and Alice made him very nervous. This situation made him nervous. This promised to be a very nervous conversation. “Last night ….”

  “I can explain everything.”

  “Everything?” Will felt the lump on his head.

  “Yes.”

  Will stayed calm, due more to numbness than coolness. “Coffee?”

  “Umm, can't really explain that - but there are books, and web sites.”

  Will laughed involuntarily, then voluntarily. “I meant ...”

  “Umm OK, I'll have a coffee,” Alice spoke hesitantly. She placed an expensive-looking bag on the coffee table, gracefully slipped off her long black velvet cloak and jumped backwards into the sofa. Will politely took her coat, which he carefully draped over the bannister. He turned on the spot and peeled the bright green note from the signed photo of Alice that hung on the wall facing the stairs. He looked at the writing on the note, and looked at the signature on the photo. What an idiot.

  “Thanks for that,” he gestured toward the photo.

  “No problem.”

  “You must get bored signing your name. Still, maybe I could have another …? Plenty of wall space left to fill.” He couldn't say it of course, but he'd never actually liked the photo. That was his fault, for not adhering to the etiquette of enclosing a photo along with his letter and stamped return envelope. He couldn't complain, for at least she'd sent one. But it just was a small portrait taken at some corporate event. He had been intrigued by the enigmatic smile she wore, and was sure there was more to it than met the eye. However, it looked dull alongside the rows of eight-by-ten inch, colourful, glossy prints he had collected from stars of his favourite TV show.

  Alice smiled. “Sure - later?”

  Will nodded in compliance. “I'll get that coffee. Cup or mug?”

  “A mug will be fine, thanks.”

  Will rattled through a cupboard and emerged with two of his poshest mugs. “Milk and sugar?”

  “Neither, thanks.”

  Two posh mugs of cheap coffee quickly materialized and were placed on the table in front of his guest. Will sank into his bottom-shaped cushion, awkwardly fidgeting and twisting his ample bulk until he was able to face Alice, without appearing to get too familiar. He tried casually bending and lifting his left leg onto the sofa, but the stabbing pain in his back told him to stop. He settled on wedging his bulk diagonally into the corner of the squidgy seat, feet supported on the coffee table. At times like this he wished he'd had another chair, but the room was small and he rarely had guests.

  Alice, being younger and of slight build, could easily relax in any position and she chose to sit side-on, her back against the arm rest, with one slender leg tucked neatly beneath her. Will made a decent attempt at being cool, not staring too intently or for too long. She looked like any ordinary 22-year-old girl, with blue jeans hugging her gym-toned but womanly legs, baggy white tee, and baggier grey knitted cardigan. Her black leather, low-heeled boots were scruffy, unpolished, and looked comfortable rather than stylish. She wore a gold watch on her left wrist, no other jewellery, and there was an aura of perfection emanating from every detail of the finely stitched clothing, her immaculate nails, soft glowing skin and golden hair.

  She reached for her bag - a grey, crumpled leather creation that looked like a cross between a handbag and a rucksack. It was adorned with brass studs, rings and zips - most of which appeared superfluous to Will - and showed signs of wear around the bottom edges. Will took no interest in fashion, but it looked very expensive and he thought it probably cost more than his car. The fact that she clearly treated it as a workaday utensil rather than a posh accessory, said something about her carefree attitude as well as her bank balance. Alice unzipped one of the zips Will had supposed was purely decorative, and brought out a book which she placed on the sofa between them.

  Will didn't think this day could get any stranger, and if truth be told he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't died and gone to heaven. Or maybe he was still asleep, and dreaming pleasant dreams. The well-thumbed book Alice had presented was not, however, usually part of those dreams. He picked it up. Buffy Saved My Life. He couldn't decide if he should be embarrassed or proud. His favourite TV show had indeed saved his life, or at least stopped him from spiralling into a pit of depression during a particularly difficult time. He’d watched the entire seven seasons, as well as the five of Angel, pretty much in one sitting. The book wasn't about that, but a semi-fictional tale based on the mythologies, set in his home county, with Will drawing on his own experiences and fantasies. The line between them was blurred in the book, reflecting his very muddled view of life. He thought it best to let the reader decide what was fact and what was fiction. He was unable, or unwilling, to make any such distinction for himself.

  “Not seen this for a while. You must have the only printed copy.”

  The book was the only one he'd ever had published, if self-publishing counts. He had uploaded it to a web site that sold both electronic and printed versions, but the printed versions were so very expensive he really hadn't expected anyone to buy one. He knew one had been sold about a year ago, but put it down to a friend who felt sorry for him.

  “I found it by accident. When I got your letter, I thought you sounded kinda cute, so I Googled you.”

  Will thought Alice must have been very disappointed when she met him, which perhaps explained why she was a bit stand-offish last night.

  “Sorry if I disappointed
you. Don't think anybody has called me cute, not for forty years anyway.”

  Alice didn't take the bait. “I get a lot of fan letters, but yours were different.”

  “Different. Ah, yes, that's a more appropriate word.” They both grinned, satisfied with the description.

  “Don't you have people to do stuff - like reading letters - for you?”

  “Well, some letters don't reach me.” Alice made an unsuccessful attempt at a wink. Her nose wrinkled in a way Will thought very cute. “When they do, I try to read them.”

  “Ah, OK.” Will was beginning to settle into the conversation, which almost seemed normal now. Then he realised he had been beaten over the head the night before, and was talking to a Hollywood actress lounging on his sofa. Pleasant as her company was, it was most definitely not normal.

  “So, umm, did you hit me over the head last night? Drive me home? Put me to bed?”

  It seemed an odd question to ask Alice Cross, star of a dozen movies, who'd acted alongside some of the very best actors of the 21st century. It seemed an odd question to ask anybody you were chatting to on your sofa over a mug of coffee, but it just seemed so much odder to be asking her. The oddness of seeing her in a rural English city, let alone outside his front door, seemed inconsequential by comparison.

  “No.”

  When he thought about it, there was no way Alice could have lifted him into the car, let alone carried him upstairs to bed. It was a stupid question, but she was too polite to say so.

  “But, I was kinda stalking you,” she said softly, embarrassed. “I wanted to bump into you and make it seem accidental, but I chickened out.”

  Alice took a sip of coffee and grimaced.

  “Sorry, cheap coffee.” Will was stating the blindingly obvious to Alice, who considered the coffee might make her blind.

  “That's OK. Maybe we could go out and get a decent cup? I have questions too, about this.” She tapped the book with two poised, slender fingers.

  “Sure. I should probably change.”

  “Oh, into what?”

  Will laughed. “Something other than a dirty, smelly slob.”

  “Good idea.” Alice wrinkled her nose again.

  Will didn't even care now if she thought he was a dirty, smelly slob. He was awake, almost 80% conscious, and about to go on some sort of date with a film star. Whatever it was that had brought him to this situation, he really didn't care about that either. Suddenly life had got a whole lot rosier, and he skipped up the stairs like a frisky gazelle. The stairs still complained.

  Ten minutes later and reeking of cheap deodorant, he presented himself. His cropped, dark blonde hair was clearly intended for a differently shaped head. The faded blue jeans bore the logo of a well-known supermarket clothing line, and the black leather jacket gave him the appearance of a Ukrainian gangster. Fortunately he had some nice shirts, and had chosen a particularly trendy V-necked grey polo. Unfortunately, he didn't have the torso it was designed for.

  Alice thought he needed some styling advice, but she would save it for later. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Alice handed Will a bunch of keys. Will handed Alice a velvet cloak.

  “Now, decent coffee in Newington might be hard to find. Decent by your standards, anyway.”

  “Can't be any worse than that.” Alice glared at the fetid black liquid Will had served her.

  “Huh, won't make you another.”

  “Good!”

  “Impudent child.”

  “Come on pops, let's go.” Alice was already out the door, hood up, eyes to the ground.

  Will locked the door, checked it thrice, and turned to see Alice in the passenger seat of the Rover. He suddenly didn't care if it had been left unlocked all night. He slid into the driver's seat and turned the key part-way, fastened his seat belt as the glow-plugs warmed, then brought the old Rover engine clattering into life. Still a little annoyed he had to reverse out, he nevertheless manoeuvred the old car swiftly and precisely. Driving was one thing he could do well, having made it his living for some 20 years - in between a dozen other jobs. No matter who was sat next to him, or what they thought of him, he knew they couldn't criticize his driving.

  It was a mile from his home to the centre of town. Will negotiated the maze of streets surrounding his home and exited the estate onto a large roundabout. He didn't like talking and driving as he found it distracting, and the five minute journey was completed almost in silence. The Rover pulled into a one-way street just outside the centre of Newington, and Will deftly reversed into the only empty space. The street was narrow, bordered on one side by a terrace of large Georgian houses which were now occupied by solicitors, accountants, and other professional agencies. On the other side, a Gothic church loomed beyond a poorly maintained hedge. Towers and spires of the local grey limestone reached for the heavens, and all around the base were monuments of marble, granite, limestone and rusty iron.

  Alice looked around. “Scary.”

  “Ha, this is the posh part of town.”

  “No, I meant your driving.”

  Will scowled at the grinning girl. She had him sussed already.

  Alice put her hand on Will's elbow and guided him across the road.

  Yep, Alice is bright. Somehow this slight girl, a stranger in his country, made him feel safe. It was an odd feeling, but he wasn't about to complain. He looked forward to having a conversation with someone who might be of a similar intellect, and he felt pleased, even vindicated, that he had chosen to write a fan letter to this fascinating young woman.

  Will smiled at Alice, and the short walk to the coffee shop was completed in comfortable silence.