The Odd Bunnies

by Sam Cullan

  Chapter Twelve

  Alice crawled quietly over the top of her dozing friend. She'd slept very soundly last night, and an hour's cat-nap had revived her sufficiently. It was mainly because of Will's heart-felt admissions that she'd needed to rest her spinning head a second time. She figured from the snoring and the sallow expression, he needed another hour at least. She crept downstairs and hunted out some lunch. Settling on a ‘go! noodle’ in preference to cornflakes and dried soup, she fished a tea bag from a recycled coffee jar. Can't be any worse than the coffee.

  Faithfully following the instructions on the side of the plastic container, Alice poured boiling water to the line and waited. After a minute, she stirred the congealing mass with a fork. Looks kinda plasticky she thought, before hooking out a small plasticky object. She read the ingredients, then the instructions again: 1 - Remove sauce sachet. Oh.

  Alice slumped in the plush, blue velour cushions and flicked the remote. Not her again. Wonder if they found Zelda?

  Ellie chirped up. “And finally, a happy ending to one story. The Tottyford nuns have been given the all-clear by COC, err, that's the Crustacean Observation Committee, and had their stained robes returned. A spokesperson for the nuns said they were just delighted to get their habits back, even if they were filthy.”

  Alice didn't flinch. This was an odd country, and she'd just have to get used to it. She took a sip of tea, and spat it forcefully into the mug, spraying Will's coffee table. What the …? She peered into the mixture of saliva and what looked like muddy green pond water. It's green. If she was going to stay here another day, she'd need to go shopping. She considered returning to her hotel, but despite its obvious advantages she knew she'd be happier here – for now. Will had aroused something from deep within her psyche, but she wasn't sure what, or if it might have any harmful long-term effects.

  She pulled open the netbook and searched for Will. Apart from one result on page two, pointing at an electronic book, there was nothing that seemed related specifically to him. A couple of social networking sites had looked promising, but now she'd met him she realized from the photos that it was a different Will. What sort of person isn't Googleable? She knew he spent a lot of time on the net, but there were no pointers, no photos. I wonder if that's his real name? She knew where he lived because he'd written to her, but it might still be a pseudonym. She looked around and spotted his wallet under the table. Dare I? He won't mind.

  Alice picked up the brown leather wallet and undid the stud fastener. It unfolded into three sections, and was crammed with plastic cards – bank cards, credit cards, loyalty cards, motoring cards and a library card. She counted three credit cards as well as the bank card, but didn’t wonder how her impoverished friend had managed to acquire them. There was no cash, only a few out-of-date vouchers to use in stores. There was a window section with a driving licence and she took the card out. The stubbly face in the photo was definitely Will and the name was the one she knew him by: William John Stephens.

  Alice carefully put the wallet back where she'd found it and stood, scanning the room. She knew about the books and the DVDs. There was a rack full of vinyl albums below the audio equipment and a case full of CDs. The television and Hi-Fi were good quality, and the speakers, she'd remembered, were crystal clear. She crouched and read the name, written in gold on black. Tannoy. It wasn't one she was familiar with. Around the walls were photos, and she recognized many of the faces. The ones she didn't know by name were still clearly actors or show-business types. There did not appear to be a single picture of anyone who wasn't famous. Dominating one wall was a huge map which was very detailed and coloured, with mostly purples, green, orange and yellow. There was no title, but in the centre were two words written in capitals that stood out slightly: Dartmoor Forest.

  Alice looked again at the books. At least twenty bore the name Dartmoor, and she guessed from titles containing words like moor and hill, and from the pictures, the number of volumes related to that place was nearer thirty. Many appeared to be novels, and words like legend, mystery, ghost and murder appeared frequently. The top shelf held books with similar themes from other locations, and what appeared to be a comprehensive set of works based on Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

  Alice was confused. It seemed the more she learned about Will, the less she understood. Why did a man of his age and intellect plaster his walls with pictures and posters of celebrities? He was clearly educated, well-raised, not bad looking, not destitute, very funny, thoughtful and caring - and yet apparently with no close friends or family. He'd make a fabulous friend, but he wouldn't be an ideal date for one of the hundreds of social events she enjoyed every year. What would her friends and family think if she took home a man like Will? Why was she even thinking like this? Why was she even here?

  Alice sat and chewed her lip. She came here to find a silly amulet that she hoped would stop her ageing and fix her teeth. She didn't like the way she'd aged already - losing the thin, muscular frame and flat belly that most active teenagers exhibit - and she was reluctant to open her mouth in public. But she felt ridiculous. Will must think me ridiculous. She contemplated walking out and calling a cab. She could run away from all this and Will would never find her – that had been her plan anyway, once she'd satisfied her curiosity. She picked up Will's tobacco tin and although she'd only ever smoked once or twice for a film part, she really craved one now. She couldn't roll her own, however. Probably just as well.

  Alice was worried. For many years she'd been in total control of her own life. She was successful and loved by millions. But people like Will loved her – and he surely could find better things upon which to focus his numerous talents. She felt guilty for making people like Will love her. It was her image, not her, that people worshipped. She was a worthless fake. But she loved acting, and she was the best at it. Why should she feel guilty about that? This is crazy. Pull yourself together, Alice. She remembered the previous night, and laughed to herself. Will could make a fortune from a kiss-and-tell story, and to be honest she didn't care. Maybe she should encourage him to do that; maybe she could make him hate her and she could walk away with a clear conscience. She could even embellish the story, and 'admit' what a fantastic lover he was. She could recover from the scandal, and Will would make enough to keep him in beer and baccy for a few years. He could write another book, and she'd help him promote it - she knew the right people.

  No, it won't work. Will loves me - the fool. I don't need this. Alice prepared herself and stomped up the stairs. She hoped that'd wake him but Will was snoring happily, until the cold water hit his face.

  “What the …?!”

  “Wake up you bastard!”

  “What?! What? Is it breakfast time?”

  “I hate you!”

  “Jesus Christ, it's only breakfast.”

  Alice punched his arm.

  “Fuuuuck, that really hurt.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Will had tears in his eyes, or maybe it was the water. Alice had tears in her eyes.

  “Have you been crying?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “You!”

  It's fair to say Will was extremely confused.

  “I'm extremely confused.”

  Alice collapsed on top of him and sobbed. Will, unable to move, tried to pat her back but the pat didn't quite reach. He decided to take control, before one of them drowned, or insulted the other so badly they’d waste a day trying to make up for it. Pushing her off, he tried to cuddle her but her flailing arms landed a few blows - including one that fell a little below the belt.

  “I don't want you touching me!”

  The sentiment was familiar to Will, and normally, he'd gladly refrain from touching. For once in his life he decided to make a bold, adult decision, so he used his superior weight and strength to force his cuddle on her. Alice accepted her fate, and curled up in the embrace.

  “Whatever it is, I'm sorry. Please don't hit me in the nu
ts again.”

  Alice hit him in the leg instead.

  “That's … err … better.” Will winced - she was still landing serious blows.

  Gradually her sobbing became intermingled with broken laughter.

  “Did I really hit your nuts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Alice sat up and rubbed her palms across her cheeks. Will passed her a tissue. She lay back down and told Will everything that was on her mind, and Will thought it was a lot – even by his standards.

  “I feel awful Alice. I'm so sorry?”

  “Huh? Were you listening to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I fucked up. I fucked you up.”

  Will laughed. “Au contraire my little flower. There has been no fucking - up or down.”

  “I'm serious.”

  “Alice, I'm a grown man. My life is generally shit. You’ve make it a little bit bearable - or sometimes, a lot - in the short time you’ve been here. That's all there is to it - nothing more, nothing less. Your life is your own, and mine is mine. If they cross – great. If they don't - no sweat. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Alice had her answer ready after bearable but let Will finish his speech. “No, no problem. I'm a dork.”

  “Every man, woman and child on the planet thinks those things at some point in their life. Kings, queens, presidents, popes, dictators, rock stars - even Hollywood actors. It's called being human. Humans are silly.”

  “I don't wanna be human, I wanna be like you.”

  Will wasn't quite sure how to take that.

  “Well, you need a magic amulet, a quest, and a guide.”

  “Will you be my guide?”

  “I thought you'd never ask.”

  Alice sat up and Will smiled, glad they were still friends. He decided they should be re-introduced, and held out a hand.

  “Please allow me to introduce myself, hope you guessed my name.”

  Alice shook his hand, but looked puzzled.

  “Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones.”

  “You're the Devil?”

  “I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain.”

  “That was the worse Mick Jagger impression, ever.”

  “Careful, don't forget who you're talking to.”

  “Am I going to Hell?”

  “That can be arranged. But I have an agreement with him up there.” Will pointed at the ceiling.

  “God is in your attic?”

  “Aye.” Will switched, for no particular reason, to a pirate.

  “So to get to heaven, I just need to climb your loft ladder?

  “Aye. Any time you want. I can arrange an open-ended invitation.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr Devil.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Alice. May I say, this is the best day of my life. And I've been around, a long, long time.”

  Alice put a pillow over Will's mouth. “Stop singing!”

  Will obeyed.