The Odd Bunnies

by Sam Cullan

The lovers were sharing a piece of toast. Will had Marmite on his half, Alice stuck to jam. They were gazing into each other's eyes, giggling like small children. Will hadn't felt like a small child since he was a small child, and that seemed like a very long time ago. Neither of them noticed the smoke, until an eardrum-bursting siren alerted them. Will jumped up and waved a towel at the smoke detector, while Alice levered the thick, crusty slice from the toaster. She was about to throw it in the box with the other remnants of food awaiting the recycling lorry, but Will called out, “No! Scrape it.”

  Alice was not familiar with the expression, “Huh?”

  Will gave the smoke detector one last slap and warned it not to scream at him again, or it'd be answering to the hammer. He took the charred slice and prepared to demonstrate scraping.

  “It's only burnt on the outside.”

  “Hmm, but where does the outside stop?”

  “On the inside.”

  Alice couldn't fault the theory, but the inside appeared to be missing.

  “I don't really want to spread my jelly on charcoal.”

  “Jelly is a gelatine pudding made from collagen extract.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Alice flicked some raspberry jam in Will's face.

  Will scraped the jam from his cheek and spread it with his fingers across a lump of charcoal.

  “Eat.”

  “Eat me.”

  “Can I spread jam on you?”

  “Can I dip you in peanut butter?”

  “Ewwwww no way! Foul, smelly, evil concoction. And I don't want nuts on my nuts.”

  “I prefer the smooth variety.”

  “You want me to shave them?”

  “Yes, and spread smooth peanut butter and jelly over them.”

  “You're disgusting. You put me right off my toast.”

  “You're a strange man.” Alice stared, a deliberately ambiguous smile in her eyes and on her lips.

  Will, not for the first time, was enchanted. He'd seen the smile in a hundred photographs, and spent many days pondering over the mysterious woman and the mysterious thoughts that might lie behind it.

  “I love that.”

  “What?”

  “Your smile. Reminds me of the Mona Lisa.”

  Alice hadn't been compared to a grubby painting of a 500-year-old dead woman before, and was unsure whether she ought to be flattered or insulted.

  “Oh?” She’d settled on indignation.

  “Enigmatic. That's you - your smile. It's possibly the most enigmatic smile ever, far more so than Mona's. It intrigues me.”

  Alice's smile became even more enigmatic, her sapphire eyes revealing only as much as she desired. What lay behind was not for public consumption - not even Will's. She'd have to know him very much better before she allowed him into her mind, and she sensed Will might be like one of those unsolved mysteries, such as Nessie or Bigfoot.

  “I need a shower.”

  “Me too.”

  “Share?”

  Will hadn't anticipated Alice's response, and although he would gladly watch her shower, he was less inclined to allow her reciprocation. He imagined his belly and moobs wobbling like jelly, and politely declined her invitation.

  “Not really big enough.”

  “It does me.”

  “The shower.”

  “OK, whatever. Thought you could scrub my back.”

  Will was tempted. “Why don't you have a bath, and I can scrub your back from outside.”

  “Well I didn't want you to scrub my insides.”

  Alice decided she quite liked the idea of a bath, but would shower her hair first. Will told her to shout when she needed him, and regretted it after the fourth shout, which came before she'd found the shower switch.

  “Pull it.”

  “I'm never sure which one to pull.”

  “There's only two.”

  “Good job you're here, Will.” Alice beamed, and Will slunk off, but not too far.

  “Let me know if you need help with the taps.”

  “Huh?”

  Will thought, “Err … faucet?”

  “Oh, taps.” Alice smiled to herself, bathing in the warm spray and fragrant apple shampoo. She lathered her long hair, massaging her scalp and imagining Will’s fingers stroking her head. Rinsing it thoroughly, she grabbed a towel and stood under the heater, spinning slowly. The powerful jet of hot air was only bearable for short periods, and she was soon shouting.

  “Will!”

  “What?”

  “How do I adjust the heat?”

  “Err, stand further back?”

  “OK.” It was, as ever, a logical solution.

  Alice's hair was becoming less straight and she decided to cut her losses. She found a bottle of bubble bath and poured some under the streaming taps, then poured some more. What the hell. She emptied the bottle, and marvelled at the foaming blob-monster she'd created. Slipping gracefully beneath the bobbing amoeba, into the steaming water, she shouted. Will appeared by her side, sponge in hand. She leant forwards and rested her head on her knees.

  “Got enough bubbles?”

  “Nah, but the bottle's empty.”

  Will gently wiped the soapy sponge across her perfectly formed back, which was just broad enough at the shoulder, and just slender enough at the waist, to form what he considered the idea V shape. She had the slightest hint of excess flesh around her belly, a sign she was human and not a cyborg, which Will found reassuring.

  He soaped-up some more and pushed her curly hair to the side, gliding slowly from the nape of her perfect neck to the top of her perfect bottom, stopping where the sumptuous pinky-white flesh parted. Her back was clean so he gently curled a soapy, spongy hand around her tummy. Alice sighed and leant back, revealing a fluffy white mountain of popping foam bubbles. Will gently sponged, careful not to divest her of her modesty amoeba. Alice was in Heaven, a fact Will could deduce from her broad grin. He carefully rebuilt her melting soap sweater and worked his way along her hot, pinkish, shiny legs until he arrived at her feet.

  “Higher.”

  Will re-sponged her knees.

  “Higher”

  Will re-sponged her thighs.

  “OK, I'm good. You can go.”

  Will sponged her smirk.

  “Wanna get in?”

  Will needed a bath and didn't want to waste water, but politely declined. He would be unable to hide or control all of his wobbly appendages when squished into such a tight space with Alice.

  “You don't want to see my wobbly bits.”

  “I think we're past that.”

  “Nah, I’d spoilt it for you. I can jump in after – don’t wanna waste this water.”

  He was content to flick foam and top her up with hot water, until her legs were a nice shade of radish. Alice was content to let him.

  Back in bed, wrapped in a giant towel, she waited for Will to finish his solo bath and then lay and made faces at him as he looked for something different to wear. What we doing for lunch?” Alice knew they'd have to go out.

  “Err, soup? Or we can go out.”

  “Where?”

  “Pub?”

  Alice shuddered.

  “Pubs here are kinda … weird.” She was being polite.

  “Oh, that was a town pub. Country pubs are different.”

  “How?”

  “Well, mostly you need to drive to them, so people don't drink as much. And they're quaint, no loud music or slot machines - more suitable for older people.”

  “I'm 22.”

  “Come on, you're not a typical 22-year-old.”

  “I look old?”

  “You're … sophisticated.” Will was pleased he'd found a word quickly. Alice was pleased with sophisticated.

  “OK, but no fighting. Any trouble - we walk.”

  “Deal.”

  Will was confident he could find a pub where he wouldn't need to deal with lecherous louts. The villages a few miles outside of Newington were small and old-fashioned, quaint, and
property prices were high enough to keep the riff-raff away. Many people commuted out of them during the day to work in Broadford. The remainder would be mostly older, retired people. They would not leer at, or try to grope, Alice. The pubs made their money from food, which was often too fancy, or too pricey, to attract young people. Country people - whom Will generally despised for being cruel, murderous, blood-thirsty savages - were at least brought-up with similar standards to his. They kept to themselves, and were comfortable being themselves. They wouldn't bother Alice, even if they recognized her.

  Alice was marvelling at the twisting lanes. The crudely-cut hedges either side of the road flashed by, just inches from the side of the car and towering above it some ten, twelve feet or more. Every dip or bend brought a glimpse of a new vista, and they were mostly unhindered by buildings. It looked neat, kempt, and was mostly well-managed farmland with the occasional woodland or coppice. Fields of green grass lay next to fields of rich, naked red earth, divided by meandering brown hedgerows that sprawled across the rolling landscape like the chequered stripes on a giant, ruffled picnic rug. In the far distance, she glimpsed soft, dark hills of brown and purple, capped with jagged peaks. Cows, sheep and horses grazed peacefully, lazily. She recognized the scent from having filmed on farms, and it completed her transference to a different world.

  “This is nice in spring.”

  Alice thought it was nice now, but believed him.

  “Much greener, lots of wild flowers. You'd love it.”

  Alice decided she would come back in spring, even if filming schedules allowed for only a weekend.

  “And much warmer, of course. Not quite southern USA, but comfortably warm. We get the gulf stream, ya know.” Will said it as if his people had somehow fought and captured the warm current, and ordered it at gunpoint to heat their chilly island.

  “Well done, Will.”

  Alice's sarcasm was accompanied by a grin.

  “Huh?”

  “For stealing our warm water from right under our hick noses.” She laughed at her joke, as Will was still looking bemused.

  “Hmm. Look, deer!”

  “Yes dear?”

  “Don't start. Roe.”

  “Row? OK, give me an oar.”

  “Rabbits.”

  “Hmm, who’d have thought it?”

  Alice had been looking at Will, because it amused her to watch the bewilderment and frustration she caused him. Will had stopped at a fork and was playing Eenie, Meenie, Miney Mo.

  “Lost, Will?”

  “Course not.”

  Will looked around. The hedge was lower here, but he couldn't see over the top from his seated position. He'd not been to the Tudor House pub for many years, and had forgotten the route. A tall, ruddy-cheeked chap in brown cords and tweed jacket approached. Will lowered his window.

  “Hello.”

  “Aft'noon. Los' ar’ we?”

  “Tudor House?”

  “Over there.” The chap pointed at a pub he could clearly see a short distance away, over the hedge. Alice and Will swung their heads in the direction he'd indicated in eager anticipation of the view, but were simultaneously greeted by a view of a thick, dark hedge just three feet from their noses. They turned quickly and looked at each other with blank faces, then quickly realized their stupidity. Seconds later they burst into a fit of giggles - which quickly became hysteria.

  “Bloody grockles.” The chap stomped off, muttering and tutting.

  After three minutes of side-splitting laughter and pointing, recreating the hilarious scene and gormless expressions, the driver behind had tired of the Rover blocking his path. He started honking - Will thought it was Alice, and Alice thought it was Will. The honking intensified, until Will glanced at his mirror and spotted a red-faced old man in a green Humber Sceptre, waving fists in his direction.

  “Oops, sorry!” Will waved back, and aimed the Rover at the left fork. A few yards in, he pulled into a gateway and gestured for the Humber to pass. He couldn't drive with tears in his eyes.

  “That was sooo funny.” Alice was in tune with Will.

  “Poor farmer, don't think he got the joke.”

  Will wiped his eyes and pulled out, quickly catching the Humber.

  “What a lovely old car.”

  “Beautiful, always wanted one of them - well, when I was a kid.”

  “You are a kid.”

  “So are you.”

  “Hellooo … 22 here?”

  “Pub.”

  Will pulled onto a track that led them to a car park behind the pub. They were still giggling like kids when they entered the building. Alice looked around at the clean, bare floorboards and shiny black wooden tables with elaborately carved legs. There were only two beams in the ceiling, but they were massive – well over a foot square – and bore scars from centuries of chipping, scraping, hammering and nailing. Wooden panels covered the walls, and smaller offshoots divided the bar into irregular sections. Cracking, spitting logs filled a huge black fireplace that wore a thick, charred beam across the top, and the fragrant wood smoke permeated every corner of the room. Shiny brass and copper objects hung randomly, accompanied by china and pottery vases and figures nestled in small alcoves, pictures of people and animals, parts of people and animals, and ancient tools and signs covering what was left of the walls and ceiling. It would take a few hours just to look around all the objects, let alone figure out what they were.

  The bar ran almost the length of the room, about sixteen feet. It was solid, wide, dark wood, and at each end thick wooden pillars were displaying ornaments, snacks and breweriana. Three feet above the bar, creating a large letterbox for customers to receive their drinks, a similarly constructed wooden shelf with decorative carved posts held a wall of glistening glasses and the odd pewter or silver tankard. Tall brass, wood or porcelain pump handles lined the rear of the bar, and on the wall behind there were bottles of every spirit available, some on shelves and some in optics. Stools of varying heights lined the front, and at the far end sat a middle-aged, bearded gentleman with a brandy glass in his hand. The barman stood behind the bar on a platform, raised six inches above the floor. He was tall - unusually tall. Will guessed seven feet. His beige chinos were visible above the bar, as was his green cotton shirt which was tucked neatly into his pants, all tidily bound together with a plain, black leather belt and brass buckle. His head was somewhere behind the top shelf, and the couple giggled as they watched the lanky torso shuffling back and forth across the letterbox.

  Will approached the belt buckle and cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

  A detached, middling-to-deep, softly-burred voice responded from above. “Oh, hello, didn't see you down there.”

  Will was unsure of his next move - whether to wait for the mouth to come down, or to continue addressing the torso. He jerked back involuntarily as a large head loomed into view. The barman rested his elbows on the counter, his backside wedged against the wall behind.

  “Hello chap, hello missus. How goes it? On holiday? I'm Will. Nice to meet you.”

  Will thought he was friendly, and probably harmless.

  “Err, hi. I'm Will, this is Alice.”

  Alice was stifling a laugh, and coughed. “Sorry, cough. Howdy.”

  “Oh, American eh? Don't get many of you in here. Shame, really. Could use the exposure.”

  Will the barman spoke with a relaxed, slightly monotone voice that you really couldn't feel threatened by, despite his size and unusual head. He turned back to Will the inadequate who was once aagin wondering why there were so many tall people around these days.

  “Will eh, could be confusing.” He guggled – too deep for a giggle, not quite a laugh. “I'm William Pratt, down there's me pardner in crime,” he guggled some more, “Richard Bent. We call him Dicky, obviously.” He pointed at the bearded chap.

  Dicky rolled his eyes, and shook his mouth, as if a new retort might be facilitated. None came, so he supped his brandy.

  More guggling. “
You can call me Spike.”

  Will's brain cogs were whirring, and he looked to the ceiling for help. It came. “Oh right, I get it. William Pratt - Spike - Buffy.” He grinned, pleased to be on home ground at last.

  “Not really, I just like torturing people with my rail-road spike. Do you wanna see it?” More guggling followed, and Dicky let his head fall into his hands.

  Will was amused, and Alice wondered what the hell she'd let him drag her into, this time. Her gaze was averted by a bobbing head behind the bar. Spike stood up and turned so his belt buckle was facing the short man.

  “Alright Wayne, finished?”

  “All done, Spike. Your access bend collapsed, you’ll need a new one soon.”

  “Oh dear, better get it done. Can't have me access bend clogged again. Help yourself to a Dubonnet and tomato juice.”

  “Cheers.”

  Alice wasn't sure which was odder - a three-foot plumber, the sight of him talking to the groin of a seven-foot headless barman, or anyone who drank Dubonnet and tomato juice. She was unable to talk whilst chewing her fist, desperately holding back laughter, so tapped Will's arm and gestured that she would take a seat. She headed for the end of the bar where Dicky sat, as he seemed the only person there who wasn't a total nutter.

  Spike's head loomed again in front of Will.

  “Sorry, had a blockage down below. Wayne's handy for that, great little guy. If ever you need a plumber who can fit in small spaces, he's your man. Got a card there, Wayne?”

  “Err, thanks.” Will peered over the bar and took a card, nodding at the bobbing eyes.

  “So, what can I get you?”

  “Oh, right,” Will had almost forgotten what he'd come in for, “Two pints of Badger and umm, do you do food?”

  “Ooooooooooo food eh? Bit tricky that. I can't leave the bar unattended, you see.”

  “Oh, err, no cook?”

  “Ooooo tricky one that. Had to sack her. Yes. Bit awkward really.” Spike loomed closer to Will and spoke in hushed tones. “Gladys, she was our cook, she chopped the head off the wrong rabbit.” He pointed with his eyes, but Will wasn't following so he pointed again. Will followed, and guessed he was pointing at Dicky.

  “Oh, I see.” Will hadn't the faintest idea what Spike was saying.

  “Yes, nasty business. Dicky was upset, livid in fact. Had to drag him off her. I thought he was going to skin her and cut off her foot for luck.”

  “The rabbit?”

  “No, silly, Gladys. She decapitated one of Dick's rabbits. He's very attached to them.”

  “Right, so she doesn't like rabbits?”

  “Loves 'em, can't bear to see them chopped into little pieces and cooked. Still, she was very good at it.”

  “I don't quite follow.”

  “Dick breeds, you see. With rabbits.”

  Will shot a glance of disgust at the rabbit molester. “Weird.”

  “Not really, no. Quite common round here. Dick's are very special, though. Pure bred, white, Dwarf Hotots. Sorry Wayne.”

  “Dwarf is fine, Spike. Midget is offensive.”

  “Oh yeah, I can never remember. Gotta be so careful these days, haven't you?”

  “Umm, with rabbits? Or dwarfs?”

  “Both really, and immigrants. You know. Not that American tourists are immigrants.” His eyes pointed to Alice. “Nice girl that, looks familiar. How is she with dwarfs?”

  “Umm, I think she loves dwarfs, and rabbits. Oh yes, she adores rabbits.” Will turned and waved at Alice.

  “Hear that, Dicky? The American girl there, she adores rabbits.”

  Dicky perked up and honed in on Alice, who was glaring at Will.

  “I thought so, you have that look about you.” Dicky cornered Alice, who was glaring very hard at Will.

  “Oh those two will get on like a house on fire. Dicky loves talking about rabbits - goes on forever. You know - rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.”

  “Great, Alice will be thrilled.” Will smiled at her, pleased with his move.

  “Look chap, I shouldn't really do this, but seeing as you're so nice and your daughter loves rabbits, I'll tell you what, I'll see if can find some pasties in the freezer. Won't be long. Dick. Dick! Watch the bar, will you?” Spike turned. “Ooops sorry Wayne, didn't see you there. What you looking for?”

  “Lemons.”

  “In with the pork scratchings, mate.”

  Spike bent his knees and shuffled off.

  “Errr … beer?” Will was very thirsty.

  A muffled voice called back. “Help yourself, or ask Wayne.”

  “Errr … Wayne?”

  “Yes?”

  “Two pints of Badger?”

  “Hang on, just gotta find me box. Won't be a tick.”

  Wayne found his box and clambered up, and Will faced his face for the first time. He reached up to get a glass. “Sorry mate, wrong box. I need me shelf box.”

  “Err, can I help?”

  “OK, thanks, just grab a couple of glasses from up there.” Wayne pointed to the shelf above their heads, and Will picked out two glasses with handles, thinking it would be easier for all concerned. Tall, straight glasses could so easily slip from tiny hands, or sweaty hands, hands shaking with laughter, or hands belonging to a glowering Alice

  “Like handles eh, bit of a traditionalist?”

  “Yes, I'm not a fan of tall …. err, straight, glasses”

  “Prefer short glasses, do you?”

  “Err, yes, well, any size really, not too tall, not too short.” Shit. Will kicked himself in the shin, which hurt.

  Wayne seemed oblivious, and expertly poured two pints of ale. “There you go. Pay Spike, or see Dick.”

  “Cheers.”

  Will retired to Alice's table, where Dick was explaining the finer points of the Dwarf Hotot, and how to breed with them.

  “Ah, here's my Will. How are you, darling? Dick has been telling me all about his rabbits. I think you'd be really interested. Dick, would you mind repeating it to Will?”

  “Of course, lovely to meet you, Will. What do you know about Hotots?”

  “Not as much as I'd like.”

  “Dwarfs?”

  “Very little.”

  The genius of Will's wit was lost on Dick, Alice was still glaring at him, and Wayne, perhaps fortunately, had his head in a box of pork scratchings.

  “Well you've come to the right place.” Dick's stubby nose wrinkled, his pointy canines glinting in the rays of sunshine coming through tiny, leaded windows.

  “Yes, we have. Aren't we lucky, Alice?”

  “You really know how to choose your pubs, darling.”

  Spike returned with two soggy, microwaved pasties. Alice was thrilled, and glared at Will some more.